I’ve never felt at
home.
As a two, nearly
three, year-old I immigrated to Australia with my mother and father. I remain
unsure if this was a wise decision on their part. Despite being so young when
we moved I was acutely aware that I was a foreigner in a new land. I spoke differently
to my new friends, I had no grandmother, oma, nanna, granny, grandfather, papa
or plain old granddad to spoil me, to visit at weekends, for my parents to send
me away to so they could have a break. I had no aunts, uncles or cousins to
grow up alongside. I had a family of three. Mum, Dad and me. A fourth member
tried to join us, but his life only lasted three days. When I was eight a
fourth member successfully joined our small family, my brother S. S grew up
with a different experience to me. He belonged to this land the rest of us were
foreigners in, yet he lacked the extended family his friends enjoyed. His
parents spoke funny and, for a while, so did he. Accents get lost when a child
starts school, they are spending more time away from the family and become homogenised.
I wasn’t allowed
to forget that I was a foreigner. We had frequent trips “home”. Home where I
had my nannas, granddad and step-granddad; cousins, aunties and uncles. Home,
where the houses had stairs and green grass, where it got cold, but never too hot.
Where I didn’t speak funny. But I did. “Ohhh, listen to her cute Australian
accent, she’s an real Aussie now.” No, I’m English but I live in Australia.
Over the years I
became more of an Australian. Deciding in 1995 that I needed a football (AFL)
team to support. I decided to pick whoever won the final that year – Carlton. I
don’t think I’ve ever watched a game on television. I went once with a friend
and her father, I don’t know who was playing, I don’t know the rules, just that
they have to kick a ball through some poles and it’s better if it goes through
the two centre poles. My accent diminished further, but I’d still be asked
where I was from occasionally. Friends replaced family, but Christmas was always
a lonely gathering of four, with the rest of my friends off to see their
families around the state / country. I pretended I was a proper Australian and
that I loved hot weather and going to the beach, the Sun was great – but not my
friend, with delicate English skin.
In 1999 we had a
long trip “home?” I was 14 and felt lost. For the first time I was spending a
long period with these people related to me by blood, and not just the ties of
short lived teenage friendships. I longed to go back to my other home, that is,
after all, where I thought I belonged. I was glad to return. Two years later
the time came to get Australian citizenship. We were doing this, not out of a
desire to be officially Australian, but to get cheaper passports and not need
re-entry visas. I was given a choice, but not really. I said no. “I’m not
Australian, I’m English!” “But it’s dual citizenship”, said my mother. “You’re
both, you just get cheaper passports and have to vote; that’s the only
difference.” I did it reluctantly. When I fill in official forms today I tick
the Australian citizen box, but then have to fill out the country of birth
section, including year, and sometimes exact date of arrival to Australia. So
I’m not really Australian if they still care about that. But I’m not English either.
I’ve thought about
moving back, to Scotland where my Aunt and Uncle live, rather than England and
it’s not far to travel to see the rest my family. I love Edinburgh. I’m not
amazing at making friends and my health is too much of a mess to uproot myself
so for now at least I’m staying here.
