I'm a FRAUD!

DUDE...! I am such a fraud! I just figured this out the other day.

Here is how I happened upon my fraudness:

I left work on Monday not really motivated to work out and decided that shopping would be the better exercise for me. I went to an area of D.C. called Friendship Heights where I knew I could get my Santa Fe salad from the Cheesecake Factory and MJ's Daisy all on the same block. I was on a mission! After a satisfactory salad and too much bread and soda, I went rummaging through sale racks and sniffing perfumes and cologne.


When I walked out of the shops, Daisy and shirt in bag, I wasn't ready to go home and looked up to see a Borders! What better way to kill some time then to spend it looking up books! I wandered in and first looked at the "sale" bin and seeing it was full of pretty flowered post it notes and Hannah Montana calendars, I quickly retreated to the Children's Books section. With my niece's birthday and a friend's baby shower coming up, I looked at what fun educational book I could get for them as I am notorious for the learning toys. 20 minutes pass quickly and with nothing impressive, I walk towards my favorite section: Literature. There I spent another 20-30 minutes skimming through each aisle picking up a few that caught my eye, reading the inserts to get a more accurate account of each story, and taking in the smell of new books. This is my "happy place"!


The smile slowly creeps away from my face as I read the title of the next book I pick up, "First They Killed My Father: A Daughter Cambodia Remembers" by Loung Ung. There is a slight pain that is shooting in my chest. On the cover, a young girl with a piece of paper covering her nose and mouth with a name and number on it used by the infamous Khmer Rouge who terrorized Cambodia for the better end of the 70's. I looked into the girls eyes and thought for a moment that I should relate to this girl because we descent from the same people. I should know what her struggles were/are and I should be proud that the author is able to now voice this tragic story for others to read. The reality is that I had nothing in common with this girl. I was a born American and lived a very American life. I knew nothing about being enslaved by a group of people and forced to work long hours with no pay and scraps to eat. I am American...I had a highschool sweetheart...learned how to drive at 16...celebrated national holidays...watched cartoons on Sunday mornings...I only knew how to be an American. Yes, I learned my native language and yes, I knew how to be respectful of my elders, but I had no idea what I would do if ever I were left in Cambodia alone. I would be LOST!

After finding a desk nearest to me, I sat down and skimmed through the book. I read excerpts from the book which made my heart cry out even more. She, having gone through this horrific experience, is smiling on the back of the book. I felt like a fraud! I moved to D.C. to write my novel, but instead of being inspired by my culture and history, I am inspired by past relationships and those of my friends. All of a sudden, I thought to all the pages and words I had written and felt them unworthy compared to this novel. How could I put so much thought and effort into such a frivolous subject!

So here in lies my problem...Am I a fraud for not knowing my history as I should? or Am I a fraud for writing about love and relationships when there are so many other problems that weigh so much more in the world?