International Week: ‘Everyone Belongs’

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1. Bollywood dancing in the Quad 2. Roro and Sara, Year 12

Two of our Year 12 students shared their stories of family, culture, background and belonging in assemblies during International Week.

My mum, or as we say, my ammi, was born in the bustling city of Kolkata, yet much of my family remains in the smaller, vibrant city of Kanpur. This includes my greatgrandmother, or bhari nani, as we call her, her 11 children, and their children, and now even their children. But given that I don’t travel to India all the time, how does this culture influence my life today?

My name is Sara and I’m in Year 12. The theme of International Week was ‘Everyone Belongs’. I have found a sense of belonging in this nation, despite the contrasting mix of being both an Indian and an Australian. l want to unpack some of the stereotypical questions I have been asked, multiple times.

Up first we have, ‘Do you speak Indian?’ This one gets me every time. To make it clear, my ethnicity is Indian, and the language I speak is Urdu. On a side note, I FaceTime my grandma almost everyday, and though she can speak English very well, we often practise speaking Urdu together so that I can become more fluent.

We also have the usual, ‘Do you speak English?’ I love this one because I can either switch into a very convincing Indian accent, or I can choose to speak in an ocker Australian accent. The latter always blows their mind.

One of the funniest questions I get is from both non-Indians and Indians. It’s the automatic assumption, ‘So, which sciences and maths are you doing this year?’ As well as Methods, I take Latin, Australian History, Legal Studies and I took Geography last year – no sciences – so you can imagine what a shock it is to their system.

Finally, my all-time favourite: ‘So where were you born?’ And when I proceed to reply, ‘Australia’, there’s always that dreaded followup question, ‘but tell me where you’re really from?’

There is so much more to being Indian than what is perceived by Australian society. Although it has been many years since I last visited India, I remember everything so vividly. Each night, there would be more than 30 of us in one tiny room, and we would talk on our little blow-up mattresses until the early hours of the morning.

The car-rides were just as packed. More than 15 of us would pack inside a car made to fit 5, and often I would be curled up on the floor of the backseat, with my head on my ammi’s lap. Nowadays, so much emphasis is placed on worldly possessions – how big your house is, how expensive your car is – but in India, we chose to cram ourselves into that one room, and we chose to all go in that car together, because it was those special moments that we knew would stay with us forever.

Weddings are one of my favourite parts of being Indian. When my auntie got married, it was one of the best times of my life. First, we had the mehndi, which is the girls’ night, in Melbourne. Every Friday when school ended, I would rush in excitement to my nani’s place, and we would spend the entire weekend planning for her wedding. As part of this mehndi, we had an 8-minute choreographed dance medley, and a 6-minute dandiya dance, which uses sticks – the video shows that I thought my dancing was pretty top-notch. The second event was the Baarat in India; this is the event on the girl’s side. A unique part of this ceremony is the joota chupai, literally meaning ‘shoe hiding’. It’s purely for entertainment purposes, and it’s when the girl’s side hides the groom’s shoes and won’t give them back until he empties his bank account. But the baarat is also when the girl leaves with the boy for the first time, and everyone cries. I’ll also never forget how self-absorbed I was, to get my auntie, who was getting married that day, to straighten my hair, while I sat there eating chips. The last event was the walima which was held by the groom’s side on a beautiful lawn in India.

And how could I forget the Bollywood movies? The cheesiest yet most heartwarming films you’ll ever see. Ammi and I have a ritual, every few months to sit down at midnight and watch the 90’s Bollywood movies that she grew up with, like Khabi Khushie Khabie Gham (meaning, ‘sometimes there is joy, sometimes there is sadness’). We always end up in tears.

I’ve come to recognise that I’m a fusion, belonging to two opposite cultures that intertwine in the most unusual ways. Whether that’s eating biryani on Sorrento Back Beach then going for a swim on a too-full stomach, or wearing the most unappealing thongs with a beautiful Indian outfit (it’s safe to say my ammi was not very happy with me that day). Whichever decision I make, the beauty is in knowing that I have a wide array of choices. I am eternally grateful to be an Australian, who has retained my Indian culture. I do belong, in the most unique, Indian way.

Travelling from the west-most part of Indonesia in Aceh, to its east-most part in Papua, can be described as travelling through time.

I was born and raised in the capital city of Indonesia, Jakarta. I lived in a house of more than 15 people; many of my aunts and uncles lived with us. I would go to school with a driver, which is very common in Jakarta, and in the hours that I was at school, it was as if I was transported to a Western country, speaking English with Western teachers and surrounded by a multicultural community. Once school was finished, I would arrive back home to rowdy noises and an array of Indonesian food prepared by my maid – also very common in Jakarta – to have dinner, with my family who could not speak a word of English. It was a strange, dual life, but I loved every second of it.

However, if I travelled 2000km to a small, secluded island, where my mum is from, I was transported back in time to before the Industrial Revolution. The island is so remote that it takes more than 18 hours to get there. When I visited the island, I had to transit three times, hop on a ferry for eight hours, and then, finally, use a traditional fishing boat to get to the island.

When I attended a wedding there in 2016, my younger cousins were completely flabbergasted by the filters on Snapchat on my phone. They had never seen anything like it before. What was normal to me was abnormal to them.

The wedding itself was something I had never experienced before; there were no speaker on my Tiktok is always preaching the importance of confidence. I’ve always been scared to raise my hand in class and when a teacher makes a joke or strikes up a casual conversation, I tend to stutter, cower my head or soften my voice. I don’t know how to reply except to be polite. Moving here has exposed me to new values, very different to what I grew up with, such as confidence.

It was only after I actively sought to integrate myself into this new culture that I was able to enjoy my time here more. I realised that focusing on how different certain cultures are can make me more stressed and miss home even more. I used to always stick with the same people who shared the same culture as me because frankly, having different or opposing values can be terrifying.

After one and a half years of being in Australia, a very diverse country, I realise that those differences are simply opportunities to learn.

But, while it is up to me, the individual, to share my stories and actively seek to assimilate with the dominant culture, you all play a role in this as well. Australia, specifically, plays a significant role in international education. The ease of transition from one culture to another is enhanced when we help the individual feel welcomed, or ‘belonged’, and I think one of the best ways to do this is to actively listen. Actively listening does not mean listening to them only when they talk. It’s also listening to what’s not being said. Although today I shared my culture by articulating it clearly with my words, most of the time we don’t do that. We share culture through food, fashion, humour or music.

So, while the first step of ‘sharing’ is up to me, it is up to you to ‘listen’, and by working together, we will hopefully create a mutually beneficial, inclusive environment, where everyone belongs.

altars, pews nor air conditioning. The guests dressed casually because they couldn’t afford fancy clothing. This time, what was normal to them, was abnormal to me.

To travel even further back in time to when Indonesia was ruled by monarchs, we could go to my dad’s hometown in Java. Why? Well, because my dad’s ancestors were once kings, which is why they named me ‘Roro,’ meaning ‘princess’ in the local dialect. On my dad’s side of the family, we hold very strong Javenese noble traditions.

One of the prominent teachings is to respect your elders. For example, if you walk past someone older than you, you must bow your head and slouch down to make sure your eyes do not meet theirs because it would be considered very impolite. When I moved to Australia and gradually got exposed to Western norms, I was surprised at how different the key lessons being taught were.

When I first came to Australia, I admired students here when they queried a teacher or debated their claims - this would never happen in my culture because it would be considered impolite. Even now, I have the tendency to slouch down in front of teachers when I walk past them. It is taught that a Javanese person should be polite and soft-spoken, whereas every motivational Roro, Year 12