The word immigrant stems from the Latin root, migrare – to change or to move from one place to another. Australia, where 28% of the population was born overseas, owes its transformation from a British colony to a cosmopolitan modern country to the presence of people from other places who’ve arrived here to build new lives.

The following stories represent five moments during the trajectory of the past five decades of Australian immigration – from the last wave of postwar European immigration to the focus on humanitarian arrivals in the 1980s to the present, a period during which aspiring Australians on temporary visas struggle to put down roots. Each of the stories is accompanied by a photo of an object, something important that reminds them of their homeland.

Nick Kalogeropoulos, 1976, Athens

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Nick Kalogeropoulos, who migrated to Australia in 1976, from Athens. Photograph: Noel McLaughlin/The Guardian

In Athens, I studied to be a computer programmer at night and worked as a framer during the day. When I came to Australia in 1976, I couldn’t speak English, so I worked in a factory. Then, I bought a guillotine and made my first frames for relatives and friends. In 1978 when I was 24, I started my framing business [Rococo Framing on Newtown’s Enmore Road] with a partner. After a year, I took over the business. We supplied galleries and studios with ornate frames. In those days, everything was made by hand and it was tough. I was young and could work hard but made the big mistake of not studying proper English. I still don’t like to communicate with emails. I prefer phone calls. But although I don’t advertise or have a website, my customers come from everywhere.

Forty years ago, there were no tables on the sidewalks in Australia. No one drank coffee, there were only milk bars. Back home, we said good morning. Here, we walk in the street, we don’t talk. In some ways, life was easier there and the cost of living was lower. In Australia, we have good systems, but we pay for them. Athens was very modern, and you could get a shave at the hairdresser.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Nick Kalogeropoulos’s copy of You speak Greek, you just don’t know it, by Annie Stefanides, a book that highlights the many English language words that have roots in Greek. Also pictured: a flag from the 2004 Athens Olympics. Photograph: Noel McLaughlin/The Guardian

When I first visited a Greek barber in Australia and asked for a shave, he said, “you can forget that here”. But I remember when I moved to Australia people would leave an envelope outside the door for the milkman and no one would touch that money. It was a beautiful thing.

When I moved here, people mostly came from Europe. I was one of the last generations of Greeks to arrive. Now people come from India and China so there are different challenges. When we first came here, it was racist, and we had a tough time. My sisters had bad experiences in the 60s, but things have changed a lot. I think that Australia should be open to any nationality. We make Australia, we are all Australian. But when I’m in Australia, I miss Greece. There’s nothing like home for anyone.

Lan Vo, 1981, Ho Chi Minh City

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Lan Vo who migrated to Australia in 1981 from Ho Chi Minh City. Photograph: Noel McLaughlin/The Guardian

I grew up in Vietnam and came to Australia on a boat with 47 people. I was on a boat for four days and [because I was pregnant] it was very scary. I was in Thailand for eight and a half months and then we flew to Sydney. We lived in Guilford, then in Auburn and I cooked for three men and looked after three boys for $20 each. Back then, rent was only $65 a week. I learned how to use a sewing machine and worked day and night. The government gave us blankets and a bed, and we were happy.

After I bought my first house, I bought 12 machines, then 18 machines and after that I had machines [all around my] living room and my business grew and grew. I started my business in 1983 under my name, Lan Vo. Then I rented the factory, although my ex-husband said, “if you rent a factory I’ll leave you and go to America.” So, I did everything by myself. I bought this business [Mimosa Fashions, a wholesaler and retailer of watches and custom jewellery] in 1987.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Earrings and rings that accompanied Lan Vo on the long journey from Ho Chi Minh City to Sydney. Photograph: Noel McLaughlin/The Guardian

First it was clothing that I designed myself, although I couldn’t draw. When I started selling wedding dresses, I did well. Sometimes, I worked 23 hours and slept only one hour. But that is why I have money right now. I also had to send money back to my country, to my parents. Then, when my sister and brother came from Vietnam and Singapore, I [supported them].

Thanks to God, I’ve had a beautiful life. I go back to Vietnam every year, but I love Australia, it accepts me. I [had to] come here for my children. My country is hard, because it is new but [in Australia] it doesn’t matter who you are. When we lived in Thailand, it was very difficult because I was pregnant and didn’t have enough food. But it made me more determined. [In the future] I hope my son and daughter and my grandchildren do well. And right now, business is good — I have customers who’ve come back to me for 32 years.

Ai Ling Zhou, 1987, Shanghai

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Ai Ling Zhou, who migrated to Australia in 1987 from Shanghai. 14 June 2019 Photograph: Noel McLaughlin/The Guardian

When I left China, I had studied material science engineering and worked for two years. Graduates at the time were appointed [to jobs] by a university and [the state] would send us to workplaces. I felt politically oppressed and didn’t see any hope. At the time, Australia was seen as a peaceful country. On the plane, I saw Sydney harbour. The sky was so blue, the clouds were so white, and the sun was so warm. A week later, I was walking down George Street and a white man in his late 30s tried to bump into me. I was so scared. But then a lady said: “Walk with me.” She walked me to a shop and I felt safe.

Culture-wise, Australia was difficult. My degree in China was not recognised so I waitressed while I was studying English and that was depressing because I felt I was an engineer. Before the Tiananmen Square massacre, I was excited because I thought China would change. But after the massacre, it was devastating. [In 1989] Bob Hawke gave us a four-year temporary residency visa, along with 40,000 Chinese students and in 1993, Paul Keating allowed us to become permanent residents. We could work full-time without fear of being sent back to China. It was an opportunity to start again.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Ai Ling Zhou’s Chinese foot warmer belonged to her paternal grandparents and was transported to Australia by her now-deceased father. “I don’t know my grandparents as they passed away when I was very young. The foot warmer makes me think of them and imagine the lives they had,” she says. Photograph: Noel McLaughlin/The Guardian

In 1994, I applied to Sydney University to complete postgraduate studies in economics, which changed my life. But the lecturer spoke so fast and [the field] required a lot of English. I grew up in China, a planned economy. I had no knowledge of market economies. Now, I enjoy it but at the time, I was overwhelmed.

I think immigration has made it easier for Australia to adapt to the international market. But racism happens when people feel threatened. Chinese-Australian friends say that colleagues can be friendly but when a position comes along, they feel like they should have it rather than you. But I was telling my son recently that [part of my] primary school homework was to write a self-criticism report. The system required you to be devalued so you feel powerless. I’m so happy that I can have my second life in Australia so my child doesn’t have to go through what I went through.

Hazem Sedda, 2003, Jeet

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Hazem Sedda, who migrated to Australia in 2003 from Jeet, in Palestine. Photograph: Noel McLaughlin/The Guardian

I’m from a village [Jeet near the city of Nablus] in Palestine. Since we were young, my dad has always done all the hard work for us. I promised him that when I came to Australia, I wasn’t going to let him work. From the first day I arrived, I went to his shop [Redfern Convenience Store on Redfern Street] and learned how to do things. He realised that I could run the shop myself. I told him he could retire when he was 43.

From the age of 17, I was sitting in the shop for 18 hours a day for seven years straight. Redfern between 2000 and 2003 was tough. Seeing people being bashed and shops being robbed was normal, but Palestine was worse. Customers that would come in and want me [to go out] and coming to a new country, I wanted to discover it. [I felt like] I wasn’t living the life that I was supposed to be living in Australia. I also studied aviation but quit because didn’t want to be far away from my family. Middle Eastern countries don’t have Centrelink – when parents grow old, they are dependent on their kids. My sisters and I grew up believing that Mum and Dad are number one. In Australia, the government looks after parents but [my parents] are mine. Making the business successful was about looking after them.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Hazem Sedda’s keffiyeh, a traditional black-and-white scarf worn by men in Palestine. Photograph: Noel McLaughlin/The Guardian

In Australia, Dad started waving to people from across the road. They looked at him strangely, but now, customers come in to see me and say hello. I think immigrants are a big part of the community and, for the hard work we do, we don’t get the respect we deserve. But even if we work two times harder [in Palestine], we wouldn’t get the quality of life we have here.

My dad always told me, you are from Palestine but [coming to this country] you are Australian. Now, I work from six to midnight, but spend all my time in Redfern, even on days off. I have known people there for a long time. Some were kids, now they are grown-ups. They tell me stories about their trips, their future. I know them more than my friends back home.

Donal Khadka, 2015, Kathmandu

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Donal Khadka, who migrated to Australia in 2015 from Kathmandu. Photograph: Noel McLaughlin/The Guardian

I used to live in Kathmandu for seven years where I studied at the National School of Sciences but I’m from Simara, which is [a few hours] outside the capital city. I’m here because I decided to study abroad, and Australia offered numerous opportunities that could help me build my career. In Australia, you get respect for every kind of work, which I really appreciate. I also felt secure coming to Australia because of the existing cultural diversity. I [recently] graduated with a bachelor’s degree in networking from MIT College in Sydney and now I’m keen to start my career in IT.

Coming to Australia was the best decision that I made in my life but in the early days it was difficult to cope. The challenges I’ve faced have been major to minor – the minor ones are learning the traffic rules and the major was finding a job. [On my postgraduate visa] I’m only allowed to work 20 hours a week and am paid a low rate – it is very difficult to pay for daily life and transportation and things like that.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest A handwoven Dhaka hat and scarf from Donal Khadka’s native Nepal, along with a copy of Karnali Blues, a best-selling novel by young Nepali author Buddhisagar Chapain. Photograph: Noel McLaughlin/The Guardian

In the workplace, I didn’t know the laws and regulations in Australia and because I’m a contractor, I always worry about job security but being a union member helps.

When I first came to Australia, my brother was here for support. The first week, I spent with my brother and then I rented a house with friends. There were three or four girls living in one room, sharing everything! For many people who come here, they don’t even have someone to pick them up from the airport. Where do they stay? Where do they go? These days, whenever I have time, I try to help – I pick them up or look for a room for them.

The people here are very respectful. They don’t treat us like we are from another culture although we are different, not western. Most of my relatives are settled in Nepal but I’ve been living here with a few of my family members. I see my life in Australia. To me, home is all about family but when people around us help without expectation, Australia feels like home [too].