A Few Thoughts on Multiple Identity

A Few Thoughts on Multiple Identity

A Few Thoughts on Multiple Identity

Let’s start with my brother. At the dinner table. He finishes his mouthful of rice and looks up. “Mum,” he says, “if you’re from Australia and Dad’s from Malaysia and he’s Chinese and you’re Caucasian and I’m an Australian citizen but we live in Singapore, what does that make me?’ We all laugh. It’s finally hit him. The great family joke. My sister and I look at each other, “Lots of things,” we say at the same time. Lots of things, but how does it fit together? How does it work? Are you lots of pieces all at once somehow jammed into one not-quite-anything body? Once when I was feeling angry and confused I wrote a poem about a paper doll made of lot of different scraps and pieces who stayed stuck together by sheer force of will. I don\'t think it always has to be like that—angry and confused. The pieces are there, alright, but they don’t have to be sharp and jagged, though they are sometimes. I tried writing another poem. This is for you, Tim.

What Is It Like?


A river.                        There is
There is a                                      a river.
river with water                                A river with water
like smooth liquid mud                          that is wide choppy blue.
lolloping, loll lolloping                       On bright days
against thick                                   the waters seem
and thin wooden posts                           wide as the sky,
that hold up                                    the white houses,
the edge of a market.                           jostling for views,
The market leans                                small concrete specks
over the edge of the water,            jumbled behind
wanting to swim,                the billow of white yacht sails.
to let roti chanai and muturba            At night
float to the surface                 boys with buckets
in fat oily rings,                trail prawn-nets
to let kolo mee                    along its dark margins.
stream through the water            The locals
like bright yellow hair.              open a carton of beer. 
Iban shops sell beads                 Girls lie with boys
and ikat cloth                    on blankets
perched over floorboards            beneath a fringe
rich with thick green slime            of long, narrow leaves.
on their undersides.                  We stand on the bridge
We stand on the jetty                as the sun 
waiting for the sampan man            shines through jellyfish
to take us across                 gliding up river. 
in his small, fish-like boat            Eight lanes of traffic
to the other side of the water            roar from behind. 
where we\'ve parked our car            Hot on our bikes
in a carpark                    we watch, till
hidden behind                      the wind whips our sweat
a screen of dark, river-tree leaves.          a salt trail of dry.

I wanted to write about how each place exists in the space of the same heartbeat, about how it boggles the mind that two different worlds can exist in the same space of time and not only two but countless, countless, others living moving churning flowing foreign familiar friendly frightening in the one space of breath. I wanted to write about you kicking a rugby ball in Singapore as I brush my teeth in Perth. But it sounded really twee in poetry, so here I am back in prose. What’s it like? That’s a little bit of it. It’ll be different for you, of course, and you’ll have to think of your own words to say it, but I think there’ll be some of the same. Do you mind taking my love and some silly sister words with you?