Discover what being Malaysian can teach us about living with difference, learning through difference, and making room for difference.
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17 Aug 2026
4 Min Read
Ishaanaah Ravi (Alumni Writer), Nellie Chan (Editor)
Discover what being Malaysian can teach us about living with difference, learning through difference, and making room for difference.
The first time I heard another Malaysian say, ‘Have you eaten?’ in Australia, I almost laughed. I knew what was coming.
‘No? Come, let’s eat.’
There’s something about Malaysians I’ve never quite been able to put my finger on. We offer you food before we know whether you’re hungry. We call someone older than us ‘auntie’ or ‘uncle’, even when we’ve only just met. We slip from ‘You want to’ to ‘makan here’ to ‘or tapau?’ without thinking twice. I never thought much about any of it growing up. It was how we were.
It was only after leaving Malaysia that I wondered where it came from.
In Malaysia, there was always another celebration around the corner. Hari Raya meant going from one rumah terbuka to another, helping ourselves to lemang and rendang, and sometimes losing track of whose house we were in by the end of the day. Chinese New Year meant hearing ‘Gong Xi Fa Cai’ at the door, tucking ang paus into our pockets, and eating our way through tubs of pineapple tarts. Deepavali meant stepping carefully around a freshly made kolam, being offered laddu before murukku, and lingering a little longer than planned. We moved between them without thinking much about where one ended, and another began.
And it wasn’t only the celebrations. Different names appeared on lists and forms. Different languages were always somewhere in the background. Different clothes were part of what we wore. Perhaps that was what I had taken for granted: what was mine mixed in with what was someone else’s, neither feeling particularly out of place.
Then I moved to Australia, and some of what I had taken for granted started coming up in conversation. Someone would ask what nasi lemak was, what was in the sambal, or why it came wrapped in banana leaf. I had never really needed to put any of that into words before. So when I didn't have an answer, I looked for one. I noticed things I hadn't paid much attention to, asked questions I hadn't thought to ask, and when I still wasn't sure, turned to the internet.
The more I learnt, the more I appreciated what I had grown up with. I took friends to Malaysian restaurants and watched them try nasi lemak for the first time, recommending what else to order, telling them what to expect, and showing them how I was used to eating it. There was something satisfying about seeing them enjoy something I had always enjoyed, and I think some of that was pride.
And I suppose sharing went both ways. I had shared parts of where I came from with my friends, and they shared parts of where they came from with me, too. I had Vegemite on toast for the first time, brought a plate to a barbecue on a Saturday, and made pavlova that one Christmas. They felt different—especially the Vegemite—but after a while, the difference didn't seem to matter as much; they were simply things I did.
Now, I think I see what that ‘something’ is. Maybe we Malaysians just learnt to make room—for what’s different, and for the people who bring it with them. And that’s a habit I carried with me, even after I left Malaysia.
When I meet someone whose background isn’t the same as mine, I’m more likely to ask than assume, and to listen to what they have to say. When I realise that what feels obvious to me isn’t obvious to someone else, I try to put it another way. And when someone opens up about their life, I try to respond with the same openness I would hope for in return.
But making room doesn’t mean giving up your own. We can do things differently, see the world through different eyes, and bring different stories to the table. There’s always another chair to pull up. Perhaps that’s what I have come to value most about being Malaysian: that we can arrive as we are, and still sit together.
So, this Merdeka and Malaysia Day, I hope we continue to make room for one another.
Ishaanaah Ravi is a Bachelor of Education (Honours) alumna from Taylor’s University. She enjoys breaking down educational topics into bite-sized insights and finds joy in simple pleasures, like volunteering, watching comedy shows, and building Lego sets.
