(A group photo with the Mardi Gras float, captured before the march. Photo by Liana Keo, 2025.)
As someone born, raised, and now studying in Western Sydney, I never expected us to be the longest-running tertiary institution to be marching in Mardi Gras. The Greater Western Sydney region has one of the most diverse cultural communities in the world – a beautifully diverse home to migrants and refugees with many different cultures and stories. It’s a place where people find safety, my Cambodian family included. But for queer people, that safety still feels complicated.
There’s a lot of cultural conflict around gender and sexuality, with expectations rooted deep in tradition, often in silence and sometimes in shame. Despite being proud of my Western Sydney background, these feelings of safety, belonging, and freedom can feel out of reach. There’s often a quiet yet pervasive tension between cultural and familial expectations and queerness. Many navigate that space carefully, trying to honour our origins while embracing who we are.
That’s why this day meant so much more to me.
Seeing the ‘WSU’ logo lit up, drenched in rainbow, on a float – loud and unapologetic, was surreal. Here we were, owning a space that people can feel pushed out of or inaccessible. Balancing queerness with cultural and familiar expectations is heavy. However, the WSU float was a statement of inclusion, visibility, and strength. It was being seen and celebrated. For me, it was a reminder that we don’t have to choose between our culture and our queerness. We can hold both, and there is immeasurable power in that.
This event was my first time participating in the Mardi Gras Parade, not just partying from the sidelines, but being a part of the float. I felt part of something bigger. I met with the rest of our WSU group, consisting of an incredible mix of staff and students, all buzzing with excitement. We helped one another prepare, sharing makeup, stickers, and accessories. The energy was electric – full of creativity, confidence, and community. Being surrounded by people who just got it, didn’t need you to explain yourself, and accepted you openly was truly special.
(A group photo taken after the march. Photo by Liana Keo, 2025)
There’s a constant balancing act between being authentic and carrying the weight of how others might perceive you, like family, friends, or others. It often feels easier to stay quiet, not be “too much”, and take up less space to keep peace, or so you think. That feeling doesn’t disappear easily. Pride in my sexuality is something I’ve come to on my terms, and I’m not someone who feels the need to announce it to the world. So, stepping into the parade, a space that was loud, unapologetic, and defiantly visible (hello, news cameras), felt like breaking a long-held pattern.
When it came time to move, we counted down together. As we stepped onto the street, every bit of doubt melted away. In its place came a flood of pride, joy, and connection. The crowd’s energy was insane, with people cheering, waving, dancing, and blowing kisses and hearts. One person held up a ‘WSU’ tote bag, and we all cheered for each other.
It hit me – how big this was not just for me, but for Western Sydney. It was visibility that doesn’t come around often for queer people existing in our area. It wasn’t just a night of celebration but a moment of visibility for our Western Sydney community. A bold reminder that we are here to exist and stay, whether you identify as a part of the community or support those who are. It wasn’t just crucial for those navigating their journeys, but powerful for our allies, families, and friends to witness too.
This experience reminded me that visibility isn’t just symbolic but life-affirming. I kept thinking about the people who weren’t there, those who couldn’t come, or are still figuring things out. We marched for them, too. I thought about my first-year self and how impossible it would’ve felt even to imagine showing up publicly with our university in the middle of Oxford Street. It wasn’t just about one night of celebration; it was about showing up. Taking up space. It was a beautiful experience that reminded us that we don’t need to ask for permission to exist.
Writing this reflection is also a part of this process. It’s not easy to put words to something so personal, especially when the possibility of being misunderstood or judged lingers in my mind. But sharing this experience is one way I’m continuing to face those fears, own that space, and hopefully help others feel less alone. Let this be a reminder that there is a vibrant, bold, and beautiful LGBTQ+ community in Western Sydney. Western Sydney University is a part of that story, creating space for us to be free to be ourselves in our time and our way.
