Summer of '85

It must have been June 10, 1985. I was 12 years old at the time. All I remember was that it was pouring outside, with loud thunder and lightning. It was pretty much storming out. There are only 2 seasons in Vietnam: raining season, and dry season, and June just happens to be the rainiest and stormiest month of the raining season, almost like how January and February are the coldest months of winter here. And when it rains in Vietnam, it pours, for hours, sometimes all day.

It was in the evening, and we were ready to leave our apartment. Our nanny of 22 years, Bà Ba (means Great Auntie Ba; she was who I considered my grandma since she’d been taking care of all of us since my sister was born), didn’t show up that day. My parents had told everyone that we were going on vacation to Nha Trang, which was a beach town in Central Vietnam. I think they told Ba Ba the same thing, since they knew she wouldn’t be able to handle the fact that she might never see us again. I had a feeling she knew we were up to something though. As for my aunt Mai (my Dad’s sister), and my aunts on my Mom’s side, I think they all knew.

From what I remembered, I had 2 shirts on, 2 pairs of shorts, and sneakers.My Mom had hidden some US dollars inside my drawstring shorts (where the string goes through), which she’d illegally bought before we left. I think my parents thought that if we happened to get caught, the police wouldn’t frisk a little skinny 12-year old kid.

We left our apartment in the evening. It was raining, so it was getting dark early. We took 2 xich-lo (a 3-wheeled rickshaw, where the driver sat in the back and pedaled instead of pulling it; a very common type of transportation back then in Saigon). I think I was with my Mom and my sister Quyen, and my Dad was with my brother Tin. As we were leaving, we found out that a huge tree near our had recently fallen down during the storm, and was blocking the street that we were on, so we had to do a detour. Later on, my Mom said that that was a very first sign that we shouldn’t have left at all, that someone above was trying to give us a signal, trying to stop us from leaving.

We were dropped off at the bus station located on the outskirts of the city. As we sat at the bus station waiting, I recognized a few familiar faces who used to come visit my parents during the last couple of months. But my parents acted like they never saw these people before, and the people did the same to us. I kept my mouth shut…

The bus finally came. I can’t recall how long the bus ride was, but I remember it was going outside of the city, towards the countryside. It was now dark outside, and at one point, the bus stopped on the side of the road, next to a dark rice field. I wasn’t sure if that was a real bus stop, or if someone requested to stop there, but we were told to get off. The familiar people I saw at the bus station were also getting off. Then everyone, in the dark, started to follow someone, no idea who it was, to walk very fast into the dark and muddy rice field. At this point, my parents started talking to the people who I recognized at the bus station. It was now clear to me that these people were also trying to escape, just like us.

I remember walking for awhile. I practically had to run to catch up, since everyone was walking very fast. It was dark out, and I almost fell a few times, because we were just walking through a very rugged and muddy rice paddy. I remember my Mom asking one of the men who I guess my parents knew to keep an eye on me, if he could. He said yes.

Finally, we got to a beach, or what I figured was a beach, since I could hear waves, and it smelled like the ocean. We ran into my sister’s high school teacher, who was also her tutor during summer. He must have been in his late 20s, and was there with his girlfriend. There were a lot of people waiting on the beach, I couldn’t really see anyone’s faces, but they were all talking very loudly, and there were some minor arguments going on. As it turned out, the local people who lived in the area found out that there was an organized escape, so they showed up and demanded to join us for free, otherwise they would notify the authorities. This was quite common during this time, as I’d heard about it through my parents before. According to my parents, there was a huge concern because the boat that was prepared for this trip could only fit about 40 people comfortably, which was the original number of people who actually paid for this, including my parents and the people that we walked with earlier through the field.

But time was running out, and we had no choice, so they were trying to pack everyone in. We took these little basket boats that only carry a few people (called “taxis”) out to the big boat. As we got closer, I was able to see the “big” boat. It was just a normal wooden fishing boat that I used to see on TV, or by the main port in Saigon. Even for a small kid, and small kids tend to see things a lot bigger than they actually are, I thought that the boat was too small for how many people we had. I think that was the very first time from the time we left our apartment, that I actually felt a little bit of fear, fear that the boat, which was about to take us on a journey that could change our lives either for the better or for worse, might not be able to handle what it was set to do, and that it could sink.

From the “taxis” to how we were all packed under the deck is still fuzzy to me. We were literally packed under the deck, shoulder to shoulder, or even worse. I remember my Mom said that she was standing most of the time on one leg, and had to switch once in awhile, because it was so crowded down there. I was short, so all I could see was people’s torsos. It was hot, stinky, and dark. My sister, who as a kid used to faint a lot, was having a hard time breathing, as well as getting seasick. And so was my Dad, who developed a bad case of asthma during the 3 years he spent in the “re-education” camp after the Viet Congs took over in 1975. I was somewhat impressed with myself that I wasn’t getting seasick at all, given how bad the situation was. I can’t quite remember how long we were down below the deck, but at one point, someone opened to trap door. What a feeling that was, fresh air, sunlight. The person I believed informed us that we were still in “dangerous” water, meaning we haven’t gotten to the international water yet, so we could still get caught by the coast guards if they saw us. Then all I remembered was my Dad talking to this person, explaining how he has asthma, and that he was a good friend with the owner of the boat who put this whole thing together. I can’t quite remember exactly what happened after that, but by some miracle, we were allowed to get out of the “hell hole”. We were pulled up onto the deck. There was a small main cabin with people sitting inside, along with the captain who was driving the boat. These people were the family of the boat’s owner, as well as the family of the captain. I believe they let my Mom and I sit inside the cabin, but my Dad, Quyen, and Tin had to stay on the deck. All I remember was that it was very stormy. Waves kept crashing onto the deck. My sister was half passed out, so my Dad, risking his own life, pushed her in so that he would lie on the outside, close to the edge of the boat, to prevent Quyen from rolling off, since she was in pretty bad shape. I can’t remember where Tin was. I think I was praying the whole time, to whoever I was praying to, that my Dad and my sister would not go overboard.

We were in the open sea for about 3 days. I don’t remember eating or drinking anything, but I must have. I remember sleeping a little bit. I definitely don’t remember how long my Dad, sister, and brother had to stay out on the deck, but at one point, we were all together inside the cabin, while the other people were still below the deck. It was still very stormy outside. Then someone mentioned something about how they had a feeling that our boat might be going in a big circle, which still confuses me because how can you tell when all there is around you is water! It all looked the same to me. But someone noticed something, and that’s when we all found out that the compass the captain had brought with him was broken. It turned out that we were circling for almost 3 days straight, and we’re still not in the international water yet (which, according to my Dad, should’ve only taken 2 days to get to, if we were going the right direction).

It was in the afternoon of Day 3. Because of the number of people that are now on the boat (someone mentioned it was 120, while originally it was planned for 40), water now started to come in below the deck. Some people who were still below the deck started to scoop the water out with buckets. My first fear started to become more real after I heard that.

We were still heading somewhere, not quite sure exactly where, and the sea was still pretty rough. Then all of a sudden, the boat jerked, and the engine stopped. Then we heard what sounded like gunshots a few minutes after. “Pop, pop, pop”. Then, from out of nowhere, three big fishing boats appeared, and approached us. These turned out to be Vietnamese fishing boats whose fishing net was caught in our engine, or in other words, our boat somehow managed to run into and get caught in their fishing nets. Unfortunately, these were government fishing boats, so when they saw us, they knew exactly what we were up to, and decided to radio back to their superiors. At this point everyone started to panic. Below the deck, some kept scooping out the water that was coming in more and more, but most of them decided to climb out onto the deck. The deck is now filled with people, screaming, talking loudly. My parents started talking to the boat’s owner, then my Mom grabbed a huge stash of Vietnamese cash, walked out to the deck, and started waving it at the fishing boats, offering them the cash if they let us keep going. But they refused over the speaker, saying that they already radioed and told their superiors about us, and that now it was their job to bring us all back to the authorities. People were crying, people were cursing, and chaos is all I can remember. The ocean was still rough, waves were still pretty high crashing onto our boat.

I remember sitting inside the cabin, as the boat started to rock back and forth. The most vivid image I have during this whole time was of a little girl who must have been about 6 or 7 years old. She was crying, and I think she said something to my Dad about if the boat started to sink, if he could help her. Her Dad turned out to be the captain of the trip, her Mom wasn’t there with them. The boat started to rock from side to side, harder every time. Someone was screaming trying to tell everyone to calm down and not panic because the boat could flip over anytime. I think it was my Mom’s voice. I can’t recall what exactly I was doing, whether I was crying, or screaming. All I remember was the horrifying, helpless feeling that my initial fears about this trip were about to become reality.

And then it happened. The boat, being so heavy in the angry sea, flipped over on its right side. Water gushing in. The helpless little girl’s face. People trapped under the deck. There was a small window on the left side of the cabin, almost the same side of an airplane’s window. I swam through that little window, and started to kick really hard trying to get to the surface. After a few kicks, all of a sudden, still under water, someone grabbed me by my shoulders and my arms, panicking, dragging me back down. From hanging out with lifeguards when I was in the swim team back in my junior high years, I learned that most drowning victims tend to panic, and when lifeguards are trying to save someone, and if that person is panicking and not relaxing, they would knock them out so that they can pull the person in without having the person dragging them down with him or her. So with all the strength of a skinny 12-year-old kid, I started punching and kicking this person holding on to me. I was also running out of breath. The person finally let go, and with all the strength and oxygen I had left, I pushed and kicked myself in the water to get up to the surface as fast as possible. One other trick that I learned from the lifeguards is that if you run out of oxygen while under water, take a very small sip of water and swallow it. Since water contains oxygen, that would give you a little more. Not sure if that is physically true, but I did it, and it seemed to work. Until this day, I still have no idea who that person that was holding on to me was, and whether they were saved or not.

Because the boat was so heavy with too many people, it sank really fast, so it took me awhile just to finally get to the surface. And it was a horrible scene from what I could see. The 3 fishing boats were surrounding the area, and in the middle of it all, there were people swimming, people floating. The surf was still very high. As a pretty good swimmer who actually did some training swimming in the ocean against the surf, I decided to swim away from the center, and around to one of the fishing boats, so that no one could grab me again, especially my legs or feet trying to pull themselves up. As I got closer to the side of one of the fishing boats, I then saw my Dad about 10 feet away. He was swimming towards the same boat, carrying my half-conscious sister on his back. A fisherman reached out to me trying to pull me up, as I was screaming to him, “Please pull my Dad and sister up!”. Someone then pulled my sister up, but my Dad then disappeared into the high surf…

It was getting darker, and the chaos was still happening. My second fear since this trip started crossed my mind, as my sister came through: my Mother and her not knowing how to swim. My sister started to hug me, she was crying, I was crying, and kept saying “Mom must be dead, Mom must be dead!”

It was the very first time in my entire life that I experienced the most horrible feeling of all: the feeling of thinking that someone you love so much is now dead. At this point, my sister and I were sitting on the deck of one of the fishing boats, and around us was a mix of people who were saved, as well as drowned, bloated dead bodies that the fishermen were able to pull up. But I was not at all scared, or even aware of them, because all I could think about at the time was that my Mom was dead. I remember staring at a bloated body of a woman, her face was blue, eyes were buggy, mouth foaming, and even though I was crying so hard, I wasn’t scared of the image at all at the time. I’m sure people were weeping and screaming on our boat as they too did not know the fate of their own loved ones, but all of that was still a blur to me, because nothing else really mattered. “Mom must be dead”…

Because the sea was getting rougher, and it was getting darker out, the fishing boats decided that it was too dangerous to keep trying to pull people up, so they decided it was time to begin to leave the scene. There were still people in the water, helpless, as the boats started to depart. I remember hearing screams of desperation from the pitch black water of the people that were left behind, but there was nothing anyone could do. I tried to not think about the fact that the screams could be coming from my mom. I think for awhile there, I really went deaf.

One of the boats had too many people on board, so they had to transfer some over to our boat. They tied a rope between the 2 boats, and started telling the men to climb from the crowded boat to ours. At first no one wanted to do it, because if you didn’t have a good grip, you could’ve fallen back into the rough sea. But at gunpoint, a few men were forced to do it.

We were heading back into land. I wasn’t sure exactly where they were taking us. No one else knew where, I don’t think, but we all knew that we were in big trouble, and that wherever they were taking us, we were going to be jailed for trying to leave the country illegally. But again, the thought of being jailed did not scare me whatsoever, as I was still thinking about my Mom. We were still sitting on the deck. The sun was setting. I could see the other 2 boats, cruising next to ours. Then at one point, I saw someone waving from the boat that was on the right to us. I kept looking at it, and told my sister to look as well. It was my brother Tin! He somehow saw us from the boat that he was on, and started to wave. Next to him, we saw our Dad! And we also saw someone sitting down. At that moment I realized that it was our Mom! I yelled at my sister, “Mom’s still alive! Mom’s still alive!”, and we were waving at them, smiling in tears. Over the course of only a few hours, I once again experienced one of the most extreme feelings I ever felt my entire life. This time it was the opposite of what I felt earlier. This time it was joy, it was relief, it was happiness. It was one of the best moments I had ever experienced in my entire life, especially for a 12-year-old kid, knowing that your Mother, who you thought was dead, was actually still alive. It’s amazing how both fear and happiness can easily numb one’s other feelings, how they both can dominate what one thinks and feels during the moment. Again, everything around me meant nothing, the thought of going to jail, the drowned, bloated bodies, the buggy eyes, foamy mouths, people crying, moaning, the screams from the people that were left behind, nothing…”Mom is still alive!”. It was June 13, 1985.

Later on my Mom told us what happened to her. As the boat went down, she somehow managed to get out of the cabin, but since she didn’t know how to swim, she started to drown. But unlike other drowning victims who tend to panic when they’re drowning, my Mom knew she wasn’t going to make it, so she relaxed her body, and started praying that all of her children would make it. This image has never really left my mind, as it showed the tremendous love that my mom has for all of us...As she was slowly sinking into death, the only thing that was in her mind was the safety of her children…

What my mom didn’t realize is that when you’re drowning, and if you relax your body, your body will start to float back up on the surface. So as she was slipping into unconsciousness, her body floated back up on the surface. And by some miracle, she was right next to a boat that my brother was pulled up on, and as he saw her, he asked one of the fishermen to pull her body up, and gave her CPR to revive her.

I can’t exactly remember how long we were on the fishing boats, and I definitely don’t remember spending the night on the boat, but by the time we got to land, it was daytime. We were told that this was Con Dao Island, located east of the most southern point of Vietnam. From the outside, the island looked like a tropical paradise, covered in palm trees, with turquoise water surrounding the island. But this isolated island is where one of the most notorious prisons is located. It was originally built by the French in 1861 to incarcerate revolutionists during the French resistance. It was also used during the Vietnam war by the South Vietnamese Army and the Americans for the same purpose. Then after 1975, when the Vietnam war was over, it was used as a prison mostly for boat people who were caught around the vicinity trying to escape the Communist regime. This prison was famous for the tiger cages, originally set up during the period of colonialism, where many prisoners were held and tortured. The water around the island is also infested with sharks. Some people had called this place the “Devil’s Island of Southeast Asia”, in reference to the French Guiana’s infamous prison.

I recalled being lined up right on the dock. Everyone was looking disheveled, exhausted, and scared at the same time. For some reason, I remember looking at my Mom, and she appeared to be very relaxed. I think she was just so overwhelmed that everyone in her family was still alive. And so was I. They did a headcount and estimated that there were a total of around 100 people on that boat, only about 50 were pulled on board, and among those 50 people, only around 40 were alive. Many went down with the boat because they were stuck below the deck, or because they were left at sea when the fishing boats decided to leave the scene. We found out that my sister’s teacher who we ran into on the beach the day we were boarding the boat was never found, but his girlfriend was saved. We also found out that the owner of the boat, though his body was found, did not make it, but his wife did. And I also was told that the captain of the boat was never found, along with his daughter, who turned out to be the helpless little girl that was in the cabin with us before the boat flipped over. She was only a few years younger than me…

After lining us up, they started loading all of us into the back of a few army trucks and transported us back to the prison. But before doing that, they separated the men from the women and children. My Dad and brother were put on a different truck, while my Mom, sister, and I were loaded onto another. We were told that kids under 10 would be jailed with their mothers, so my Mom told them that I was 10. We were all sitting right on the edge of the truck in the back. As the truck was going, a young man in army fatigue jumped on the truck, and started asking my Mom a series of questions, who was sitting right on the edge of the truck. “Mam, what is your name? Do you have any relatives you want me to inform about what happened to your family? Where do they live? What are their names?” The truck was still going, the driver and the guard up front had no idea this was happening. My Mom quickly gave the man the info of her sisters in Saigon, thinking that it would be a long shot. The man then told her his name, said that he’d try to contact my aunts to let them know about our situation, then jumped off the truck and disappeared into the crowd on the street. We’d now arrived at the notorious Con Dao prison.

I don’t exactly recall what happened right after we arrived. I remembered being searched, very briefly, since I was a kid. As my parents expected, they did not find the US dollars hidden in one of my shorts, which were still in there, though a bit wet. A woman also did a full body search on my Mom and sister, as well as other women from the boat. We still hadn’t seen my Dad and brother, as they were taken to a different area. They were separating the men, women, and children into 2 different buildings, each had 3 large cells. The men and any boys that were 12 or older would be kept in one building, and the women and boys that were under 12 would be in another. My Mom had lied that I was 10, so that they’d let me stay with her and my sister. My brother was 16, so he had to go with my Dad.

During this time in Vietnam, people didn’t have ID cards to identify who they were. There was no computer system or database that kept track of who was who. Especially on this isolated island. The prison officials pretty much had no idea who each of us was. My Dad took advantage of this, which I think did save his life. After the fall of Saigon, my Dad was sent to the “re-education camp”, another term for “hard-labor prison”, in the middle of a jungle in Central Vietnam, for 3 years. He was considered an intellectual who aided the South Vietnamese government and the Americans, because he was an engineer who studied in the US and France, and was the vice president of a power plant during the capitalist regime. If the Con Dao prison officials found out that he was in the “camp” before, they would’ve dealt with him differently, perhaps a harsher environment, or a longer stay in this prison. But because of the lack of information, my Dad was able to hide his past, and told them that he was just a tailor (which was a career he took up after coming back from the “camp”).

After the search was done, we were then given canopies for mosquitoes, and were escorted into our cell. There was a group of people that had been there for awhile already, they were just another group of people that tried to escape Vietnam, and got caught, just like us, a few months before we got there. After we all settled into the cell, which was a large concrete room, high ceiling, with just a few small windows with iron bars that were too high to even climb to. There was just one small, dark and very dirty bathroom. There was a concrete platform, about 2 feet high, that went all around the cell, and that was where we’d sleep on. People then started picking their spot by putting up their canopies and their belongings (whatever they had left). I remember how cold and chilling I felt being in that cell. There were some marks, drawings and writings on the wall, I wasn’t sure, but I think it was probably from the revolutionary prisoners. Outside of the cell, there was a small yard, with a well which was the main source of water for our whole building. By the 2nd week or so, we all learned how to get water out of the well with a bucket and a rope, which could be very tricky at times.

Since it’s almost impossible to try to escape from this island, the security at the prison, at least during the time that we were there, was very light. Every morning, they’d make us get up at 4AM. They’d open the cell doors, and all the adults would have to go work on the fields outside of the prison, until 5PM. They would lock the cell doors at 6PM, after dinner time. The kids get to stay home during the day, with the cell doors opened. I was lucky enough not having to work in the fields, so I’d spend my day hanging out with other kids that were there. And during the month I was there, there was one Sunday when a couple of prison guards took all the little kids to a beach, outside of the prison. That was a treat. I remember how pristine the beach was, how blue the water was, and how white the sand was.

As for food, the prison would give us just rice every night. Each person got a bowl of rice. Someone had told me that the rice that they fed us was the same that they’d use to feed the farm animals. Since my Mom and sister had to go work every day outside of the prison, my Mom somehow was able to sell the US dollars that were hidden in my shorts, and was able to secretly buy some other foods so we could eat with the rice. Once in awhile she’d come back with a sweet treat for me. That was heaven! There was also a community garden in the back of our cell where you could grow your own vegetables.

This was where I’d spend my first month of summer in 1985. My “summer camp”! We also “celebrated” my 12th birthday here. It must have been very low key, because I don’t recall much of what happened, except for the fact that my mom brought a sweet treat back for me from her day working on the fields.

We didn’t get to talk a lot to my Dad or brother during this time. In fact, I only remember talking to my brother, but not my Dad. We could only see them in line in the morning getting ready to go to work. Our building was located right behind theirs, separated by a small yard with a community well, and so once in awhile, my brother would climb up to the window in their bathroom, and we could then see him and talk to him a little bit, until he heard someone coming. He’d tell us how he was doing, and how my Dad was doing.

As for the details of how life was every day when we were there, that was all that I could recall. But there were 2 incidents that happened which I’ll never forget: the day that they put my Dad in solitary confinement, and the day that my Mom, my siblings, and I were released, without my Dad.

When we first got to the island, the prison officials interrogated everyone trying to find the boat owner, as well as the captain, and anyone that was involved in organizing this trip. They later found out that both the boat owner and the captain had drowned at sea. But they were still looking for anyone else who was involved, to punish them. As I mentioned above, my Dad had told the officials that he was a tailor. In Vietnamese, this is how you’d spell tailor: “thợ may”. However, the same exact words, with just punctuation on the word “may”, would change the meaning to “mechanic”, or “thợ máy" in Vietnamese. Somehow the person who was interrogating my Dad had accidentally added the punctuation. So according to his notes, my Dad was a boat mechanic. A few days after we were settled into our cells, one evening, after all the adults had come back from work, I remember seeing my brother in the window bathroom in his building, trying to call us. We went out, and he was saying that the guards had just come and took Dad away to solitary confinement, because they thought that he was part of the boat crew/mechanics.

To the left of our building, about a couple of blocks down, was the solitary confinement building, known as “the resorts”, where the infamous tiger cages were. That was where they’d keep the hardcore revolutionist, and try to break them physically, as well as mentally. As we were talking to my brother, we then saw my Dad being dragged away by 2 guards, towards the “resorts”. Anger rushed into my head and straight to my heart. But this wasn’t just normal anger that I felt. This wasn’t the same anger I’d feel as if I was in a fight with some kid, or the same anger I’d feel as if my favorite toy was stolen. For the very first time in my life, I felt so angry that I wanted to hurt someone, in particular, the 2 prison guards that were dragging my Dad to solitary confinement. I know this might sound psychotic for a 12-year-old to think that way, but never before in my life that I wanted to kill someone. These people were taking away someone I loved and looked up to, and they were about to torture him, just because of a stupid typo! I remember my Mom and sister were yelling at them and crying, trying to explain to them that it was a mistake, as my helpless Dad was looking back at us. I was, on the other hand, completely speechless. Everything and everyone around me became oblivious, except for the image of my Dad being dragged away, and then disappeared behind the thick cell door. The only thing that was going through my head was anger. I think this was the very first time in my life that I, as a 12-year-old boy, really wished death upon someone.

According to my Dad, they put him in a cell so small that he could only sit up. There wasn’t enough room to lay down, or even stand up. There was a small bucket which was used as the bathroom. It was complete darkness, no windows. The only time he had some light was when they came to feed him. He was in solitary confinement for 3 days straight, until they realized that they made a mistake, that he wasn’t a “mechanic” as recorded, and moved him back into the normal cell.

A month went by, with no incidents. By now I had become good friends with the other kids in the same cell, and since I was actually older than all of them, I became the “leader of the pack”. During the day, when the adults were at work, most of the time the kids would just hang around the compound (during the day, the cells were unlocked) and make up games to play. Once in awhile we would have to go clean the kitchen, other than that, the other chore we would have to do was washing our family’s clothes. I became very skillful at using the bucket to get water from the well. You’d have to have a good technique, otherwise you couldn’t get much water into the bucket.

Then one day, the guards gathered all the prisoners onto the main yard, women/children on one side, men on the other. Then they announced that some of us will be released today to go back home. There was a ship waiting to take the released prisoners back to the mainland. Then they started calling the names of the people that would be free. I remember holding my sister’s hand really tight, praying that our names would get called. Then it happened! I don’t remember the order of whose name was called first, whether it was my Mom’s, or my sister’s, or my brother’s, but I remember hearing their names being called, then my name. But then they went to another name, without calling my Dad’s name. I was numb, once again. I think my Mom and my sister started crying. As soon as your name was called, you’d have to go get in another line, and so we did, without my Dad. We finally reunited with my brother face to face now, but I remember looking at my Dad who was still sitting in the other group of men who did not get called. I could see his eyes, and I could see the happiness in his eyes that we were being released, and that we would no longer suffer. Maybe it was my interpretation, but I did not see any sadness by looking at him. Maybe his happiness subjugated his sadness of not being released at the same time with his family. I don’t think I would ever find out. And now, as I’m writing this, I thought about how my Mom was feeling at the moment. It must have been so hard for her, as this was the second time that she had to part from my Dad, not knowing when they would see each other again.

We were driven back to the same dock where we arrived a month prior, and were boarded onto a big ship to be taken back to the mainland. As I was boarding the ship, my knees started shaking, as the memory of the accident that happened a month ago rushed back into my head. Still holding my sister’s hand tightly, I managed to board. Everyone was sitting and lying on the top deck, as the ship was heading towards Vung Tau, which is a small fishing town, about 3 hours south of Saigon. I don’t remember exactly how long the trip back was, but I remember spending the first night on that ship, trying to fall asleep. All I could think was what my Dad was going through right now. I really missed him.

We finally got to Vung Tau. It was daytime. As soon as we got off the ship, that was it! We were free, and everyone was on their own to figure out how to get back to their hometown. I remember being stared at by bystanders as we were walking down the street towards the bus stop. Since there was no time to pack when we were released (not that we had anything to pack anyway), we left with just whatever we had on at the Moment, with no shoes or sandals of any sort. Plus we were all exhausted from the long boat trip back to the mainland. I can’t remember how my Mom managed to get the bus tickets for all of us without any money, but somehow we got on the bus that was going back to Saigon.

We arrived in Saigon in the late afternoon. Even more stares as we got off the bus, since we all looked like homeless people. We then took a pedicab to go to my aunt’s house. As we were riding through the city, I finally felt somewhat of a relief. We were home, back where we started, all in one piece. Being 12 at the time, the only thing I was thinking about was food, real food, and how good that was going to be. But now I’m wondering what my Mom was thinking. All I know is if I was in her shoes at the time, I would be terrified. Even though we were free now, and made it back home, we had no money, we weren’t even sure if our apartment was still there, and the most important thing, our Dad’s fate was still up in the air.

When we got to my aunt’s house, nobody had any idea that we were coming back that day. As we got off the pedicab, my aunt walked out, saw us, and just started crying hysterically. My Mom and sister did the same thing. It turned out that my aunt knew that we were caught, and were jailed in Con Dao. Apparently, the man who jumped on the truck when we were driven to the prison the day we arrived, somehow memorized the information my Mom gave him, and did try to contact my aunts by sending them a letter to let them know our situations. A complete stranger, who just happened to see us sitting in the back of that truck, went out of his way to do all this, without asking for any rewards, not even thanks.

We stayed with my aunt for a few days, then went back to our apartment. Everything was still there. My Mom, through some connections that she had, found an official that would take bribes in order to try to get my Dad out soon. Apparently after we were released, he was transferred to another prison, this one was in the mainland. After another month or so, the corrupted official told us that our Dad would be released soon, and finally he was. I remember opening the door and there he was. He had lost a lot of weight, and was very tan, but he was in such good spirits. Everyone was crying. Finally, some tears of joy.

As I’m writing this down, trying to recall as many details and feelings as possible, I realized how courageous and brave my parents were, and how much they care for and love their children. They were willing to lose everything, to even risk their lives, trying to get their children a better future. And that’s not all. They had to make one of the hardest decisions of their lives as parents: knowing that this could put their children’s lives in danger. But at the time, that was the only way, the only hope they got, and personally I would never ever dare to blame my parents for what happened here. What I went through was so small, so minute compared to what they went through. As I think about the image of my Mom slowly drowning in the water, but still praying for her kids safety instead of struggling to stay alive, or the happiness I saw in my Dad’s eyes knowing that his family was being released but not knowing what would happen to him, it brings tears to my eyes to realize what LOVE really is, and how much a person can sacrifice for others who they love and care for. It can never be described by words, and to me, it was represented by these two very sad and unfortunate images, which also happened to be two of the most beautiful images forever engraved in my memory.