luzanneloves

reflections after reading Taipei story

Following Kuang’s works exposed me to the term “diaspora”, and now the word is stuck in my head like a catchy song from a toothpaste advert.

Diaspora refers to a group of people living someplace other than their homeland. Perhaps my personal experiences as an immigrant have also contributed to my attachment to this word.

I’ve been indulging in the joys of residency in a first-world country for five years now. And you would think I would have moved on with life without sparing any thought to the place and people I’ve left behind. It was, after all, the best decision I’ve made in my life, and I would choose it all over again.

The Uprooting

Have you ever witnessed a mature tree being uprooted and moved? The process can take a long time, and the preparations can be tedious. One of the most important things to note though, is the timing.

I did a quick search and according to the Bunnings website, uprooting a matured tree is best during the fall season.This is the first step. Well, I could say that my timing back then could not be better because it did feel like the aftermath of a fall from a rollercoaster ride, but without the momentum to push me back up.

The next steps, pruning the roots and preparing the new location. Other than my immediate family, it felt like nothing else was tying me down, and so when opportunity knocked and I had a stable occupation waiting for me, I grabbed it and set sail for the land down under. It was the push and momentum that I needed.

the replanting

Arriving in Australia was the best feeling in the world! It smelled of hope, money, and romance! I never thought I’d have any issues with communication because I’ve been using English even before I started formal education.

But communication issues did exist; fortunately, they did not persist. The issue lied with the accent and the colloquialism. But they were manageable, and made for good small talk material moving forwards.

I had 2 weeks of interim heaven (see mandatory lockdowns in 2021) at a beautiful hotel, the views of Sydney teasing me from my windows. Almost, almost within reach.

Then, it was time to eat, and my diasporic realities started.

Where’s my rice???

the adjustment

The food has been the most challenging part, in the beginning.

I grew up with rice as part of my main meal at least twice a day. But in the hotel, it was never provided as an option. My friend took pity on me and sent me hot, steaming, fluffy, beautiful white rice via Ubereats. It was the best rice I’ve had. It tasted like home.

After my forced staycation was over, more realities came crashing down. The love and care that my grandmother silently provided in the form of fresh bed sheets that I lie in every week squeezed my heart as I laid down on an unfamiliar, cold and itchy bed. I bawled my eyes out and barely slept on my first night out of the hotel.

I couldn’t wait to escape the roof that housed my family, because I had a hunger for freedom and a thirst to prove I am capable of being independent. I had taken for granted the hands that nurtured me, the culture that raised me, and the country that honed my values and principles.

Up next on Part 2: On community, language, and history