Tammy Sze is the winner of the 15-18 category in the 2026 Write It Out: Greater Dandenong Short Story Competition for their response to the prompt "A Whole New World". Write It Out celebrates the creativity and diverse voices of young people aged 12-25 who have a connection to Greater Dandenong. Read the full collection of finalist stories here: Write It Out | Greater Dandenong Council
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“Do you speak English?”
A beat of silence passed as unfamiliar words hung in the air. Haoyue wished he could say yes, but all he did was shake his head. “Chinese only.”
The cashier nodded thoughtfully.
“If you want to, the exchange rate is—”
Before she could finish, he had slid over a stack of carefully folded cash towards her.
“A word of caution,” said the lady in her subtle Australian accent, “once you receive a language, the fluency in your old one will disappear. Do you understand?”
Haoyue nodded again, folding his hands tightly in his lap. He watched her pull out a needle from a case, labeled with one word he had learnt to read from his friend: English. She guided his chin towards her and, with clinical precision, pierced the underside of his tongue. Only a soft click echoed in the room, but suddenly a million voices and letters and sentences and rules began flooding Haoyue’s head. Words upon words upon words forming and unforming until they finally connected and silenced.
He opened his eyes and looked into the gaze of the linguistics clerk.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“The same as before,” he replied, syllables forming crisply in his mouth.
Haoyue clamped a hand over his mouth. There was not a single trace of an accent in his voice. The lady laughed.
“Very eloquent indeed.”
He stepped out onto the bustling streets of Keysborough, his mind buzzing with a strange, electric clarity. For the first time since his family had immigrated to Australia, the billboards didn't look like a chaotic jumble of shapes. He could read the street signs. He understood the chatter of the teenagers walking past him. He felt lighter, like a spirit who had finally been untethered from flesh.
When he arrived home, the familiar smell of soy sauce and sesame oil greeted him, but as he stepped into the kitchen, a sudden wave of nausea hit him. The scent, which usually made his mouth water, felt overwhelmingly heavy and suffocating.
“Haoyue, is that you?” his mother said in Mandarin, not looking up from the chopping board. "Did you buy the noodles?"
Haoyue stopped in his tracks and squinted at her as if seeing clearly would help him recognise her words. It felt disorienting to be unable to understand sentences he had known since birth. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat. He knew what he wanted to say, but his tongue refused to shape the familiar tones and instead, crisp, perfect English slipped out.
“I don’t understand—”
His mother froze, the nimble knife hovering over the spring onion. She turned to him, her brow furrowed. "What are you saying? Speak properly."
Haoyue could only catch the sound of her words, not the meaning. A familiar cadence surrounded him of sharp pronunciation and smooth tones. It’s okay, he told himself, staring at his mother as she continued to dice spring onions and sneak concerned glances at him. This is what I wanted. Now I can get a better job. I can finally be understood. I won't be the outsider anymore.
Haoyue’s mother was still muttering when he left, unable to stand the stifling sounds and smells in his house. He found himself walking through the local market district, a vibrant hub that he frequented; a place that brought him peace. Around him, a sea of Mandarin, Cantonese and other dialects washed over the pavement, making the air buzz. Yesterday, it would have been a comfort, but today it felt entirely alien despite the only change being his language. The chatter sounded like static on a radio station he couldn't tune into.
He returned home, but before he could retreat into his room, the family altar caught his eye. Framed portraits of his grandparents stared back at him, and gentle, curling smoke from burning incense dissipated in the breeze of an open window. Usually, the scent of the incense grounded him, connecting him to a long line of history and belonging. Today, the smoke made him cough, stinging his eyes.
Looking into the eyes of his ancestors, a terrifying realisation washed over him. He hadn't just traded away a language; he had traded away himself. He was a stranger to his parents, a stranger to his community, and a stranger to his own ancestors watching him from their perch on a glass shelf. The price of integration was his soul.
Haoyue ran. He sprinted through the Dandenong streets, past the lake where he used to feed the ducks and the roundabout where his mother always told him to stop. His lungs were burning by the time he reached the fading storefront of the language clinic. The lights inside were dimming, and the lady from earlier was just pulling down the front blinds.
Haoyue pounded on the glass. "Please! Wait!"
The woman opened the door, surprised. "Young man? Is something wrong with the fluency?"
"Take it back," Haoyue gasped, tears welling in his eyes. "Please. I want my old language back."
The clerk sighed softly, looking at him with a mixture of pity and understanding. "I’m sorry, but the return policy is clear. If everybody could just change languages—”
"I don't care," Haoyue said, his voice cracking. "Please, I…I need to talk to my mother. You won’t ever see me again after this, I promise."
She paused, key slotted into the clinic door. With a slow nod, she gestured for him to sit in the chair one last time. The needle emerged from the case. A sharp click echoed in the quiet room, and suddenly, the English intonation, grammar and words that had taken root in his head shattered into a million pieces like a porcelain pot.
***
“Do you speak English?”
A beat of silence passed as unfamiliar words hung in the air like lanterns. When Haoyue finally understood, he shook his head, a peaceful smile on his face.
