Migration – It’s like flying in a flock, yet you don’t resemble most of the other birds when you land.

Migration – It has all people reaching for solid ground, with all hoping to find refuge. From home to exile. From familiarity to the unknown. From family to strangers. The life of a migrant was destined for challenges.

1950s Italy was strangled by economic desperation and social upheaval following the end of World War 2. Survival was the key mentality for adults and children alike. Any chance of escape was grasped without much of a second thought. Any chance to live again rather than merely exist was greeted with gratitude, despite the sadness. In such an environment it was simple to lose sight of one’s identity. The experience of war had a way of robbing countries and their people of their identity. Who you were wasn’t important when there was the risk you, whoever you were, wouldn’t survive. Who you were would matter more once you had arrived.

This was the migration journey for many, marked by commonalities. Despair. Departure. Arrival. Dislocation. Relief. Assimilation. Contentment. My Nonno’s migration story from small-town Monte Di Procida in Southern Italy to Melbourne, Australia was no exception.

Upon arrival the expectations are clear.

“Be good, little migrants,” they said. “We’ve saved you from starvation, war, landlessness, oppression.”

Born as the only son of ten, my Nonno led a simple Italian life in a small terraced apartment of four rooms. He was defined by the responsibility he bore to support his family in a world of fear, poverty, hunger and very few work opportunities. The experience of war called on him to make changes and to prioritise – migrating was one of these. And it was with this in mind that he, he decided to jump off the ship him and his friend worked on at wherever it first made port the next day. It wasn’t an act of abandonment. Contrary to this, with this decision my Nonno sacrificed much of which defined him – the togetherness of his community and his love of fishing in the local sea – for the survival and wellbeing of his family. I believe his was an act of courage to be admired.

He wanted more from life and was willing to take risks to chase a better, more secure future.

Dedication and personal sacrifice meant that he delivered a portion of his work earnings to his family each month of his career. As he established himself here he was re-establishing his loved ones far away. As a migrant, he never lost sight of home.

“Be good little migrants,” they said. “Learn English to distinguish ESL from RSL.”

‘Strine’ as it is known was the foreign language of the foreign language for many migrants. Being such an integral part of a person, language is key to identity. An initial inability to communicate made it difficult for him to find his feet on Australian soil: to become accustomed to a different culture. Without a verbal means of communication, he was forced to resort to frustrated hand gestures most of which people shrugged off in a “oh not another Italian” way. With no family to fall back on for assistance, this left him searching for a job with only the basics of English and a collection of hand gestures to sell himself to employers. In this way, his lack of communication diminished his sense of self. No job with which to define himself; no words with which to express himself.

He had lost the safety of the flock.

This left him with two options: refuse to adapt and live a solitary life or put in an effort to learn the language and experience community once again. . He chose the latter. Gaining control over the language meant he was taking the first steps into creating the better life he sought. For this reason I have grown up with the importance of language engrained in me. When I have struggled to master fluency in a second language, my Nonno convinced me to persevere through the ostensibly difficult listening comprehensions and pronunciation obstacles. And it’s all worth it when you set foot in foreign land and immerse yourself in their culture through their language. In that moment you feel that you can belong. His experiences have unquestionably directed me a long a certain path.

“Be good little migrants,” they said.

And he was. Remaining true to the Italian man he was and the Australian man he was becoming he moved from a ‘good’ migrant to a grateful citizen.

Migration presents the challenge to stay true to oneself whilst faced with the loss of the familiar and sometimes the longed for. Shaped by the experience of war and migration, my Nonno arrived alone and now has successfully built many relationships on this new land he can now call home. Whilst he adjusted to the new culture, as he needed to, he remained true to the Italian he was which is why my family today still has a rich Italian roots.

There are some family photographs that capture his experiences.

It is when I look at photos of my Nonno fishing on Australian docks that I recognise him as the Nonno I grew up with. There was much about my Nonno that migration changed but what was really important remained with him. Whilst his desire to hold family close and his value of hard work remained constant, through his experience of migration and adapting to a new lifestyle my Nonno developed a love for AFL football and traditional Australian barbecues. He found his feet on foreign soil by bringing part of him to this new land. Despite a tough start in which I knew he was rejected by society for his fishing practices, he didn’t succumb to society’s pressures to simple adapt to the culture of the new land and leave behind all his Italian culture. It’s only because of people like my Nonno who stuck it out, learnt the language and shared their way of life with those already here, that Australia is the multicultural place that it is today.

For my Nonno’s stoic will to search for better, I share in the best of both cultures as a third generation Italian-Australian.