Three Days Old

On March 30, 1975, the South Vietnamese had lost Da Nang, the city had fallen to the North Vietnamese. Just days before, I was born, named Nguyen Hang Giang-Anh.

I was only three-days old when my Dad pick my mom and I up at the hospital. She had just given birth to me. She wrapped me in a hand-knit sweater and clutched me into her arms. With the rest of our family, my dad drove us straight to the ports to evacuate from the city of Da Nang.

There were five other children, all under the ages of 14, and I, a newborn. My parents fought their way through the flooded streets of rampant panic and would later get separated from each other and the kids. I was lost. Just three days old.

My story is shared in episode #2 ‘Three Days Old’ as my father shares the chaos of that day and the hundred of thousands of Vietnamese fleeing to the South, where they thought it would be safer from the Communist. They fled by any means possible; merchant ships, barges, planes, cars and by foot, but many did not make it to the South. Our family was one of the luckier ones. But this was only the beginning of our refugee story.