One Year as a Melbourne Immigrant Assimilating

My first lesson as a Melbourne immigrant happened in a lift, and I failed it.

I had arrived that morning, bleary-eyed from the red-eye and a copious amount of wine. I hopped out of the taxi, braved what I thought at the time was strong wind (it was not), and dragged my heavy luggage to the Fanuli glass building on the corner of Chapel Street.

Somewhere between the ground floor and the third, a stranger asked me, “How’s it going?” I froze. I did not know whether to answer “yes, I am going” or “it’s going to level 3.” So I gave my future neighbour a dumb smile and said nothing.

Assimilating to Melbourne culture

Last Monday was my first anniversary of living here. A whole year of being a Melbourne immigrant. Building a new life, making new friends, learning a city one small embarrassment at a time.

I say immigrant, not expat. Same suitcase, same one-way ticket, different word. Expat is what you get called when the world assumes you are only passing through. I am not passing through. This is home now, all nineteen membership cards of it.

I did not do anything special to celebrate because work has been hectic. But I slipped away to a Lindt cafe and made a list of the ways I have quietly sipped my way into this coffee-smelling city.

What I picked up as a Melbourne immigrant

I sign my emails with “ta.” I own a raincoat from Gorman, a local label I absolutely love. I call sunny days “beautiful days,” and I feel blue on the gloomy ones, so I save my picnics for the beautiful ones. I keep 19 store membership cards in my wallet (we really do need an app for this). I wear second-hand clothes from the Suitcase Rummage pop-up market. I go to BBQ parties. I own a leather jacket and a Sherlock Holmes coat. I have a retirement fund. I dabble in minimalism. I go to IKEA for the big furniture and the pots and pans. I wear my glasses to work. I pay for my coffee with a credit card.

Now I run. Well. I have done the Colour Run twice, and I am trying to turn it into a routine. I drink red wine on a weeknight (not a new habit, but very much part of the culture). I keep a garden. I order Sichuan chicken on Uber Eats far too regularly. I do the local markets on Sundays. I talk to my neighbours and bump into them on the tram. I buy fresh flowers every week. I take the laneways instead of the main road. I eat a sushi roll at my desk, one-handed, typing with the other. I have a footy club. I reduce, reuse and recycle. I take photography classes. I joined a moon meditation group.

My nails are bare, and my high heels are boxed. I greet everyone I meet. I sport short hair, and I love it. I hold game nights with my Melburnian friends. I can go days without rice, but not one day without coffee. And I know how to answer “how’s it going?”

What I kept

That rice one still catches me. A year ago I could not have gone a day without it. Now I can, and I am not sure whether to file that under adapting or under something quieter.

Assimilating sounds like a one-way street. Like you land, and the city gets to work on you. But I still cook the food I grew up with. I still count in a language nobody in the lift would recognise. I still measure winter against a place that has never had one. Melbourne is picking up a few things from me, too.

So here is to another year of learning this city, and to keeping what I brought with me.

Have you ever thought about the ways you have assimilated into a culture that is not your own? And what did you make sure to keep?

Follow me on Instagram @KultureKween for more recent updates.