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My mother's name is Sarah Lam. She is a survivor of the communist revolution and the killing fields of Cambodia. When she was very young, about 14 years old, communists invaded her country and overthrew the government. Many of her relatives and friends were killed by Pol Pot and his minions. The few that escaped (including her family) were forced to become refugees in neighboring countries. For a while, my mother and her family lived in Vietnam, earning a living by rolling cigarettes and serving the houses of the upperclass. The irony of this is how her family were the ones who had servants when they were back in Cambodia. Soon afterwards when the communists invaded Vietnam, my mother and her family were forced to flee for their lives again. This time her family seeked refugee in neighboring Laos, while my mother got on a ship that sailed to Malaysia. Over in Malaysia, my mother was one of thousands of people at a refugee camp. The American Red Cross gave aid there, but even with that, life was very hard for my mother. The daily rations was a single cup of rice per person (not even enough to satisfy a regular meal for us). The water was bad (many refugees got extremely sick from drinking it). Eventually her father had arranged for my mother to come to the US/Canada (I forget which) to live with her uncle (my grandfather's brother). When my mother arrived at the airport, her uncle saw her shivering and gave her his jacket; I don't think her aunt like that much. As they drove on and on, many questions were racing through my mother's mind. She had never been to America before. Eventually they pulled up to a very large building. My mother tells her uncle, "Wow, I didn't know you had a house this large." Her aunt snapped back at her, "This isn't our house, this is an orphanage. This is the place where people like you go." My mother was sobbing for hours after that. She expected to live with her family, not with strange kids in a Christian orphanage (she was Buddhist). The kids there were "uncivilized" to put the least, comments my mother. She shared a large room with many other refugee girls from Vietnam and similar areas. Whenever a donation box of clothes arrived, the girls literally pulled each other's hair, punched, kicked, and anything you can imagine to get the "best" clothes. My mom generally waited till the more aggressive girls were done and took the leftovers. Soon, she was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Marlatt (my foster grandparents). They were very kind to her and gave her the name "Sarah". Soon after she turned 18, she moved out of the Marlatt's home to live with her grandmother and aunt (mother's sister) in New York City. She has a family and a house of her own now in Rockland County, New York. :)
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