Home on the waves

Having lived aboard the Peace Ark for a couple of months off and on, I have started thinking of it as home.

It's a huge vessel, but I know every cabin and where every corridor leads. More importantly, it's a safe and familiar place in strange countries, like traveling with a mobile hometown.

I accompanied dozens of medical staff as they took a launch back to the Peace Ark, exhausted after a long, hard day working on land. The electricity supply hasn't yet been restored in Tacloban, and we surged across the ocean in complete darkness. All the seats were taken, so I lay down on the deck and saw the most magnificent night sky I have witnessed. It seemed so close that I felt I could touch the stars, or maybe catch a shooting star before it fell into the sea.

The Peace Ark resembled a star, too, its one visible light twinkling just above the horizon. When the ferry left port, the ship looked so close, but nearly an hour later, it was still just a bright spot in the distance.

When we drew closer, the ship's light began flashing on and off, indicating that it was ready to take us on board. For the medical team and members of the crew who had worked in the disaster area all day, few things could be more comforting than the "welcome home" message, hot water, food and warm beds.

One of the doctors told me he used to hate life on ship because of the ceaseless, bumpy movement, lack of space and canned vegetables. After he'd seen the destroyed houses and homeless people, however, life on board suddenly seemed much more desirable.

"I cherish what we have," he said. "And I'm proud that we can share it with people whose lives have been devastated. The ship is a floating shelter for us and them."

Peng Yining