I've told this story before on Twitter, but I feel like I should do it again. April 30 will always be an important day for me.

46 years ago today, Saigon fell. The night before, my family was sitting in a boat on the Bạch Đằng river.

Someone had reached out to my aunt days earlier. Their former employer was an American (Fleming - I'm still trying to find if this was his name) and he'd already been evacuated, but left behind his boat. It needed repairs, but maybe it had half a chance of getting them out.

My uncle worked for Caric, an international shipbuilding company, so my aunt's friend came to her and asked for help. My grandfather posed as the shipowner, speaking French to try to get the boat repaired. Unfortunately, there was a work stoppage two days earlier.

So my family was in this broken boat on the river, with the few belongings they had packed, when they saw the military vessels all start pulling out. At that point, no one knew what was happening. My aunt knew their boat was vulnerable -- all the protection was leaving.

She got them to follow the military vessels out to sea -- not even knowing if the boat they were on was seaworthy. The next morning, they were close enough to shore to hear news via radio that Saigon had surrendered. Everyone in the boat cried.

They passed by a boat with soldiers that was heading back to the mainland. Presumably to try to return to their families since the war was over. There were 39 people on my family's boat, only 1 person left to return. I wonder sometimes what happened to that man.

I've often heard people tell me -- well, you came here the "right way". Is there a right way to flee for your life? Is there a right way to take such a blind leap?

It was kindness that allowed us to eventually come to these shores safely and build a new life. I pray for that seed of kindness to prevail among us in this country and around the world.

In a way, I made that journey too. You can't see me in this picture, but I'm inside my Mum. The young woman on the left in the gray ao dai. If I look closely, I can imagine a baby bump. That's me.
This is the 1st picture of our family in America at Camp Pendleton in San Diego.

I like to think, in my darkest times, that I was shielded by that kindness. I wasn't made strong by adversity, but by kindness. Which is why I owe that kindness to others, forever.

And that is my origin story. I think I should have superpowers, with an origin story like that.