Not This, Not That ~ I SETTLE DOWN
FOR A WHILE
During
my stay in Singapore, I got another tourist-visa for
Oz, and flew out to Adelaide. Sheila and Frank were
about to visit their daughter in Melbourne (where
she’d moved with her army-husband), so I went
with them and was dropped at Yew’s place, staying
with him for a couple of weeks until Liem insisted
I move to his place as more convenient, saying his
wife could cook for me. More convenient? Far from
it, as his little daughter, Diana, was such a pest
and didn’t give me a minute’s peace; I
had to barricade myself in my room to get away from
her! One night, he took me to a talk by Thich Huynh
Ton, and there I met Nguyen Van Cam, who
was pleased to see me again, and I him, especially
when he invited me to stay with him, providing me
with an excuse to escape from Liem and his whirlwind
daughter. I was with him for two weeks, then returned
to Adelaide. I bought a second-hand Brother
electronic typewriter which I needed for my writing;
immediately, it became my pride-and-joy; after using
that, I could never have gone back to a manual machine.
Unwilling to let me escape so easily, Liem contacted
me to say he’d arranged for me to stay at the
Vietnamese temple in Springvale (one of Melbourne’s
eastern suburbs where there is a large concentration
of Vietnamese), so back I went. The monk-in-charge
didn’t know much English and wasn’t very
hospitable, but I’d long-since given up expecting
much of monks. It was at this temple that I met Nguyen
Phi Tuan, who was to become my main translator
over the next few years. He was working as a translator
in one of Melbourne’s largest hospitals, but
called himself an interpreter; I insisted that what
he should be doing was translating rather than interpreting,
as a translator ~ well, the word ‘translate’
means, ‘to tell across’ ~ must tell accu-rately
what is being said by others, while interpretation
is often a matter of giving one’s own ideas
of what is said; there’s a great deal of difference.
He was still single at that time, but had a girlfriend
whom he loved, and apparently, she loved him, but
she was a Catholic and wanted him to convert. Well,
although he wasn’t more than a nominal Buddhist
at that time, he was reluc-tant to change, and finally,
after he’d brought her to see me and she realized
I didn’t believe in God, she dumped him, leaving
him free to look for someone else.
During the three months I was in that temple, Liem
persuaded me to apply for a change-of-status in my
visa so I could get Permanent Residence, in order
to work with the Vietnamese Buddhists. With sponsorship
of the temple, my application was duly lodged, and
I was told to await consideration; meanwhile, I could
stay in the country. (To fast-forward a bit here:
It was a lengthy process, and at one point, it looked
as if my application would be rejected, but eventually,
it was approved, and I got P.R. In 1993, I was eligible
for citizenship, and duly underwent the ceremony.
Not long afterwards, I got my first Aussie pass-port).
I have Liem to thank, therefore, for all this.
I went to Sydney again for a short visit, and stayed
with Dao Cong Tam at the Cao Dai temple-house. While
there, during lunch one day, I reached for the bottle
of chilli-sauce, and not knowing that he’d not
screwed the cap on firmly, gave it a vigor-ous shake,
but the cap came off and the sauce went all over the
place, including me; I was covered with the stuff!
Needless to say, we had a good laugh over this!
Baker Vo visited me and took me to stay overnight
in his new place ~ a bakery he and his family were
operating. I was pleased to see that they were doing
well. Other people drove me out to visit Khantipalo
at a center he’d established in a national park
north of Sydney, near a place called ‘Wiseman’s
Ferry.’ It was in the middle of a forest and
really lovely; it was good to see him again after
an interval of so many years. Actually, it would have
been good to stay with him, as I think we would have
benefited from each other’s company. Looking
back later on, I could see that even then, he was
in a period of transition.
Back in Melbourne, at a big Buddhist ceremony held
in a town-hall, I bumped into someone I’d met
in Galang two years earlier ~ Thuy, a lady
and her two young sons, Tuan and Huy.
She had been kind me to me in Galang, and her kindness
would continue. She introduced me to her sister and
some of her friends, who would also soon help me.
While there, Liem ~ who had his own agenda concerning
me, and wanted to use me for his own ends, always
wanting to be someone special ~ and others decided
to rent a place for me; Liem brought a lot of old
junk for my use: a refrigerator that didn’t
work, a saucepan with a hole in the bottom, and a
kettle that leaked; perhaps he thought they’d
work for me and not for him because I’m a monk;
people have such unrealistic expecta-tions of monks.
Then, just two weeks after I’d moved in, he
came to me and said, “I don’t know what
we’re going to do; the money is almost finished.”
I told him he should have thought carefully before
getting into this thing, and that they would have
to give notice on the place, which they did. Just
before I left there, he came to me one evening and
quite cheerfully told me that he’d argued with
his wife and hit her in the face, knocking her down,
and she was just two weeks away from giving birth
to their second child! Now, she wasn’t a nice
woman, but that was beside the point.
“You’re mad!” I said, “Get
out of here and never come to see me again!”
I meant it and kept to it. This was a person who used
to drink so much that he boasted he could drink twelve
cans of beer and not get drunk! He’d been a
monk for a short time in Vietnam, had a de facto wife
there and a child by her, and hadn’t married
the one in Melbourne either. He told me that he didn’t
love her, and that he’d had so many
other women. He was a driving-instructor, and proudly
used to tell people that he could earn $2,000 per
week and was richer than the doctors in Springvale.
Earned? No; what he would do was take three
or four people in the car with him at the same time,
and charge them all for the time they were with him,
so what should have been just one fee for each hour
became four! Also, just before taking his students
for their test, he would tell them, “Look, you
have to pay another $100 or $150, otherwise you won’t
pass.” He was in cahoots with the examiners.
From me, he earned an extra name: Dien, which
is Vietnamese for crazy so, Liem Dien. Of
course, my chasing him off caused him to get mad with
me, and he told someone, “Okay, I will stop
being vegetarian.”
“What,” I responded, “Was he vegetarian
for me?” This was just another example of his
scrambled ideas. Some years later, he decided to become
a monk again, so left his de-facto and moved to Sydney,
where he was unknown. His ‘wife’ got half
of his assets, which came to ~ I was told ~ $480,000,
just her half! By this time, she had three
children.
Somehow, Thanh Pham Hung found me staying in Richmond;
he was living not far away, and came to visit; we
were to keep in touch after that.
Because I had no-where else to stay in Melbourne,
I moved back to Adelaide; it’s 800 km between
the two cities, and I used to travel by overnight
bus; it took ten hours. Back in Melbourne, some of
the other supporters had got together and found an-other
place for me to stay ~ a small flat in Springvale
~ and in-vited me to return, and after 6 weeks in
Adelaide, I did, but stayed for a while with friends
of Thuy in the western suburbs until the flat was
ready for me to move in. This family was very kind
to me, but I observed that when the father ~ a bit
younger than me ~ came home from work, the first thing
he did was tell his 7-year-old son to bring him a
glass of whiskey; this was a daily routine, but not,
in my opinion, a very good example for the boy. Years
later, the father died of a sudden heart attack, and
the boy turned to drugs.
At the end of ’89, I moved into the flat in
Springvale and cleaned it up, making it quite livable.
We met every Sunday, and I gave a talk, followed by
a questions-and-answers session, and ending up eating
the food people had brought. At first, we set the
start-ing-time at one o’clock, but because some
people came late, we changed it to 1:30. Still people
came late, so we set it further back, but with no
better effect, and I used to say, “How do you
people manage to get to work on time? You do manage,
other-wise you’d lose your jobs; but how do
you do it? You can do it if you want, so why don’t
you?” This is really a very bad Asian habit,
and I came to the conclusion that it's either consciously
or unconsciously done, in order to show how important
they are and that others must wait for them. My efforts
to correct the late-comers was in vain. Translator
Tuan was one of the consistently late comers.
I settled down to my writing, and was persuaded by
Nguyen Van Cam to make a book of talks I’d given
in VRC in ’83, and which he had transcribed
from tapes, I wrote my third book, and called it LOTUS
PETALS. Mdm Leung of HK helped me get it printed
there, but when it arrived, I was shocked. The title
on the cover had been spelled LOUTS PETALS.
I immediately had to type labels to be stuck over
and correct this, and sent them to those who parcels
of the book had been sent to. It took quite a while
to type the thousand labels, one-by-one. It’s
hard to have to de-pend upon others to do things these
days. Some people might call me fussy ~ I’ve
even been called a perfectionist, but that was by
someone who had no idea of perfection, if there is
such a thing ~ but I feel that something like this
should be well-done or not at all.
Following Lotus Petals came the second version
of Keys For Refugees; I called it DOWN
TO EARTH, and it was printed In Malaysia, and
sent by sea-mail. Then came TURNING THE WHEEL,
which included most of the articles from Just
A Few Leaves, and LET ME SEE, a book
of short poems and proverbs with accompanying comments
or explanations. Helped by one or two others, Tuan
assisted me in translating some of them; I typed out
the translation from his hand-written notes, and found
quite a few errors while doing so; I read Vietnamese,
even if I do not understand very much, but there are
several ways by which I can tell if a translation
is accurate or not even so. The diacritical marks
were added afterwards. My time in that flat was quite
productive in this way, but otherwise quiet and uneventful.
Tuan, by this time, had met someone in the hospital
where he worked ~ a young woman who’d been through
hell at the hands of Thai pirates when she escaped
from Vietnam; they’d attacked her boat ~ as
they had so many others ~ killed several people, and
abducted her and some other women; you can guess her
fate until she managed to escape and get to Bangkok.
When she finally got to Australia, she was extremely
traumatized and responded to Tuan’s kindness
and concern while she was in hospital for a check-up;
he mistook her response for love, and things went
on from there, and the next thing you know, she was
pregnant. I wouldn’t write about them like this
if I thought they might read this later on, but since
they’re not great readers, there is little chance
they will. Tuan is not much of a catch, almost bald,
suffering from psoriasis and looking older than he
is; moreover, he is her senior by sixteen years; and
while he might have loved her, she didn’t love
him, or at least, her affection for him soon faded.
I regret having pressured them to marry offi-cially
instead of living de facto; my reason for doing so
was to prevent them from following one of the prevailing
scams and claiming child-support as an unmarried mother.
Over the years, several times I had to intercede on
his behalf and calm her down when she was threatening
to tear up their marriage-certificate, saying she
didn’t love him and wanted a divorce; I explained
that although he wasn’t the world’s most-handsome
or best man, he was a good man even so. This wasn’t
enough to prevent her from actually carrying out her
threats, and twice, she took the kids ~ by then, they
had two, a boy and a girl ~ and left him, but he followed
and persuaded her to return. Imagine how he felt to
be under such a cloud! More than once, he said to
me, “You are so wise to remain single.”
“Look here,” I replied, “no-one
made you get married; you were desperate to do so,
and now you’ve got what you desired so much,
you are not happy. No-one has everything,” I
went on; “You have things that I don’t
have, and I have things that you don’t have,
but would you change places with me if you could?”
It was in this flat that I met Ho Van Nhi,
a young guy who’d been in VRC in ’82,
but we’d not met there; he was introduced to
me by someone who had been his teacher in Vietnam.
Then there was Mai (‘Maisy’), although
I don’t recall how we met. She was in her early
thirties, still single, and on the look-out; Nhi soon
caught her eye, and they started going out together.
At this time, too, I began visiting a dentist-friend
for treatment. His name was Jamie Robertson, a remarkable
person. I’d come to know him through Hoa in
Brisbane, who had met him when he visited VRC in Palawan
in ’83 for a month (I didn’t meet him
there, as our visits didn’t coincide). He’d
also been to India and set up a clinic in Dharamsala
for Tibetans, and trained several people there, even
sponsoring some to come to Melbourne to study. And
all this on his own expense! Later, he would start
to visit Vietnam on a yearly basis, spending a month
each time in the clinic he’d established there.
This was really Buddhism in ac-tion! Over the following
years, I would be his patient many times, and he always
treated me without charge.
While watching the TV news one night, I saw a flash
about a Buddhist gathering in Melbourne, and noticed
a familiar face among the monks involved: Santitthito,
who I’d not seen since 1973! I managed to track
him down and requested him to give a talk the next
Sunday in my place. I notified people and many more
than usual came on that day so we held it on the lawn
be-side the flat. We kept him supplied with lemonade
as he spoke, but he was like a camel, and drank so
many glasses that he had to get up halfway to go to
the toilet. He had remained within the monastic system,
and meeting him again assured me that I had not done
the wrong thing in going off on my own, even though
I lacked the safety-net, so to speak, that he had.
At one point, Thanh came from Florida to visit me
and stayed for two weeks, but being the overly-romantic
guy he was, soon fell in love with one of our Aussie
friends, a married woman quite a bit older than him;
I don’t know if his feelings were reciprocated,
but I wasn’t very pleased with him.
During a visit back to Gawler, a letter arrived from
England for mum, and she couldn’t imagine who
it was from; she asked me to read it for her, and
I hadn’t gone far when she realized it was from
someone who’d been her first boy-friend when
she was working as a house-maid in Wallasey; that
was over 60 years before! She’d been very fond
of him ~ his name was Jim ~ but they drifted apart
because as a plumber’s apprentice, he had to
work odd hours and wasn’t always able to meet
her when she had time off. She’d then met my
dad, but had never forgotten Jim. He had also not
forgotten her. He told her that he’d raised
a family, but had never really been happy with his
wife, and some time after she died, he tried to trace
my mother, going to Bur-wardsley and making inquiries
there. Eventually, he met some-one who told him she’d
gone to Australia, and gave him the phone-number of
Bob in Tattenhall, and from him got mum’s address
in Gawler. Well, she was over-the-moon for the rest
of the day and the next; she always said that she’d
married the wrong man. But poor dad didn’t share
her joy, and said to her, “You’re not
going to go to him, are you?”
“Of course not!” she said, but the idea
of doing so if dad died first stemmed from that letter.
Meanwhile, she started to corre-spond with him, and
he sent her chocolates and other gifts, and even offered
to pay for her ticket if she would visit him.
"It
is important that we reflect upon the kindness of
others. This realization is a fruit of cultivating
empathy. We must recognize how our fortune is really
dependent upon the cooperation and contributions of
others. Every aspect of our present well-being is
due to hard work on the part of others. As we look
around us at the buildings we live and work in, the
roads we travel, the clothes we wear, or the food
we eat, we must acknowledge that all are provided
by others. None of these would exist for us to enjoy
and make use of were it not for the kindness of so
many people un-known to us. As we contemplate in this
manner, our appreciation for others grows, as does
our empathy and closeness to them."
~ The Dalai Lama: An Open Heart ~
It is a peculiar conceit of many so-called religious
people that they think they know everything to be
known; this is probably because, feeling insecure
and miniscule in the immensity of the universe, they
grasp at things that give them a much-needed feeling
of security, hence the con-tinuation of untenable
doctrines and beliefs that should have been discarded
long ago.
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