Heart Of The Home

• Kiera Hay, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2018

Refugees have traveled over deadly oceans or run from their government, either way, they just want to find a new home. Racism is a terrible, unnecessary part of our lives. Do we dare to ever look deeper into the picture? Telling them that they should go back to where they came from or teasing them for their individuality, after all, they’ve been through, all they have fought for, searching for a safe haven, they would never come to think that someone, someone that has the same mind, body, and thoughts, would be treated differently to those with a “nicer” skin colour. Both my parents are refugees, but here's my father’s story.
My father lived in Cambodia, during this time there was a war going on, the Khmer Rouge. A fight between the government and the citizens. My grandfather, my father’s dad, used to own a big farm and earned a lot of Cambodian money from it. But when the new government came in they changed the currency and instead of democracy, it was a dictatorship. My grandfather had finally succumbed to the fact that his once peaceful home, was now a deathbed for its people. When the family heard this, they were devastated, my grandfather comforted the family reassuring them that they’d find a better home. My grandpa was packing scraps, feeding the family most of the food even though he was starving. They had planned to leave before dawn, but since my grandma was pregnant it was delayed. Father had lost his older sister and brother; the brother had died from an illness. His sister had been shot protecting my grandmother.
They had to escape Cambodia, get past the border separating Thailand from Cambodia, then travel to Australia. They had run out of water on their way to the border. After some time, they had found a dirty puddle that was contaminated with cow poop. My grandpa had ripped a piece of his already dirty shirt and filtered the water with it. They all took turns, trying to ignore the fact that they were drinking poop. Once they had enough of it, they continued. They had stopped by this “refugee camp” on the border, my grandparents not knowing any better had taken their children to “safety”. It turns out that camp was used to attract illegal immigrants and then kill them in their sleep. And they almost had them. My grandpa realised that it was dangerous, and they had left yet again to get to the border. Once they had arrived they had gotten a small, wooden boat that was falling apart. They were hesitant but knew they had no choice. They faced rough seas and finally landed in Australia. My father started school in year five, he didn’t have time for kindergarten, he didn’t even know English! He was bullied because he was different. When he was 17, he met my mother, but also met the death of my grandfather… the man who always made, his heart, our home.