Morning came to commence a beautiful day. The sky was cloudless and sunlit. The gentle waves slightly rocked the boat, but nevertheless, we continued to sail at full speed. We all knew now, that there was no going back. Either we would make it to Australia, or die somewhere in the vast and unforgiving sea. Fear of the uncertainty and the unknown lingered in my mind. Were we heading in the right direction? Would we survive or would we be hit by a storm? Where would we end up? The diary entry of a Vietnamese boat person written in 1981 (Source A) details a distressing and menacing journey, just like mine, from a war torn Vietnam to a harmonious Australia. Their experiences are close to my heart because they are a reminder of the struggle that me and so many of my people endured to start a new life, free of war and bloodshed.
On the third day of my voyage to the Promised Land, dark clouds hung over our heads and strong winds blew against the tiny wooden boat. The calm ocean became increasingly violent with aggressive waves that pushed our boat far off course. There was no sight of land, nothing except a boundless body of water. And things got worse, when we ran out of food. Raw fish have become our main source of nourishment, but even that was rare. Children were whining for food while their parents sat there, impotently. These agitated, innocent kids did not know what had happened to them, or why they had been put on a boat, travelling thousands of kilometres from their 'home'. Maybe the assurance of a mouth-watering meat pie after these struggles could lift their spirits? A child in tears asked her mother, "When are we going home?" And nothing was as painful than to realise that they did not have a home. The communists had taken theirs. After weeks, the trip had weakened everyone's health. Our clothes were damp and our spirits were down. Why was freedom so hard to find? - Helen Huynh
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