(Have you every experienced something life-changing or scary? Eventually, everyone will experience this situation in their life, it is simply a matter of time until it happens. This event may be shocking, revealing, frightening, or maybe even life-shattering. Nevertheless, this event is guaranteed to stick in your memory forever. However! I have yet to face my own life-changing moment. Instead, I decided to ask my father about this and was blown away by his startling story. I thought that this I should take the opportunity to share his story but with my own interpretations and translations into English. The story takes place in the summer of 1977 while my father was ten years old. I believe it is time for you to experience, “Escaping Vietnam”.)

“Crreeaakk ~ ~ ~”

The simple noise echoed in my ear as it resonated in the warm, silent air. The water bounced up and down steadily, lapping the beams of the worn down wood dock like a dog gulping water. Through the dim light of sunrise, in the horizon, I spied what I identified as an engine powered fishing boat. My younger siblings wiped their droopy eyes and peered off into the distance, looking for a different boat we had reserved. However, they were only looking in vain. I may have on been 10 at the time but I knew what the fishing boat meant. Along with 40 other people, we had all paid together to reserve a large “luxury” boat to help escape the war zone Vietnam was. I shared a look with my mother and we both knew what the boat meant, everyone there had been fooled. Our “luxury” boat was none other than this 20 foot long, worn-down fishing boat that would be holding 45 people. A nearby man sighed with resent but with no other option, he boarded the boat. My mother soon followed and grabbed my siblings’ hands and began walking towards the boat with me reluctantly following.

Eventually, everyone had boarded the compact boat. We all sat huddled underneath the hull of the ship so we wouldn’t get caught by border patrollers. I wasn’t moving. In fact, nor were my brother, my sister, my mother, or anyone else. Really, we couldn’t. In that small compact area, we were packed like sardines on the hard, splintering, wooden floor. There was barely any light but there was still the strong pungent smell of mold and rotting fish. With nothing left to do, I had drifted off into a restless slumber that would be the only amount of sleep I would get for the entire trip. But the memory of what happened in my dream was permanent.

…

Darkness. That was how my dream began. Soon, the darkness was accompanied by the screams and yells of my own friends, close enough to be my brothers. “Whhirrr”, sounded the helicopters. That would soon be drowned out by the sounds of exploding bombs. I was outside with my younger brother, playing in the streets of my old home and village before it was taken over by the communists. Then the distinct “BOOM!” sounded out. A thick smog soon covered the land and licked at my heels and nose. “A gas bombing” I recognized. With no where to go, I ran into an empty building near my house while covering my brother’s mouth and holding my breath. While running,  my vision began to blur and a cough had strangled my throat. Even with my blurry vision I saw them. My neighbors. I saw them coughing up a storm and tears brimming their eyes. I saw them choke up blood and their eyes growing dark. I saw them drop dead on the streets with no where to hide. The pang of distant gun shots rang out, and the air filled with the metallic smell of warm blood that I had remembered so well. I turned to the window and---

Startled, I woke up to people rapidly yelling, “PIRATES!”. Still confused, I huddled into the corner of the boat and just took sharp breaths to calm myself. The yelling gradually subsided and came to a halt. It was a few days later until I actually learned what happened. Pirates invaded the ship to try to steal the passenger’s belongings. However, due to the monks on the boat, they were scared off and the crisis was narrowly averted.

8 days later we were still in the cramped ship. It had been 7 days since I, or anyone for that matter, last ate. At this time they were passing around a tablespoon. Everyday, each person would receive a tablespoon of water to drink and I was desperate for my turn. Yesterday, I gave mine to my mother, and two days before, to my sister, and the day before that, to my brother. Many people have died. They died of exhaustion, sickness, starvation, dehydration, depression, of life. It was scoldingly hot inside of the boat. I thought that this would be where I died. I thought this was where I would perish, on this boat with less than half of the people remaining, and to be tossed over the side like the others. I was just so tired and worn down. I was only ten and I was already ready to give up, I accepted death and understood that maybe, I wasn’t meant to live.

Later that day, like a dream, a stroke of heaven opened up to everyone on the ship. This miracle poured itself into our lives and the empty holes and wounds scarred on our bruised skin. We had reached Malaysia. I can’t even describe the emotions I felt. The relief filled the empty void and shell of myself that I had become during this trip. However, our struggle wasn’t over yet. The Malaysian border patrol said we could not stay and must return to Vietnam. We were so exhausted and just asked them if we could stay the night and they reluctantly allowed us to stay and sleep. That night, all the remaining survivors sat together and prayed to whatever deity they believed in, anyone that would listen, to make sure that we wouldn’t be forced to return to Vietnam. Our prayers had been answered. That night, a storm raged and ended up sinking and tearing apart our ship and we could not have been happier. Without a boat, the Malaysians could not force us to return and instead transferred us into a packed refugee camp. For the first time in years, after all the war, death, and struggling, I felt… safe.

(My father’s story did not end here. His family was fortunate enough to be selected by lottery to be relocated to the immigrant distribution center. They allowed his family to stay together and they all moved to Canada where they were safe from the war. They still struggled to stay afloat but my father described this experience as an important feature that matured him and his family. It wasn’t an easy life but he conquered it at such a young age and lived to tell the tale. This story was very impactful to me and gave me the idea that sometimes, pushing yourself when you think you can’t make it can make a world of a difference. Your hardships can be conquered with just a little belief that you can survive. My father’s story is irreplaceable to him and he categorized it as something that changed his life forever. This story can’t help making me wonder, what will be yours?)