The mother and daughter wept and prayed and clutched each other's hands as they started to drown.

In 2013, Tala and her family were travelling from Indonesia to Australia by boat when the wooden vessel capsized.

They were among an estimated 200 mostly Middle Eastern asylum seekers, including children, who were thrown into the water without life jackets. Most were unable to swim.

Tala lost her mother's grip when Australian Navy personnel hauled her out of the ocean, then transported her to Christmas Island with her brother and father.

For days she waited, hoping her mother would appear at the detention camp.

But hope ended when authorities asked her to identify her mother's body.

"I lost my angel on this bloody day … even the sky cried for me," Tala says of the loss. "It is hard to see your mum for the last time."

Tears stream down Tala's face as she relays these painful details. Usually, the 18-year-old avoids sharing her memories. She is determined to be a strong and stable force for her younger brother, over whom she has been given full guardianship after their father abandoned them months after their arrival.

But Tala wants people to know her story. The year 12 student at Lalor North College acknowledges that, among the nearly 85,000 Victorians sitting their VCE exams from this week, her case is unique.

"I lost my everything. I lost my mum, I lost my dad but, on the other hand, I became a different person," Tala says. "I'm strong enough, I try my best … I want to be positive."

Every day, Tala cooks for her 15-year-old brother, travels with him to and from school, and studies nightly – between 6pm and 3am – fitting in a few hours sleep before a 6.30am start. She started learning English just two years ago and tries to broaden her vocabulary and pick up Australian slang, while studying for her high-stakes exams.

She lives in Victoria's north, in accommodation for unaccompanied minors, and has a budget of $140 in fortnightly government funding to cover basic expenses such as food, textbooks, internet access and Myki passes.

Tala switches between different roles: the popular friend with a funny accent who wears fashionable outfits, the diligent, sometimes cheeky student, who once greeted her principal with a newly acquired saying: "What's cookin good lookin?", and the orphaned refugee, who finds solace walking through the Coburg cemetery, alone.

"I just sit next to the graves and cry," Tala says, noting that her mother was buried in Iran.​

Tala's mother tried to smuggle her children out of Iran three years ago to escape their violent father.

She recalls her mother locking her in a room – sometimes for a few days – while the raging patriarch beat his wife. The father followed his family to Australia, Tala says, to protect his honour at home. He returned to Iran months after their arrival to marry his cousin.

Despite her precarious position in Australia (Tala and her brother are waiting to be granted a Temporary Protection Visa) she has a clear vision for her future in Australia.

She wants to study biomedical science or nursing but, like many refugees without Australian citizenship, she has been locked out of the major universities, where she has to pay international student fees (about $40,000 a year). Without citizenship, she is not eligible for scholarships or fee relief, so she must consider vocational options.

"I want to be a nurse in the Australian navy," Tala says. "I lost my mum at sea, and I want to help people to survive."

Tala printed a series of photos after arriving in Australia. Each image pinpoints a life goal. She has a photo of high school students wearing blazers, Melbourne University's Parkville entrance, wedding flowers, a female doctor, and a smiling baby.

"I didn't let this drama destroy my life. This is what makes me who I am today."

Tala Afshak* is not her real name

timna.jacks@fairfaxmedia.com.au