I used to struggle with understanding my parents.
I was born in Cambodia and my family moved to Australia when I was about four. We settled in Robinvale.
Cambodia is a hot and humid place and I remember being surrounded by palm trees, banana trees and huge rice fields.
Robinvale is also farming land so it reminds me of home in that way. Here, we’re surrounded by the bush and gum trees as well as grape, orange and almond farms.
But settling in wasn’t easy.
When I’d hang out with friends, I’d notice little things that were different – they’d hug their family members and say “I love you”.
But hugging wasn’t the norm for us. And we didn’t really say “I love you”.
It was confusing.
When I started school, kids would make racist jokes.
They’d make fun of the food I’d eat, pull their eyes back and say mean things.
I was dumbfounded. I didn’t tell my parents about it because … why worry them?
I stayed up late studying and, when I did try to sleep, I’d overthink everything.
I bottled everything up and it started to show.
My parents noticed I was struggling. But they gave me time … and I started to become aware of all the different ways they tried to support me.
My father is a talkative and bright person and the mood lifts wherever he goes.
He can make anyone laugh.
My mother is a little shy but not when it comes to reminding me about the things I’d otherwise forget. She keeps us together.
I’ve since realised how much my parents love me and that comparing myself to others and the way other families work is so unhelpful.
What my parents and I have is special.
I just want to make my parents proud. But I also know I need to be OK.
I’m not as hard on myself anymore … and I’m working on connecting with my parents.
I’m even trying to learn Cambodian so we can speak in our mother tongue.
We’re working together to better understand each other and I couldn’t be prouder.