Migrant Mums: Far From Ordinary

Growing up in a migrant home, I was always so consumed by what I didn’t have, not knowing that behind the scenes, my mum had fought to give me her all.

Growing up, I always thought my mum was ordinary. She never finished high school, never went to university, and has held the same job, in the same industry, since she started working in Australia, 30 years ago.

She migrated from Hong Kong to Sydney as a teenager, and went to Randwick Girls High School in Sydney’s east. There she joined the ethnic minority who stayed quiet and out of the way. One wrong move, and the so called ‘gooks’ would find their faces in a head lock and flushed in a toilet bowl.

My mum spent many years living with her family of five, out of a shoebox in Surry Hills. She still can’t believe that it’s now a dream hub for wealthy hipsters. In year 11, her dad decided to open a Chinese restaurant in Gunnedah, a small town near Tamworth. Just like that, she had to drop out of school, pack her bags, and move away.

In order to fit in with rural Australia, mum tried really hard to learn English but despite her best efforts, her English was never seen as ‘Aussie’ enough to get her a job outside of Chinatown. As a migrant, Mum found herself lost between two cultures and confused about her identity: was she Chinese or Australian?

In her early twenties, Mum was told by doctors that she was infertile, so getting pregnant at twenty two was a surprise that changed her life plans. In order to establish her new family financially in Australia, she had to work the nine months she was pregnant with me, and went straight back to work when I was only one month old. Growing up I didn’t see mum much. My childhood memories of Mum are captured in blurry Kodak photos. I can see us together in them but did these moments really happen?

Growing up I didn’t understand why she wasn’t the relaxed, stay-at-home mum that all my friends on Sydney’s Lower North Shore seemed to have. Why was she always so tired? Why wasn’t I allowed pocket money? Why did she work so hard for a boss that paid her less than minimum wage?

In my years as a troubled teenager, Mum reduced her working hours so that she could be home more and make up for lost time. For me, it was too late. Mum took a pay cut to spend time with me after school, but I would make up all sorts of lies and stay out late into the night. If we did spend time together during those years, we were more likely to have been together in the Principal’s office, rather than together at home as a family.

In my final year of high school, right before my final exams, I managed to receive a one-week suspension. Mum received the humiliating phone call from my school, and was asked to take me home. I’ll never forget the look of disgust on my Principal’s face when mum stepped into the room. The red, hot anger that my Principal had towards me, was suddenly channelled towards her:

“How did YOU raise your daughter?”

Before I could step up to defend my mum, she responded:

“I’m so sorry, it’s my fault. Please give her another chance!”

I was infuriated. In love, my mother took the blame.

Mum didn’t say a word on the bus ride home. We sat together in silence, and I was too proud to apologise. When we got home, she sat me down in the living room, and I waited for my punishment. Surely this was the deal breaker. Surely Mum had had enough. Punishment never came. Instead Mum put her arm around me, placed her head on my shoulder, and cried.

“What’s wrong, Heidi? Why are you doing this?”

For the first time in eighteen years, I saw my unbreakable Mum cry. Instead of punishing me she entered my world and tried to understand my thoughts. She showed empathy and compassion. My mum may have failed high school and her resume isn’t impressive, but she is by far the most patient and gentle Christian woman I know.

Growing up in a migrant home in Sydney, I was always so consumed by what I didn’t have, not knowing that behind the scenes, my mum had fought to give me her all. Her story of untold sacrifice is not unique. It’s a story shared by many migrant parents, who in the fight to assimilate, lives in a position of humble service and unwavering loyalty to their family and country.

My mum has never voiced it, but I know she was once a young woman with big dreams, but she made sacrifices so that my brother and I could pursue our own dreams in Australia. Sure her life’s achievements will never make the headlines, but they are far from ordinary.

Do you have an inspiring story of a migrant mum? Share it in the comments, or contact me!