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