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| 'Every morning, we scatter and fly away like the birds but as night comes we return to the nest talking and laughing happily, on and on.' |
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| Painting by Le Van Tai, Melbourne, Australia. |
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| Our dream house: 'At last we had put a permanent mark on the earth, solid and stable. There would be no more wandering up and down, constantly unsettled.' |
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| Photo by Le Van Tai, 1999. |
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Vietnamese translation
Listen to Le Van Tai, interviewed by Claudia Taranto,
on Verbatim, ABC Radio National's social history program,
Saturday 8 March, 2003.
We had bought our dream house in Melbourne West, Footscray. I call it our 'dream house' because throughout our long process of resettlement we had nurtured an unassuming and simple wish - starting with two empty hands, to build up and invest for our future in Australia.
We were grateful to find a place to stop, an end to our migrations. Our feet were weary of running from place to place. At last we had put a permanent mark on the earth, solid and stable. There would be no more wandering up and down, constantly unsettled.
Our house lay on a quiet street. On both sides of the road were rows of old, shady ash trees. It reminded me of the olden times where horses' hooves sounded on the gravel roads and the silvery six-horse carriages imported from Europe by the first waves of white immigrants. Today, these sounds have been replaced by the noise of the Melbourne link buses driving by and the horn of the train from Footscray West station echoing.
Near us is Barkly Village, a very busy street of shops, where crowds of people come and go. It has quite a big supermarket and most of the public services we need - banks, a post office, a library, Asian grocery shops, newsagents, restaurants, all built up in line.
Every morning, we scatter and fly away like the birds but as night comes we return to the nest talking and laughing happily, on and on. 'Here is our dream home!' I often called out on the homeward way, when the roof appeared after the welcoming turn-off from Barkly Street.
When the warm nest had developed the settled smell of a well-lived-in home, I knew I wanted to have more foliage, shady trees, and a surrounding landscape like the one I used to live with. Watering a flower garden of our own, I also watered the neighbour's flowers. Hearing my neighbours' calls and greetings, I learnt how to get the most out of 'yes' and 'no', my only two words of English. Deeper and more closely I shared together in the living circumstances of the people on my street. Sometimes, when I heard people speak, I didn't know what they were saying. I used my eyes to see and guess: this lady's voice, that man's, maybe sounds to me like a Russian, Yugoslavian, Bulgarian, French, Italian . . .
On any normal day there seemed to be a huge number of differences between the people here, who have come from all parts of the world. I didn't even know how to interpret their gestures - a nod of the head, a shrug of the shoulders, or a raised hand waving. But I saw, after each time they spoke or greeted each other, they would hug warmly and give each other friendly kisses. It was this sight that led me to call my street 'the street of lovers from four directions.'
(Please note: this is one of a series of nineteen stories by poet and painter, Le Van Tai, about his journey from his past in Vietnam to his present and future in Footscray. Please click on 'Related stories' at the top left side of this page to go to Tai's other stories.)
Copyright Imagine The Future Inc. and Australian Film Commission, 2002.
Text by Le Van Tai for ITF.
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