Growing up in Australia, as idyllic as it sounds, wasn’t always a scene from a postcard. For me, it was a mix of sunshine, beautiful landscapes, and a lot of racism. Picture a little Italian girl, with unruly curls, a big nose that had no business being on a child’s face, and teeth that seemed to be in competition for the title of “Most Unflattering.” That was me. The only thing I wanted more than to fit in was to be left alone. But alas, that was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
I was raised in a very rural area of Australia, where kangaroos outnumbered humans and the idea of “diversity” was as foreign as my packed lunches. My Italian heritage made me stick out like a sore thumb, and if you think kids are gentle about differences, well, think again.
My peers made it clear that my skin was too dark, my food smelled too weird, and, of course, my nose was far too big. You can imagine how much fun that was.
But here’s the kicker—my teachers were no better. I was labeled the “pathetic child” by one particularly nasty teacher. If it wasn’t bad enough that my classmates were bullying me, even the adults in the room couldn’t resist. They loved to point out my inadequacies, my struggles to read and write, and they even physically separated me from the other kids during lessons.
Nothing says “welcome to school” like being made to sit in the corner because you can’t keep up.
Targeted So Aggressively
I never understood why I was targeted so aggressively. I was quiet, shy, and afraid of everything—even a shuttlecock! Yes, the badminton kind. You know you’re living a fearful childhood when sports equipment becomes a source of terror. But what scared me the most wasn’t the kids, the teachers, or even the badminton rackets—it was the constant feeling that I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t Australian enough. I wasn’t smart enough. I wasn’t pretty enough. And I certainly wasn’t “normal” enough.
My lunches, oh dear, let’s talk about my lunches. I loved them; they were the highlight of my day! My Nonna’s handmade salami sandwiches, dripping with olive oil and packed in crusty bread, were heavenly to me but a nightmare to everyone else. The other kids would hold their noses and ask why I ate “weird food.” As if they were connoisseurs of fine dining with their soggy Vegemite sandwiches! It’s funny now, looking back, but at the time, it was mortifying.
The worst part wasn’t even the teasing—it was the isolation.
No one wanted to sit with the girl whose lunch stunk up the room, whose nose could probably be spotted from space, and who couldn’t seem to string a sentence together without getting it wrong. So, I spent most of my primary school years playing alone, not by choice, but because no one wanted to be around me. Kicked, taunted, teased, and, occasionally, physically shoved around—I felt more like an unwanted object than a child.
And let’s not forget the glamorous moniker I earned: “The girl with the donkey nose.”
I know, right? I should have taken it as a compliment because donkeys are adorable! But back then, I didn’t have the confidence or the humor to laugh it off. I just wanted to blend in, to be one of the crowd, but no amount of nose-pinching or sandwich swapping could make that happen.
Dumb & Stupid
Being of Italian descent, I was also expected to somehow be inferior when it came to academics. It was almost like they had me pegged as “stupid” from day one. And to be honest, that label stuck with me for a long time. I struggled with reading and writing, not because I wasn’t capable, but because fear had wrapped itself around my brain like a tight, suffocating blanket. Chalkboard lessons were like a slow torture session. Teachers would drone on, the chalk squeaking against the board, and I’d sit there in a cold sweat, terrified of being called upon, terrified of getting it wrong. Every day was a mini panic attack waiting to happen.
There’s something about being told you’re worthless by a person in authority that sticks with you.
My teachers didn’t just teach; they dictated what my worth was, and apparently, it was very little. No one wanted to be friends with the girl who was constantly being sent to the “dunce corner” (yes, that was a thing) for failing to keep up. But here’s the twist: their labeling didn’t break me. It made me fierce. Maybe not immediately, but eventually, that resilience came through.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t wake up one day and suddenly have an Oprah-like epiphany that made me see the light. No, it took years—years of feeling worthless, inadequate, and ugly. Years of internalizing those labels, those taunts, those sneers. But slowly, I realized that I was not the sum of other people’s opinions. I wasn’t my teacher’s “pathetic child” or my classmate’s “donkey nose.” I was just me, an Italian girl trying to navigate a world that didn’t quite know what to do with her.
Walking Alone
And then, something amazing happened. I grew up. I found my own tribe—people who loved me not despite my differences but because of them. Turns out, big noses are in vogue now (take that, childhood bullies!), and Italian food? Well, let’s just say it’s considered gourmet. I’ve embraced my heritage, my quirks, and yes, even my nose. What was once a source of ridicule is now one of my favorite features. Funny how that works, huh?
As for my opulent lifestyle? Oh darling, let me tell you, once I realized I didn’t have to fit into anyone’s box, I embraced life in all its grandeur.
I’ve swapped those dusty old chalkboards for luxury handbags and replaced the cruel taunts of my classmates with the hum of high-end shopping sprees.
Living well really is the best revenge, and if anyone has something to say about it, well, they can take it up with my nose—and trust me, it’s much more resilient now.
The moral of the story? Your past doesn’t define you. It might shape you, give you a few bruises along the way, but ultimately, you’re in charge of what you become. I took all that childhood pain and turned it into strength, confidence, and, most importantly, a deep love for who I am. So here’s to embracing the big noses, the olive oil-soaked sandwiches, and the quirks that make us who we are. Because darling, life is too short to fit in when you were born to stand out.
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