belonging

A Life Shaped by Many Worlds

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I have been a migrant twice over.

The first time was when we migrated to Denmark. I was only eighteen months old, and we lived in Copenhagen for four years. I loved Denmark — deeply and instinctively.

There, I learned about contentment and emotional presence. About equality as a daily practice. That work is not life. That belonging doesn’t require oversharing. That emotional restraint can be a form of respect. That nature regulates the inner world. That happiness is not purely individual, but a collective responsibility.

I was introduced to pølser, smørrebrød, wienerbrød, frikadeller, æbleskiver, pickled herring, and lakrids.
My cartoon companions were Pippi Langstrømpe, Bamse, Kaj og Andrea, the Moomins, and Karlsson-on-the-Roof.

Even as a child, I absorbed something essential: that I could be flawed, a little strange, slightly off-beat — and still belong. That kindness mattered more than authority. That boundaries were to be respected, not enforced through fear.

We migrated to Australia when I was just under seven.

Here, I learned a different rhythm. Fish and chips, the humble meat pie, scones, vanilla slice, and the familiar ritual of the Aussie barbecue. I learned about egalitarianism, informality as social glue, humour as survival, mateship and loyalty, practicality over polish, a deep connection to land, and a healthy suspicion of pretension.

School became a feast of multiculturalism. My friends came from all corners of the world, and my senses expanded through food — döner kebab, moussaka, pizza, ćevapi, baklava, galaktoboureko, tiramisu, kremšnita — and through music: Barış Manço, Lucio Battisti, Bijelo Dugme, Nana Mouskouri.

We played together, aware of our differences and aware of our sameness. We peeked into each other’s worlds, learning their rhythms and pace. We lived side by side, growing through one another, while carrying our cultures quietly at home.

My core expanded. My understanding of self widened. And yet, throughout it all, I felt the steady pull of my Polish–Russian roots. That pull has never left me.

I feel enormously blessed for the people, the sounds, the sights, and the tastes that crossed my life. I learned that there is not one way to live. That reality is shaped by culture. And that love is the greatest thread of humanity — the one that stitches us all together.

~ Evgenia Pimżin

More Than One Culture

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I am a migrant.

For me, that means I am not fully one culture, nor neatly divided into two. Over time, I have learned to inhabit a third space — and then many more beyond it.

I recognise this because when I am with my Polish friends, my roots, my Australian way of thinking quietly rises to the surface. And when I am with my Australian friends, my Polish ways — shaped by migration, memory, and history — make themselves known. I am always slightly more than the room I am in.

What I have come to understand, especially through travel and curiosity, is that I am far more than the sum of two cultures. I am expanded by the many places I have visited and the many people I have loved — friends from different corners of the world who invited me into their languages, customs, food, humour, grief, and joy.

Through them, I have been stretched.

My understanding of people, relationships, and humanity has widened. I have learned that beneath our differences, we share the same essential needs: dignity, respect, love, belonging, security, opportunity, care, and structure. I have tasted foods that altered my senses, walked landscapes that rearranged my sense of scale, and encountered lives that quietly changed how I understand truth.

In my darkest moments, this knowing has sustained me. It reminded me that I was — and am — rich, not in possession, but in experience.

And still, I remain deeply rooted.

I carry my DNA, my ancestors, and their unfinished stories within me. Their voices are awake in my daily life, echoing in ways both subtle and unmistakable. I welcome their whispers. I honour the journeys they took — spiritually, emotionally, and mentally — because they live on through me.

In this way, I know I have passed something meaningful on to my children: not only ancestral memory, but a widened world.

I feel blessed.

Life is a gift. And if life is a gift, then so is every human being within it. This truth settles deeply in me — offering faith, and with it, hope.

~ Evgenia Pimżin

Assuming I belong

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There is always a part of me that feels I don’t belong. It doesn’t matter who I’m with — family or not, loving or not, accepting or not. The thought is persistent and irrational, a quiet but insistent whisper that lives somewhere in my mind.

I recognise it immediately when it appears. My heart sinks into the hollow between my breasts, my breath becomes shallow, and my body stiffens, then numbs. These physical signals are familiar to me. Inevitably, I feel disconnected from my surroundings, as though I’ve slipped into a psychological tunnel, far away from the people beside me — even when our shoulders are touching.

I know this thought, and the way my body responds to it, is unproductive and, frankly, toxic.

Yesterday, a friend invited me to a Sunday indoor spa afternoon with a group of women. My first instinct was to decline. Instead, I paused. I questioned the messages running through my mind — and the stories my eyes were already telling me.

I questioned my inner voice.

What if I do belong?
What if I simply assumed I belonged?

And then another thought followed: what if belonging requires nothing more than assumption? What if, in that assumption, my heart relaxed — and in relaxing, expanded outward? How differently would I experience my reality then?

So I assumed. And then I assumed some more. I even began to enjoy rewriting the evening in my mind, deciding — deliberately — that these women enjoyed and valued my company too.

There were five of us. We met at four in the afternoon. There was small talk, cheese platters, fruit, cake, soft drinks, and later coffee. We talked and laughed and shared stories until ten that night. Somewhere along the way, a warm, gentle bubble formed around us — and I was inside it.

We laughed freely. We ate without counting calories or weighing ourselves down with judgment. We were simply present.

I think when the whispers return — and they will — I won’t try to silence them. Instead, I’ll choose to assume a different truth. One that serves me.

I belong wherever I assume I belong.

And it is a delicious feeling.

~ Evgenia Pimżin