PNA

Target publication: The Herald Sun, The Age’s A2 ‘Features-communication’ or ‘Curly world’ or ‘Couch Life’ section.
A Life in Limbo

Ten years ago, I was sitting on my desk, reading my Indonesian textbook. At that time, it was probably the most interesting book I’ve ever read. The Indonesian folklores, fables and stories transported me to a different dimension. That was my first ‘travelling’ experience.

Ten years down the road, I’m sitting on my desk, reading my Japanese textbook, with English translation and Chinese characters. I’ve read countless genres of books, from classics to popular fictions. My ‘travel bag’ has endured Zeus’ empire, Thor’s thunder, Medieval Europe, Colonial Asia, modern America and Australian outback.

My Australian environmental teacher called us, international students, global citizens. It’s an apt description for me really. Being Chinese (by race) but also Indonesian (by nationality). And having studied in three different countries, being immersed in three completely different cultures in such a young life, qualified me as such.

For many people, being a global citizen is, undoubtedly, great. I certainly have gained a lot from being one. But looking back, I realize that I lost something in the process—my assured feeling of belonging. And let me tell you, having no sense of belonging can be so disconcerting that sometimes I wonder, at the end of the day, when we want to settle down, is global citizenship worth all the turmoil?

As an Indonesian born Chinese, I would be hard pressed to feel belonged in the first place. This is because of the deep-rooted differences between the Chinese and native Indonesians. But, it never troubled me then.

Sure, I was educated in a 99 per cent Chinese Christian school. And I noticed our differences. All the same, I felt Indonesian, albeit of Chinese descent, through and through. Moreover, I had some native tuition friends and teachers. Maybe because the racial and political situation was better then. Or maybe because I was still innocent.

A few years on, I arrived in Singapore shaken and glad to leave my hometown.. My attachment to the country I called home was loosening. It was an uneasy feeling. My childhood friends are my only link to the world I’m loosing connection with.

In Singapore, I feel safe. But the restrictions placed upon foreigners ostracized me. The irony is that Singapore pride herself on being a globalised, multicultural society, like Melbourne. Yet there’s a limit to that self-proclamation which can be seen from both cities’ treatment of international students.

As such, I couldn’t bring myself to love Singapore. So it was with joy that I moved to Melbourne. The moment I saw those endless red soil, I felt warm. The stewardess said it’s 12 degree Celsius. Maybe it’s the warmth of the plane’s blanket that I wrapped around myself. Maybe 12 degree Celsius in Melbourne isn’t that cold. I wouldn’t know. I had never been to any country with a temperature lower than 28 degree Celsius.

Unfortunately, I overheard some story of racism including the redheaded Australian politician, Pauline Hanson, which dampened some of my spirit.

Everything was fine in the first few months. Then one day a guy pushed me for no reason. Since then, I’ve had a few encounters with men shouting abuse or racist comments. I understand that those were isolated cases. And I have many wonderful Australian friends. So I just got on with life.

However, when I went back to Singapore to renew my visa, that displaced feeling returned. At the Australian embassy, a Caucasian girl with a Chinese passport and myself were waiting to be allowed in. The guard inspected my passport and my Australian college I.D. I was asked to stand aside. It was the girl’s turn. There were some queries about her passport, but she was soon allowed in.

I had to wait at the side for twenty minutes before a lady come and identify me. That must be what a detainee feels like—violated. That was the first time I hated my green passport, for it made me feel like a criminal. Every time I whipped out the green book, eyes seemed to watch me more closely, scrutinizing and pre-judging me.

In Melbourne, sometimes, I feel completely dislocated. In limbo. Like a drifting ghost. Home doesn’t feel like home anymore because of the feeling that I have to be ready to run away anytime. Singapore is never my country to begin with, although it is like a second home. So once I’m no longer a foreign student, I’m just a plain foreigner. I can’t help but worry if Melbourne too, would treat me like that.

To me, the word ‘citizen’ is associated with the sense of belonging. And to be a global citizen means to have no sense of alienation from any country. Yet, have anybody ever completely feel that way? When even your own country turn against you? Maybe we can easily fit in a country. But that doesn’t necessarily mean we belonged to the place. That’s why being dubbed a global citizen is something of an oxymoron.

Despite my complains, some events really make me appreciate my global citizenship. One particular experience was highly amusing, but it shows globalization at its best.

I was waiting to board the City Circle tram when this colourfully decorated tram approached. I was quite astounded as the ornaments were a little garish and there’s a loud Indian broadcast from inside the tram. It was the City Circle, so I boarded.

The tram compartment proved to be as lively as its outer decorations. But the most colourful is the commuters. There were people from different countries and races. Korean, Arabian, African, Indian, Germans, American, Australian, you named it, you’ve got it.

Some Anglo-Australian tram officers were walking around asking for our origins and explaining about the tram. One tried to sing along to the Indian songs with an amazing result. I alighted at my destination with just one thought, “wow!” Funnily, I never know what event was going on that day. But I still enjoyed it.

It struck me then. Without my global citizenship, I would never have experienced this mishmash of cultures. I would never have got lost and meet the friendly, helpful Australians. I would never have friends from all over the world. I would never have known that exhilarating feeling when a plane take-off or lands at a strange country. I would never have learnt different languages or read so widely. I would never have escaped the violence in my country. And I would never be who I am today.

At the end of the day, even with cons that seems to outweigh pros, I guess it’s worth the turmoil after all.

1099 words

Love, the colour purple