Amber Zhao is a 13-year-old writer and Year 8 student living in Brisbane. At the age of 6, inspired, she put pen to paper and never looked back. She was shortlisted for the KSP Young Writers Prize and the Hachette Australia Prize for Young Writers 2022 and received the top Year 3 NAPLAN writing results in Queensland in 2018. In her spare time, Amber enjoys reading, netball, and spending time with her cat.
Rice
It was strange, living under four walls. Marly’s family used to reside on the top floor of their rambling apartment. To extend space, the landowners had installed a loft. It was her room, and it jutted from the low roof. It was a fishbowl in which she began every day with the sound of soft traditional music and ended it with traffic noise through the electric circuit of the city.
Somehow, this place—and what she was about to do—was more frightening than that vertiginous space, leaving her off-balance in ways that went beyond physical.
Brisbane. It was the place that her family had decided to uproot their lives for. Marly stared out; eucalyptus trees in the backyard of their new, four-walled home trembled in the humid wind, raining leaves onto the freshly mowed grass. Everyone said it was relaxed, she thought. So why does it feel like I can’t settle myself?
Simple answer. She had been put on the spot by Mrs Cummings, who asked her to bring something that reminded Marly of Yangzhou, as part of a migrant program. An introduction to the class she’d been closed from on her first day. And she wasn’t ready.
The gates of the state school loomed. She arrived at her classroom and walked inside. A table was at the front of the classroom. She bowed her head while she set up, and once she was done, she had to begin.
“I’m Marly. I came from China a month ago, and I’m happy to be here.” She cringed at her stilted English. “I prepared some fried rice because I used to make it for my family. Hope you enjoy.”
Did she seem too foreign?
Was fried rice too stereotypical?
How badly would she stick out?
Before she could answer herself, the students spilled over to try. Mrs Cummings inquired, “Why did you choose to share food with us, Marly?”
Honestly? “I miss home,” she said. “The ability to make and taste it takes me back to our old kitchen. I need that sometimes.” She said this shakingly, hoping her classmates wouldn’t laugh. But there was nothing but low chatter and the clink of spoons. Soon, approval began to chorus around her table.
Mrs Cummings’s eyes glimmered. “Thank you for sharing. I hope you feel welcomed! Class, why don’t you get to know her better?”
“Do you have your phone? I’ll add you,” piped up a voice. Add me, too! Me! Soon Marly was swarmed by genuine interest and kind words. Included. Something that had felt hollow in her chest glowed a little.
She didn’t have her phone; she had almost nothing. None of her old toys and books, treasures that grounded her in home. She still felt impermanent here. But cautiously hopeful. These potential connections, that surge of resilience she’d felt…one day, she could – would – do more here than try to survive.
Yes, all she had was a pallet of rice.
But for now, it seemed like enough.
