LIVING IN BETWEEN TWO WORLDS, A Memoir - PART 3

Part 3: Life in Melbourne

In January 1991, a month after mum and I arrived in Australia, we moved to Melbourne. Melbourne was a much different place to Perth, much more populated and vibrant. Here, the presence of my uncle and auntie made me feel at home. Finally, there was someone else besides my mum who I could communicate with. When mum and I first moved to Melbourne, we shared a two bedroom house with my uncle and auntie. The house was spacious according to Chinese standards at the time. However, the house had a wooden exterior, and no air-conditioning. This was challenging and unbearable at times in the scorching Melbourne summer. Nevertheless, I was glad to be living somewhere I could finally call home.

A few days after settling into my new home, mum had already found a job working in a factory. Since mum, auntie and uncle all had to work during the daytime, I was left to entertain myself in the confinement of our small two bedroom sauna. Whenever someone rang the doorbell, I was given the instruction to open the front door and repeat the words “I do not speak English”, and then proceed to slam the door, or was that to close the door gently…

I remember on one occasion, I was prompted to put my training to action when the doorbell rang. I hurried to the door and saw a man standing there who I didn’t recognise. I panicked, and before he had a chance to speak, I blurted out the words “I do not speak English!” and immediately slammed the door on him. The poor guy… didn’t even have a chance to utter a word. But I had felt a sense of accomplishment. My first words in English! How ironic, that those first words had to be “I do not speak English”…

For the next couple of months, this same pattern continued. Day after day I stayed home by myself whilst everyone else went to work. I was excited when eventually the time came for me to attend school. My mum had enrolled me into a local primary school, located in the Northern suburbs of Melbourne. I looked forward to finally getting to play with other children my own age.

This excitement of attending school soon faded.

After arriving at school on the first day, I soon noticed that there weren’t anyone in my class, and most likely in the entire school who could speak Chinese. The influx of migrants from China had not yet arrived in Melbourne in those days, especially not in the Northern suburbs. In addition, most migrants at that time from China had first moved to Australia by themselves, leaving their children back home in China, just as my auntie and uncle did.

I felt lost and overwhelmed as I tried to fit in at school. Everything was foreign to me; the language, the faces and the way classes were conducted. I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying, as my vocabulary was still limited to “I do not speak English”. A feeling of loneliness and not belonging gradually began to overwhelm me. During breaks between classes I felt lost as I wondered around the playground. Some well-meaning classmates tried to invite me to join them in their activities and games, but I couldn’t understand what they were doing and struggled to join in. Other students were nastier; some of them directed racist taunts at me, made fun of my Chinese appearance and laughed at what I was wearing.

After persisting for several weeks without any drastic improvement in my understanding, the teachers at the school finally approached my mum and encouraged her to enrol me an English language school. This was welcomed news to me as I was so tired of being an outcast and being picked on all the time.

The six months at language school was a refreshing change for me.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time at language school. There, I met other people who struggled with the same language difficulties that I faced, and experienced the same challenges as I did, that of a new migrant. These six months flew by quickly. My English improved dramatically during this time, and I began to enjoy my new life in Australia. Nevertheless, the time came for my friends and I at the language school to part our ways. When the six months had passed, I returned back to the same school where my nightmare recommenced.

My eye sight in those early days had not yet deteriorated to the extent that it had later dropped to. During those days at primary school, my vision was still well enough to do most things that kids do. I enjoyed playing video games, watching cartoons, and playing sports without any severe hindrance from my eye condition. It was only when I began attending school that I realised the full impact of my deteriorating eye sight. I was put in the first row in class, and even in the first row I struggled to see the writing on the whiteboard. I often had to stand up and lean my body forward to see. And to add to my conspicuous position in the room, I was given a strange looking slanted board to place my readings on so that I didn’t have to bend down too far to read and write. At that time, I also wore a pair of ridiculously uncool glasses with a chain around the rear in case the glasses fell off. To this day, I have no idea why I wore the glasses, because they didn’t improve my vision one bit.

On my return back to the School, my English had improved significantly, but my treatment as an outcast did not cease. The racist remarks and treatment that I had received previously continued. In fact, this time the bullying had intensified.

To be continued.

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Please click the following links to read Part 1, and Part 2 of my memoir.

You can read Part 4 of my memoir here.

If you want to connect with me, you can reach me at [email protected].

Jimmy