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Day after day, with nothing to do, the cousins and I walk to the beach. In my shorts and T-shirt, I run to the water for a cool swim. From the water, I catch sight of something red from the corner of my eye. I turn and gasp with horror, not believing my eyes. A young woman walks into the water wearing nothing but a small bright red bathing suit! The stretchy material clings tightly to her body, allowing everyone to see her voluptuous figure. The suit has no pant legs or skirt, leaving her white thighs uncovered. The V-neck top exposes her cleavage, which bounces as she runs into the water. I know she has to be one of “those” Vietnamese girls everyone always gossips about, because no Khmer or Chinese girl would wear such a thing. Khmer girls swim either with their long sarong wrapped tightly around their chest or are fully clothed.

A few weeks later, I am awakened by a loud scream in the middle of the night. There are a lot of angry noises coming from the hut of one of our neighbors. After an hour, all is quiet again and I fall back asleep. The next day the whole camp is talking about it. We are told that while we were sleeping, one of the Vietnamese girls woke to some guy sitting on her stomach. He held a knife up to her and told her not to scream, but she did anyway and he ran off. Waiting in lines for their ration of food, the women prattle about how the girl brought it upon herself. “After all,” they say, “she is Vietnamese. These Vietnamese girls are always laughing loudly, talking, and flirting with men. They wear sexy clothes with long slits up their skirts and swimming suits. They bring bad attention to themselves.” My face burns with rage; I run away from the gossips. Are they right? Those people who are always so quick to blame the girls.

Days turn into weeks, weeks into months. Soon it is May and still we have no sponsor. Many more people have arrived by the boatload to our camp while others leave for other countries. It has been eight months since we left Cambodia. We have no way of reaching Chou and our family to let them know we are well. For all they know, we could be missing at sea or dead. My heart weighs heavily at the thought of our family worrying. Though many of the refugees are poor, we are by far among the poorest. Day by day, Meng and Eang have to borrow money from her sister and friends to supplement the low food ration we are given. While the other girls wear pretty dresses and eat delicious food from the Thai market, I eat rice gruel, and fish when we can afford it. As a result of continuing malnutrition, my stomach stays swollen while the rest of my body is small and thin.

Then on June 5, 1980, Meng returns from the camp officials’ office with his face flushed with excitement. He announces that we have found a sponsor. “We’re going to America!” Eang and I scream and cry with happiness.

“We still have to be here for another week but we’re going!” Meng tells us.

“We’re going to America! We don’t have to save money anymore!” Eang stops her screaming and stares at me. “We must buy some cloth and make you a dress to wear in America!” She takes me to the Thai market the next day to shop for material. I walk around the store looking at the pretty rainbow colors of cloth laid out on top of each one of the tables. I wipe my fingers on my pants, making sure they are clean of dust and grime before lightly touching the cloth. The silk shimmers in my hand, soft and cool. It is so pretty, but I know we cannot afford it. “Come look at this,” Eang calls out to me. In her hands, she holds up orange, red, and blue checkered cloth. “Isn’t this pretty? I think it will look nice on you.” I nod, my eyes fixed on the red squares.

The next day, in our happy mood, Meng, Eang, and I walk to an open field to watch the movie that the camp officials are showing that night. The film is supposed to give refugees going to America an idea of what our new home is like. The movie is projected outdoors on a large white sheet in the middle of the camp. At twilight, the