I am an imposter; the child of refugees.
My name isn’t Emily, it’s Vanny, which means butterflies.
My pa told me that it was his idea thanks to a dream he had of a small girl who came to visit him days before finding out he was having a second child, and then months later finding out I was a girl because it took my parents nearly a decade of miscarriages to have my little brother and I.
I was considered a powerful beacon of guidance through difficult times for my parents, but despite being considered a “beacon of guidance,” I am called Emily by my friends, classmates, teachers, etc, but at home I am still called Vanny.
My pa adored my name and stated that I will always be his Vanny, but my mother began to realize Vanny wasn’t a good name to have me go by outside of the house. Because to her, and like other Asian families, having a name that was nowhere near close to English meant I wouldn’t be granted opportunities that she couldn’t achieve; I would be placed in English as Second Language classes, I’d be discriminated against based on my name.
And yet, despite being born and raised in America with an “American” name, my mother couldn’t shield me away from everything a mother wants to shield their child from. I was faced with linguistic discrimination. I was placed in ESL classes, and I was discouraged and forbidden from speaking my native language.
Unlike other Asians who chose to move to the United States in pursuit of economic success, my family and many Khmer refugees had no choice but to escape their homeland and seek refuge in camps like those in Thailand to evade the horrors of war, executions, and labor camps imposed by the Khmer Rouge. Survivors of the Khmer Rouge Era, including my family and other Khmer families, vividly recount the horrifying experiences. My mom, in particular, shares stories of how she and her family managed to escape Khmer Rouge soldiers, fleeing to Thailand after enduring imprisonment in labor camp(s).
When my mother first landed in America, she was in Alaska for a few days before her family and her began to travel around the United States to try to get on with their lives, but it was hard too. They had to deal with a baggage of emotions and dealing with adjusting to a new life, and throughout the process she had to experience various stresses. Unfamiliarity within the American system and linguistic and cultural barriers made it difficult to find employment and participate in the classroom.
I’ve realized that despite my mother going through these circumstances, history happens to repeat itself as my brothers and I happen to go through similar experiences as she did. Same complexities, different generations. As time passed, I realized I will always be known as two different people: Vanny or Emily.