Growing Up Asian in Australia

by Alice Pung

  How did you become Lord Mayor of Melbourne?

  My role as a councillor for the City of Melbourne came about after I opened a restaurant in Melbourne. The local Chamber of Commerce didn’t seem to be representing the interests of the business as well as I thought they should, so I decided I should do something about this. Unfortunately, I was told they already had candidates to participate in the next round of council elections. But friends told me not to be daunted, and to stand on my own, because I already had a background in committee and community work. So four days before the nominations were closed, my nomination was put in!

  Who is your inspiration?

  Many people have inspired me throughout different stages of my life. When I was younger, it was the great Chinese-American scientists; but as I got older I admired others who had dedication, passion and vision – people who were proactive in making things happen.

  One important lesson you have learnt that has changed your life?

  Life is strange, and what you least expect to happen sometimes happens! I never thought I would be involved in local politics! But I did things as community needs arose. Since 1991, I have served three terms as a councillor, and two terms as the Lord Mayor.

  Joy Hopwood

  Joy Hopwood has over ten years’ experience in children’s education and the arts, and was the first regular Asian-Australian presenter on Play School. She studied education at Edith Cowan University and now lives in Sydney, where she runs her own production company. She writes, illustrates and produces the Fairy Joy animation series and is also a painter and musician.

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  What did you want to be when you were growing up?

  When I was about five years old I went to England with my parents and we went to a fun park in Blackpool. There were donkeys, bumper cars, rowing boats and, best of all, a competition to win a giant Blackpool rock lollypop! To win it, I had to go up on stage and perform a song. I sang a nursery rhyme. I loved the thrill of being on stage and seeing people smile and clap. To my surprise I won the giant lollypop. From that moment on I thought that I would like to be a singer, or to get up on stage and perform knock-knock jokes.

  In high school, some teachers said to me, ‘Oh, you should be doing as well as the other Chinese girls.’ There was a lot of competition, and a lot of pressure to achieve high results. I decided that if I always did averagely, there’d be no high expectations of me. The only two subjects in which I was able to score quite high marks without trying too hard were English lit erature and art. By Year 12, I knew that I wanted to work in the arts.

  My parents had different plans. Once, when my class went to the school library, the librarian handed me some information about the Perth stock exchange.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t you want to work at the stock exchange?’ she replied.

  ‘No!’ I quickly retorted.

  ‘Oh … but your mum told me you did!’

  How did you become an actor?

  After Year 12, I did work experience at ABC TV in Perth. I loved it. I was inspired and wrote to a children’s television presenter and asked for her advice about what university courses I should take. To my surprise she wrote back and advised me to study either media or education. And so I enrolled in an education degree.

  During my teaching placement, an Aboriginal child said he wanted to be on TV but never saw anyone like himself on screen. I told him I’d try to change all that. I don’t think he believed me.

  After university, I worked in various casual jobs and modelled for several months in Perth and Singapore before making my way to Sydney. I auditioned for an actors’ agency and while waiting to hear whether I had been accepted, I worked as a telemarketer. I figured telemarketing was kind of like acting – I could use my voice to try to convince people.

  Once, a caller complained that they had spoke to a person with an ‘Asian’ accent. My supervisor automatically thought of me and I was reprimanded. I said, ‘I don’t work during the day, and I don’t have an Asian accent.’

  ‘Yes, but you look Asian,’ he replied, ‘so it must be you!’

  At the time, I felt extremely low. Another telemarketer told me not to worry. ‘You’ll be stronger for this,’ she reassured me, ‘Even if you don’t feel it yet.’ Her name was Michelle Joyce (now Baine), and she became a lifelong friend and inspiration.

  A month passed and I finally received ‘The Call’ – I had been accepted by the agency! I was ecstatic. I could quit my casual jobs. But it took a while. I had to do the ‘go sees’ – rounds and rounds of auditions – before any acting work came my way.

  During these auditions, I noticed that my friends who were Caucasian in appearance had auditions every week. Mine came only every few weeks, and I was always sent for medical roles, doctors or nurses, karate type roles, and once a concubine role. I was also asked to put on an ‘Asian’ accent instead of my broad Australian one.

  I remembered the Aboriginal boy back in Perth, and my promise to change things. I started to write my own material, composing songs and recording demos, and I started to paint. I saved up for a video camera and filmed myself performing a script similar to ABC TV’s Play School. I sent the producers of Play School a copy.

  When I telephoned them, they told me they were looking for ‘actors, NIDA graduates, not teachers.’ I didn’t hear any more from them, so I gave up on the gig. Months later, however, I was invited to audition. But as soon as I arrived, I was told that I looked too young; they wanted somebody more ‘mother-like,’ with life experiences.

  I was devastated. I had brought along my ET doll as a prop. On my way out, I accidentally slammed the door on my poor ET. His blue eyes now scratched, and my eyes blood-shot red from crying, we caught the bus back home. I felt that I had failed that little Aboriginal boy.

  Eventually, my agent called to say that Play School wanted me to audition again. They sent me a script the day before my audition and I had to remember it all. Before I went in, I thought of the boy and said a prayer. I had ET with me again and they remembered him and me. I remembered all my lines and performed from my heart. At the end, the producer said, ‘That was a good audition.’ Two or three weeks later, I got a call to say I had the gig. It was one of my proudest moments.

  Play School was a tremendous learning experience for me. I learnt so much from the other actors, especially George Spartells, a generous, natural actor, and Monica Trapica, a down-to-earth actress who gave me words of wisdom. I loved the experience. And I loved those Play School toys.

  After a few years on Play School, my contract was up and I wanted to get my own cartoon series going. I had started writing children’s books, and a cartoon series was a great opportunity to combine my art, music, writing and acting. I have now published my children’s books, exhibited my artwork and had my music played on radio. I am not motivated by money but my making a difference, educating and entertaining people through my music, art, books, acting and cartoons. Creativity is my secret to freedom.

  How has your family responded to what you do?

  My parents were not really enthused when I moved to Sydney to become an actor. They hated the thought of me giving up my university degree. Things changed when I became the first regular Asian Play School presenter, though. To see me on television made it all sink in for them, and they used to tell all the neighbours. It wasn’t until this moment that they felt proud of me. These days, now that I run my own business, they are happy that I’m happy.

  Can you tell us one important lesson that has changed your life?

  When I was in primary school, my mum started volunteering in the school canteen. I thought it was a good idea until I heard some older kids say, ‘We can’t understand your mum. Can’t bloody understand what she’s saying. You don’t speak Chinese, do you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said, and I never wanted to.

  I started to feel ashamed of my mum and stopped visiting her in the canteen. When kids came up to me and said, �
��That’s not your mum, I hope,’ I started replying, ‘No, it isn’t.’

  I started to notice that when Mum and I went shopping together, some people, like the local butcher, either imitated her accent or served other people before her even though she was there first. Every Friday, I’d go with Dad (who is English) to the fish and chips shop. I noticed that no one imitated him or ignored him. Mum was brave and always said, ‘Ignore it. You know we are better off than a lot of people in this world.’

  Those words have stayed with me, as have the wise words of my friend Jan Edmunds, which I will treasure for life: ‘Racism reflects the person who has said the racist remarks, not the recipient. It reveals the racist’s ignorance and lack of intelligence and by no means is it a reflection of the receiver.’

  I wish I had understood this as a child.

  One memorable person who has changed your life?

  Last year, my mum was diagnosed with colon cancer. I also heard from my high-school drama teacher for the first time in over twenty years. Unfortunately, she is also battling cancer. These two women have taught me to embrace life. You don’t know what is around the corner or when your time will be up.

  Anh Do

  Anh Do is a Vietnamese-Australian actor, film-producer and stand-up comedian. Perhaps best known for his appearances on television programs such as Thank God You’re Here and Dancing with the Stars, he turned his back on a career in law to pursue one in the performing arts. He has acted in a number of films, including Footy Legends, and has been voted Comedian of the Year.

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  What did you want to be when you were growing up?

  I wanted to be a martial arts champion, like many young Asian kids. I once signed up for a ninjitsu class. One day I bumped into the instructor on the street and he said, ‘It’s been seven weeks since I’ve seen you in camouflage class!’ I said to him, ‘That’s because I’m getting really good.’

  How did you end up becoming a comedian?

  I was at the end of a five-year law degree and went for an interview with a big prestigious law firm. The guy reached across and congratulated me, and told me to expect a sixty-hour working week. I then asked a comedian friend, ‘How many hours a week do you work?’ He said, ‘Four.’ So I switched out of laziness.

  What were the first days on the job like?

  I got fifty dollars for my first stand-up show – and all I had to do was five minutes. I thought to myself: ‘I just earned ten dollars a minute – how good’s that!’ Of course, for the next six months I only got to do about five minutes of work per week.

  Can you recall one memorable or funny incident in your career?

  Hopefully in my career every day is funny – so I’ll tell you about an unfunny incident.

  I rocked up to a diggers’ club in a country town. I thought, ‘This should be sweet – country folk love to laugh.’ Then I walk in and there are 500 blokes. No worries – just do the blokey material and I’ll be right. Then I realise they’re all drunken old blokes. ‘Sweet,’ I thought, ‘Drunken old blokes laugh at just about anything.’

  Just before they bring me on, the MC does a minute’s silence for all the fallen brothers who fought against the Japanese in the Second World War, in the Korean War and in the Vietnam War. Five hundred old guys close to tears remembering their comrades who were killed by Asians. Then the MC introduces me. It was a hard gig.

  How has your family responded to what you do?

  They laughed at me.

  Can you tell us one important lesson that has changed your life?

  Enjoy the journey, because the destination is never as satisfying as you think.

  One memorable person who has changed your life?

  My two sons have taught me that nothing is important other than the health and happiness of the people you love.

  Caroline Tran

  Caroline Tran presents ‘Home and Hosed,’ the Australian music program on Triple J, the national youth radio network. On completing her radio broadcasting course at Macquarie University, she landed a job at 2SM as a part-time receptionist and production assistant. Since then, she has presented Triple J’s ‘Super Request’ and lunch and weekend-breakfast programs. She has presented ‘Home and Hosed’ for the last three years, listening to mountains of new music and uncovering gems to share with the nation and the world.

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  How did you end up getting involved in radio?

  After a run of boring office jobs and flitting about I reached the grand old age of twenty-five and thought, ‘Holy Moley! I’d better get cracking and find some type of serious proper job.’ I surmised that the two things I loved the most were writing and music, so being a music journalist was an early idea. But then I came upon the genius idea of incorporating radio as the ultimate medium that could fulfil both of these things. That idea has really stuck well!

  What were the first days on the job like?

  Frightening as all buggery! My first radio job was at 2SM, a make-or-break station in its heyday, these days a golden-oldies station. I answered the phone and did administration stuff on reception. I got to be on the production team for the Breakfast Show, which was hosted at the time by Clive Robertson, who used to call me ‘Madam’ and chastise me for being late and holding his coffee mug on the rim of the cup: ‘I don’t want my lips touching your fingers, Madam!’ He could be so funny and grumpy and narrow-minded! Prior to getting the job at 2SM I had sent a demo tape to Triple J as well – ‘Hey, might as well have a shot,’ I thought! Lo and behold I get a phone call saying they were interested in meeting me. Little did they know, once I got in the building, there was no leaving!

  How has your family responded to what you do?

  Initially, when I told them I wanted to go to radio school, they were like, ‘What? What for?’ They didn’t think it was a serious or an easy path to follow. The industry is very small and competitive. They are quite happy though with where I’m at now, especially because Mum got her mug on the telly for a little cooking segment I did for Triple-J TV!

  Who is your inspiration?

  Here’s a secret … I was inspired a lot by Kasey Casem, who used to host the American Top 40 on one of the commercial radio stations. He had an ability to draw the listener into each song, and you really felt as though he was speaking just to you. That’s what every decent radio broadcaster aims to do! He had loads of cheesy segments and love-song dedications, which I wouldn’t be able to endure these days, but his presentation and style of delivery made you think, ‘This guy really cares!’

  Can you tell us one important lesson that has changed your life?

  I aim to learn important (at times difficult) things about myself all the time. By working to stay open and aware, life and the universe provide constant insights into how to keep changing my life for the better. So awareness and trying to live consciously are huge goals and continue to be so.

  One memorable person who has changed your life?

  My son. Everyone says it because it’s absolutely undeniable the impact a child has on your life. It’s a huge privilege and responsibility and its rewards are unmatched.

  Leaving Home

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  Five Ways to Disappoint Your

  Vietnamese Mother

  Diana Nguyen

  Step One: Become an Actor

  Like many Asian parents, my mum bought me a piano when I was three years old. So from early on in life, I was a performer. I danced, sang and acted in primary school. My mum was proud of me. I know she was proud because I heard her gossip:

  ‘Oh, Diana, she sings. She is having her piano exam tomorrow. I put so much money into her piano and ballet classes.’

  In secondary school, I continued to perform. It was in my blood. But by Year 11, my mother’s support started to alter:

  ‘Why you singing?’

  ‘Why you watch video clips?’

  ‘They sluts, you want to be slut?’

  ‘Why you not studying?’

>   My mother’s dream was for me to be rich, successful and healthy. She wanted me to be a doctor. But I didn’t pick the right subjects in high school to become a doctor. Instead, I did drama and all the humanities subjects and joined school charity groups to fill in my time. I was in a band. I had the lead roles in my school productions. My mum got frustrated:

  ‘When I gif you piano lessons supposed to be hobby, not a job. Stop this stupidness. If you school leader how you go to concentrate on studies?’

  When I received my university entrance score, I was happy. I finished top of my drama class and I had had a fulfilling school experience. But when I told my mum my results, the first thing she said was, ‘What did your friend get?’

  I told her.

  ‘How come you didn’t get higher than her?’

  In her eyes I was a disappointment – I had made her lose face.

  My mum has made me lose face, too. When I had a lead role in a school production, I invited my family to come and watch. I was so excited that my mum would see me shine, that she would see the love and energy of my performance. During interval, I saw her car driving away. I can still see it today. I was shattered. When she came to pick me up that afternoon, I didn’t talk to her. I let the hurt sink deeper into my soul.

  Maybe I should have told her how I felt, because it happened again. During one of my university performances, I looked out into the crowd during the interval and saw an Asian woman walking out. For the past two years I have been a working actor in Melbourne, and not once has she come to see me perform. I don’t invite her any more.

  Step Two: Work Four Jobs – But What Career?

  I have four jobs. Three of them support the fourth: my acting career.

  I used to work at Coles in Springvale and I saw all the ethnic groups come through. I saw the waves of refugees pass through my register: the Greeks and Italians with their pasta and cheeses; the Vietnamese and Cambodians with their rice and carefully selected fruit; the Afghanis and Sudanese with their new-found freedom. And they all had something in common when they came through my register. When I finished the transaction, I would turn to them with a smile: