Back in March 2025, I received an email informing me that I was a finalist for Best Short Form Content at the Samsung Australian IT Journalism Awards. The theme of the event was “Florals, Flowers and Blooms.” I knew immediately what I wanted to wear: a traditional Filipiniana dress with delicate floral embroidery and butterfly sleeves that fanned outward. This was the kind of outfit that was tied to Philippine history and culture; it announced where you’re from without saying too much. I was inspired by Filipino drag queen Marina Summers, who wore a similar outfit when they announced they were competing in season two of the hit series, RuPaul’s Drag Race UK vs The World. The way they strutted with something traditional as a way of saying “Look out world, the Philippines is coming.” I wanted to do something similar in the journalism scene, thinking that if I won, I could represent my kababayan on stage through both my work and my looks.
There was only one problem: I couldn’t find a store that sells one anywhere near me. I no longer lived in Western Sydney, a suburb full of Filipinos. I moved to the Eastern Melbourne suburbs three years ago. I found a new home in Huntingdale, which is the suburb next to Oakleigh, known for its high Greek population. The only place that could get me a dress at such short notice was in Tarneit, which was more than an hour’s drive away.
So, on one Saturday morning, my boyfriend and I drove out West. Looking out the windows, I’ve noticed the suburbs that looked nothing like the ones in the East — but they were very familiar to me. I didn’t know it at the time, but according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, Tarneit is one of Victoria’s largest hubs for the Filipino community.
I should have guessed it when we entered the store. Inside I heard Tagalog spoken casually. Parents browsed racks of barongs and Filipinianas while their children waved small Philippine flags, preparing their outfits for Harmony Day at school. Meanwhile, I struggled to choose a dress, trying multiple outfits and searching for the perfect one that fit the theme, yet something that screams “Yep, that’s Erielle.”
Later that day, we searched for lunch. We were craving Filipino food. Drove a suburb down to Werribee, and for the first time in years, I had too many options. Restaurant after restaurant appeared on Google Maps reminiscent of food spots that lived closer to home, such as Mama Lors in Rooty Hill and Doonside’s Pinoy Diner. Filipino grocery stores were also joined by other diverse cuisines, clustered together on a familiar-looking strip near a train station. Just walking around filled me with excitement — and, with it, a bit of sadness.
Visiting Tarneit for the first time reminded me of my old home out West, and it made me realise what I had quietly given up when I decided to move to Melbourne. For over a decade, I lived in Woodcroft with my family. The neighbourhood is quiet — but inside the cul-de-sacs and public transport lines is a strong Filipino community of Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs), migrants, overseas students, and families and friends. There was easy access to our culture through food, media, and events, which made it easier to explore and connect with your Filipino roots. Living in the West felt designed for the Filipino diaspora.
When the film Heneral Luna came out in 2015, my family took my brother and me to the local cinemas for a limited theatrical screening. They wanted us to learn about another important figure in Philippine history, who fought in the Philippine American War before his assassination. Ten years later, there was a limited theatrical run of Quezon, a film based on the former Philippine president, Manuel L. Quezon, set in the same storyline as that historical drama. By the time this movie was released, I was already settled in Melbourne, so I wanted to see if it was possible to watch this movie. I already knew there’s a huge Filipino community in Melbourne and assumed it would be accessible in places like Chadstone, where it’s home to a large shopping centre that caters to many tourists and locals. I visited to the theatre website which, to my surprise, showed a list of screenings in western parts of the city. I was disappointed, but it wasn’t until December 2025 where my initial assumptions were correct. Chadstone has the capability to house Filipino movies because they had a screening of Meet, Greet & Bye. Seeing that, I was outraged to some degree but eventually gotten over it.
Accessing anything Philippine-related has now become a challenge, as it requires travel. My new home lacks this. It took a while to realise I had taken Woodcroft’s offer for granted.
Back in Sydney, I realised I didn’t fit the young Filipino mould. The people around me fitted into cultural circles I didn’t belong to, and at the time, there wasn’t a nerdy scene for me to be part of. For one, I couldn’t participate in Filipino K-pop circles; my family barred me from engaging with this subculture, questioning why I would consume works in a language I wouldn’t understand. Many of my peers were also well-adjusted to Australian culture and values. They were invited to parties I was never invited to. I held on to the ways I was raised back in the Philippines, having lived a sheltered and strict upbringing that prioritised education over a social life. Any other friend group that I thought I’d fit into was otherwise very short-lived.
What made matters worse was my inability to speak Tagalog. When other Filipinos hear that I was born in the Philippines, they ask straight away: “Marunong ka magsalita ng Tagalog?” Do you know how to speak Tagalog? My go-to response is “Opo, pero medyo lang.” Yes, but a bit. I say this not to show off, but also to warn people not to expect fluency. I’m tempted to downplay my ability, which is a shame as there shouldn’t be any regrets when speaking your mother tongue. But when teachers and classmates in Manila severely mocked your struggle to learn (and re-learn) the language, the sense of shame lingers. Once people find out you were born overseas, you’re surrounded by people who expect you to be fluent.
Living in the Philippines, I couldn’t do the most basic Filipino things like speaking the language or eating with my hands during a boodle fight. Living in Sydney, that anxiety amplified tenfold, where there were cultural standards that I couldn’t fulfil. Moving to Melbourne felt like something I needed to do to figure out who I am and help me flourish.
Since moving, the pressure in my head to be a perfect Filipino has silenced. I can explore my heritage at my own pace, and for a while, it was good. I got to speak more of the language at home — even my boyfriend learned a few words from me. I explored more Philippine media without the fear of being mocked. I’ve also made connections with other Filipinos outside Australia who recognised my plight and bond over it.
For the first time, I felt free. But that freedom came at a cost. I lost access to a community I once took for granted. It turns out, I did need them. Every time my boyfriend and I drove around our area and see a Filipino store or restaurant, we make a quick stop to shop and browse inside — it’s rare to find as many in my area.
Rather than feeling guilty about the lack of access, I decided to take things into my own hands. I started owning cookbooks for my boyfriend and I to cook our own Filipino dishes. Our learning paid off when we recently roasted Philippine BBQ for a New Year’s Eve party; a banquet praised by my friends from non-Filipino backgrounds. And while it took a few years to find connection, I found my own nerdy Filipino scene through the Beyblade X community. I could introduce myself in both English and Tagalog to a group of predominantly Filipino players. For once, the pressure to speak my mother tongue wasn’t there. It gave me the confident to even sign up for my university’s Filipino society for after-class hangouts.
Western Sydney taught me what belonging looks like when it is built into the landscape. Melbourne taught me what it means to make it yourself. The Filipino community in Sydney has been established for a long time. More than a popular destination for Australian tourists sites, it’s a city for many Filipinos to pursue work and find new opportunities. While there is a strong Filipino community in Melbourne, it’s scattered — to find your people yourself is a challenge of its own. Tarneit isn’t the only place with a strong Filipino diaspora. My boyfriend’s sister informed me that there’s a Filipino gathering in her area every weekend, and extended an invite to my partner and I if we’re interested.
Moving to Melbourne gave me space and allowed me to choose how I engage with my culture, rather than having to prove myself and fit into some mould or expectation. But at the same time, living in Melbourne allowed me to view Western Sydney through a different lens. Rather than sadness and self-isolation, it’s gratitude and familiarity.
As for that dress: I wore it to the event and stood out, but in a positive way. I went up on stage, taking home the Highly Commended for my category. My colleagues were stunned — not just by my accomplishment, but also by my appearance. In a room full of journalists, I chose to show up as myself, proud to represent my culture.
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Erielle Sudario is an award-nominated multimedia journalist based in Melbourne, Australia. Her work has appeared in SBS Australia, ABC Australia, Guardian Australia, 2SER, JOY Media, and other publications, where she covers pop culture, lifestyle, technology, gaming, and the occasional political story. Before moving to Melbourne, she lived in Woodcroft for 13 years, enjoys attending the Blacktown Medieval Fair, and was once part of Westpoint’s Dungeons and Dragons scene. Her favourite Western Sydney band is Breakfast Road.
If you ask what her most memorable Western Sydney moment was, it would be her eight-hour-long hike in the Blue Mountains with her friends.