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Confused and concerned while tightly holding onto my father’s arm, I was an eight-year-old boy split up from my family to be placed on a small fishing boat sitting closely with twenty-five other people. After five days of no food, the entire boat was ready to succumb to the treacherous sea. The pounding of the waves onto the sides of the boat with splashes of the salt water onto my face and the darkness of the night brought chills to my bones. Life at sea was a torturing death sentence.

On the boat, we all had one mission and that was to find freedom. We sacrificed our lives not knowing the danger that lies ahead. Our families were left behind; we were split up by the sea. It was a journey that hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese were willing to endure. However, after finding freedom, something else was lost. Living in America, we lost our language, culture, and family. The South China Sea was the bridge for us to find freedom and opportunity, yet, it was also the cause of further separation and turmoil.