The humble sticky rice is an integral part of Vietnamese cuisine. But to my family, a few grains of sticky rice literally saved their lives, by giving them the strength to forge ahead on a harrowing journey that started on April 29, 1975 - the day before Saigon fell. This time, I will let my grand-uncle’s words tell the story…

“On April 29, I attempted to take the family to Bạch Đằng wharf where a big Navy ship was loading people to take them to the open sea. Upon arriving there, it was disheartening to see thousands of people waiting in line. We decided to go back home, but we ran into my brother’s friend on the way.

He offered to take us to Khánh Hội dock where the Vietnamese Marine had little ships that they were preparing to load their own families on to withdraw from the communist forces. They graciously allowed us to board one of these small ships. I found a spot on the floor and sat down. I was surrounded by mounds of weapons and ammunition. The marine ship had just returned from the war zone.

Suddenly I was overwhelmed with doubt. Did I do the right thing putting my dear Mom and the family in this situation? Was I leading her to a promising future or was this a long journey to a deadly end? I did not have an answer. I could only pray.

I suddenly felt so thirsty and hungry and realized that I had not eaten anything the whole day. Mom reached into her bag and took out some sticky rice and meat for the whole family. In shock, I asked how she could be so prepared when we only had seconds to decide that we were going.

It was the painful experience of running from the war for so many years that kept her always prepared. What would I do without Mom? I would have likely died of thirst or hunger even before reaching a destination.” - My grand-uncle, Nguyen Phuc Hung, written about my great-grandmother, Nguyen Thi Thin.