I Come From Heaven

Still a phenomenon, as if I wear a T-Shirt marked, “Ask me where I come from,” when being in foreign lands, very often people come to me asking me (or my friend if I don’t speak the language of the land),

“Where are you from?”

“Really? You ask me… Where am I from?”

You stare at me,

“What’s wrong with that?”;

Then you nod your head, “Yes! Where’re you from?”

Such a simple question normally expects a simple answer, which commences with the subject, I, followed with a verb, to be (in this case “to be” in the present tense, first person, singular: “am”), finally concluded with the object (the name of a country). Based on the Oriental features on my face, people normally expect me to fill the objective blank with the phrase: “Thailand,” or “Cambodia,” or “China.” But, if I honestly and innocently say,

“The US…”

People, believe it or not, many times, react at once with a sardonic voice,

“You? Be serious... You are not American!…”

Once in Melbourne a professor in the same field sternly criticized me,

“You’re really confused.”

"Really! Am I confused?"

If life is an on-going process of learning, through these incidents, I have undoubtedly learned a precious and priceless lesson; subsequently, I formulate a new phrase, actually a defense mechanism to protect myself. Whenever approached with the question, “Where are you from?”, I carefully recite this succinct formula,

“Vietnam originally for twenty years, twenty two years in the US.”

The story of “where I am from” does not end here… For a few times I return to Vietnam for mission assignments, I have been viewed, treated, considered, approached, etc… as a foreigner in the land where my umbilical cord was buried.. While reading the menu in a Phở Restaurant, the waiter comes to me, speaking English,

“Sir, are you ready to order?”

“Am I ready? Of course, I am always. Phở is my most favorite dish among the Vietnamese cuisine,” said I in the Vietnamese language…

And… (I love the conjunction “and” in this case), you can see the waiter drop his lower jaw, for he told me later that he was really surprised and impressed that this Filipino guy spoke Vietnamese very well.

Mama Mia!

The story concerning my home is unfolding, for I am currently stationed in Australia since the beginning of 2006. And now… I worked in Melbourne for 3 years. And because I felt suffocated with the urban life and wanted to breathe a new air, since the middle of December 2009, I have moved to Central Australia, a vast desert, the land of the Arrernte people. I am gradually becoming a bush man: if it is hot, I turn on the fan and wear a short; cold, I put on a thick jacket and a beanie on my head. Welcome to Central Australia! Survival skills, as a bush man, I walk under the shade to avoid the extreme ultraviolet! I know to perform the Aussie salute when I have to (I’m talking about using one’s hands to chase away the countless fruit flies in the desert). I use the word “mob” for “group”. The scorching heat in the desert has changed the colour of my skin from white to brown, and hair from black to white!

Well! Well! Well! 20 years breathing the air in Vietnam! 2 years living in detention and refugee camps in Malaysia and the Philippines as a displaced person! 21 years wandering in the US! 10 years working in Australia! And now you ask me, “Where am I from?”. And you expect a simple, plain response. Be real! Be serious!

You can tell…

Eventually I am lost…

LOST is my nick-name! Where is my home now? You tell me.

That’s why sometimes I find myself cogitating on this phrase, “You… the descendant of Cain, the wanderer, the rootless, the vagabond, the one who has no place called home.” Once my spiritual director advised me (or corrected me with affection),

“Don’t say that, for you will believe it. It is not true! Home is wherever you are.”

“Home is wherever you are.” Nevertheless, I am not enlightened yet… And the chance that I will be enlightened is slim (I know myself, a peccant being. Frankly I believe I will never reach that awakened stage). Make yourself at home! But (the problem is disclosed after “but”), in some places, I don’t feel at home. And I can deceive anyone but myself about this naked truth.

Where are you from? A simple question expects a simple answer. But, not in my case… You might criticize me,

“Stop being captious… Life is not getting any better. Relax! Enjoy the moment you are granted.”

Whatever you say… I keep searching for the place to call home.

That’s why I see myself looking up to heaven very often, particularly at night when the sky is filled with a million bright stars, asking God for an answer.

That’s why I like spending the night strolling on Todd Mall of Alice Springs, asking my soul, “Where are you from?”.

That’s why people occasionally complain, “You look lost.”

You’re right… What do you expect? I am lost, lost at the first moment of my conception in my mother's womb (no one really wants to be born into this world, no wonder the newborn always burst into tears); lost like the two disciples on Emmaus road… They were lost too. But how fortunately these two lost souls were, for they eventually encountered a new HOPE for human salvation. And this HOPE has returned to heaven. This HOPE is now in heaven, His home. Heaven, he says, is "where I originally come from."

I see! Heaven! Home!

My lost soul for the first time mulls over the first blissful sound of the new hymn: Heaven! Home!

The word Christian, if dissected, is a combination of the words, “Christ” and “ian,” a person who believes in Christ; Christian denotes the implication of someone who follows in the footsteps of Christ. Don’t tell me that Jesus never felt lost in his life. In the Garden of Olives, he at first rejected drinking the cup (but eventually surrendered his will to God’s); on the crucifix, while he was screaming out loud, “My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?”

Well! What a miracle (Let me call it: a miracle!). Just like a blind man in the Gospel (John 9), I begin to see life with new eyes… I'd like to shout, "I can see now!"

Jesus and I (a Christian, a disciple), at some stages in our lives, we’re both lost. Jesus and I, we both originally come from heaven, his home and my home.

“Where are you from?”

“Me? You ask me? I?”

I point my finger at the heaven above, the azure blue sky, declaring, “I am from heaven. I am a Heavenese. I speak the Heavenese language.”

You are surprised, “Serious?”

Yes, heaven is my home, a home sweet home!

I continue to sing the new hymn I have just composed: HEAVEN! HOME!

□ Michael Nguyen SVD