My suburb has a language barrier – and it makes people act differently

When people hear that I bought an apartment in Box Hill, the first question they ask is whether I’m in one of the glossy glass skyscrapers that now make up the Whitehorse Road skyline, 14 kilometres east of the CBD. For many, these are out of place in suburban Melbourne, even though they would be a completely normal sight in Asia.

Having grown up in the Philippines, I am unburdened by the Australian dream of a house on a quarter-acre block. I picked a smaller development though, on the top floor of a two-storey complex. It’s the same type of apartment I grew up in – low rise, medium density.

The bedroom window looks out onto the tallest (at this point) building in Box Hill, Sky One, clad in reflective bronze. At noon, it’s like a second sun. My daughter likes watching the lights go out at night as people settle in.

The remaining houses around Box Hill (those that haven’t been developed into units or apartment buildings) embody its working-class roots – weatherboard houses, mostly, apart from the handful of older mansions that have been preserved.

The skyscraper – flash, modern, cramped but convenient – epitomises the way migrant values can be different. Owning a piece of sky instead of land? Raising a family in an apartment? All are normal in Asia, and yet strange to many Australians.

Another norm for many migrants is multi-generational living. In Box Hill, I see more grandparents minding young children than parents – for them, the opportunity to care for the next generation was worth the sacrifice of leaving their country, friends and social connections behind.

The question people next ask me about Box Hill is: “Have you tried the restaurants?” As it happens, we managed to find what we think is the only restaurant in Box Hill that doesn’t cater to an English-speaking clientele. Of course, between the menu and the wait staff, there was little information available, so we order from the pictures.

A shiny shop in Box Hill Central sells street food that evokes fond memories of simpler times spent with my daughter when she was younger. Their savoury pancake reminds me of early-morning market runs in Shanghai that ended with a street omelette cooked on the bottom of an overturned drum. The Box Hill version is, I imagine, far more sanitary.

The Chinese language signage across Box Hill – such as the red banners on the corner of Whitehorse Road and Station Street – also brings positive associations. These reminders of home and familiarity must make good business sense.

And what is more quintessentially Australian than replicating home in this new country? You only have to remember that imported deciduous trees recreate the early settlers’ familiar flora. I don’t understand all of the signs, but as long as it gives cheer to someone who needs it, bring them on.

The third thing people think about Box Hill is that it’s the second Chinatown. I haven’t been here long enough to know when the influx of PRC Chinese residents started dominating the retail and restaurant scene, but I’ve been here long enough to know that the language barrier makes people act differently.

As an English-speaking person of Asian descent, I have observed this phenomenon from both sides. The cultural glue of greeting a person, whether on a walk with the dog, or at the checkout line, can suffer from the lack of a shared custom. I’ve been in checkout lines where the Anglo Aussie in front of me gets a full “Hi, how are you?” and I don’t.

To be fair, Asian servers don’t greet me in Chinese either (if they greet at all). On reflection, I guess that people just get tired of not being greeted back, of having misjudged an interaction. My response: be prepared to smile at whomever, whatever happens.

Living in China, I learnt to say “wo ting bu dong” to explain my incomprehension. Lack of Mandarin was a serious deficiency. It roughly translates to “I don’t understand”. With such a diversity of cultures in Australia, we need to find a way to communicate welcome, even if we risk misunderstanding. Perhaps we can recover social cohesion one smile or nod at a time.

The proudest I have ever been of living in Box Hill was the first time I caught the limited express train from the city, as it skipped all the blue-chip suburbs to get to my home station pronto. That’s my suburb summed up – a transport hub with innumerable links to other suburbs, services galore within a stone’s throw, and lots of good, cheap food.

If you want to see what the future of Australia looks like, look to Box Hill. It’s been pegged as a station for the Suburban Rail Loop precisely because of the projected population growth – by and large from migration. And Box Hill waits with open arms, ready to accommodate them in cheaper apartments, and to feed them noodles and bubble tea.

Meg Davies is a Box Hill resident.

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