Last month I was honoured to visit Timor-Leste for Pope Francis’ visit, as the photographer for The Catholic Weekly. But I could not have anticipated that his visit to the country where I was born would change my life and play a crucial role in my quest for self-discovery.
I was reunited with people I had lost contact with, became part of a family I had never known, received answers to questions about my true identity, found my way back to my greatest passion, and I was able to begin to truly comprehend the positive influence I have had on other people’s lives over the years.
I was born in Dili at a time when the nation was still governed by Portugal and life was difficult but safe. With an East Timorese mother and a father of Chinese descent, I am the oldest of nine siblings, most of whom I did not know until I was in my late teens. My brother was born two years after me and we quickly became best friends.
Due to East Timor‘s poor economy, our toys were made from our imaginations and what nature provided us with. We did not have a television, and in a way, we were sheltered from the advances of other countries in housing, technology and things like electricity and running water. Life was simple and fun.
This all changed at the end of 1975, with the Indonesian invasion of East Timor. Every day you would wake to the indescribable foul odour emitting from people who were killed, left to die, were starving, malnourished and very ill. The smell and flickering bright light of burning buildings and surrounding land; and the sombre, mourning and near-defeated emotions of those still trying their best to survive.
I recall standing on the beach with my family, watching as an enormous number of planes descended from the sky, and what seemed like thousands of men parachuting to the ground. They began rounding and lining up people, guns pushed into their backs; the invasion had begun.
I was too young to understand what was actually happening. The fear and pain deeply ingrained in the adults explained what we would not understand in words. One evening, my brother and I were outside playing and heard cracking noises coming from the sky. We were so excited, thinking we were hearing fireworks from the beach nearby. We decided to sneak out, climbing over the fence so we too could see the magic of the sky illuminated with all of the colours of the rainbow. Our dad saw us just as my brother was over the fence. We were so lucky he did. The sounds were firearms, taking so many innocent lives and leaving others for dead.
In 1979 my grandparents were fortunate to be granted a sponsorship to move to Australia. They had five sons and two daughters of their own, three of whom were young adults. One afternoon in 1980 I returned home with my brother after playing and within minutes, with no goodbyes, I found myself on a plane with my uncles. I had no idea where we were heading or why I was going, and my brother was left behind.
We landed in Sydney, and it soon became evident that the world must be a much bigger and sophisticated place than what I had known. Attending school I discovered soccer. I excelled and was offered a contract. But my grandparents were always looking to the future and didn’t think the scholarship would pay my future bills, so I turned it down. Boy how they were wrong!
School was a difficult time. Having a mixture of Timorese and Chinese DNA, I never felt like I fitted in. The school I attended was multicultural and the students were all from non-English speaking backgrounds, but enough was understood about stereotypical looks and features for them to decide that I was neither Timorese, nor Chinese.
The apartment block we all lived in had all kinds of people and the neighbourhood had other immigrants from East Timor. The neighbour across the hall was an older man, some thought a little strange. It became apparent that those who thought him strange were the ones who did not take or give the time to get to know him.
I began spending every afternoon after school with him, and he became my mentor as a photographer. He gave me my first camera and spent many hours helping me to learn the art of photography. I had found my passion and what I wanted to do.
Prior to this most recent visit, I returned to East Timor on two separate occasions. The first time was soon after finishing high school and I felt the need to try and get to know my parents and siblings who had been born after I came to Australia. As hard as I tried, the feeling of being part of my family in East Timor did not eventuate. I left more confused, deflated and with more questions than answers.
I again returned in 1991 for what was meant to be another brief visit. I stayed for a decade. That year the nation suffered the Santa Cruz massacre, which saw 250 Timorese murdered in the capital, Dili. I could not turn my back on my country and the people who needed help the most.
Throughout the 10 years I spent in East Timor I worked very closely with the president, prime minister, other delegates and officials, in many different capacities. I was the official photographer for the president, assisted in setting up many different companies, such as Western Union, and was responsible for orchestrating the safe evacuation of East Timorese to China.
Despite those 10 years in East Timor I still yearned for the family connection I lacked. Returning to Timor-Leste in September 2024 provided many answers I had been searching for and I now feel like part of my family in Timor-Leste, creating feelings and emotions that still confuse me, but ones that feel good, wholesome, and right.
Pope Francis’ message was clear to the people of Timor-Leste and I can only hope not wasted on the people who need to hear it the most, the politicians: “Our unity and fraternity is getting a little bit lost. So, I hope that after this visit, we can be more united, we can love each other, and we can live in peace.” For Timor-Leste to move forward and truly begin the journey to become the best it can be, differences in opinions between the politicians (in power and opposition) need to be put aside. They must lead by example and come together in unity to create a better future.
Why did my family become one after this trip? Perhaps because I am older, a little wiser and more open? Or because I have lived and seen a whole lot more about life, making me more accepting of things gone by? Or, perhaps it’s the path that our Father mapped out for me in the beginning, and being given the opportunity to photograph Pope Francis’ visit to Timor-Leste was the catalyst for his desired result?
To the nation who devoutly started walking from 3am to Tasitoulo to be one of the 700,000 people to witness Pope Francis’ open Mass, and for me personally, the Holy Father’s visit to Timor-Leste was more than his attendance. He reignited hope, dreams and unity in one of the poorest nations in the world, and on a personal level within me.