nearly a year ago, I submitted one of my writings for an anthology. today, i received an response - ...turndown...declination...elimination...all words that you can think of that means an rejection. i tried to accept it gracefully but i'd lie if i said it did not sting. it did sting. it still does.
the first thing that came to my mind when i read this attempt to be heartfelt rejection, you know...like "omgosh, your work was so beautiful, but gosh it was so hard for us to choose a handful of work when there were thousands of amazing writers like yourself out there. unfortunately, you just didn't make it," was the "only if's."
only if my lifelong interpreter unpacked their hearing privilege, audism, and ableism....
only if my lifelong interpreter had not told my teachers growing up that my academic errors were part of being Deaf and that there wasn't much they could do about it....
only if my teachers had chose to not listen to my interpreter and searched for another approach to teach me....
only if my high school senior English teacher had not written a backhand compliment on my yearbook declaring me to be one of my English classes' premier writer, in spite of my occasional verb/tense things after i learnt what my interpreter had told my teachers all along and mourned the loss of my own learning opportunities....
if only....
but this rejection still doesn't end my passion...my hunger to be a writer. so i decided to go ahead and publish it on my own blog. because...why not? i wrote this prose when there was an call for poems and proses to be published in anthology that focused on the phrase: "Go Home!"
I titled my prose: "Decolonizing the Meaning of a Home."
The color of my Khmer brown skin, the olive shape of my eyes, and my Khmer wide nose has provoked a racial slur.
Gook! Alien! FOB! Go home!
Home?
To Lawton, Oklahoma where I was born? Where a church had sponsored my parents after becoming refugees from Cambodia after Pol Pot regime, which US had set in the motion by dropping the bombs in the small under developing country during the Vietnam war? Where my parents felt obligated to convert to a church's religion and baptize me while practicing their Buddhist beliefs secretly at home?
Gook! Alien! FOB! Go home!
Home?
To Sacramento, California where I was raised? Where I grew up in the collective Khmer community at home but was taught to be whitewashed at school? Where I was constantly being reminded that I wasn't American enough at school, yet where I was too American at home?
Gook! Alien! FOB! Go home!
Home?
But what is home?
Home is where your family is!
...but many of my family were slain by your hands. Remember April 17, 1975.
Through SouthEast Asian Resettlement Program during 1970s to 1980s, some of my families have resettled here in America. Some of my families were left behind in Cambodia. Which family do you mean?
Gook! Alien! FOB! Go home!
Home?
But what is home?
I'm confused, what is this home everyone is speaking of?
At "home" with my family, I am lonely. I am Deaf. I communicate fully in sign language. With my family's English being their second language and the fact that many resources to support Deaf children in America are not available in Khmer language, my family is not well equipped to support me. Audism is not making it a home for me with my family. English being superior language is not making it a home for me with my family. White culture is not making a home for me with my family. With communication barriers and lack of incidental learning, I do not have enough access to the knowledge of my racial culture. My identity as Khmerican is in crisis.
Yet, at "home" with my Deaf community, racism is not making it a home for me either. "Deaf first!" has been the common theme and I am being expected to be whitewashed as well. The color of my Khmer brown skin, the olive shape of my eyes, and Khmer wide nose doesn't allow me to pretend I am white. Being Deaf does not protect me from racism. It provoke a racial micro aggression. "What are you? "Where are you from, really?" My identity as Deaf Khmerican is in crisis.
Gook! Alien! FOB! Go home!
Home?
What makes home?
Home is where your motherland is! Go home where your family came from!
Cambodia? But..America told me I must assimilate to white culture. That I must forget my family's native language, that English is so important and superior. That I must forget the cultural norms that my parents taught me. That I must behave like an American if I wanted to blend in.
America has turned me into a foreigner in my motherland. I do not speak Khmer. I do not read or write Khmer. I don't know Khmer Sign Language fluently.
I am too foreigner for America, yet I am too Americanized for Cambodia.
Gook! Alien! FOB! Go home!
Home?
What makes home?
Just go somewhere else where I won’t have to look at the color of your Khmer brown skin, the olive shape of your eyes, and your Khmer wide nose!
If I change my skin to white, if I change my eyes to round, if I change my nose to pointy and thin…can I be home?
Gook! Alien! FOB! Go home!
Home?
What makes home?
Just speak English!
But I am Deaf…I can’t speak English.
Just write and read English!
I do, though….
Just stop flapping your arms in the air!
But that is how i convey my thoughts, through my hands.
Just go somewhere else where I don’t have to look at your disability!
If I change my disability to able bodied, can I be home?
Gook! Alien! FOB! Go home!
Home?
What makes home?
Wait a minute, why am I asking you what makes a home? You are the one who invaded other countries. You are the ones who stole home from everyone. You are the ones who are trying to colonize every country and turn it into your home. You are the ones who colonize everyone into thinking that they are the ones without a home.
No, no, no. I am decolonizing you. I am decolonizing your meaning of home.
White supremacy, I know what you are trying to do. You are trying to destroy us. You are trying to fool us into thinking we belong nowhere, and that we have no home.
The color of my Khmer brown skin, the olive shape of my eyes, and Khmer wide nose has provoked your fear.
The fear of losing the power. The fear of losing the privilege. The fear of feeling the importance. The fear of the playing field being even out.
No, no, no. I am decolonizing you. I am decolonizing your meaning of home.
I have many homes.
My Khmerican home where my family and I have come to understand and validate the multiple identities. Where we support and embrace each other’s truths. My Deaf Khmerican identity is being self actualized here.
My Deaf community home where I am navigating through and finding those who are unpacking and moving toward a healing place together. Where I am slowly finding other Deaf Khmericans. My Deaf Khmerican identity is being self actualized here.
My motherland home, Cambodia, where I am welcomed to go back and visit my family roots. Where I am embraced in the community as Deaf Khmerican. Where I am relearning my roots. Where I am honoring my ancestors.
My America home where I have met new friends and new family who loves me. The ones who are in solidarity with me. The ones who allow me decide what home is. The ones who are fighting against the white supremacy. The ones who aren’t afraid of the color of my Khmer brown skin, the olive shape of my eyes, and my Khmer wide nose.
The color of my Khmer brown skin, the olive shape of my eyes, and my Khmer wide nose provoked my inner strength, to find my home and to express my words: I belong here too, damn it!