To where we belong.

 

Today I am hiking.

 

I joined a gay hiking group on this app called Meetup,

where they regularly organise hikes around Melbourne.

And today we are walking through Lerderderg National Park.

 

There are ten of us in total.

 

And there is one man in particular who stands out from the rest.

His name is Chris.

 

Chris—handsome, broad shoulders,

and with this unique accent

I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

 

So we walk—

through trees,

up hills,

over rocks.

 

And in that walk,

I got to talk to Chris a little more.

 

He is from South Africa,

came to Australia with his partner eight years ago.

 

And it was interesting

because he started talking about identity

and belonging.

 

He said his mother was African,

his father, English.

 

And being from South Africa,

there isn’t really a clear community for him here in Australia.

It’s hard to define.

 

So for a long while,

he didn’t know where to find people like him.

 

It’s different from me being Vietnamese,

because there’s a clear Vietnamese community around Melbourne.

I can walk into a shop in Footscray,

hear my mother tongue,

order bánh mì,

and feel like I’m seen.

 

I asked him,

Where are you now,

with your identity?

 

And he said,

Australia is now my home.

 

He still visits South Africa sometimes,

but he always feels like a tourist there.

 

And that got me thinking.

 

About the times I’ve gone back to Vietnam—

the instant I step off the plane,

something quiet stirs in me.

 

I always feel at home.

Even though I consider Australia my home too.

 

In Vietnam, I can speak the language,

navigate the cities,

eat at a street vendor and feel

like I belong there.

 

I never feel lost.

 

And here, in Australia—

I know the system,

how things work,

how to move through the world.

So maybe

I have two homes.

 

One in Vietnam,

and one in Australia.

 

Even though I’ve grown up here

nearly all my life.

 

I sometimes wonder if it’s the music—

the bolero,

the traditional Vietnamese theatre songs,

the ones about war,

and country,

and longing.

 

Maybe they anchor me.

Maybe they’re the reason I still feel so deeply connected

to that second home.

A place I left,

but never lost.

 

I’m grateful I crossed paths with Chris today.

 

Because somehow,

he reminded me

of where home is.

 

Or rather—

where homes are.

 

And how belonging

isn’t always one place,

but many

stitched together.