A Journey from Hell, Through Hell to Paradise.

It was a cold and lonesome morning but it was an important morning. We had left the “starvation, war,
landlessness and oppression” destined for a life of meaning and living rather than destitute nothingness. All 40
of us scared, worried villagers packed into a fishing boat like sardines in a can yearning for the shores of a new
home. We had our first doubts merely seconds after leaving the blood soaked shores of Vietnam when
communist soldiers started shooting at our boat as we left the bay. Th managed to shoot out one of our
engines, reducing our overall power to 30%, but still our spirits were high as ever as this event set in stone the
reasons why we needed to leave, to protect our children. 4 days after leaving the hellhole we one called home,
our spirits were dampened by the all-consuming feeling of hunger. One member of our village also passed
away and whilst not fully understanding the magnitude of the situation, we felt a dark cloud pass over us,
forcing us to feel something…anything for this man who, like us, was chasing the dream of freedom. The day
after, our cloud of depression and sadness was temporarily blown away by the sight of a boat. The sight of
rescue. The sight of….pirates. Before anyone could come down off the euphoric thought of saviour, 7 Thai
pirates boarded the boat – how they all fit on I still to this day do not know – they had knives, machetes, and
guns waving every which way in the air. But I could tell by the way they looked at us, they didn’t think we were
worth the price of wasting a bullet. They stripped the boat bare of everything from shoes to cloth to the
engine. When they were finally done with us, we could see them all going back to their ship arguing and
bickering; I don’t think we were the big payday they were looking for. With our spirits once again crushed, our
soles, like our boat, sat drifting going nowhere in particular but longing for a place to call home. During the
miserable wet, cold, windy day, one man managed to MacGyver a rubber band out of probable the only shoe
the pirates didn’t take and fix the engine that was once written off as useless – come to think of it, it was
probably a blessing in disguise that the military blew one of the engines…a way of them repaying us for all the
cruel and unspeakable things they did to us back home. This blessing soon lifted its façade to turn back into a
curse as on day 5 of the trip, we, once again, saw a boat on the horizon. This time no one cheered, or dare call
out for help, we were all distracted by the piercing, cruel memories of the last attack. However, this time, it
was to be far worse – for the Do family at least – for when the pirated boarded our boat and saw we had
nothing save a broken engine (which they still took), they were so furious, the person huddled next to thought
they were the Devil’s children. Once they had taken the engine, the one in charge signalled to the Do baby,
and in a flash of wickedness, a pirate dangled him over the edge, yelling in a language no one understood. The
mother and father stood there weeping, pleading for their son’s life. As if by a miracle, after a stand off which
seemed to last a lifetime, the baby was pulled back onboard and the pirates left; angry and with a broken
engine. At this point in our journey, not one out of the 40+ of us ever thought we would make it to a new land.
We would drift forever, our bodies reclaimed by the Earth and never to be found again; not that anyone would
be looking. One dreary and misery morning, a third boat appeared on the horizon, but this time a much larger
one but we all still felt the dread of what was to come. Three sailors boarded our boat, cutting holes and
destroying our boat, they were saying things we didn’t understand and I thought this was it… 3 strikes and I’m
out. But the most remarkable thing happened. The pirates welcomed us onto their boat, gave us food and
bedding, warmth. I now know of course that in order to save people, their vessel must be stricken or
unseaworthy. After a few weeks of sleep, food, and our spirits lifting, we arrived in Sydney harbour. My eyes
were gleaming with so much joy…this paradise is so much more than I could have ever imagined back in my
oppressed village in communist Vietnam. As we were leaving the ship, one sailor said to me “In time you’ll
reach your own kind of excellence…just be yourself.” To this day, I have never seen that man again but I want
to tell him that I owe him not only my life from him saving us but my legacy for those kind words he said to me
at the beginning of my new life not as an oppressed, broken Vietnamese, but as an Australian full of hope,
opportunity, and an experience of a lifetime.

Mason K