On April 17, 1975, the Cambodian communists known as the Khmer Rouge emerged as victors of the five-year Cambodian civil war. They made their way to Tuol Kok, where I, a twenty-year-old young man at the time, was living and taking refuge with my Uncle Say’s family. They told the residents to pack up their belongings, to bring only what they needed and leave the city right away. Some people who had lived there all their lives refused to leave. The communist soldiers shot a few people dead to show they meant business.
I, wearing shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops, trudged with my Uncle’s family along the highway, hauling our belongings with the help of bicycles and motorcycles. Like the rest of the population we drifted many days with little food or clean water, in fear and in poor health, until the Khmer Rouge took census and background information from us. Not knowing the true intention of the communists, most people, including me, honestly told them our occupations under the Khmer Republic regime. I told them I was a student and a police officer. Some people told the truth while other boosted their rank. With this information, the communists divided people up based on our background information. They gathered about seventy students and soldiers of the Khmer Republic at a time, telling us we would be returned to Phnom Penh to help rebuild the country. The news gave us pride and hope.
Three people, a young man, a middle-aged woman, and elderly man, had given me clues that my group was being taken to Ghost Mountain to be killed. However, I did not believe them—not until it was almost too late. Sitting outside in a drizzling rain with over seventy other people in front of an abandoned pagoda to listen to the stern, communist soldiers making their speeches before they took us to be executed, my hopes, dreams, and desire to live kicked me so hard that I got up from the ground and jumped as high as I could over the heads of two women sitting in front of me. I spun my feet as if I had never touched the earth. As I headed for the forest on the east side of the abandoned pagoda, multiple rounds of gunshots echoed through the pagoda. My burning desire to stay alive grew as I heard the loud popping explosions and saw the impacts of flying bullets striking the trees and wet ground to the sides and in front of my path. I zigzagged to dodge the bullets; tripped and fell a few times. Discarding the plastic sheet I had used to cover my head, I finally reached some thick bushes, which seemed to stretch across many kilometers away.
I drifted to many places and was captured and sent to death rows two more times, all the while guided by the voice of my deceased father, before I reached Preah Vihear and ultimately the Cambodian–Thai border. There, I looked back and promised I would return to rescue my fellow Khmer who remained behind, if they happened to survive the regime.
Mountains like these were among the many obstacles I needed to overcome to seek freedom.
At the border, Thai soldiers captured me and imprisoned me until a rich woman picked me out and bought me as her domestic slave. I went through many obstacles, trials and tribulations before I escaped to a refugee camp and received sponsorship to the United States of America in 1976. In New York, I found work washing dishes during the night time at a restaurant to put myself through school. I graduated and later on opened up my own business.
When other refugees made their way to New York, I made sure they had clothes, blankets, shelter, and food. I even helped found several nonprofit organizations including the World Cambodian Congress, and became a leader and organizer at Wat Samakki in Brooklyn. I tried to steer people to work hard and do good for themselves and our community. Not aware of my true calling, I ventured into politics, hoping I could make a difference for the people in the country I left behind. I had promised to return to help, but I faced multiple challenges in Cambodia’s corrupted society; thus, I found this other avenue to help my fellow countrymen whose lives seem to deteriorate every day.
Cambodia Science of Success was brought into Cambodia for the first time in April 2016.
In the 2000s, I set on a path to do something different—something that had made America grand and powerful. I discovered Napoleon Hill’s book “Think and Grow Rich.” I started to study hard and went through a rigorous process to be a student and finally an instructor of Dr. Hill’s teachings. I formed a bond and friendship with people I met at The Napoleon Hill Foundation Leader Certification trip to Ireland and elsewhere. We kept in touch. I became great friends with two of them: Taylor Tagg and Tom Cunningham who recently passed away. Tom taught me about bravery, about surviving until the end. Taylor did a courageous and unselfish thing by offering to donate his kidney to my only son, and when it did not perfectly match, he found another way by donating his kidney to someone who is a perfect match and in exchange, pushed my son’s name up the list to receive a matching kidney himself. How many people in this world would do that for another human being who is not even a relative? Tom and Taylor will forever be my heroes. They had shown me how great it is to love and inspire each other as human beings.
School of Success was opened for many other young Cambodian students in Kampong Chhnang.
I had to bring such teachings to Cambodia; therefore, I formed a mastermind alliance with Khmer–American and Khmer citizens in Cambodia under a partnership called PMA Science of Success Cambodia, also known as Cambodia Science of Success. I gave students at the InterEd a taste of the teaching and principles of Dr. Napoleon Hill and they hungered for more.
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