A New Year's Resolution Inspired by The Killing Fields

I'll never forget my trip to Cambodia.  I was 26 or 27 and was itching to travel.  At that point, I was nearing the end of grad school and realized that I hadn't traveled many places outside of the US.  I had been to Korea to visit family, stopped over in Japan once, and been to drunken beach parties in Rosarito Beach, but none of these trips really "counted" in my mind.  I wanted something that was going to change my perspective.

And so, I decided to visit Cambodia.  You might be wondering, 'why Cambodia?'  To make a long story short, I have always been interested in the capacity for human resiliency. As a young man, I read lots of stories about the Genocide.  These stories haunted me.  But, I was even more amazed at stories of people forgiving others for killing their family.  Similarly, other things I read mentioned how Khmer people were amongst the most friendly and hospitable in the world.  These things always struck a nerve with me.  I often wondered, "How is it that people so close to an atrocity of that nature could be so warm and friendly?"

And so began my journey.  After a couple months of penny- pinching and living off peanut butter & banana sandwiches, I had saved up enough money for my plane ticket.  I found a good deal on Orbitz, bought my ticket, and didn't look back.  After a short stopover in Bangkok and Ko Samui, I touched down in Phnom Penh and began my adventure.

Even though this was years ago, I can still remember my first moments in Phnom Penh. Those who have been to Phnom Penh know the airport scene well.  You exit the cool, air-conditioned airport and immediately confront a thick wall of heat and exhaust sputtering out of motorcycle taxis waiting to shuttle you around.  I had read about this in my Lonely Planet, but seeing it (and feeling it) was a completely different thing.

My eyes darted around a sea of faces inviting me to hop on their motorcycle. Instead of pausing, I quickly approached the friendliest looking driver.  He had a big and warm smile.  As I approached him, he fastened his helmet and handed me a shiny red one.  It was cold and damp on the inside, but I didn't care.  I eagerly fastened the helmet to my dome and hopped onto the motorcycle.  I had finally made it and I was going to embrace every moment of this trip.  He then asked me if I wanted to see the Killing Fields.  I said yes and we rode off.

After making a quick pitstop at my hotel, we headed out to the Killing Fields.  The entire drive took about 30 minutes.  I had read so much about the Killing Fields and now we were there.  It felt surreal.  From afar it was little more than a dusty field set in the middle of a large, arid countryside.

My driver could tell that I was a little apprehensive at first.  He smiled, pointed toward the entrance, and told me that he'd wait for me near the front.  As I walked up to the entrance, I looked back and saw him sitting with other drivers in the shade.  They all sat around real chummy, like it was just another day at the park for them.

Fortunately, it was still early in the morning and the park wasn't filled with tourists yet.  Some folks sign up for a tour guide, who marches you around in a group and explains some of the history.  I thought about getting one, but ultimately decided against it.  I was finally here and I wanted to walk around at my own pace and let my mind wander.

At first, I was drawn to one of the many mass graves.  I stood at the edge of the grave and stared down into the earth.  The soil in the middle was darker than the surrounding, golden brown earth.  It was a darker brown hue, with patches of grass peaking out beneath the soil bed.  My thoughts began to race: How did these 450 souls end up here?  What did they think about before they died?  How did their family members feel knowing that they were buried in a heap of bodies?

After viewing a number of other mass graves, I stopped at "The Killing Tree."  I eavesdropped on a tour group and learned that this was where children and infants were beaten to death. The tour guide pointed to pock marks along a side of the tree.  He explained that the marks were from blunt objects that soldiers used to bash in the skulls of children.  Occasionally, the soldiers would miss their target, leaving these darkened scars in the tree's bark.  I would later learn that soldiers feigned laughter while doing this out of fear that they might be suspected enemies of the state and killed.


At this point, the intensity of my visit was wearing on me.  I felt sick. Instead of continuing my journey, I decided to take a breather.  I walked to the edge of the park and gazed out into the beautiful, golden brown countryside.  My mind began to wander again.

And then, after a few minutes of daydreaming, a group of small children approached the fence.  The tallest one--a small bare-foot boy--began begging for change.  I stared at him and his little friends blankly.  I thought about how children their age were brutally murdered a hundred feet from where we were standing.  I gulped and felt queasy.  They looked at me with their little hands stretched out in front of them, crying, "Money! Money! Money!" And then, one of them--a little girl--smiled.  She pushed her way through the rest of her friends and approached the fence.  She winked at me and squeezed her tiny hand through the metal rings in the fence.  I felt the shame of privilege wash over me as I hurriedly scooped some coins from my pocket and handed them over before walking back to the memorial.

I must have spent another hour in the Killing Fields. I eventually visited the shrine containing skulls of victims and also saw the stack of clothing stripped from people before they were killed.  And then I slumped out of the memorial and found my taxi driver seated in the same place.  He was still smiling and asked if I was ready to go.  I nodded and we drove off.

That night, while sitting alone in my hotel room, I thought about all the wonderful things that I had taken for granted in my life.  I thought about my family and friends.  I thought about how lucky I was to be in school, pursuing an advanced degree.  And I thought about how I had been able to travel halfway around the world in good health.  For a brief moment, I was filled with an intense joy and gratitude.

And then I felt that familiar sting of shame. As I thought about my life, I realized how privileged I had been and how much I had taken for granted.  I thought about how selfish I was as a person.  So much of my life and mental energy was spent chasing accomplishments.  I had grown up as a competitive swimmer and was in the midst of trying to publish my research.  Like other grad students, I was in the middle of "publish or perish" hell.  I had even brought my laptop with me hoping to devote some time to revising a paper.  I had to publish.  If not, my life (at least as I knew it then) would be over.  Sometimes, I would stay up at night, feeling anxious about my chances as an aspiring academic.

My brief and intense visit to the Killing Fields was a true lesson in humility and compassion.  It was a wrenching reminder of how much I was sweating the small stuff.  It was nothing short of a wake up call.

People make all kinds of resolutions on New Years.  Many people set personal goals.  Some want to get into better shape.  Others hope to make more money.  And then there are those who just want to achieve something that they've never done before. These are all wonderful goals.  If they are your own and they bring you happiness, I wish you nothing but the best of luck in realizing these goals.

This year, I have decided to set a different kind of resolution.  Instead of focusing on what I can accomplish, I want to remember the pain and gratitude I felt in the Killing Fields.  I hope to become a more grateful and compassionate person.  In my mind, gratitude and compassion go hand-in-hand.  The less you think about yourself and your needs, the more you are free to think about how you can help others.