In December 2025, as I was wrapping up for the Christmas break, I received an email from the Australian War Memorial containing an official letter. I was being invited to address the nation at the 2026 Anzac Day Dawn Service in Canberra.
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A few days before I was to give the speech, the director of the Australian War Memorial, Matt Anderson, invited me for a meeting.
In his office, the director pointed to his dad's slouch hat sitting proudly at the top of his shelves, and shared some memories of his own service when he was in the army, describing how his children were now carrying his legacy, as well that of their grandparents.
He told me to "just be yourself on the day, which is exactly why you have been selected". Before I left his office, he shook my hand twice.
The first time he placed an Australian War Memorial coin in my hand and the second time, a coin which had both the Australian and Afghan flag.
He said, "This represents you, you embody the spirit of both countries." My eyes were teary and my heart full of pride.
We woke up around 3am to get ready. My mum, dad, Masoma and Razia had come to Canberra to watch and support me. I got ready with Masoma. It was our first Anzac Day together as members of the defence force.
Both my mum and dad kept looking at us, and I could tell their eyes were filled with pride. In turn, I kept looking at Masoma as I felt so proud having her by my side and in uniform. It was dark and cold when we drove towards the Australian War Memorial.
To my own surprise, I was the calmest I have ever been, and I think it was because I had practised and delivered the speech in my mind so many times. It was reported that approximately 35,000 people were in attendance, including Prime Minister Anthony Albanese and senior military leaders.
Once I finished, I returned to my original position and the chaplain standing next to me whispered, "Well done". I replied, "Thank you so much".
Then the Australian national anthem played and I saluted. During the anthem my eyes filled up with tears. This was the proudest I have ever felt serving; it was a huge honour.
It felt as if I lived a lifetime in one day. I had become one of the youngest and most junior personnel to deliver the national Anzac Day Commemorative Address. I have included my speech here:
In 2001, in the early hours of the morning, a tiny wooden boat in the Indian Ocean was on the verge of sinking after a night of heavy storms. The relentless sea had shattered it mercilessly, each violent wave struck the fragile vessel, lifting it high into the air, before slamming it down onto the unforgiving water.
Families - men, women and children - desperately clung to life. They were terrified, exhausted and severely dehydrated. An Australian naval patrol spotted them at dawn and knew they didn't have much time left. Water was filling the broken boat and there was no land in sight.
Among the people that our courageous navy personnel saved from that tiny sinking boat was my father, who had risked his life to try to find us safety.
I didn't see my father for many years. Our family wasn't together during much of my childhood. I never stopped wondering why. When I was 18 years old, with my family living comfortably in Australia, I was the one who left home. Now I am the one who isn't around. My bags are always packed.
This is the kind of sacrifice that the men and women of the Australian Defence Force make every single day. They do this so that other families can be spared the separation and suffering that occurs when home is no longer a safe place to stay.
Twenty-four years since that tiny wooden boat in the Indian Ocean was rescued, I stand here as a proud daughter, a former immigrant, a former soldier, and now as an aviator. I carry that same hope and now a promise: to give back to the place I now call home.
Today marks the 111th anniversary of the Gallipoli landings: Anzac Day. On this day we remember those who came before us, those who exemplified bravery, leadership and courage. We acknowledge that we can only serve on this journey because of their legacy and sacrifices.
My parents grew up in Afghanistan, building our family home with love and hope. War made us refugees. We left our home without much choice. This happened during the war in Afghanistan - Australia's longest military engagement, with more than 26,000 personnel deployed; incidentally, this year also marks 25 years since the commencement of Operation Slipper, Australia's contribution to the war in Afghanistan.
That war, like all wars, offers us lessons and losses. Australians persevered in unfamiliar terrains and conditions, carrying out their duties with commitment and courage. While that war is now over, the human cost continues. Many veterans are battling the lasting shadows of war in the form of moral injury and mental health challenges. The battles they fight every day are often unseen and unheard, but we must all continue to support and care for our Defence community.
As a Personnel Capability Officer, I am grateful I can, alongside many of our ADF, serve our members on a human level, helping them navigate the complexities of service life. Every one of them has family waiting for them to return home safely. I know that any decision that is made to put our personnel in harm's way is always made with a deep sense of responsibility and reflection, alive to the challenges and risks our nation may face.
In times of global conflict and uncertainty, our guiding principle should always be - as those of the Anzacs before us - to uphold the values we cherish as Australians and through our actions, to always honour the sacrifice of all service personnel, and their families, with an unwavering commitment to the preservation of peace.
Lest we forget.
Dad cried when we finally returned to the hotel after a long day of speaking to the media and meeting the Governor-General, Sam Mostyn. He then shared with us why he felt so emotional.
He said, "I don't know why, but today took me back to the day my visa was rejected by the immigration office after living in uncertainty and limbo in Australia for three years. Following the rejection, we had to appeal in court and fight to challenge the decision. In the courtroom, after four hours of intense and rigorous questioning via a big TV screen, speaking through an interpreter and pleading my case, the judge finally asked me if I had anything else to say before the hearing ended.
"With very little hope left, and my heart pounding with nerves, I said, 'Yes, I do have something to add.' Not knowing whether my message would truly reach him, I told the judge, 'It has been such a long journey being away from my family. Whether you reject me or accept me, I understand. But please know that my children and my family have been waiting for me for so long. I constantly think about my children and their future. I want them to have the opportunity to receive an education and live a better life'."
He then thanked the judge who had given him the opportunity to speak that day. His words caught at our hearts and caused us to also start crying at the bittersweet moment.
- This is an edited extract from First of Her Kind by RAAF aviator Kbora Ali and her sister, trauma counsellor Razia Ali (Echo Publishing, $36.99).
