He Knows the Plan: A Story of Survival and Resilience

By Chenda Tom

For many years, the Khmer Rouge, a communist regime, had been training soldiers in the forest and creating an army to take over the country of Cambodia. On April 17, 1975, the Khmer Rouge paraded through Phnom Penh, the capitol, to exterminate the city of “bugs”. People were first told that they would temporarily have to leave their homes for three days. Some of the adults knew better than to believe this story because rumors had been spreading all over Cambodia about the terrible things occurring in villages and towns. People from the villages and towns had been coming into Phnom Penh and living in parks or any open area in the capitol because their homes were taken over or destroyed by the Khmer Rouge soldiers. Cambodia was a peaceful and self-sufficient country, full of people who only desired peace. We came to believe the propaganda being told because there was not an alternate option. Questions became fears, fears turned into belief that the Khmer Rouge soldiers would protect us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387516414

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He Knows the Plan: A Story of Survival and Resilience

He Knows The Plan: A Story of Survival & Resilience

Map of Cambodia

Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. (NKJV)

Written by Chenda Tom

Dedicated to Gabriella, God’s gift to me

Everyone who has ever heard me talk about my life story tells me that I should write a book.  I write this book for my daughter, Gabriella, so she will know about our heritage.  I want her to know where our family came from.  I want her to know the people whose blood is a part of us.

Introduction

What is God’s purpose for me? This is a loaded question filled with even more questions.  I often ask God about His plans for my life.  I seek to make a difference in this world, but I have not been satisfied with what has been accomplished so far.  My heart tells me that God has a bigger and grander plan in store.

I have been resistant to writing my story about my young years in the killing fields of Cambodia and then building a new life in America.  I thought that no one would care to read about my life. The question always comes into my head, what can I share that would make a difference? I truly want to make a difference in people’s lives. When people read my book, I want them to find positive purposes for their own lives.  They would come to know that triumph could come out of any tragedy.

My friends who know a little bit about my story often tell me you should write a book.  The more they tell me, the more I am encouraged.  I have been afraid of the memories. It is interesting how moved people become when they hear me share tidbits of my story as a young child.  They appear shocked that I do not personify a person who had such a tragic childhood.  I have tried to build my life with a positive attitude exemplifying hard work and perseverance. 

How do I begin?

People are in disbelief when I tell them about where I am from.  I am apparently mistaken of being a Phillipina or Thai, especially when I am in an Asian nail salon.  The conversation normally goes like this:

Where are you from? the Nail Tech would ask.

I am from Cambodia, I would answer.

Oh ok, would be the response.

Were you born here? continue the questions.

No, I was born in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, I reply.

When did you come to America? the Nail Tech would continue to question.

I came to America in 1981 when President Ronald Reagan opened the door for refugees from war-torn countries to enter the United States. I answered.

How old were you? She would continue to question out of curiosity.

I would chuckle inside a little thinking how I would answer this question. I wonder how much time they have to hear my story. Sometimes to shorten the conversation, I would tell them my documented American age. Most of the questions like this come from when I am getting my nails done.

Sometimes people ask me about my birthday... Well...I have four birthdays. They strangely would look at me and the story begins...

Chenda

A person’s name is given thoughtfully by a set of parents who cherish and love each other first.  My parents must have loved each other very much to give me this name, Chenda.  Chenda is defined as peace and love in the Khmer language, often used in love songs to indicate a person’s heart.  I was my parents’ love child.  Thinking about my name in this way makes me smile because I know that I was wanted and loved.  I was loved by my relatives like my grandmother, aunts, and uncle.  I was the first grandchild and must have been very spoiled.  I am sure that my feet hardly touched the floor in those days.

I have changed my last name four times since birth, but each time I chose to keep my first name.  I have not been married four times.  This sounds strange to the normal person who has their given birth name.  My name has evolved several times since my parents gave me my name due to life circumstances.  Tom is my father's family name from his father.  Sok is my middle name which is normally given to indicate the day of the week a child is born.   

My parents fell in love as teenagers.  My mother came to live with my dad's family when she was around 16 years old.  They gradually fell in love and then eventually encouraged to get married.  My mother was around 21 years old when I was born.  It is interesting that my name in America became Chenda Sok.  The last name came from the man that my aunt and I came to America with.  Sok can also mean peace or Friday when the word day (tngai) is added.

My birth country, Cambodia, was not at peace when I was born.  War had been raging for a number of years before I was born in 1972.  People from the villages had already migrated to Phnom Penh to make a new home because their homes were destroyed by bombs and gunfire.  Parks and alleys were already filling up with tents and immigrants from the countryside because their town had been taken over by the Khmer Rouge.

Birthdays…

There is no record of my birth other than in the minds of those who witnessed my birth.  The hospital no longer exists.  My mother was rushed to the hospital in a cyclo when she started having contractions.  A cyclo (tricycle rickshaw) is a three-wheeled bike with two wheels in the front and one in the back wherein passengers sit in the front while their driver pedals behind them.  I was born in the cyclo before we got to the Chinese hospital.  I must have been in a hurry to see the world!  My father says that I was lucky to be alive because I had jaundice.  The Chinese hospital had the equipment to heal and take care of me. 

Age is relative; it depends on the individual person.  People say you are as old as you feel or act, but to me I want to know because I don’t know for sure.  It is interesting how we as humans want what we cannot have…especially things we know we can never acquire knowledge of.  One of the questions I would like to know an answer to is my date of birth.  Aunt Peou (aka Laura) and my father have been so traumatized by the events between 1975 and 1979 that they only know the general month.  This is a mystery I would love to get solved.  I know that I was born at some point after the Cambodian New Year in 1972.  This means after April of 1972.

Aunt Laura had lowered my age by two years when she completed paperwork in Thailand after our escape from Cambodia in 1979.  To add to the confusion, she made up my birthday.  Even more confusing still, she thought she wrote January 3rd, but instead wrote March 1st.  You see, January 3rd is written 3/1 (day/month) the European way.  When Aunt Laura and I came to America in 1981 she created a date for me.  She couldn’t remember the exact date, but knew that I was born after the Cambodian New Year’s celebration.  She remembers my mother dancing when she was pregnant with me during the weekend of celebrations.  Being new to America, she did not know that the American New Year is different than the Cambodian New Year.  The Cambodian New Year is normally during the third weekend of April.  She also did not realize that Americans write dates in a different way than the Europeans. 

I grew up thinking my birthday was January 3rd until I thought I turned 16 years old and the Department of Public Safety staff told me that my birthday was really March 1st according to the paperwork they had.  She told me so plainly that I just accepted her reason.  She pointed to the date on my high school