When I was twelve years old. My mother held my hand, walked me down the dirt road in the dark and said to me, “Tonight I am going to take you to a boat, and this boat will take you to a new land with hope and a brighter future for you. I cannot come with you now, but when you arrive there, your brother will be waiting for you, and I will see you soon, understand?” Well, when you are twelve years old, you trust whatever your mother says to you. I found myself on a tiny boat that carried 45 people, leaving Vietnam illegally. The night was dark and rainy, and the thunderous waves of the ocean were beating our boat with a violent, angry voice that terrified me.

This went on for quite a few hours when suddenly, the boat’s engine stopped. Burnt out and broken, it left us adrift in this vast and stormy sea. Now facing the greatest fear that anyone sailing the ocean can face, our only hope was for a fisherman or other commercial boat to rescue us. But there was no one in sight. I had never been so scared, so I started to pray. I prayed to God, Jesus, Buddha, my ancestors and anyone else I could think of. “Please don’t let me die in this ocean. I want to live.”

Several days went by, and no one’s prayers were answered. We ran out of food and water. I had never been so thirsty and dehydrated. At times I was so thirsty, I would say to myself, “I wish I could have a cold glass of water and drink it, and then you can put a gun to my head and kill me. I would take that glass of water, and I would die happy.”