This is a picture of my grandmother and I, taken last year at a lunch to celebrate the 60th anniversary of her arrival in Australia. Her birthday just happens to be on Australia Day and she is the proudest Australian I know.

Born in Soviet Ukraine in 1932, Granny’s early life was spent in the country town of Stryj, close to the Polish border. She and her family fled Ukraine when she was eight years old and spent a decade as refugees, capped off by a two-year stay in the squalid refugee camps of post-war Germany.

She came to Australia as one of Calwell’s beautiful balts, and she speaks fondly of seeing wattle blossoms, bananas and vanilla slice pastries for the first time. She spent two years in service to Australia as a nurse in a home for disabled children in country Victoria. She married my grandfather at the age of 22 and automatically became an Australian citizen.

Despite her Ukrainian heritage, her Polish upbringing and her German accent, she considers herself to be Australian, and rightly so.

There are many reasons to be proud to be Australian, but unfortunately an equal amount to be ashamed about. More than anything else, I am grateful to be Australian – perhaps you can’t fully appreciate what you have until you know things could have been so much worse.

Happy birthday Granny!