I was asked the same question in two countries. It showed me what it means to belong

“Where are you from?” 

We were standing in front of Woolies, waiting for it to open.

I am on the brink of being a grown-up — about to finish uni. I think I already am one, a grown-up who can handle herself.

I suppose he thought he was being friendly. I suppose he was being friendly. I told him I was from the inner west. No, where you are really from?

It was a conversation I’d had — cheekily, playfully — many times before. A dance. The other person finding different ways to ask and me finding different ways to not answer while we both dance around the ugly subtext: some people have to explain themselves, others don’t.

But this time it escalated, fast and in a way I hadn’t imagined. Sticks and stones, but words — loud, threatening…