the gun at my head.

Now Playing: Shake It Out by Florence + the Machine (a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat)

I was born in the Perth Hills. Nearly twenty years ago, we were one of the only Asian families in the neighbourhood - even now, Kalamunda isn't exactly known for its ethnic diversity. We weren't considered very Australian.

My mother came to Australia when she was eighteen - just two years older than I am now. She didn't come here to settle permanently, but eventually did. My dad didn't really intend to stay here permanently either but, c'est la vie, here we all are.

So I'm a second generation immigrant.

I feel like I'm suffering from a bit of an identity crisis here. I know Australia is a wonderful place to grow up and I have so many opportunities, but I think I have an outsider's cynicism - I wasn't born wearing the rose-tinted glasses all the 'real Aussies' seem to have. I know Australia isn't perfect, but saying that is a bit like criticizing the Dalai Lama. Australia is, apparently, above reproach, simply because we can walk down the street with minimal risk of suicide bombs.

I don't feel very Australian. I've become very restless with Australia. I don't feel like I'm always in sync with Australian values and the Australian perspective.

And I think that's okay. I'm not wrong or right, I'm just different.

But I feel like people are threatened by my lack of patriotism, my indifference towards the place where I happen to be born. They keep telling me who I am, keep trying to force me to say that I'm Australian. What am I? I'm descended from Cantonese peasants - and their lives and times, their loves, their triumphs, their sorrows...we will never know. I'm descended from the queens and concubines of kings, of generals and statesmen. I don't look Australian and I don't feel Australian, yet this identity that I'm not fully comfortable with is constantly shoved down my throat by people who have the comfort of belonging and don't understand how I can possibly be alive and sane as a pariah.

I'll decide whether I'm Australian. I was born a wanderer; I'll wander off, and maybe I'll return - or maybe I won't. None of you know me as well as I know myself. And I know, for the moment at least, I'm not as Australian as you would like me to be.