One summer evening, I sat in my armchair, a pot of steaming black tea next to me and thought about home.
The memories played like a movie reel inside of my head: my family, my childhood friends, the home cooked food, the tropical climate, the local park and the list goes on. Over and over again, this reel played in silence. I experienced an immoveable desire to pack up my life and head back home to Sri Lanka. Though this feeling lay inside me I never enacted it in reality, I just contemplated it.
Ever since I exchanged my student visa for a more permanent one, a strange feeling lingered inside of me. The status of student had an element of impermanence to it because I constantly returned home for the holidays. The change though made me question my relationship to home, my emotions around placement and my sense of belonging. My dream of return lingered inside of me like a scar that never faded.
I experienced several instances of racism after university ended. Several employers and clients appeared to misunderstand certain statements or leaned in closer to hear me. I have been bilingual since the age of five but my strong South Asian accent did not meet their standards.
On public transport, inebriated strangers targeted several bystanders of colour. I had to stand still, stare at my phone and pretend to be oblivious to their rants. Other times, people chirped about Indians being the largest influx of immigrants to Australia and eyed me in unashamed condescension.
I remember thinking “Why is this so normal here?”
Writer, Devana Senanayake. Source: Supplied
It’s during these moments that I missed my family the most. I immigrated here as an international student and had no one to take my side as I faced these obstacles alone.
I go back home every Christmas to spend the holidays in my family home. I love seeing all the familiar faces; beaches full of golden sand; and reading a book in my balcony, fanned by a pink frangipani tree. For the first couple of days, the reality I am surrounded by resembles the fantasy I have constructed in my head.
There are a lot of great things about Sri Lanka, like the food. I particularly missed my mother’s red rice, aromatic crab curry and cool mallum (finely chopped salad rolled in red onion, lime juice and salt). I also missed vegetables like jackfruit (a brilliant substitute for meat) and dell curry (creamy breadfruit curry).
The country is still very much in the past: people are never truly busy and they can be seen quietly relishing a cup of ginger tea as the day darkens. Religious festivals like Vesak and Deepavali result in a myriad of lit lamps and art installations that radiate through temples, streets and homes.
Once the days pass, reality hits. The country is still in recovery mode. Much of the infrastructure is dilapidated and is in the process of reconstruction. People are underpaid. They are a limited amount of professional opportunities for young people. Sexism is rife and there is limited legislation to press for progress. LGBTIQA+ people are still criminalised and persecuted.
During my holidays, I also missed certain elements about Melbourne. I missed my room that smelled of vanilla and bergamot, the ring of the tram and stopping at Victoria Market to get my coffee, my friends (the outings, laughter and the constant complaining) and running along the Maribyrnong River at dusk.
Once I returned to Melbourne, I decided that I had to lay these ghosts to rest and settle in, this time for good
Questions like “What is home? Where is home? What does home mean? Where do I belong?” plagued my mind. Both Australia and Sri Lanka had their fair share of problems. I came to a realisation that I had to choose the problems I could endure on a long term basis, mostly for a better future. Once I returned to Melbourne, I decided that I had to lay these ghosts to rest and settle in, this time for good.
I have never had any family in Australia but I built one. I looked for other people that had similar experiences of stitching together a sense of self based on fragmented pieces of disparate culture. I found these people through my side projects, events and online communities.
Thankfully, these people turned out to be more than just brunch friends or people eager to meet for a coffee. We shared meals together. Some brought home cooked food for me. We talked openly and honestly about our daily struggles, dreams and mental health. During public holidays, some came and spent the day at my house as an eerie silence enveloped the unoccupied streets.
I felt deeply connected and started to feel like I belonged. I felt like I had people I could rely on - a human net that could catch me.
I have learned that home is emotion - it is not a destination. I need to feel at home rather than be at home. Immigration is as much about physical relocation as it is about internal reconciliation and a changed perspective. It is not a simple action of movement – it is a process of building a relationship to a place. As it is a re-rooting of self and emotion, it is a metamorphosis in constant flux.
