Here at Home | Rally Magazine

"Breathing in, I have arrived. Breathing out, I am home."

– Thich Nhat Hanh

Growing up, I never quite understood why I was sent to 上海 (Shànghǎi) to live with my grandparents from when I was three months old.

The house in the outer ‘burbs of Naarm my parents managed to buy when I was away, they have lived in since I was two. Creating permanence and safety, hard fought for, so I have a place of unconditional love and care to return to, is what enables my autonomy – an honour and privilege.

Through my movement, I build on my dad’s bravery in attempting a new life, and of the suffering that catalysed the asylum granted to him post-Tiananmen Square.

How do you know when you are home? Is it an innate feeling? How do you forge and carve out new homes, communities, a sense of belonging?

Perhaps it is of deep ancestral knowing, of sacrifice, opportunity making, isolation intertwined with deep belonging.

For me, I am trying to tend to my roots, cultivating with curiosity and care. I think you carry your home, it lives inside of you, growing always, through you.

New shrines, amalgamation of many cultures, chosen pathways of migration, grounding in every moment.

I distinctly remember the first time I stepped foot into the inaugural Queer Lunar New Year party in 2019. The first ever space entirely dedicated to queer Asians. Something awoke from deep inside of me – to be seen and understood almost entirely.

I am still and forever will be changed and benefitting from the connections that sparked from that night. Forging community in shared third spaces, in sharing food, hopes and dreams, in political organising, and being able to practice values, in fighting against the white colonial narratives and understanding my work as a queer migrant settler. I have all my love to Naarm for granting me such a strong base to return to & draw from, my first real home.

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Summers spent in the cold temperature but warmth of 外婆’s (wài po, maternal grandma) tiny one bedroom flat, three generations of women, grandma and mum in one bed, me and my sister sharing the pull out sofa bed.

Unspoken grief of long distance, unconditional love showing through food, despite barely being able to communicate through my broken 上海话 (Shànghǎi huà, Shanghainese) and my family’s non-existent English, the draw to return, to make understanding and relationship is irresistible even if the reality is far from perfect. Knowing that these links will only weaken if not tended to. This whole process sweetened and made more sustainable through carving out my own spaces with queer Shanghai friends.

How dastardly lucky to know chosen family here – so unwavering, stable, gentle and kind. Feeling the complexities of trying to organise with creatives who had endured recent hardships and conflict, the only way out was in – with time and care. Out we birthed Moon Hangs, an amorphous, low pressure loose collective that was directly responding to desires, something to always be connecting with, returning to, and building with. Through I was physically in Boorloo continuously for a single year, the place and people have permanently embedded in my heart.

I had eternally been curious what life might entail in a world that seemed entirely different to the one that I had grown up in yet somehow on the same continent, red earth, Blak history, so much to try to begin to get a grasp on, privileged to have the opportunity to choose to live there and dive right in.

A choice to broaden my horizons and experience this new life with some of the oldest living cultures in the world. Wearing the honour of my parents’ sacrifice of hard work so I could get this freedom and opportunity. Still always finding family in sharing food, cultural exchange and immersion.

I thought my reason for quitting my job and taking a three month Mandarin course in Taipei was to improve on my communication and relationship with my family but of course when my trip ended halfway through due to a broken ankle and I was forced to suddenly live with my parents who I had not done so for 10 years, it was apparent it was not entirely this. Chinese culture on the mainland is much less accessible to those brought up in the West. Time here feels like a pause – familiar enough to navigate whilst really sitting on some of those big life questions – and being fortunate enough to meet queer Chinese diaspora from across the globe. Soul food, nourishment, self understanding to fuel the fires when it can be so isolating in a town of 3,000 people in outback Northern Territory – a privilege to lead this life.

Here

at

home

What makes a home for someone living in the diaspora?

With family, culture, language, community, food and identity spread across lands, home is here as much as it is there.

"Breathing in, I have arrived. Breathing out, I am home."

– Thich Nhat Hanh

Here

at

home

What makes a home for someone living in the diaspora?

With family, culture, language, community, food and identity spread across lands, home is here as much as it is there.

"Breathing in, I have arrived. Breathing out, I am home."

– Thich Nhat Hanh

Qíqi Lù