by Michele Lee
Of course I’m coming back to Melbourne in four months and everything will be the same as it is now but when I think about it, I feel like I’ve just run a race that went around in lots of circles, without a finishing line. I head on through the security gates and then I’m on the other side, and I can’t go back.
Dear Michele,
I thought this might make you laugh. I got chased by two dogs this morning.
I’ve been going for jogs since I got to Laos. Otherwise I spend so much time in my guesthouse room. My Asialink host did contact me but to arrange to take me out to lunch, where he assured me that he wouldn’t take up my time with work and that he’d even show me the countryside. He hasn’t asked me to spend any time in his office being a resident artist, which means I have no residency to undertake and so I spend a lot of time on my arse in my room writing.
Yesterday I jogged up towards the Victory Gate Monument. I looped around it, cutting through the gardens on the paved path, and then came back to my guesthouse. It took me about twenty-five minutes and I was quite pleased with the work-out. I preferred it to running along by the Mekong, which I’d been doing other days.
This morning at about 6:30 a. m. (I keep getting up early, it’s hard adjusting to Vientiane time) I went the same route. At the fancier guesthouse further up on my street, the dog out the front with the weird eyes growled at me. I slowed and then backed away and he still growled. I jumped and ran and he chased but didn’t gain ground. He let me be. As I turned onto Lane Xang, I saw a small dog with fairly normal eyes and near him a Lao man in a guard’s uniform sweeping the path. The man didn’t pay me any attention but the dog saw me jogging, regarded me with some interest and then started chasing me. It was if he’d just made up his mind that moment to go from not caring to having to pursue me. Given I’d evaded the weird hostile dog through swift running, I thought to run now rather than stop. Bad move. It was a quick dog and got close on my heels. I tried to get further away from the dog by crossing the avenue. I bounded onto the nature strip, slipped on the damp grass and fell onto the road. Because it was early in the morning, there was barely any traffic around. The dog backed off. It had stopped chasing, satisfied with the results. I got up and realised I had grazed my elbow, scraped both legs and jarred my hip.
No one helped me. Not the man sweeping, not those few Lao people walking on the other side of the street.
I walked back to my guesthouse.
I was mad. On Saturday night, outside Bug’s house, a Lao man had ridden by slowly and then toppled over on his motorbike. He was drunk. I’d asked him if he was okay but he just echoed my words. His friend backtracked, helped him up, and they rode away. I guess Asians like to save face and not involve others in their affairs or invite themselves into yours. I guess the uniformed Lao man this morning was behaving as expected, just as the dogs chased me because I ran and to them that’s a signal to chase, not necessarily a sign that they’re rabid and vicious.
‘Are you comparing Lao people to dogs?’
Oh. I see that Michele is here and speaking to me.
Finally.
‘Yes, I am speaking with you, Michele, because you compared Lao people to dogs.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘You said the Lao man was like the dogs that chased you.’
‘Well yeah, I did say that –’
‘So you’re in Laos now and no-one helped you get up and so they’re like the dogs that chased you and ‘made’ you fall?’
I’m glad that we’re speaking again but I’m hurt that you’re not sympathetic. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I did get chased by two dogs this morning.
You sit down, stuck in Laos with me, frowning deeply.
Fuck it. I walk over to you.
‘You know what, I’m trying, okay? I’m not the smartest girl on the street. But now I know for the future that I shouldn’t run, so I learned something.’
‘That’s not the issue, Michele.’
‘What’s the issue?’
‘You’re so selfish. I don’t want to turn out like you.’
‘Oh.’
I feel bad for you about me. And then I think about it, that you’re mad at me but I’m you and we’re each other and the Lao people represent the Lao people and not dogs and the dogs represent dogs and not Lao people. I know that. So the more I think about it, I don’t feel bad for you; I’m pissed off.
‘Why?’you say.
‘Because you should stop being sanctimonious. You should stop avoiding me. You are me, you will become me. You’re here with me. So cop it. Deal with it. Embrace it. We could have turned out a lot worse.’
‘Like one of those Hmong heroin addicts? And then I could read one of those legal booklets you write for people like that?’
‘Oh, fuck you.’
For a long time, with dogs and traffic and tourists passing by, we stand in front of each other, in Laos, where Mum and Dad lived and met, where all the Hmongs we have ever known came from. You’re fifteen. Me, I’m twenty-nine, not yet thirty.
‘I was thinking,’ you say eventually. ‘That we could write something together. We could write a letter to open when we’re forty.’
I pause.
‘You think that sucks?’you ask. ‘You’re going to make fun of it?’
‘Not if you don’t.’
We walk back to my guesthouse. I show you my room, my laptop. I show you the internet. I show you Face-thing and Google-thing and this thing called email that I’ve mentioned a lot to you. I show you my mobile phone, and text messages, and the iPod I take when I go jogging and get chased by dogs being dogs. You’re even smiling.
‘By the way,’ you say. ‘Who’s Bug?’
I don’t suppose this is the time to tell you about my man boycott and how it failed within less than a week. There’s a funny story about that.
I’ll tell you tomorrow.
Love,
Michele
To Michele
FROM HERSELF
Do not read until 2010
Dear Michele,
Right now in your life you hope to be in advertising. Maybe as a graphic designer or a copywriter, who knows. You want to go to uni if you can but you don’t really want to go to Canberra University. You loved Jo (Maori one) and would also love Joel. You feel that BK is a sorry one. Talk about silly. You love B. Cole and A. Fleming dearly. Despite suspicions, you are not amorously interested in Jason Thomas!
I hope you still see these persons come 15 years. You can open this the day you turn 30. I hope you fall in love. This letter is the closest you’ll come to a diary again. Be a good girl sometimes, study well because you probably won’t get anywhere without it. Don’t fuck around if you ever do. Be nice to your children. Give ’em everything you never got. Don’t be a bitch like your own mum can be. Ring a friend, forgive everyone, smile at your husband if you have one. Please, am I still untouched? I’ve gotta jump on the bandwagon soon.
Do you ever sing? Work out lots. Try not to be scared of being old. You cannot avoid it so be prepared for it. Life is never over until you’re dead, sometimes not even then.
Above all, I wish you happiness. I hope that you have achieved much. I hope you are an even better person as the years passed. Don’t hold back on inhibitions.
Ciao my friend. Gotta go before I start repeating everything. Hope I don’t still do that.
PS – Where the fuck are you living now? What does it look like? How are the neighbours? Who are your friends. Hope you’re still the hiccup in Hmongs, gooks, nips, humans!
Love
You.
15 years old, turning 16 in 3 months.
Unemployed, uncontrollable spender.
Relapsing dieter. Former zealot.
(did I win that Citizenship Award)
Haven’t been kissed in over a year.
Love Jo’s bod. Love Jason’s personality.
Split from the 4000 Bs group. Better for my esteem.
Love clothing, in the newspaper, tail
ored theme.
I believe in a God.
I want to name my kids: Boy (don’t know) Girl 1 (Phoenix) Girl 2 (Eden)
Love once more
Michele
Success
Michele Lee is an Asian-Australian playwright and author (Hmong specifically). She writes plays about identity, race and otherness. Banana Girl is her first book. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia. More at: www.michelevanlee.com.au