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Dreaming is
what I do best. If it wasn’t for dreams and the
unpredictable escapades into the quirky fictional world of
the imagination, I’d say life would be pretty dull.
To dream means to exult oneself in the wild, erratic
fantasies of the mind… it’s how creative you are that brings
you to your point of destination.
I have had many childhood dreams, countless adolescent
dreams, which really are uncontrollable most of the time,
but one dream which comes almost frequently, finds itself in
the inner core or my mind is the one of “returning to
Vietnam”.
I have fantasized about this experience from the time I set
foot on Australian soils almost 11 years ago. Being only 4
yrs of age when
I hit the Sydney Terminal, I was wildly excited to
integrate into this somewhat peculiar yet intriguing
country. A land of discovery, freedom, prosperity and more.
From that moment,
I made up my mind that I will never part with this land
ever!
I was brought up just like any other Aussie kid, given the
same treatment, and a chance to mingle with everyone. It
all seemed like the lucky jackpot - I hit a streak didn’t
I? And yes, I did actually. Growing up down under was an
amazing feeling, yet during this time I was never free of
stories of Vietnam. I taught myself to learn about the
history of my mother country, dear old
Vietnam with its ever distinctive smells… how could I ever
forget?
But it never drew to my attention how much I had missed it
already. I was too occupied in the engaging circle of
“modern Aussie life” without realising how little influence
my Vietnamese background had on me.
It was then that I started my line of erratic dreams, of
what I thought it would be like if I returned to Vietnam.
What would I see? What would I do?
I could already unjumble the pieces of information I got
from listening to the elders, all those fragmented pieces of
my war-torn country and its hidden beauty, which was kept
from me for some time. I knew it was to remind me how
fortunate I was to be in Australia, and to know there are
much worse-off conditions in Vietnam. Once I proved old
enough to understand, they began telling me the true
wonders of Vietnam – the diversity, scenic sites, the
delicacy of the people and the authentic cuisine.
I was overcome with nostalgia, this sudden bittersweet
longing for my mother – country. Visions came to me of
“Vietnam”.
The streets of Saigon City greeted me with an ear-spitting,
thrumming burst from the exhausts of half-a-dozen
motorbikes. I look around and see a mixture of people, food,
objects, Hondas and Harleys, weaving a kaleidoscope of
colour against the garish signs and glazy glamour of the
exhibits.
Mouldering shops, the uninviting language of those
quarrelling come fitfully, the bargaining and gambling of
passer-buyers, the iridescent scent of fish are most evident
to life on the market.
The street are the market, which means everything is
constantly a buzz and bizarre too, with pedestrians and
traffickers alike – sharing the same road. Then there is the
usual baking heat, which comes as a nuisance to farmers on
their outcrops. I exhaled triumphantly feeling a sense of
rebellion… this is city-life on the go and it felt
wonderful.
After my venture through the populated, heavy traffic area,
I found myself in the serene side – East of Vietnam. Here
lay the junction of three muddy paths and the now silent,
empty village deeper into the glen. Giant fig trees loomed
their ancient branches against the sky as children played
on the half- cobbled, half-dirt pathway. They were out
rightly defying their parents who already told them it
wasn’t safe.
I shuffled through the sodden undergrowth, finding it
rather difficult to balance myself. Here I found myself
surrounded by trees which held enormous Durians and what
the English call “The Hairy Fruit”. How well was I
accustomed to the scent!. A dainty fellow approached me, a
face that launched a thousand yrs of wisdom yet vitality. I
figured he was the owner of this exquisite garden. He asked
me if I’d needed any assistance but I replied with a grin
that I was just a mere observer who had longed to see the
site. He did not take my reply upon seriously, and asked my
what was to be my task. My reply was “I am a Human Rights
lawyer for Ethnic backgrounds”. His face lit immediately and
he reached for my hand which he cupped in his and squeezed
it. “Thank
you”, he said.
And I made for
the highway again, feeling exuberant and rather optimistic
you might say. I tell myself this is my forte – to endeavour
to work focusing on the plight of the dispossessed , with
Vietnam as my key country. “Mrs Monica Bich Ha” -
widely acclaimed HR lawyer and “Young Australian Of The
Year”.
It was then
that I heard the fiendish rattle of the trams and buses
making hurry down the street.
Back to
reality.
The four grim
walls of my bedroom study seemed to find some unpleasant
core in me and feed it. It was through dreaming that I
gained fulfillment
by coming to love and treasure both lands – Australia and
Vietnam.
I couldn’t help
smiling at myself, at the incongruity of life, its wilfull
quirkiness that never failed to surprise or delight me.
The young see
visions but the old dream dreams. |
