Dreaded April

To some people, April 15 used to mean paying up.

After all, we have exploited and maxed out our infrastructure e.g. water, wifi and right of ways.

To others, it starts with April Fool, then Holy Week and Spring Cleaning.

To my little exile community, it’s Black April. The time to be reminded how we came about.

Each group has its own story, from the Dutch to the French, from the Irish to the German.

One has to add the Syrian refugees into the mix. America, America….

Forever in search of itself, of becoming its best self and not a divided one.

Defenders of the old days operated on their selected memories i.e. the Roaring 20’s, the conforming 50’s and even the Rebellious 60’s.

Those were the days. Industrial might and military might. Until Vietnam. Until the “fall” of Saigon.

Until Operation Frequent Wind.

So “frequent” that it airlifted anyone and everyone who dared an escape. To bet one’s life on hope.

The braves and the darings.

Us.

Me.

Losing my environ. Fish out of water. Confront the inevitable ( war on its last leg ).

A long disruption. Everything for a new identity, a new start and a chance to hope again.

Stardust forever. In the wind. Learning the meaning of fate, of life unfolded and unplanned.

It’s not the mechanic of ejection. The turn of event on that last day, mine, in Saigon, was participatory in nature ( otherwise, I would be writing this in Vietnamese instead. Otherwise, I would be cooking a simple dinner right now as opposed to waking up on the other side of the world.)

Frequent Wind. We did not take the high ground. We went low, by barge, battle ship and waded water to strange shores.

Forced to flee, I have developed a new consciousness. That there is no permanence, including our troubles.

In the scheme of things, we will evolve and recycle into other life forms (nano particles).

Dust in the wind.

The only routine that is permanent is Here comes the Sun (each morning).

With new morning, we’ve got new beginning. New attitude and receptiveness. New opportunities and obstacles.

A new man for a new day.

Facing up to our imperfection and life impermanence. Seeing ourselves (reflection of ourselves) as if for the first time. And forgive ourselves for not having done it sooner.

It’s been 46 years. Long enough that Black April can belong in the Museum (infact, I have just read that that infamous staircase of Operation Frequent Wind is now on display at President Ford Museum in Michigan).

Group yourselves in batches for a helicopter’s load. Crouching, crawling and crying. Drop everything. Walk away.

That’s how one’s life changes. That’s how liquid turns to air, in heat, to flow and be lifted up. To fly, to flee and to be free.