When I visited Cambodia in March-May of 2013, the amount of scars left by the genocide was nauseating. There were memorials, schools turned torture centers and killing fields everywhere we went. On one such day it was hot (melt your shoes to the pavement kinda hot) and the last thing I felt like doing was walking through the fields of death and seeing place after place, where executions occurred. In spite of the horror, I knew that I needed to see it to understand the beautiful culture that I found myself in. I needed to understand how much those I encountered had overcome. I needed to separate from my self-absorption and feel someone else’s pain. It’s still hard to write about, because no amount of words seem right and it’s hard to describe the depths of the feelings that I encountered. For someone who thrives in positivity and redemption, I struggled in this place of overwhelming loss and darkness. I’ll never forget seeing a tree where children were beaten to death. I’ll never forget the weight I felt. It’s a loss that hasn’t left me yet.

When I talk about Rindy and his story, I sometimes get blank stares and the statements like “I didn’t even know the Cambodian Genocide happened.” If that’s you, then don’t feel ashamed or alone, because this shockingly atrocious time in history is surprisingly little known.

Did you know that the Cambodian Genocide took place only 40 years ago?

Did you know that in a country that is one quarter the size of Texas more that 150 execution centers existed throughout Cambodia?

Did you know that in proportion to its population, Cambodia underwent a human catastrophe unparalleled in this century?

Estimates of the total deaths resulting from Khmer Rouge policies, including death from disease and starvation, range from 1.7 to 2.5 million out of a 1975 population of roughly 8 million.

Later in the afternoon, after seeing the acres upon acres of massacre sights, a monument that was filled with the skulls of the victims and a museum of artifacts, I sat beside a flagpole exhausted and overwhelmed. I was grappling with the destruction and loss, feeling completely undone and physically ill. When a noise from across the fence caught my attention. It was a noise that didn’t fit in my present state of mind. It rang with hope and a future. It was the most joy filled noise I could have heard.

The sound was children laughing.

I don’t know who’s idea it was to establish a elementary school right next to a killing field, but I’m glad they did. Hearing the children playing and laughing reminded me of the hope that endures through pain and suffering. It’s a hope that promises a future, promises that the pain of the past will ease with time. It’s a hope that overcomes and celebrates. Its a hope that stands up and declares that the darkness of the past has no hold on us today.