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Do you know how utterly surreal it is to see this drama unfold from this side of the globe?

Here I am, casually watching the BBC news, and amongst landslides here, refugees there, the dude introduces a story “racist riots in Sydney”. So I’m thinking it’s going to a few trouble making youths causing trouble – and to instead be greeted by footage of an ENTIRE BEACHFUL of people was a shock.

It’s really only been on this trip, where I’ve been away from Australia for a considerable amount of time, that I’ve had the opportunity to gather an outsider’s impression of Australia. And not only because of the length of time away but because here in London there’s a little Australian ghetto that I’ve unfortunately been living in, and to see Australians en masse, outside of their usual context and here with their own little “Australia-town” (their own drinking establishments, website and magazine) I’ve realised…

I have nothing to do with these people.

No part of me identifies with these Australians. I mean I’ve always been aware that I’m not a very Aussie Aussie. I don’t shorten my friends’ names and add a “o” at the end. I’m not big on cricket or rugby. I’m not good with sitting in a pub and doing nothing but drinking (add a band or dj though and I’ll be OK). I don’t even have a pronounced Australian accent.

Even beyond these superficial differences, there is an ingrained personality difference. I have a tendency to say outrageous things, make emotional impassioned outbursts and other other things… that seem to be absent from all these Australians around me. D.H. Lawrence comment on Australia all those years ago suddenly rings true to me:

This is the most democratic place I have ever been in. And the more I see of democracy the more I dislike it. It just brings everything down to the vulgar level of wages and prices, electric light and water closets, and nothing else. You never knew anything so nothing, nichts, nullus, niente, as life here… I feel is I lived in Australia forever I should never open my mouth to say one word that meant anything.

And talking to the tutors at my work – men and women from England to South Africa to Sudan, who teach refugees who had fled war torn countries and the local homeless population and substance abuse users, – all identified that places like Australian and Canada, which were sheltered from the international sound of violence by so much warm fuzzy ocean and land mass – also created people who, having known no cultural hardship, having never clashed over religion or race, lacked the ability to be introspective and aware of themselves, debate the intangible and grasp ideas beyond the material.

Nevertheless I always thought there were plenty of Australians like me – we were just another definition of Australian. Actively pushing the cliches into new territory. But no, I find myself very much alone and therefore can only conclude I’m very much not Australian. Which depresses me because if I’m not Australian what the fuck am I? If I’m doing poorly at being Aussie, I’m flunking as a Chinese.

A few days on from the riots, and my initial shock has worn off. At first I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I mean I’m use to seeing riots on television. Mobs of fevered faces delirious in their anger, roaring amongst the swirling dust of a nameless middle eastern city. A body curled up on the floor, bloodied from the kicking and fists flying. The police unable to keep control. Bottles whizzing through the air. Flags and slogans, crude in their simplicity, wolfed hungrily down by the television camera. Another day, another protest.

And hey I’m also use to seeing footage of happy, drunken Australian flesh, board shorts, beer and the boxing kangaroo, cheering, laughing, the lazy summer sun. Another match, another game won!

I am not, however, used to seeing a combination of the two. It was like a strange glitch in the television broadcast. A surreal distortion of two news stories becoming one.

But perhaps what we’re really seeing is Australia’s naivety beginning to crumble away. We can no longer pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist, because it does, and has been creeping up our streets for years now, and can’t be ignored.

And it’s not all bad! I love modern London for it’s cultural diversity. Multiculturalism lies at its core, it is the singular most powerful force defining this city, and is an aspect that is celebrated, not “tolerated.” To come to London with a racist attitude is ludicrous, like a vegetarian deciding to only eat at BBQ King.

Thing is, London, and the UK in general are a good fifty years ahead of Australia in terms of dealing with cultural diversity, and it’s been fascinating for me to meet my counterpart Asians (here an Asian means someone with Indian, Pakistani or Bangladeshi descent). How refreshing to see their faces on television (still the ultimate transmitter of public, national identity) and considered an integral part of English society (or not even considered at all, if you know what I mean. It’s all so “normal.”).

London lives in a constant state of fluidity, and yet somehow it hasn’t imploded, it hasn’t decayed into a city of total chaos, what it has is maintained a strong sense of community, and it is wonderful.

And yeah, you’re right. I’ve only been here for a few months, is this really enough time to gather an accurate impression of the city? Am I blind to its history of revolting racism, and is it still exercised in the present unknown to me? Perhaps this is all true – but this is what I see from here. And I’m not afraid to continue burying myself deeper, no matter what I discover.

Sydney seems further and further away…