My parents were part of the wave of boat people who left Vietnam towards the late 1970s, and they both ended up in Australia, where they met in a migrant hostel in East Hills. In the beginning, they mostly relied on charities whilst they learnt English and then later they worked hard in odd jobs. Dad eventually studied at TAFE to become a motor mechanic, and Mum got a job working for Commonwealth Bank as a teller.
Their experience as refugees was traumatic and they didn’t often talk about it with us. I had to piece . . .