MADE IN KIN Launch Lunch, Sydney

MADE IN KIN gathers at Magenta House

After ten straight days of grey skies and relentless rain, the clouds cleared right on cue yesterday, revealing blue skies and winter sunshine for our MADE IN KIN Launch Lunch at Magenta House in Redfern.

Following our Melbourne gathering, I had hoped our Sydney lunch would feel just as meaningful. This opportunity to finally bring together our Sydney-based Creative Directory talents in one space did not disappoint.

The setting could not have felt more fitting. Magenta House, passionately fostered by Mariam Ella Arcilla, is part community space, part library, part store and gathering place. A home for stories, culture, creativity and connection.

Watching MADE IN KIN fill its spaces felt like two aligned visions meeting one another.

In the kitchen, Ismat Awan and Margey Sevenjhazi prepared dishes that offered a glimpse into their heritage.

Ismat served baigan ka bharta-filled puris, whipped zaatar goat's cheese canapés and a silken tofu peanut chocolate mousse, while Margey brought pinoy barbecue skewers, beef empanadas and inventive adobo and kare-kare cookies.

Outside, the sun-dappled courtyard buzzed all afternoon.

People were excited to see familiar faces while eagerly introducing themselves to new ones. Guests gathered around plastic stools we had collected from Facebook Marketplace the week before, purchased from a Chinese family who messaged me the following morning asking how the event had gone, as if equally invested in our joy.

The thing about events like these – and it's difficult to explain their significance to others – is that no conversation goes to waste. It's as though small talk becomes impossible when a space is filled with people of colour carrying their own migration stories, all searching for common ground.

Even when cultural backgrounds differed, there was often something familiar beneath the surface – experiences of migration, family expectations, belonging, sacrifice or simply navigating life between worlds.

Then came the balikbayan boxes.

While everyone was chatting, my sister Jasmine and her fiancé Rhys quietly retrieved dozens of boxes hidden away in our car parked nearby. One by one, each guest received theirs before opening them together.

In my Filipino culture, balikbayan boxes are traditionally sent by migrants living overseas back to loved ones in the Philippines. Inside these miniature versions were small pieces of my culture.

There were hand-painted capiz shell storage boxes from Australian brand Jones & Co, founded by Filipina Jennifer Jones. Hand-sewn patches from Super Inday Art Project in Iloilo, where creative practice is used as a tool for expression and healing by women who refer to themselves as PDL (Persons Deprived of Liberty).

Everyone also got a bundle of produce commonly found in Filipino kitchens, packed into colourful netted bags I discovered during my travels through Siquijor. Snacks often found in sari-sari stores across the Philippines.

What felt especially significant was that this time around, I managed to brave a speech.

My voice was nervous. My hands were shaking. But every word felt worth saying. Beside me sat Mariam, offering reassuring words before I began and quite literally holding my hand through parts of it.

I wanted everyone in that room to know their presence was intentional. That nobody had been invited by accident. Each outreach came from spending time with their work, learning about their heritage and recognising their talent. I wanted them to know how much I admired what they were building individually, and how much I hoped MADE IN KIN might become something that supports those journeys moving forward.

Ismat and Margey also spoke about the dishes they had prepared, while Mariam shared the story behind the beautiful hand-stitched dolls included in each box.

The hours flew by, and by the end of the afternoon, plans were already being made.

Ismat and her husband Zain invited my husband Kieran and I over for dinner. Guests exchanged details with Oliver Reyes so they could attend a pop-up he was hosting the following week. Illustrator Victoria Garcia was asking for links to essays Numa Sarker had written.

Even the following morning, I woke to messages carrying the warmth of the day forward.

Margey sent through a recipe for Chicknigang after guests asked how to use the chayote tucked into their balikbayan boxes. Dalin Alejandrino shared that her Filipino husband Em was chuffed with the bag of goodies and that their family would be making choko chicken soup for dinner.

And then there were the conversations that have only grown warmer in my memory since.

Several people later shared conversations that had taken place while I was elsewhere in the room. More than once, I heard that when MADE IN KIN first reached out, there was an immediate feeling that this was something they wanted to be part of. Somewhere they felt they belonged.

Those are the moments that make the work feel worthwhile.

Because while MADE IN KIN may have begun as an idea I carried, the work and mission no longer belong to me alone – and neither does the beauty of it.