When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [130]
Soon after we arrive, we are told that people ages sixteen to fifty-five have to study English as a second language (ESL) and cultural orientation (CO) for three months before our departure for America. In the intensive ESL class, we will study about clothing, housing, employment, the post office, and transportation. For the CO class, we’ll study general subjects such as sponsorship, communication, lifestyles, and sanitation. Though I look forward to learning these subjects, I can’t help feeling overwhelmed by the number of subjects we have to master in such a short time. But the education here is free, and I need to do some catching up before going to America. I am looking forward to attending these classes.
In the ESL class, we have both Cambodian and Vietnamese students. Our teacher is a Filipino lady. When she enters the classroom, she glances at us and frowns. I wonder if she is mean like some of my teachers back in Cambodia, who pulled boys’ sideburns and hit the palms of our hands with a long bamboo stick. As she puts her woven bag down by her desk, she faces the class. Her red-painted lips widen into a smile. I feel relieved. Now I’m ready to learn anything that will prepare me for America.
Our first lesson is learning how to greet someone in English, how to shake hands. When it’s time to practice, our teacher asks a girl sitting beside me to get up. She is to shake hands with a Cambodian man in our class. The girl shakes her head, her face flushed. The teacher asks another girl, and she too shakes her head. She looks embarrassed just to be called upon, let alone to be shaking hands with a man.
“Come on, you guys, get up and shake hands with those men. Look, they are not bad-looking. In fact, they’re handsome,” says our teacher, making the men smile.
No one gets up. Our teacher asks a Cambodian man and a Vietnamese man to come to the front of the class. They introduce themselves, then shake hands. The teacher stares at us and says, “You see, it’s not hard to come up and shake hands. Watch me. My name is Marie. How do you do?” She shakes hands with a Vietnamese student. “Here, I’m still shaking hands with him and I’m not going to have a baby. Don’t worry. You’re not going to have a baby by shaking hands. Now, come on and practice.”
I’m annoyed by her comments. She should have been informed of our culture, and known that our way of greeting people is to press the palms of our hands together, then raise them to our chins. Even I, who am brave under many circumstances, am embarrassed by the idea of hand shaking. We need time to adjust.
As Marie urges us to volunteer, I begin to have courage.
She asks a Vietnamese student named Minh to stand in front of the class. Smiling, she says, “Would someone come up and shake hands with Minh. He’s handsome.” The class laughs. Minh smiles, his eyes becoming smaller as he gazes in the girls’ direction.
I stand up. The teacher smiles. She croons, “Come on, Chanrithy. You can do it! Okay, introduce yourself first, then shake hands.”
No problem, I think, smiling to myself. I walk up to Minh, then I say, “My name is Chanrithy. How do you do?”
The girls giggle behind me, making Minh smile.
“Hello, my name is Minh,” he says, glancing at the girls. “How do you do?” He looks at them again.
I reach out to shake his hand. He steps forward to shake mine, but as soon as his hand nears mine, I pull it away. I dash back to my seat, then laughter erupts.
Beaming, I look at my teacher, whose hand covers her face and whose body quivers with suppressed laughter. The men on my right guffaw. Minh