Well, it’s official folks. I am (you are, we are) Australian. It’s weird; the importance of what I was doing didn’t really hit me until yesterday. I was at the shop saying goodbye to Verna, the lady who runs our embroidery clinic, when I mentioned that I’d be Australian the next time she saw me. “Really? You’re getting your citizenship?” she asked. I said I was. “Thank you.” she said sincerely. “I really mean that. Thank you. I think it’s wonderful when people decide to join us.” How nice is that? And that’s when I realized that this kind of is a big deal. For the rest of my life, whenever anyone asks my nationality, I will say something different to what I’ve said up to this point. I always feel weird about making big changes like that. (Hence, I kept my last name when I got married.) So there really was a sense of the momentous when we headed into Sydney Town Hall this afternoon.
We were ushered upstairs – it really is a very pretty old building – and into a reception room. Snookums left to sit with the other guests in the back while I signed in and was directed to a seat in the front row. (I quickly worked out that the two halves of prospective citizens were divided based on whether they were taking the “God” oath or not. I was on the “not” side.) A woman in the corner played a steady stream of Australian classics on the piano: “Waltzing Matilda,” “I Still Call Australia Home,” “We Are Australian,” “The Pub With No Beer,” etc. Eventually everyone was settled and our host entered; it was Clover herself! Wearing her Lord Mayor regalia and her signature choker. SWEET. As she spoke to us about this nation of immigrants, I started thinking about my grandmother going through a similar ceremony in the US more than forty years ago. She was a long way from home too, and she was saddled with a foreign tongue, young children, and a husband in the service. I can’t imagine. Soon Clover was finished and our two groups were asked to stand and recite the pledge together. My version read: “From this time forward, I pledge my loyalty to Australia and its people, whose democratic beliefs I share, whose rights and liberties I respect, and whose laws I will uphold and obey.” Personally, I really like it. I think it’s fair. All notions of patriotism and national identity aside, I feel like the Australian people – the friends, co-workers, and family I’ve met over the past five years – deserve this much. I want them to know I do respect their way of life, and it’s my way of life too. Then we were each called to the podium in turn to collect our certificate and have a photo taken with Clover. (They’ll mail them to us soon.) We also got a “showbag” of gifts. We concluded by all singing the national anthem and then snacking on meat pies and lamingtons. (No, really.) This flag-waving was all a little much for a still-recovering Snookums, so we headed home not long after.
Oh! So you’ll want to know what was in my gift bag. Well, unlike other people, I didn’t get a tree. I repeat – NO TREE! I was very disappointed. I was really looking forward to nurturing a native plant. I got a little photo book about Sydney, a commemorative pin, and an ink pen. (My inner Lloyd Dobler: “Australia gave me a pen. I gave her my loyalty, and she gave me a pen.”) Oh well. And can I just say, if the group of new immigrants I was in is in any way indicative of the future gene pool of Australians, we’re all going to be a much shorter nation in the future. Other than me and a few giant Russian guys, everyone else was tiny. I was surrounded by insanely happy, cute, tiny Asian-Australians. I really like living here. BRING ON THE BARBECUE!
