Almost one in two Australians have a parent born overseas, making the question of where you belong a complex one.

“Where are you from?” It's a simple question that I simply don't know how to answer. It's the simple question that makes me question my existence, feeling like I'm caught in a game of cultural ping pong.

My mind immediately says “Australia”, where I was born and built my life, but my heart, rich with the flavours and stories of my Macedonian heritage, insists on hanging on to its roots.

My identity is not something that can be summed up in a single phrase or label. Growing up, I learned that being Australian meant enjoying the vibrant culture of this land — there were barbecues, outdoor adventures and the blonde, blue-eyed, sun kissed beach babes.

My curly dark hair, dark eyes and chaotic family gatherings was not a perfect fit for the Australian stereotype. My Macedonian upbringing was filled with lively (really loud, rather obnoxious) music, cultural dances and hearty food.

'The disconnect was so apparent and this trip made me question everything.'

These two worlds coexisted in my life and throughout my life I was always proud to call myself Macedonian, it was the soil of my grandparents and it helped me justify why I felt “different” in comparison to the "true blue" Aussies.

Up until the age of 14, I had spent my life identifying as Macedonian without a second thought. Then, my family and I went on a holiday to the homeland and I heard what felt like the blade of a knife pierce my skin: “Australtsi”.

The people I thought I belonged to, my people, had just called me Australian: as if I was just a tourist, visiting someone else's country, as if I didn’t belong there.

Standing proud at the 2018 Town Hall protest over the battle for Macedonia's name.CHLOE BOZINOVSKA

Why? Were they upset that we turned our back on our country? How could they tell by simply looking at my family that we weren’t born there? The disconnect was so apparent and this trip made me question everything.

Where did I truly belong? Growing up my cousins and I, all born in Australia, shared a unique bond through our attempts to embrace both our Macedonian and Australian cultures. We giggled about how silly our Australian accents sounded while speaking Macedonian, and how mixed-up our phrases were.

In Australia, many of us are navigating this complex landscape of duelling cultural identities. According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, 48.2 per cent of Australians have an overseas-born parent; 27.6 per cent were born outside Australia.

This isn’t just about blending two separate cultures, navigating the different traditions, it’s about finding a place where both can coexist without one overshadowing the other. It’s about having that comforting feeling of belonging somewhere, anywhere.

For me, it's a game of tug of war and I'm the rope being pulled in opposite directions. I can’t help but feel a sense of guilt when celebrating the New Year in Australia because I know in Macedonia we follow the traditional Julian calendar and New Year is celebrated on January 14.

As I’ve grown and started to navigate this multifaceted identity, I often find myself reflecting how it shapes my relationships and perspectives on the world. For many second- and third-generation Australians like myself, cultural identity is not a fixed point; instead more like a river constantly flowing and adapting to our surroundings.

This fluidity invites my curiosity, encouraging me to seek out new connections and understandings.

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IN YEAR 2, my best friend was Macedonian and she could speak the language fluently. She would speak to me in Macedonian and I wouldn’t have a clue what she was saying. Embarrassed and ashamed I begged my mum to take me to Macedonian school every Saturday to not only learn the language but have a closer connection to my heritage.

I then enrolled in Macedonian dancing, which further helped with building that connection, as well making my grandparents very, very proud.

Cherished memory: The author as a child visiting her Macedonian homeland in 2006.SUPPLIED

Thinking back, every family gathering saw an unintentional blend of both cultures spread across the dinner table, with Macedonian dishes served alongside classic Aussie ones. What a beautiful mess, mounds of cabbage-wrapped mince, sitting right next to a delicate pavlova.

So chaotic but at the same time deeply enriching. In those moments, it's apparent that an identity doesn’t have to be a competition where only one culture can "win", instead they can enhance one another, creating a richer narrative that honours both sides of my heritage.

This blend of two differing cultures opens doors to conversations that challenge certain stereotypes and promotes understanding. When I express my experiences with those around me from different or similar backgrounds, I realise just how interconnected we all are.

My friends who are also second- or third- generation Australians relate extensively to this feeling of not truly belonging. One of them jokingly says she’s going to tell her kids she was born in Macedonia so they can “hold on to that culture”.

Honestly, it doesn't sound like a bad idea.

Ultimately, while I may feel the tug of two identities, I’ve come to appreciate the space between them. It is within that space that I find my voice, a voice that celebrates diversity and acknowledges the complexities that arise with cultural identity and belonging.

“Where are you from?”

I take a deep breath and embrace the opportunity to share my journey, relishing the chance to express the beautiful cultures that define me. My identity is no longer a puzzle to be solved but a story to be told, one that reflects the richness of both my Macedonian and Australian influences.