Arriving, Adjusting, Remembering - A Photograph, a Sausage Roll and the Slow Work of Belonging.
Some places stay with you long after you have left, and some recipes carry more than flavours. They carry place, memory, and the long journey of becoming. Our first home in Australia was shared with mamma's sister and her family, all under one roof. She had migrated in the late fifties, married and started a family in this home. It was a modest weatherboard house, close to the school, full of voices, routines, and the quiet negotiations of a newly arrived family finding their footing. As a child, it felt busy and comforting all at once. That house is still there. Every time I pass it, I slow down and picture us playing in the front yard. And just behind it, further down the same street, sits papa`s current home of care. There’s something quietly moving about that - the place where his life in Australia began, with another chapter unfolding just behind it. With migration, the past has a way of staying close, but what is sad is that papa` doesn't remember. We arrive...
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