Why Palestian artist Aseel created a series of theatre performances about leaving home

When Aseel Tayah first migrated to Australia she marvelled at how often she was asked: "How are you?" by strangers in passing.

Most of the time, she would reply amiably. But there were times when, feeling homesick, she wondered if the question was genuine.

"I really wanted to say, 'Well, I'm actually not good. I miss my mum and I miss my dad." Even if it [was] to a stranger," Aseel says.

Now, eight years into living in Australia, Aseel says she knows everyone in her community.

Even as we chat on the phone, I can hear her simultaneously chopping chilli to feed another neighbour or friend or shopkeeper – it's hard to keep track.

"I know most of the people at [my local shops], and they're not one or two, they're like 50," Aseel says

"I know how many children they have, what's their names, when they came here, when they last saw their family.

"That's the power of asking, 'How are you?', genuinely, without just saying it because it's a habit."

For the 34-year-old based in the northern suburbs of Melbourne, sharing stories is the best way to bridge cultural divides.

Aseel's story

I'm from Palestine; I was born and raised in Jerusalem.

I'm the oldest of five and my siblings are like my children – I'm a very proud older sister.

I grew up in a family that did not have much money, but a lot of warmth. We didn't have many toys, but we had nature to play in.

We were taught to always look under stones and be curious and find things.

We'd collect all these snakes and scorpions and different kinds of animals in jars, so we could see what life under rocks looks like.

My husband is from Syria and we met in Jordan. I had an Israeli passport and he had a Syrian passport, so we couldn't live in either country because of this war between them.

We came to Australia eight years ago with lots of hope.

Starting Bukjeh

In Arabic, a bukjeh is the sack of belongings that people wrap quickly when they have to leave their own homes.

It can be as small as a piece of fabric but it can be as big as a whole world for a refugee.

In my bukjeh were some of my artworks, lots of childhood photos, and some nice spices from my mum's kitchen.

When I came to Australia I saw all these different people — different faces, different nationalities — I thought there must be something these people had in their own sacks when they came here.

What was it that helped them to survive in refugee camps? What was the thing that helped them to be themselves when they had nothing from home around them?

What was this special thing they chose to bring from home when they had to leave it?

We started Bukjeh (the collective) in 2017 with a few installations in Melbourne's Immigration Museum backyard. Since then, it just has grown much, much bigger.

It's a place to share refugee and migrant stories.

It started as a series of performances made and performed under a refugee relief tent. Now, it's become a movement of celebrating culture.

It's a tool to bring all this creativity and passion about home, all these stories, into one space and share it with communities.

Bukjeh is a seed for the next generation to know what happened before.

Home is my mum, my culture

People think we left our home because we could, and that everybody wants to be a refugee and we are coming to get someone else's opportunities.

But no one wants to leave unless we were really forced to do it. There's something that's so special about our lands, that you don't find anywhere else.

Home is my mum, home is my culture, home is this sound of seven different mosques calling for one prayer — I really miss that.

My daughter Rima is four and a half and she's very loud and creative, like me.

Sometimes I want to say Rima, khalas, enough, but I cannot stop her, she's just copying me. I need to stop myself first.

I definitely worry about her growing up in Australia. She's growing up in a culture that doesn't speak her language and it doesn't really have much respect or give the space for her practices.

I would like Rima to grow up in an Australia that celebrates her in her curly hair, in her round eyes, in her scarf, in her language, in the sound of her singing.

A place that just respects her as herself.

I don't waste my time anywhere. I have lots to give and lots of energy to sprinkle around and I would like to make this place better.

I hope that we might one day go home, but I want to look back and say I did great before I left. That's what makes me keep going.