A conversation with my Mum, Channara. This is her story of overcoming, resilience, and the legacy of love.
My mum, Channara, was born in Phnom Penh in 1962. Her early childhood was full of joy, she loved school, laughed freely with the neighbourhood kids, and cherished every moment with her family. Life was simple, safe, and full of promise.
That all changed in April 1975, when the Khmer Rouge seized control of the country. Over the next four years, Cambodia was plunged into a brutal regime that claimed the lives of nearly two million people (25% of the total population) through execution, starvation, and forced labour.
During this time, Mum lost her father and one sister, was separated from the rest of her family, and forced into work in the rice fields. Education, food, and safety were all stripped away, her only goal was survival.
When the regime collapsed in 1979, she was finally reunited with her surviving family. Together, they fled to Vietnam, then a refugee camp in Singapore, and eventually made their way to Australia in the early 1980s, in search of a new beginning.
Mum, can you share what it was like coming to Australia as a refugee in the 1980s? What do you remember most about that time?
Channara: I remember arriving in September. We were on a bus from Sydney Airport, I looked out the window, it felt like a ghost town. No one on the streets. It was quiet, unfamiliar. I felt scared, lonely, and uncertain of what lay ahead. We didn’t know where to go or what to do.
We stayed at a hostel in East Hills with my mum, my sister and brother. Mum received $52 a week as a widow with three children. We ate in the shared dining hall, and I remember the sense of relief when Cambodian refugees from Cabramatta came to visit us. Hearing someone speak our language, sharing stories of this new country. Having this connection to home gave us hope and a sense of belonging.
I was so excited by the food! Sandwiches, sausages... it was all so new to me. Fresh milk, spaghetti bolognese, bangers and mash… I was always hungry, always excited at mealtimes. But not Grandma, she couldn’t stand the smell of red meat and wanted to run the other way every time the dining room door opened.
Australia brought peace and safety, but also a deep loneliness. Everyone stayed behind closed doors. In Cambodia, everybody's doors were always open, life flowed between homes, people spoke freely. Here, it was silent.
I wanted so badly to learn the language, to connect. I used gestures, smiled a lot, and never feared making mistakes. I just kept trying to speak.
You arrived in a country where you didn’t speak the language. How did you find ways to connect with others?
Channara: It started with body language, and I smiled a lot. A Lebanese girl lived two doors down and we became friends. She called me 'Nora'. She liked my brother, I think...maybe that’s why she kept visiting!
At night, I’d fall asleep to the radio, not understanding a word, just listening. That rhythm, those sounds, slowly became familiar.
I was learning English, French, and Vietnamese all at once, just from listening, watching, and paying attention. English came more easily because I used it often. I loved learning French, and Vietnamese came from friends.
It amazed me how quickly your brain adapts when you’re hungry to understand.
What was it like being Chinese-Cambodian in Australia back then, and how has your identity evolved over time?
Channara: I was just seen as “one of those Asians.” I experienced racism a few times, people making fun of my eyes or the way I looked, and using some racial slurs. I froze. I couldn’t respond, I didn’t know how, not in English.
At school, they didn’t pay us much attention. I was often overlooked. It made me feel invisible. Even other refugees who had been here longer would mock me for not knowing the language. They told me I wouldn’t make it, especially when I started school in Year 9.
That only made me more determined. I set my alarm for 4am to study. Not to prove them wrong, but to prove to myself that I could succeed. I wanted to be a doctor. I didn’t get the grades, but I became a Counsellor instead and found a very rewarding career in helping others. I managed to graduate University in 1988 with a Bachelor of Arts, which I am really proud of. I found purpose in working hard to support my family.
At home, I had to identify as Chinese. My brother was very strict. But I leaned toward being Australian. I wanted to eat Aussie food, go to parties, date Aussie boys, which was definitely not allowed! Their world felt freer, more romantic. Mine was full of expectations and rules.
But despite the tension between cultures, I found pride in who I am. A recent trip to China reminded me of the beauty in our traditions, our loyalty, our families, the deep respect we show for elders. These values have shaped me.
What values or traditions were passed down by your mother or aunties that you still carry with you today?
Channara: Always respect your elders. Look after them, no matter what. There’s an old saying: “Don’t let the fertilisers run into another field” meaning, keep the good things in the family.
Food was at the heart of everything. My mum would make Cambodian, Thai and Vietnamese dishes:
Nom krok (Thai Coconut Pancakes), Char Siu Bao (BBQ pork buns), Bánh Xèo (Vietnamese Pancakes), Lǔ (Chinese Soy Sauce Eggs). At Chinese New Year, we’d spring clean the house and avoid sad words. We ate delicacies like sea cucumber and shark fin soup. Elders gave 'hoang-bao' (red pocket) to the unmarried, and when we earned our own money, we gave it back to our parents.That cycle of giving, of respect, that’s what I carry forward.
What have you passed on to your daughters? Through words, actions, or simply by being who you are?
Channara: Work hard. Save money. Education matters. Respect authority.
Do the right thing. Be resilient. I always told them: “Can’t” is not a word.Be honest. If you borrow something, return it quickly, that’s what I learned from my father and brother. Be reliable. If I promise something, I keep it.
Motherhood changed my world. I gave up tea, coffee, even parts of my career. Not because I had to, but because my children mattered more. I still worked, but always made sure it suited my kids. I made a lot of sacrifices, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
What are the values you’ve instilled in your children that helped you rise from such a difficult beginning?
Channara: I want them to be happy, to do well in life, whatever that means for them. I see them working hard, saving money, caring for themselves. That makes me proud.
I didn’t have much, but I gave what I could: stability, values, love. I didn’t do it for recognition, I did it so they’d have the life I dreamed of when I looked out that bus window.
When you look at your children and grandchildren today, what legacy do you hope to leave behind?
Channara: Love and honesty. Study hard. Get a good job.
Respect one another. Take care of your family.Be kind. Stay loyal. Help each other when it matters most. Because in the end, nothing matters more than family.