The first English word I fell in love with was “Exhilarating”.

A boy in my class used it to describe that feeling of speeding downhill on a bicycle with one's legs outstretched. After that class, I couldn’t wait to go ride my bike. Eleven years old at the time, it was the first time I thought about the beauty of words - and it has always struck me how a single word can evoke an image, how that image blossoms into a feeling, and how that feeling, in turn, can result in action.

Lonely in school, and lacking in confidence in most areas of my life, I often turned to that group of friends who always make time for you, are ever-inclusive and never turn their backs on you - books. I can’t say that I found either reading or writing easy in those days. I hadn’t grown up speaking English although it was the medium of instruction in my school. I was shy in adapting to it and felt self-conscious to use it as though I were a fraud. Yet, I persevered with both, partly due to necessity, and partly due to the encouragement of a few kind teachers. I constantly borrowed books from the library and also began keeping a diary to record my thoughts and feelings.

Through the act of reading, I felt I was traversing incredible and hitherto inaccessible lands populated with new people and places, customs and traditions, thoughts and beliefs and these journeys began to leave small but indelible marks on me, slowly changing the landscape of my own mind. The more I became aware of the power of words, the more I wanted to write myself. My early efforts were poems designed to impress my crushes, and other pieces best forgotten.

When I was 19, on a trip to a well-known seaside town in India, I had an encounter with a very charming young boy of about six who was begging for food. I had come to have dinner at an Ashram I was visiting with a friend. There were signs everywhere warning against giving food from the Ashram to beggars. The boy was physically hurt and his situation broke my heart. I was very conflicted about the whole thing, and this conflict remained with me for days after I returned home. I felt as though a part of my clothing had gotten stuck on an invisible hook, and that it would keep tugging at me until I wrote about it. I sat down then to write my very first complete story about this boy, and although I don’t have it anymore, I have come to discover, that it is in that tug both within myself and with society at large, where my writing lies.

I felt the same tug in wanting to write a story about international students but kept putting it off. My experiences as an ‘International Student’ in Australia - the financial struggles, the anxiety of letting family down, the constant fear of my visa running out, and the racism I faced - were difficult for me to process, and I also feared would be poorly received in Australia. So, the idea remained on the back burner until a very significant thing occurred in 2017.

I was returning home to Dee Why from my work in Chatswood and a group of young boys sitting beside and near me began to racially abuse me and other non-white passengers in the bus. They were loud and aggressive and the boy sitting next to me blocked my exit by putting his leg out and yelled pointedly: “When I grow up, I want to become a white supremacist.” No one on the bus said a thing, but we exchanged discreet looks and I knew those of us who’d been targeted were united in our fear and resignation. I sent text messages to my husband and sister terrified something worse could happen.

This incident dredged up that same fear and anxiety I’d felt as a vulnerable student when a similar event occurred in the Indian restaurant where I was working at the time. Now, I was relatively secure with permanent residency, and I had people I could call on for help and a therapist I could talk to for support. Then, I was utterly alone. I thought about all the students who were here facing situations like this every day and having no one to turn to.

Not long after, I began Surya’s story. It would be terrifying and take me many years, but to me, it is a story Australia needs to hear.

Read Surya and his sister Malli’s incredible story in The Days Toppled Over, you can purchase a copy here.

Vidya Madabushi is a writer living and working on the traditional lands of the Darramuragal people and pays her deepest respects to Elders past and present. She loves spending time with her family and her dog, reading international literature, taking caravan trips around Australia, listening to both classical and popular music, and cooking traditional Indian foods.