两个世界

For most of my teenage years, I rejected being Asian. I wanted to assimilate — to blend in, to belong. If I'm being honest, I wished I was white. But wanting to fit in with the other kids wasn't about race — it was about finding belonging somewhere, anywhere.

Growing up as an ethnic minority, surrounded almost entirely by white Australians, I didn't feel proud of being Asian. I felt the opposite. There's a phrase for it I only found later — cultural repulsion. I was ashamed of something I hadn't chosen, and I wasn't even aware of it.

My mum was ten when she left Vietnam after the war. New country. New language. New life. That history lived in her. I wanted nothing to do with it.

That started to change once I started University. I joined VSA — the Vietnamese Students Association — not fully understanding why I was drawn there. But for the first time, I was surrounded by people who looked like me, who carried similar stories. Something shifted inside of me.

At 24, I started learning Mandarin properly. Not for a job. Not for travel. To find my way back to something I'd abandoned. Language does that — it doesn't just teach you words, it hands you a new lens. I started to see my family differently. My history differently. Myself differently.

两个世界 means between two worlds. It's how I've always lived — East and West, Australian and Chinese, the person I was told to be and the one I chose to become.

For a long time, the in-between was a constant identity struggle. Not Asian enough for the Asian kids. Not white enough for the white kids. Never fully either.

Now I've finally started to accept it — and realise how lucky I am. I can watch Netflix in English and switch to a Chinese podcast without missing a beat. It's the best feeling ever — and I wouldn't change it for the world.

Let's build something.

Designer. Founder. Misfit. Open to collabs.