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Two and a half years later, I returned to Melbourne

Writer's picture: SherrySherry

Two and a half years later, I returned to Melbourne. At first, I was a little worried. For fear of catching the coronavirus, fear of being discriminated against, fear of not being able to find an apartment to rent, fear of a new life that I could not predict. These fears came not from the new living environment in Melbourne but from the memories and trauma of the past two years during the pandemic.


In the past, "having a house, not being infected, no cases of infection in the surrounding community" became the main source of security and a sense of belonging for living in the city. Without a house (a household registration) here, you will not be able to stay in this community. If there is a confirmed case, the whole community will be kept under control. If you are diagnosed, everyone around you will be taken away.


In the past two years, individuals have been blurred into a cluster of images. Confirmed cases, close contacts, and quarantines were our identity labels. Most of the time, my apartment in China was in the control area, and my identity label was the isolator. Each family was allowed one person out every two days. This opportunity was reserved for my dad, as he needed to visit my grandmother. Life of being indoors, I could barely feel the change of seasons, and the weather became irrelevant to us. My mother was getting used to storing food, used to check if the case number turned out to be zero. I only got to go out and about when I was receiving a nucleic acid amplification test.




The narratives of the pandemic were all very grand and often not personal. Just like the perspective from high in the sky, where the city is magnificent, but individual people cannot be seen. Individuals have been attributed into clusters.


But now, having a home, being part of an inclusive community and existing as an individual in space and time is something I look for.





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