Year 11 ‘Reading to Write’ Discursive Exemplar: Grace Newton

Lukewarm Pride

I was thirteen years old when my lack of overwhelming patriotism towards this country became apparent. Six years younger however, things were different.

“C’mere Gracie!” my uncle yelled from the backyard, distant voices getting louder as I rushed down the hallway. The air was heavy with BBQ smoke and John Farnham blaring in the background. I ran over to my uncle, giggling whilst he grabbed my hand twirling me around. “Listen to some Farnsy” he said jubilantly, a wall of beer breath slapping me in the face.

“You’re da voice try understand it” my young lips sloppily sung along, wanting to feel included. I remember thinking nothing of it yet, because I was seven and I hardly understood the concept of identity. I was completely unaware it was Australia Day altogether, and I only danced because I liked dancing.

It took me a while from the age of seven to notice my diminishing Aussie pride. But eventually, I reached the age of thirteen and the time came to visit the same old annual Australia Day party at my cousin’s house. This time it was the National Anthem.

My aunts and uncles sang proudly, belting out the lyrics word for word, chests heaving with patriotic sentiment.

“For those who’ve come across the seas, We’ve boundless plains to share”.

They were lyrics that felt slightly disingenuous and ironic to me after reading Melanie Cheng’s ‘Australia Day’. I have a pretty strong feeling that Stanley didn’t feel as welcome as the anthem implies he should, or if he ever received those ‘boundless plains’ that were supposedly shared with him as an Australian coming from Hong Kong. I remember sitting on the outdoor step, just watching them. I couldn’t help but feel confused. I mean, I wasn’t at all ashamed to be Australian but this felt like too much for me. So this time when he asked me to join him, I sort of just gave a half smile and shook my head.

Since that day, I have come to question my pride and whether or not it is justifiable for me to feel simply ‘comfortable’ as an Australian. Is there room on the vast spectrum between intense patriotism and neutrality for me to linger in the middle and just shrug my shoulders?

I feel a sense of comfort rather than an intense patriotism when it comes to my Australian identity. I mean, Australia is my home, and I appreciate the aspects of our culture, lifestyle, and values that contribute to that feeling of comfort. While I may not express overt patriotism, I believe that comfort is its own form of connection and acknowledgment.

Just a week ago I remember walking the streets of my suburb in the morning on the way to school and breathing in the muggy, December air. I turned my head to the approaching swell of ‘Livin’ on a prayer’ from a red Toyota Camry. Too focused on the blunt whirring of their broken aircon, I didn’t realise I began to involuntarily whisper along to lyrics I don’t even remember learning. The funny thing is, Bon Jovi is American. I often think about how much of an influence American pop culture has had on the construction of our Australian identity. It displaces my sense of belonging even more if I’m being honest as it causes me to contemplate how much of our culture has been built on the backbone of American and British culturally significant moments. Like is the phrase “chuck a shrimp on the barbie” even ours at this point? I mean I’m genuinely confused as to how ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ made its way into a Hungry Jacks Frozen Zooper Dooper Burties ad, but that’s irrelevant.

When I caught myself out, however, I sort of smiled. Experiencing little moments like this, I always notice an undeniable sense of ease that settles within me. It’s not so much a chest-swelling pride in being Australian, but rather a gentle acknowledgment of the unique cultural experiences and feelings that make up my home. In the absence of big displays of nationalistic passion, I find peace in the everyday rhythm of life here. It’s the “mornin’ ladies” from my neighbour to me and my sister, the shared understanding of colloquialisms, and the unspoken recognition of our distinct way of navigating the world. It’s the sprawling landscapes, the laid back community and the peculiarities that define us— they all contribute to a comforting sense of familiarity.

Whilst others might hoist flags and declare their unwavering patriotism, my connection with Australia is more understated, similar to how Stanley felt. Our experience with Australian culture collides in the sense of a passive and subconscious appreciation and feeling of belonging. It’s perfectly okay that although we both know the first fleet arrived at Botany Bay on 8 January 1788, we can still feel uncomfortable at our Australia Day BBQ’s. It’s more of a comfort that whispers in the background, a silent agreement between me and the land that I call home. In this comfort, I find acceptance—acceptance of the traits, the imperfections, and the evolving nature of our identity.

The lack of overwhelming patriotism doesn’t diminish the warmth I feel among the gum trees and the golden sunlight. It’s a different kind of connection—one that doesn’t demand flamboyant gestures. It’s the unassuming joy of calling Australia home, finding comfort in the everyday moments that define our identity, rather than relying on boisterous displays of national fervour.

So now, two years later at the age of fifteen, I look at myself in the mirror and I talk to my younger self. I talk to the thirteen year old girl who would constantly contemplate whether her feelings towards her country were reasonable or justified. Or whether or not there was a seat for her on the spectrum somewhere in between happily patriotic and neutral.

And I tell her that there is a spot for her.

And that she doesn’t have to belt out ‘Advance Australia Fair’ at the annual Australia day BBQ to feel comfortable and secure with her Australian identity.

Because maybe, humming along to Midnight Oil’s ‘Beds are Burning’ at 2am doing polynomials and functions homework is enough.

English Team Comment

While many students tend to struggle to build an original style and unique voice in discursive writing, Grace’s written expression is simply beautiful. Grace has thoughtfully and nimbly navigated the complexities and ambiguities of the Aussie identity. This piece is conceptually strong with a solid narrative arc. Grace’s personal essay tells as story that is heartwarming in its construction of pathos.

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