In the twelve months since I left the Thai-Burma border, much has changed in my life. Optimistically, if not naively, I was also hoping to see some changes here too, on this stretch of land dotted with refugee camps filled to the brim with people escaping the oppressive regime and conditions of Burma.

This letter, however, is not about what I have been experiencing here in general, but my friendship with Hugh (not his real name). A man that in many ways epitomises the daily reality of the Burmese people. Hugh is a 39 years old Karen, who was a fighter with the Karen army and injured in the field. He was brought to the relative safety of Thailand, where he recovered, but relinquished the arm struggle, opting for activism through a grassroot organisation based in Thailand.

Hugh's wife and children, first made it to Mae La camp, 50km north of Mae Sot. Mae La is right on the Thai side of the river that delineates the border with Burma. The constant attacks from the other side forced the family to relocate to the relative safety of Umpiem Mai camp. This camp is perched on the Thai side of the mountains, thus, safe from Burmese attacks, but subject to the Thai authority restrictions and extortion.

Hugh and I met about a year ago, during my first visit. He dedicated a lot of time to me. No choice really, I kept pestering him with my thirst for understanding the situation here and the opinions of an insider. During our meetings Hugh would patiently respond to my questions, but also look at me with a frown in his face, studying my every word. In a place riddled with spies, trust is a luxury that must be earned.

What struck me more than anything else about Hugh was his steely determination, evident from his piercing eyes that cut like a sharp knife. Hugh's resolve to continue the struggle for the liberation of Burma and the determination of his Karen people was, to say the least, inspirational, nourishing and hopeful. The freedom of Burma was always at the forefront of his thinking and never seemed to wane—an inextinguishable fire to accomplish what was simply right and just.

At the end of my stay, I promised Hugh that I would be back and that I would keep in touch through emails and phone calls, which I did. On my last day here in 2008, I went to say goodbye. Hugh wished me well and said “See you next year”.

In announcing my return visit, Hugh informed me that during my time here he was taking a well deserved rest from his work in Mae Sot and spending sometime with his family in Umpiem Mai camp. I promised him to visit. This time opting to wonder around the camps in disguise. The last time I was here, unable to obtain a camp pass, I used to sneak in concealed in cars allowed to pass through the Thai controlled check points. Now I use a fake T shirt from a large international organisation and pass as someone who knows what he is doing.

The people in the camps have shown a great deal of appreciations for my methods and determination, but have also been entertained by my audacity, and for some, my stupidity. However, this time I was not prepared to expose these people to the risks involved in being caught offering me an unauthorised pass inside the camps. For me the consequences would be being reprimanded and kicked out, for them extortion at best, with the possibility of being repatriated to Burma to face prison, torture and perhaps worse.

When I caught up with Hugh he greeted me affectionately, as an old friend, gone had the frown on his face, but this was not the only difference. I found him sick, tired and resigned to a possible defeat. Was it possible that in the last twelve months his fire had turned to ambers? Is it possible that what the Burmese regime couldn't do—break his spirit, the restrictions and hardship of a life in Thailand did? I struggled to believe this. I grieved at the thought that Hugh might have given up, after all, in my eyes he was a man of steel and I learned so much from him.

This time our conversations were more about his personal struggles. Hugh's wife is 27 and works as a teacher in the camp school. Her salary is 500 bhat per month, equivalent to approximately A$25. Hugh and his family are the lucky ones. As a result of his contacts, language and other skills and her weaving skills, they can manage some small enterprise to boost their income. Nonetheless, considering that the coal used for cooking sells for 100 bhat per week, a simple pass out out of the camp is also 100 bhat, the math is quite clear—more money or perish.

Clearly exhausted from the hardship, Hugh's wife decided to apply for resettlement in the USA. Hugh does not want to go, but letting her and the children go means signing divorce papers and relinquishing forever his children. As he explained this to me I could see the anguish in his eyes.

Sitting in his camp house, where he filled me in with camp life, its economy, politics and hierarchical structures, I could not take my mind off the struggle he was going through and the very sad air of resignation that had replaced his steely determination. By this time I had become uncle to the children, but among the conversation and laughter, I was grieving for him and for my perceived loss of a role model in courage, resilience and determination. I simply could not come to terms with his struggle and what it was causing him, and in a sense me.

I asked him what he thought he might do, his reply indicated that he would not make the decision but let his wife follow her heart, he would support and follow her decision. My eyes were trying to well up with tears, but I resisted. I could not subject this people with the counselling of a half wit, soft, bleeding heart with my internal turmoil. I figured that my 80km slow ride back to Mae Sot would give me plenty of time to let the tears flow if they wanted to, before hitting the comfort of beer, cigarettes and Burmese tea salad.

It was time to leave, perhaps for the last time, due to the uncertainty of my life and what appears to be the resettlement of this family. Hugh walked me around the camp with his six year old son in tow. We opted for small talk as the gravity of the situation was self-explanatory. I asked Hugh to leave me at a safe point for him as I didn't want to expose him to the unnecessary risk of being caught by the Thai military.

When we said goodbye I wanted to do something for him. Not really knowing what I could do, the only thing that came to mind was to reach for money. I gave him some Australian dollars, for me the equivalent to a dinner for two in Darwin, for him the equivalent of his wife six months salary. Charity? A way to buy my sorrow? I don't know. I learned this trick from my 'rich' relatives from the US and Australia when they used to visit me in Italy at a time when I was at the wrong end of need.

Hugh this time said “I see you when I see you”, almost anticipating that this may be the last time we were together. His words cutting deep. He took the money while I was hugging my new nephew. By this time he knew I couldn't speak anymore. As a parting gift he gave me, at least I thought, a lasting look with those beautiful dark eyes filled with the fire to fight on. He touched me and said “Thank you for your support”. I thought but could not utter “No brother, thank you for yours” and walked away from him.

As I made my way out of the camp, I felt the full weight of good byes all over my body. I could barely respond to the smiles I was receiving from the people I came across on the way. I thought about my uncertain future, but full of choices, propped up by my family, friends, passport, education, the chance to use this website to share my personal struggles and a whole world to explore. I also thought of Hugh' s future. He too has choices; one to endure the trauma of resettlement, but with the possibility of reaching better opportunities for his children and some relative freedom for himself, or a future in the camp that looks very much like yesterday.

Good bye friend. Peace be thy journey.