How strange life is in its twists and hidden gates, doors opening on to unexpected treasure and beauty creeping up to surprise you around an obscure corner. It happened with Brideshead Revisited and the Tuscan radiance of Sydney University, and all the other major and minor milestones in my brief life, faithfully recorded in this diary. It happened today - yesterday ....

I'd seen it on the library shelf a couple of times, vaguely attracted by its cover of idyllic pastoral loveliness and its gentle title, Enchanted Ground (Sarah Woodhouse). I thought: intelligent, thoughtful, but not one of the heavy intellectual novels, something light and magical about it, like the intangible quality of dawn or the soft brush of summer air grazing your cheek. I thought beauty and yesterday, frustrated, unable to find Brideshead, I borrowed it. Yesterday I borrowed it for its lovely cover illustration, not really intending to read it, but as I flicked through ... yes, I was enchanted.

I woke up this morning (not at all promising but sulky and grey) and read it, breathless with love, curiosity and wonder. In spite of the second-rate morning outside, I felt transformed. With each new page, each new line, it was as if I was drifting in that idyllic countryside; an ethereal dawn beyond the glass doors opening to a terrace and the pastoral idyll and I was floating through many curtains of silky chiffon gauze that fluttered in the breeze, brushing softly against me as I passed through each layer towards the shimmering and glimmering beauty outside, the curious soft glow that touched magic into everything and I, like a child, was there in the story wandering, discovering, asking about the tantalising and strangely sweet secrets of the past.

How I savoured the prose, the delicious curiosity, the tingling speculations and half-hints. It was all like a real adventure, something young and vibrant and ... curious, so full of light and beauty unlike my many well-thumbed volumes of the Classics .... Yes, I was enchanted, yesterday, this morning.

By afternoon, with the fast gathering dusk, duty tugged at my conscience. And I was heartbroken. Certainly the ending was dissatisfying, like Middlemarch, but it was a heart-breaking story, the frustrated loves, Jack and Paddy, Harriet and William. I had scented other secrets, other forbidden unknown affairs and loves, hoped for - what? I hardly knew, except that I devoured page after page, immersed in the light and the tingling mysteries. Oh, I didn't cry over Jack as I had done over Porthos, but my heart went out to him, just as it had gone out to poor dear Sebastian Flyte the year before.

The second time, hurrying through it in the afternoon darkness to find Jack's name, I found none of the wondrous light atmosphere - was it the oppressive melancholy of encroaching night? my guilt-stricken conscience at the piles of untouched homework? or simply that I now knew the secrets and could no longer completely play the wonder-filled child, exploring, fascinated, curious - like Etta coming into an enchanted new world and discovering Paddy? Or perhaps because it was no longer the wonderful first experience? I suppose such sweetness can never be repeated in the same way - but neither can it be forgotten, like the joy of dawn. The prose is still there, flowing (yet not lyrical, like poetry) but with a strong delicious character of its own - no longer yielding elusive mysteries (because they are no longer mysteries) or feeling like the extraordinary fragility of memories, suddenly vivid and illuminating, a rarefied world ... but how delicious it still is.

It reminded me of another magical experience, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (Fannie Flagg), the movie and even more so, the book. They all seem to be in the same category, the same distinctive flavour, the same quality of recounting the strength and fragility of humanity - the pathos without the cloying sentiment - hence seemed so real and truthful and, inevitably, heart-breaking. The truth in them, the wise insights given as if from the age-acquired sagacity of a grandmother or trusted housekeeper like Curry, and all the little things - love, joy, grief, death, marriage, laughter, friendship - the things that make up life seem to have been caught and painted or woven into the face of a tapestry, the elements instilled - so heart-breakingly touching for their realism. It is inspiring to have such hope restored in humanity. Like City of Joy, but not as gloriously celebrated - quietly, unobtrusively, as the river of life flows on ....

Her prose style has inspired me to make another attempt at my novel though I know I haven't the time. The fresh loveliness of its cover, its story, title .... There was a quote at the front: "Many people who have travelled, and many who have not, have some little corner of the earth which to them is enchanted ground." Could it be my dear Tuscany wherever I go - to Kumon, home, China, my dream journeys ...?

I keep remembering the vision of a radiant morning, tranquil, with the echoes of footsteps and conversations under the grand cloisters of Sydney University's Great Hall - our wonderful week at the chemistry course in the idyllic surroundings, in such prestige and beauty and light. The word I think of is 'poignancy'. The milieu, the air, the freedom, but most of all, the light. Florence seems to be paling ....

But I also hark back to A Handful of Dust, the elegance of the movie and the wit of Waugh's novel rediscovered (oh! Brenda's charming language - her "darlings" and "best love" ...) and Truman Capote's wistful Breakfast at Tiffany's. There is no wistfulness or depression or melancholy now; I'm not sure there is anything at all - except a vision of light and beauty, of something new and tingling, as if I'm on the verge of a new epoch .... A lightness of touch, sensitivity, humour, individual quirks without crassness or gross eccentricity, a positive, brave new beginning (none of the negative ... karma, I suppose, of year 11 physics), youth, hope, another dawn.

And such wondrous light ....

Liwen Hwan (17)

In 1985 I was born into a middle class family in Vietnam. My dad was a technician who worked in a cement factory and my mum was a statistician who worked for a Government Department.

Since 30th April 1975, millions of Vietnamese people, especially the ones born in South Vietnam, have left their country because they could not suffer the crush of human rights by the Communist Government. Among these people were my mum and dad. The Vietnamese boat people wanted to escape Vietnam regardless of the danger. Most, going across the sea, had to cope with the storms and Thai pirates. They often did not have enough food or water but they were ready to face danger and death. Only some survived.

My mum and dad were two of the victims of the Communist Government's persecution and were looking for a way to escape. They tried to escape many times but all their efforts ended in failure. Suddenly, in 1983, they tried to escape but failed again. They were put in gaol. After their release, both of them were sacked and were unemployed. Early in 1984 they were married.

In January 1988 my dad and mum tried to escape again. At that time, I was only a three year old girl. I did not know what persecution meant. Every day, besides eating and sleeping and amusing myself, I just said 'daddy' and 'mummy'. Unfortunately, we failed again and we were put in gaol.

I did not see my dad when we were in gaol. My mum and I and the other women were in the same gaol. My mum told me that she was tortured every three days but I did not understand anything and I just cried when I saw her crying. We were released three months later but my dad was still in gaol. He was released two months later. During the time in gaol I was not allowed to go to school. I was sick many times but no one took me to see the doctor and I got no medicine at all, not even one single tablet. I do not know why my sickness passed over.

Then my parents were being followed by the police. The police created many difficulties for them while they were trying to earn a living. I was not allowed to go to school after leaving gaol.

My parents and I risked our lives again to escape one more time - on 16th May 1989. At that time there were 111 people altogether (80 men, 28 women and 3 children). The boat was 14 metres long and 3 metres wide.

On the first day of the trip everything was OK. Everyone felt happy and we were overjoyed. However, we found it hard to breathe because of a lack of oxygen because we were in the hold of the boat. I was one of three children on the boat and I fell into a state of unconsciousness. Many times my dad had to lift me up next to the lid of the hold so that I could take a breath for a little time. The lid was a square shape one metre long and could be taken off when needed.

Very early on the next day, my boat was sighted and chased by the police boat. The steersman of my boat changed consecutively the direction of the boat, so the distance between the police boat and mine was gradually increasing. However, the police boat was still chasing and between times they shot at us with a gun. Luckily there was no one killed or injured. The chase lasted until the evening of that day. With the evening coming, the police boat could not see our boat and we actually felt that we were out of Vietnam waters.

Then everyone was thirsty and hungry because we had run out of food and water. Also, due to changing directions, we had lost our way. Finally, after confirming the location of the boat, we knew we were in territorial waters of Thailand. The steersman increased the speed so that the boat could be out of Thai waters as soon as possible. During the night, the sky was very dark with no stars at all. The surface of the sea was quiet. From time to time we saw a few unsteady lights from afar - we were worried that these were the lights of the boats of the Thai pirates but the dim lights also disappeared into the night and the boat people were safe again.

Early the next morning of the third day, I heard the cries of the other children who were two and three. They were hungry and thirsty very much. So was I. Six hours after that there was still no water for us, not even one drop. The two year old child died three hours later and then the three year old died too. Their parents were heartbroken. The dead bodies were thrown into the sea. It was the end of the trip for their dear children.

Everyone was worried about their destiny. Suddenly one man saw a boat in the distance, through the binoculars. When it got closer in, it was a boat of Thai pirates. The pirates were very cruel. They took all the jewels - no one would stand up against them because they had guns. When they were finished taking all the jewels they went away and did not care what we did. The steersman started the boat and continued the trip. It was late in the afternoon and at that time the sea water was very dark. The boat went slowly on the surface. I was the only child who was still alive out of three children. I was not scared of pirates but cried and asked my parents for a drop of water. I wondered why we were on the boat. "Don't cry, it's all right, it's all right. Your father and I are here to keep you safe," said my mum.

One hour later, another pirate boat found our boat. They searched everywhere on the boat for jewels but they found none. There were three women and two girls raped. The raped woman's husband was stabbed because he fought against the pirates. His dead body was thrown into the sea. The pirates then took our binoculars and mariner's compass, broke the engine and went away. We all cried terribly.

When I was delirious I cried, "I am thirsty, I am thirsty, give me water." My parents cried too and say nothing ....

Our boat floated on the sea because the engine was still not working - we were frightened. Late on the afternoon of the fourth day, our boat was in a storm - with thunder, heavy rain, big waves and strong winds. Everyone was sea sick. It seemed easier for us to die. But luckily the men made every effort to catch the rain water and distribute it to everyone, especially me. Soon I felt better.

One hour later the rain stopped completely, the storm had passed away, no more winds and waves. The surface of the sea became quiet again. The boat floated for three more days. The rain water assisted me to live. As I lay unmoving, my breath was very weak because there was not enough water in my body. Early on the morning of the sixth day, we did not know where we were when we saw a Malaysian fishing boat. They gave us food and water and medicine and pulled our boat to an island called Pulau Bidong. The disaster has passed - thanks to our prayers and belief in God who had rescued us. I was lucky to be alive!

We went to a refugee camp in Malaysia. My family, as well as the other Vietnamese boat people, were helped by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, the Malaysian Crescent Society and the Malaysian Government. My parents had to wait for three more years in the camp before we were screened. Luckily for us, we passed our screening and were accepted by the Australian Delegation to resettle in Australia, in August 1992. In Australia, my family was helped by the Government.

That is all in the past. Now I am happy that I can go to school. I learn English as a second language and I have lots of friends.

Ngoc Nguyen (10)

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