[The following is an excerpt from Loung Ung’s amazing memoir about her experiences as a young girl who survived the Khmer Rouge atrocities in Cambodia during the late 70s. Here, young Loung has returned to the village where her mother and young sister were forced to live in horrible conditions, only to find that they have been dragged away in the middle of the night and were executed, likely buried in another mass grave.]
Walking away from Ro Leap [the work camp/village], I am deafened by the ringing in my ears. All the stories I have heard about how the Khmer Rouge kill their victims come back to me. Tales of them tying their victims in potato sacks and throwing them in the river and stories of their torture chambers frequently circulate among the villagers. It is said the soldiers often kill children in front of their parents to elicit confessions and names of traitors. The ringing in my ears becomes louder, making me disoriented. Ma’s face appears before me. I choke as I think of the pain she feels as she watches the soldiers hurt Geak [Loung’s very young sister, barely older than an infant at this point]. My mind obsesses over the pictures my mind makes up of their deaths, which refuse to let go of me. Then my head feels full and heavy.
Tears pour from me as I drag my body away from the village. Someone once told me that if you hit your head hard enough you lose all your memories. I want to hit my head hard. I want to lose my memory. The pain in my heart hurts so much it becomes physical and attacks my shoulders, back, arms, and neck like hot pins pricking at me. Only death will relieve me of it. Then something takes over me. It is as if I am drifting away into another place, into the deepest recesses of my mind to hide from the pain. Suddenly, the world becomes hazy and blurry. It is black all around me, soothing and empty. My pain and sadness no longer feel real or personal – no longer mine – when the blackness swallows my surroundings and me with it.
Note:
The trauma of this event was so severe that, to this day, the author has no memory of the following three days.
Source:
Ung, Loung. “The Walls Crumble, November 1978.” First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers. Harper Perennial, 2017. 162-63. Print.
Further Reading:
ខ្មែរក្រហម (Khmer Rouge) / “Red Khmer”
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