On the Qantas airplane, looking around rows and seats, I recognized that I was the only Vietnamese "stateless man." I felt a little embarrassed. However, it was a good time for me to re-think and to clarify what had happened to my life since the last attempt fleeing overseas.

- I had been recued by an American ship after only three days and nights on the high seas while so many other boatpeople had encountered numerous challenges and sufferings, on one side because of the rigorous high seas, and because of cruel pirates on the other side.
- How come that I had so many choices being accepted by American INS - even though I had to kind of "kick it out -", being possibly accepted by Australian Consulate if I could disobey to my superior, and also being accepted by the French Consulate - even though it was more or less "willy-nilly"... while so many other boatpeople had waited for years at the refugee camp and still hoped against any hope to be able one day to resettle in any country of their dream?
- ...

Thinking and re-thinking of the ups-and-downs that happened in my rolling-life since the events of '75 made me fall peacefully asleep, dreaming a new hope for myself and for my confreres and relatives.

A certain sounds made me awake. Two flight attendants, each on one side, slowly walked alongside from top to tail spraying something like jets of water on the wall of the plane. Many passengers’ reaction was uneasy and angry. When arriving nearby me, I didn’t know whether intentionally or not, the flight attendant sprayed directly on me. I failed to protest, really frustrated. He said, "Sorry!" I remembered that, for a long time before in Vietnam, I had heard from the relatives’ boatpeople rescued by any foreign ships that they were sprayed something like that on their whole body. But when I had been rescued by the American ship, I didn’t see anything that happened like that.

The plane was about to land at Sydney International airport. Like a countryman going to a big city for the first time, I followed other passengers, looking at them and doing "exactly" what they did. Standing in line in front of several windows where officers controlled legal papers/documents, I saw the passengers hold in their hands something like small booklet with covers of different colors, blue, green, gray, red, etc. I didn’t have anything like theirs. I felt more anxious.

I presented all papers/documents I had. The officer looked at me. He turned sheet by sheet of my "pile of papers" seemingly looking for something. He questioned me about something I didn’t understand. I replied just by shaking my head. He stood up then went to say something to another officer. This one made sign to call me and led me into a small room. Like the previous officer, he seemed to look for something from the my documents while whispering something like "... amazing!... strange!..." I looked out at the big room, no more passengers. I was really anxious, guessing that Brother Nicet Lieâm, whom I had informed of my trip and asked to pick me up at the airport, would be anxious like me.

The officer suddenly shouted out, joyfully, "Oh! Oh! Here! Strange visa!" He then shook my hands saying, "OK! You’re welcome to Australia for thirty days! Enjoy!"

Brother Nicet Lieâm had waited for me for over two hours! He drove me to the community of Marrickville where five or six Australian Brothers and Brother Marcel Phöôùc, a Vietnamese refugee who had come to Australia in 1975, cordially welcomed me.

***

Brother Collins - sitting on my left at the above photo - was to drive to the Boys Town Center near Brisbane. I profited from the occasion to accompany him to go to Brisbane to visit my benefactor Baùc Ba, mother-in-law of my friend Reùmy Hieån. It was so long a trip that we had to stop by Adelaide, passing overnight at a La Salle community St. Michael’s College. Here too, the Australian Brothers welcomed me as their brother and friend as if we had known each other for a long time before.

On the zigzag road to Brisbane, Brother Collins’ car collided by accident with another car at the rear. It was not too serious an accident, however. Brother Collins confided, "I have been driving for years since I was twenty-one years old. This is the first accident I ever had..." A few moments later, he continued, "My family had been saving money for years and could at last get a second hand car. Even after more than ten years passed, my father didn’t get any new one to replace the old one. But you guys, Vietnamese refugees, who have been in Australia just for a few months, could buy new car, brand new with a brand name like Honda, Toyota, even Audi or BMW... I cannot understand that..." Amazed, but I didn’t really know how to reply.

Brother Collins passed by Boys Town Center, since he wanted to drive me to Brisbane first. I telephoned to Baùc Ba from a corner road junctions, the "nearest" to her house because I didn’t have her exact home address. Mrs. Vaân, Baùc Ba’s daughter, came to drive me home. Brother Collins told me that in three days, he’ll be there, exactly at this place, to drive me back to Sydney.

***

Baùc Ba had been standing at the front door waiting for me. How to express moving joy and happiness seeing again my benefactor whom I had respected and lovingly considered as my godmother? In fact, I had last seen her in Thu Duc on a tragically challenging moment in July 24, 1983 at her house (Cf. Journal 1, page 344.) So many things that had happened and were to be recalled, starting from that evening, and on the high seas, and at the moment we were rescued by the American ship, about Reùmy Hieån’s family life in Palawan Refugee Camp...

On this occasion, the couple Ñöùc AÙi & Nga came to visit me at Baùc Ba’s house. AÙi had been the head of the administration of the Palawan Refugee Camp when I was in the quarantine house and it was he who invited me to be head of the education (CEO). He and his wife, Nga, had been admitted into Australia a few months before. I recalled to him the event of "impeachment of the ‘president’ Haûo" in April, 1984, when Reùmy Hieån was elected to replace him...

Three days passed, so fast. Brother Collins was really on time, picking me up at the assigned location and drove me back to Sidney.

***

Brother Nicet Lieâm was really nice, booking for me an air ticket to Melbourne. Brother Beùnilde Tín picked me up from the airport there and drove me to the community of De La Salle Brothers in Mentone. Here for the first time since the events of 1975, I saw a traditional community: all Brothers wore the traditional black robe and white rabbat for the Office Hours and Eucharist - even with the traditional "manteau noir" for the communion.

Brother Beùnilde Tín drove me to visit Haûi’s family. Haûi had been in the Petit-Novitiate at Mont La Salle Nhatrang in 1962-1964 school years. Perhaps the Vietnamese refugees who had been resettled in Melbourne only a short time, needed more time to really adapt to the new life, therefore they wouldn’t have time and chance to get in touch with each other. Furthermore, their houses were so far away from each other that the inter-relations between them were not that easy.

Back to Sydney, I had a good opportunity to visit the center for unaccompanied minors whom the Australian government had accepted to be resettled in Australia. These minors along with a number of boatpeople had fled overseas and arrived directly on different beaches of Australia since the end of the 70’s and the beginning of the 80’s. Brother Prosper Baù, who successfully fled overseas in 1977 (Cf. Journal 1, page 191,) was included in one of these groups.

There were several independent groups of unaccompanied minors in Sydney. Each group was composed of about ten people; and Brother Prosper was the head of one of these so-called families. I was delighted knowing that these young adults expressed their gratitude to Brother Prosper living among them, caring about everything for them as their mother and father. They were waiting for opportunity to sponsor their parents, brothers and sisters, thanks to the ODP program.

I also had opportunity to visit some friends of mine, e.g. ex-bother Venant Giaùo’s family, some former Juniors from La Salle Thu Duc, like Haân and Ñöùc (Dalat), and some former students from many LaSallian schools in Vietnam before 1975. By these visits, I realized that former students and friends more or less relating to the La Salle Education System in Vietnam, regardless of social and economic situations and of religion, still had kept a very good memory about the La Salle Schools in Vietnam.

***

Thirty days had passed, so fast. Brother Nicet and two of my former students, Haân and Ñöùc, drove to me to the international Sydney airport to begin my new adventure in New Caledonia...