Ever since I can remember, my family has supported the Australian Labor Party. My dad, a working-class immigrant who refuses to retire at 64, felt the party and its leaders represented who he is and what he stands for.
The party was far from perfect, but in the late '90s and early 2000s, a Pakistani-Muslim man was willing to accept the bare minimum — a political party that wouldn't paint him as a villain. His brown skin, faint accent and name that was too hard to pronounce were considered "un-Australian" at the time.
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But he never complained. Because living in Australia meant he could build a better future for my sister and I. One that allowed us to get a world-class education, and work in whatever field we wanted to.
"Things will look different in 20 years' time," he told himself. "My daughters will be accepted, no matter where they go."
He wasn't entirely off the mark. Sure, my name is ethnic and my brown skin isn't from a bottle, but my Australian accent makes me easier to digest. I'm working at Australia's largest independent women's media company, and my teenage dream of becoming a writer came true.
To him, Australia has come a long way from what it used to be.