There are times when Yanh Phommahaxay looks around his tiny, one-bedroom apartment in Sandy and misses Laos.
There are times when he looks at the large mattress - which must accommodate his three sons and a niece - crowding his living room and thinks about his former life as a newspaper reporter from Vientiane, the Laotian capital.But mostly he doesn't dwell on the past. He feels he gave up his own life to preserve his children's future - risking everything by fleeing his homeland more than a year ago.
An ocean away, he's still paying the price. Phommahaxay lives an isolated life in the middle of a bustling world he doesn't understand. He speaks virtually no English. He entertains himself by mingling with other Laotians in the neighborhood or by renting Laotian videos at a nearby store.
"He knows that the living he can afford here is far different than in Laos," May Tran, a state refugee worker, says, interpreting Phommahaxay's answers to questions.
Phommahaxay, she said, is college educated. Once a respected professional in his homeland, he is now an assembly-line worker at Deseret Medical. He works all night, then baby-sits his 3-year-old son, Kichong, all day while his wife works at Brighton Medical.
"He had a bigger house, a better job (in Laos). He can't help sometimes longing for what he had compared to now, but he won't live in the past. His dream is for the children's future. He wants them to be good American citizens."
Phommahaxay is one of 12,950 refugees who have come to Utah since 1975. Almost 90 percent of those were from Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos, according to Sherman Roquiero, state refugee coordinator.
Not all have stayed. Some found Southern California _ where they could congregate in entire communities peopled by others from their homelands _ more to their liking.
But the once steady flow of refugees from Southeast Asia is dwindling to a trickle. The state expects 500 to 600 new refugees will settle in Utah in 1989, and 40 percent of those will be from eastern Europe.
Since September, 197 people have come to Utah from the Soviet Union, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria and Romania. In comparison, 201 Vietnamese, 67 Laotians and 18 Cambodians came during the same time.
Although the number of boat people arriving is shrinking, their stories of risking everything in daring escapes from their homeland are likely to be told by their Americanized posterity for generations.
All came to the United States in search of freedom and a better life. They tell similar stories of escaping on dark, moonless nights in leaking boats, trying to make it across the river or onto the ocean before military guards spotted them. To be seen was to be killed.
For Laotian refugees, the Mekong River has been the only obstacle between the communist repression of their own land and freedom in Thailand. Cambodians escaped overland to Thailand, and Vietnamese tried to reach Malaysia, Thailand or the Philippines though the South China Sea.
"We got in a leaky rowboat at night. It was a boat we bought a long time before. The children were asleep. You can't tell any other family you're going. They might tell the cops," said Phouakhalath Chounlamany, the 18-year-old son of Phon Manivond Chounlamany and the family's official interpreter. Phouakhalath, unlike other members of his family, speaks fluent English _ despite his only having lived in Utah for three years.
He said the family's goal was not to reach Thailand nor Malaysia. They were hoping to some day land in the United States, although they admit they knew little about the country. "In Laos, we don't know anything about America, the culture or the customs," said Phouakhalath. "But we knew there was more freedom. You could say whatever you want."
The odds are stacked against Southeast Asians who attempt to leave their countries. Those on the high seas risk being attacked by Thai pirates who may rape the women, sell them into prostitution or simply take all the provisions a family has and leave them to die.
And once in Thailand, Malaysia or the Philippines, conditions aren't likely to improve. Refugees are placed in refugee processing centers, unpleasant, unsanitary camps where they wait for sponsors in the United States to get them out. Some have been there 10 years or longer.
"You stay for however long it takes to get you out," said Tran, whose sister had married an American and was able to sponsor her. "It's like a prison, with guards at the door. Sometimes the food is spoiled. There's not enough clean water to drink, no good doctors. An entire family gets about 3 meters of space."
Phouakhalath remembers the camp as "mostly crowded and hot." He spent two years there with his family.
"I don't think you can tell all the stories about the boat people," said Luc Pham, a highly educated former intelligence officer for South Vietnam who escaped after 3 1/2 years in a communist concentration camp. He now teaches English to refugee children at Washington Elementary School in Salt Lake City.
Some private groups regularly act as sponsors to refugees who have no relatives to get them out. Once they have a sponsor the refugees get air fare to the United States from the U.S. government. But they have to sign an agreement promising they will repay the money.
In the United States, they are given up to 12 months of welfare assistance and free English lessons, after which they are expected to find a job. The average refugee spends only five months on welfare, Roquiero said.
"The misconception is that we're paying their tickets here and teaching them English, just so they can go on our welfare rolls," said Tomas Oyarzun, an immigrant from Chile who teaches English as a second language at Salt Lake Community High School. "That simply isn't true."
The focus, as far as refugee workers are concerned, is changing. Instead of refugees who escaped on tiny fishing boats, the United States is preparing to receive Amerasians, the unwanted children of former U.S. soldiers who served in Vietnam. Utah can expect up to 100 of them this year.
"It all has to do with the politics of the time," Oyarzun said. "We, as a government, are trying to build relations with Vietnam now. The country is allowing people to come here freely. No more boat people.
"Immigration comes in waves when spurred by politics. When a country is closing its doors, you first see the big, rich businessmen coming. The Vietnamese came here years ago and have been operating successful businesses in California for about 20 years. Next come the intellectuals and the military leaders. Then come the ma and pa business owners and the middle class. Then come the dirt-poor fishermen."
That cycle is nearing its end for Southeast Asians, who are assimilating into American culture. For those in Salt Lake City, the process appears to be going smoothly.
Salt Lake police officials report few incidents of hate-crime against Asians, although such incidents are more common nationwide. They also report few Southeast Asians involved in gangs along the Wasatch Front.
Phon Manivond Chounlamany still doesn't speak English well, after nearly three years in the United States. But he has bought a house in Sandy for his family of seven children and a late-model Plymouth Reliant sits in the driveway.
A former employee of the Laotian government's revenue office, he enjoys living in the United States, despite the trouble he's had learning the language and earning money.
"I don't like communists," he said in broken English. "We don't have liberty. No freedom."
Like the others, Chounlamany wants his children to be successful. They are not disappointing him. Phouakhalath graduated in the top 10 percent of his class at Jordan High School and plans to attend Salt Lake Community College in the fall before transferring to a larger university.
Lu Tong, state director of Asian affairs, said about 70 percent of the Southeast Asians in Utah own their own homes.
"They may not be desirable homes or in a good location," Tong said. "These people find security and support in their own homes."
Phommahaxay also hopes to someday afford a house, like his brother who sponsored his immigration to Utah. As his wife emerged from the tiny kitchen with orange soda and a bowl of grapes for a visitor, Phommahaxay said he understands his goal will take a lot of hard work.
"When he was in Laos, he thought America was a dream nation; everything would come easily," said the interpreter. "When he got here, he realized he could get all those dreams, but he must work hard. Everyone here is working so hard."
Ironically, getting here may have been the easy part. Refugees generally find they must struggle to exist in the United States.
"Isolation is the hardest thing refugees live with," Pham said. "If you did well there, you won't necessarily do well here. You start your life from the beginning again."