No Dream Beyond My Reach is an exciting and heartfelt drama that captures with eloquence and imagination the gut-wrenching true story of Dr. Sopheap Ly, a survivor of the Cambodian Killing Fields. For more than ten years, Sopheap experienced hell on earth as a child slave under the Khmer Rouge regime and later as a refugee. Yet despite impossible odds and extraordinary challenges, she persevered with sheer determination to achieve a dream her father planted deep in her heart as a young child. Her story is the American Dream in its rawest form, sung with hope and inspiration.

No Dream Beyond My Reach

One woman's remarkable journey from Cambodian refugee to American MDBy Sopheap Ly

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Sopheap Ly, MD
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-8456-8

Contents

Acknowledgments.................................................ixIntroduction....................................................xiiiChapter 1 Evacuating The Good Life..............................1Chapter 2 Bloodstained Rice.....................................8Chapter 3 Free To Struggle Forward..............................16Chapter 4 Home to a Different Town..............................21Chapter 5 Seeking Refuge in Thailand............................25Chapter 6 Another Camp Closer...................................30Chapter 7 Approaching the Dream.................................37Chapter 8 Hope and High School in Santa Ana.....................42Chapter 9 The Golden State of Opportunity.......................72Chapter 10 Gaining Experience, Giving Care......................76Chapter 11 Through The MCAT Hoop................................83Chapter 12 The Doctor To Be.....................................87Chapter 13 Rotating Through the Grind...........................96Chapter 14 Ready to Practice....................................102Chapter 15 Sopheap Ly, MD.......................................108Chapter 16 Pearls of Wisdom.....................................111Biographical Statement..........................................115

Chapter One

Evacuating The Good Life

I was born in Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia. I do not remember much about my childhood in Cambodia before the Khmer Rouge took control of my country. I remember being happy because I knew my father loved me very much. I was the apple of his eye. I have memories of my father driving me around on his motorcycle to his older brother's house, which was a beautiful estate with lush farmland that had large tractors and shiny machines that harvested rice, corn, and lotus. He had forty people working for him. My favorite uncle was a wealthy landlord, and I affectionately called him Uncle Heng. His house was where I wanted to go on the weekends, because when I visited my uncle, he would tell me, "Take whatever is in my home. What's mine is yours." I didn't want anything from his home, but I did want lots of fresh lotus flowers from his garden. I remember carrying lots of fresh flowers back to my house and putting them in a vase. I will never forget how every year during the Cambodian New Year my uncle would stuff lots of large bills in a big red envelope and give it to me.

I loved my Uncle Heng for his generosity and kindness, and my father did too. I remember my father telling me, "Sopheap, this motorcycle you are riding on is a gift from Uncle Heng." My father was so proud that his brother had bought him such an expensive classic motorcycle for his graduation.

During our special visits to Uncle Heng's house, my father shared his dream with his brother. His dream was for little Sopheap to serve in the medical profession. My father looked to his brother for inspiration and guidance because Uncle Heng had raised him after their parents died at a young age. My father later told me that my uncle said, "Sopheap will pursue her dream, and she will succeed."

Like Uncle Heng, my father always encouraged me during my early years, sometimes whispering in my ear, "Never ever give up, no matter how terrible things might be. Always follow your dreams. They are never beyond your reach." His words would serve as a beacon of hope and light during my darkest nights.

Before those dark nights, my family life was filled with love, laughter, and fun. I was four years old when my parents enrolled me in a French private school in Phnom Penh. In Cambodia, a developing country, children usually did not go to school until a much later age. At four, I was quite young to attend school, and my mother sat in my classroom every day and wiped my tears, as I was very unhappy about being there. My dad, mom, sister, aunt, and I lived in a large red brick home in an affluent suburb of Phnom Penh. We had a nanny who was supervised by my aunt, who stayed with us while my parents went to work. On the weekends, we went on all-day shopping trips and visited relatives in the evening. One night, our cousins, aunts, and uncles gathered in front of my grandparent's house to watch the Chinese New Year dragon parade in the month of January. It was a joyful time and very exciting, as bright colorful lights-red, orange, yellow, green-flickered and flashed against the night sky, while a large dragon danced wildly in the street just a few feet from where I sat. I was being held tightly and securely in my father's arms as he sweetly kissed my forehead and cheeks while cuddling me in his lap. The fantasy of the celebration was beyond my expectation, and I couldn't imagine that life could ever bring anything but this kind of happiness and joy.

It was just a few months later that Khmer Rouge soldiers stormed our home late one night with guns and swords, demanding that we leave our home. I'll never forget that night. With only the clothes on our backs, my father, mother, sister, aunt, and I were ordered to leave our home by men with guns. After a long walk, we were herded onto a train like cattle. None of us had any idea that we would be taken to a distant farmland and nearly worked to death harvesting rice for four years before we would ever know freedom again.

The conditions on the train ride to our new destination were cramped and very crowded. As I looked around, people were compacted in like matchsticks in a small box. Without food, water, or bathroom privileges, some sat on the cold floor for hours while others tried lying down to sleep, hoping that when they awoke the nightmare would be over. The loud droning sound of the train wheels over the tracks screamed in my ears; crying babies and children wailed with hunger; women wept for lost loved ones, husbands and fathers stared blankly with anguished faces, as they could only anticipate the horror that awaited them and their families.

Everyone in our family, close and distant relatives alike, rode the train for a day and a night until we arrived at a remote farmland somewhere in the middle of very wet rice fields. We were pushed and shoved off the train like animals going to slaughter. Harsh speaking soldiers ordered us to get to work in the fields-if anyone had a problem, they would be shot or decapitated. We were now barefoot as we made our way to the rice fields under cruel and watchful eyes. It was then, at the age of five, that I entered the world of slave labor. I was told that I was to work at least fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, in the watery rice fields, while the adults were to work eighteen hours a day, seven days a week.

Dozens of families worked together to build crude shelters made of coconut and bamboo sticks or any tree that could be found that had leaves, sticks, and branches that could easily be pulled off. The shelters had dirt floors, and our beds were made out of bamboo sticks. We had no blankets, pillows, or any kind of warm covering. Everyone slept in the same outfit they had on during the forced evacuation. New clothes were given only when the old clothes were in shreds or when the children's clothes no longer fit them. Black jumpsuits made out of thin cloth were handed out to us. I did not like wearing the jumpsuit-it was ugly and too big.

As I lay on my bamboo bed late at night, I wondered why this awful nightmare was happening to me, to...