We Are Here (39 page)

I swear.

The Chief Justice spoke of commitment to contributing to the legal profession. That duty required us to do so by upholding ethics and standards of excellence. I drank in every word. After his speech, I looked around this bastion of the legal fraternity, surrounded by portraits of forbears of the profession. An institution of prominence. I saw myself as an overgrown child in the middle of this prestigious court—an emblem of achievement, arbiter of truth. The sea of faces, young and old, was awash with respect inside this honourable chamber.
I am here.

Everyone in the court stood up while the bench of judges filed out. As people hurried down the corridor to the lifts, I remained behind with my parents until we were alone outside the Banco Court. My mother, a former law student who was robbed of what I had now become, stood humbly that day—almost swallowed by the imposing carpet of level fourteen. My parents would later tell me that when they’d left Vietnam they never could have dreamed of such a moment: standing inside the Supreme Court of New South Wales as their daughter became a lawyer. I looked at my parents with their constant terrible memories hovering just beneath their skin; I thought of landmines, of wet footprints in Cambodian jungles, of sewing machines, steel-capped boots, boxes of vegetables from wholesale markets and unpaid bills from far, far away, streaking around us like a snake of coloured lights. I saw a young woman huddled in the middle of the night
in a rice field close to the Vietnam–Cambodia border, clutching a baby, as gunshots exploded in the dark. I saw a young man inside a barbed-wire compound, separated from his wife, ready to take his own life. And now they stood before me.

I sobbed into my father’s shoulder as he patted my back. All I could say was a muffled, ‘Thank you.’

It had been a long and turbulent journey. The three of us held each other awkwardly; it was a rare moment of physical affection that I relished. I longed for us to be like that forever. We stayed like that for a long time, none of us knowing what to say, how to express all that we felt: that this was an arrival at a destination that for so long our hearts and souls had humbly hoped for, had silently suffered for, barely having enough courage to dream it would come true.

As my mother finally pulled away, she squeezed my hand. She softly smiled through her tears as the staff ushered us towards the lifts.
We are here.

Acknowledgements

This book was written to honour my family, especially my parents. I am indebted to them for demonstrating and teaching me grace, humility, courage and dignity. I thank my brother Văn for paving the way and my brother Vinh for his unrelenting wisdom and belief in me. To my cousin H
i, I wish you peace. To my patient husband, Tony, thank you for being my source of strength and allowing me to be vulnerable. I thank my best friend, Caroline, a true sister who through the most difficult times is my lighthouse. To Chris Butler, thank you for your faith and occasional wit. To Oliver Phommavanh for first demonstrating all is possible. There are many people mentioned in the book who played an integral role in my life. They have healed me, transformed me and helped me to come closer to myself. To these people, I thank you and wish you true happiness.

I am so grateful to the team at Allen & Unwin for their support, especially for the efforts and insights of Annette Barlow, Siobhán Cantrill and Ali Lavau. I would especially like to thank Richard Walsh, who in 2007 read an article in the
Sydney Morning Herald
and with great clarity saw a woman with a story to tell. Over six years, Richard encouraged and worked with me. Thank you deeply, Richard, for your vision and your illuminating conversations.

To my uncle, H
ng Khanh, who disappeared somewhere in Cambodia—may your spirit rest in peace as you watch over us. To all the unnamed people who helped us leave Vietnam, especially the French-speaking Cambodian man whose sarong I hold as I write this, you delivered my mother to safety. Without your compassion, I would not be. Wherever you are, thank you. Finally, we are grateful to the numerous others who assisted us to settle in Australia and gave us hope—whether a smile, a black- and-white television or a phone to call home, we cannot forget the kindness of strangers. May we hold onto a sense of humanity and remember the power of a simple gesture of kindness.