White World by Kamsan Suon
“It’s snowing! It’s snowing!” yelled Tom. I looked at him. He was a white American boy with blond hair and blue eyes. He sat a few rows to my right. Everyone in my first-grade class turned their heads and bodies the moment Tom yelled and looked at the windows behind me. What did he mean by “snowing”? What were they looking at? Although some of my classmates had accepted my different Cambodian features, I felt like an outcast. My tight and slanted eyes with dark skin looked strange in the new world. So what if my strangeness did not excite some of my American peers? I didn’t let my strangeness keep me from learning. And I became best friends with Scott Parker. But he was not in class that day. I was sitting in the middle of the room and turned my head and body to look in the same direction as my classmates. I had begun learning the English language three months before.
Our teacher was Mrs. Brady, a nice white American in her mid-thirties. I trusted her. Tom had interrupted her morning math lesson. After a brief pause she told us we could go to the windows and look at the snow fall. Chair legs scraped on the tile white floor as everyone except me hurried to the windows. I stayed quiet and observed. I only knew the cold was outside.
Before my family of eight—including my parents—immigrated to America, I didn’t know the cold existed. And when we relocated to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, in 1981, it was August. One morning some months later, I went outside and discovered a strangeness in the air. I couldn’t resist this new phenomenon. I wanted to explore it. I walked across the street to the park. I was wearing a T-shirt, pants, and rubber sandals. My body began to shiver. I found myself wrapping my arms around my chest. Then my toes, fingers, and ears became numb. But I didn’t care about any of that. I thought it was funny when my teeth started clicking. I was amazed at how steam came out of my mouth. I pressed two fingers on my lips like my Dad did when he smoked cigarettes
My mom yelled at me when I came inside our apartment about an hour later. “Don’t go outside again.” I asked her about the things I felt. She said that we now live in a cold country and it is the cold months, and everyone feels the same when they are in the cold. I didn’t have a coat to wear until a week later.
Many Southeast Asian refugees wore used clothing. The good white Christian church folks had given us this clothing. I was grateful and happy to have a coat. It was a dull navy blue with a hood and a small yellow zigzag stripe across the chest. I wore it everywhere I went.
I envied my classmates who wore new clothing. They wore bright beanies that wrapped snugly around their heads. Others wore cotton gloves. I knew my family was poor, and I felt lucky to have my coat.
While I watched my classmates, I felt like it was my first day at school. I wanted to be part of the group. I left my seat and went to stand behind them near Becky. She was a white American girl with freckles on her face. She had auburn hair, and her smile made me feel comfortable. Becky was nice to me, but I was a shy boy. They were looking out the windows above the wood bookshelves. I saw nothing except for the grey clouds.
“Do you see the snow?” Becky asked. “What is snow?” I replied. “It’s falling from the sky,” she answered. I looked out the windows. I knew why I wasn’t able to see it. Snow was white and blended in with the grey sky. It was drifting down slowly. I smiled. “When lots of snow falls, everything turns white,” Becky said, smiling. I believed her but was concerned how that could be true. I couldn’t see that image.
“We all can go outside to watch the snow fall,” Mrs. Brady said. “Yeah!” some shouted. I stood there. My classmates put on their warm clothing and walked out of the classroom. “Kamsan,” my teacher said at the door. “Come, let’s go outside.” My fear subsided with her smile. I grabbed my coat off the chair and put it on. I walked out with her by her side into the short hallway. The grey steel door that led out onto the playground was getting closer.
Mrs. Brady opened the door into a new world. “Chomm!” I said softly, which in Khmer meant “whoa/wow.” I stood still in the doorway. A world was transforming right before my eyes. Trees and bushes began turning white. The soccer field had turned into a sheet with some small dark spots still on its surface. The benches, monkey bars, and roofs of homes nearby seemed so new.
Everyone and everything was covered in white. I walked out onto the black asphalt that was already changing into black and white dots. White snowflakes drifted continuously down around me, onto my head and shoulders. There was no way to escape the invasion of whiteness, not even in the space between me and the air. I thought it was fun when my classmates spun around with outstretched arms to each side. I reached out my arms to each side with palms up. I smiled as cold snowflakes gathered lightly on my tiny hands.
KAMSAN SUON is 45 years old, born in Kompong Speu, Kampuchea and grew up in a small town in Modesto, California. When he was a little boy, he enjoyed making his own kites out of newspaper, riding his bike and was always at peace in the wilderness. One day he hopes to enter the Buddhist monkhood to restore the honor of his family and make the Buddhist pilgrimage.