“They very exciting ha?’ Lee was a small woman whose eyes turn into mere slits whenever she smiled, which was always. The manner of our acquaintance actually began with her smiling in my direction a lot, at first shyly as we pick up our daughters from the local primary school, and then becoming more at ease and familiar until today when she said those words: “They very exciting—ha?” 

She was referring to the children who were gathered noisily in the school common area for the monthly assembly. I smiled generously myself, shrugging off her English language error. I had worked as an editor at one point in my life and so I was in the habit of consciously correcting sentences in my head. This had been useful in my home country the Philippines, who has adopted the English language as one of its main lingua franca—and in fact associates with it prejudices to social standing and education (ie. the better English you speak and write, the more educated and upper class you are perceived to be).  

But this is another place; multiculturalism in Victoria encourages tolerance for people from all backgrounds. Which means that for people like Lee and I, we can survive and make a living with only functional English. An Anglo Australian friend said, “What matters is you try.” And Lee certainly tries, and tries very hard. That began our conversations, as we wait for the bell to ring when we pick up our daughters. It was obviously a big step for Lee to make friends outside of her own ethnic circle. I have heard there were many people from her culture who had stayed in Australia for many, many years with no other acquaintance outside of their families—and barely knowing a word of English. 

A year ago in fact a Vietnamese woman became the victim of a hit and run driver in Sunshine and left for dead on the streets. A police investigation revealed she had no relatives and friends and the only people who knew of her existence were people she had worked with in a Footscray factory for many years. Since there were no relatives to mourn her, the community lit candles one night to mark her passing. It is so easy to slip into oblivion in this country if nobody cares. Filipinos are different. I’ve always believed Filipinos can adjust to whatever environment and reinvent themselves according to the situation.  We try so hard to adapt, sometimes we lose our own identity—but that is the bane of my own culture. 

Having this kind of exposure in the West, I treated my acquaintance with Lee with care. So much so that I could not overtly invite her to community activities of which I have then started to grow active in. A “no” meant a no; a “I see–ok?” meant she was not going to come. So we scored a hit when she finally said yes to participating in a community survey and then later on a community-sponsored business course in the local university. We attended these together and our acquaintance grew into a budding friendship. The business course was programmed to provide a friendly and non-intimidating educational environment to students, who came from Neighbourhood Renewal areas.

It was just the right setting for Lee to slowly ease into. Though it was a struggle for her to participate, after some time Lee’s confidence had grown. Four months into the course, she suddenly spoke to the whole class and told her story as a refugee from Vietnam. She escaped on a boat with her sister and mother, she said, when she was a small girl. They only had the clothes on their back and begged for food whenever the boat would reach land. After some time on the boat, they were all taken to a detention camp, where they stayed for a couple of years. 

“Very, very hard,” she said in her halting English, still smiling. Food was scarce and rationed. At one time her mother hid some bread between her breasts to bring to her and her sister. The guard found out and she was punished gravely. What punishment was inflicted on her mother I did not dare ask. All I know is that Lee always speak with respect when talking of her mother. Should her mother hurt her now I knew she would stoop even lower to accept more blows, with nary a word of complaint. 

Lee and her broken family were finally assimilated to Australia. Her mum is one of those who could not speak English. The whole family still lives on one roof, eventhough both daughters are now married with respective families. “How do you sleep?” one student in the business course asked. “One bed, one family,” she said with that smile you cannot wipe off her face. The student's eyes widened slightly, perhaps thinking of the discomfort of having to share a bed with a whole family. But when you come from a refugee camp this slight discomfort could be heaven really. Lee failed to hold the class’ attention for long that day.

After a long and uncomfortable pause after she had told her story, someone steered the conversation to a more easy topic. It is hard to deal with matters unfamiliar, especially if they are stories outside the “No worries” culture of Australia. 

*** 

Later on I asked Lee when her birthday was so that I could greet her on her special day. “Dunno,” she said, shaking her head. “How old are you Lee?” was my follow up question. 

“Dunno. Mum forgot,” she said, a small laughter bubbling up from her chest. I thought then how beautiful it was not to be bogged down with many of the baggages assailing many of us. Here was a woman whose only preoccupation was survival, preferably with her family.

*** 

Very rarely do I see Lee nowadays. The last time we crossed paths in the local church, she seemed happy to see me. A granddaughter in Singapore was undergoing a surgery she said, for an illness that didn't seem fit for children. "You pray ok? You tell your mum, pray ok?" Ok Lee, okay.

"You different, I see. You good girlfriend." And she smiled that smile of hers, with a trust that, as everything else in her life thus far, everything will turn out right. ###