Going home, when no place is there
March is hellish. The university calendar resets just as the sky turns grey and shorts go back into retirement at the back of the wardrobe, getting replaced by a dingy old pair of jeans and a hoodie mere days after the silly season comes to a close. The weeknight drinks enjoyed throughout summer turn into daily crams of coursework, part-time employment, and holding onto any morsel of sleep you can muster out of your caffeine-fuelled body. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to squeeze in a couple nights out on the town and house parties with academic comrades new and old during the first few weeks of the semester. Give it time, and you’ll realise that an assessment is due in ten hours — yet you haven’t done a single reading since your first lecture. Congratulations, you’re officially a uni student!
Apologies if you’re a new student who is picking up Debate for the first time - I don’t mean to sound discouraging! The chaos, stress, and moments of despair in your tertiary journey are just as inevitable as the joy, pride, and satisfaction of submitting your final assignment and immediately forgetting everything you just learnt as soon as you close the Canvas tab. There’s no way around the fuckery you will have to endure throughout your degree - but there’s power in community, solidarity, and accountability, which is where we come in.
Debate is your student voice at AUT. Whether we’re reporting on issues within the university and city as a whole, yapping about our favourite early 2010s telly twinks, or talking about the political and economic state of the world right now - our kaupapa is centred on you and your rights as a student in Tāmaki Makaurau. You can find us scattered across all AUT campuses, online at debatemag.com, and on socials @debate_mag where we post giveaways and other cool stuff.
To bring you into 2025, we’re covering Whakakāinga / Home, as you’ve likely spent the last few weeks hunting for, settling into, or finding a new home in Tāmaki Makaurau. At the best of times, it’s been difficult to find a flat in Auckland - I shudder thinking back to my first flat viewings when I moved out of home a couple years ago, seeing a line of
similarly aged students with printed-out flat CVs, ill-fitting formalwear and a hint of desperation in their eyes at the front of a mouldy Kingsland villa. Naturally, none of us got the place. We kept looking, dragging our soulless bodies from house to house in search of some semblance of livability.
Much like the most difficult parts of university, this process is demoralising. You’re entirely at the will of the landlordmore so now than ever, as the coalition government recently repealed changes made to the Residential Tenancies Act in 2020, bringing back no-cause evictions and cutting back the amount of time tenants have to vacate properties if the landlord suddenly decides they or a family member want to live in the property. The ability for young people to live in Aotearoa is getting consistently strained by increasing landlord power and a lack of rights for tenants. Considering how the prime minister cares more about his investment properties than anyone who makes less than six figures, we won’t be seeing things get better any time soon.
If stable housing remains a commodity under capitalism, we need to cling to anything else that feels like home for dear life. Whether it’s the people around you, the community you’re a part of, the art you consume, the food you make, or anything else that gives you joy and comfort. Throughout this issue, we find home in all sorts of places - our returning arts editor, Stella, mourns their second home of Geoff’s Emporium, Sara McKoy talks about people from overseas finding community in Aotearoa, and Ricky Lai has a variety of stellar film recommendations as per - you’ll be seeing a bunch more of those from him this year!
Personally, the aptly titled 2014 LP “Home, Like Noplace is There” by Massachusetts emo band The Hotelier has cemented itself as a central piece of comfort for my silly little brain this past summer (along with the rest of their discography, but the other albums don’t have the issue theme in their title). The record is considered a classic of the early-mid 2010’s emo revival movement, placing them alongside bands like Modern Baseball and The Front Bottoms as pioneers of bringing emo music back to its
roots after mainstream emo fizzled out when 2009 passed. Every track on the record is masterfully crafted, from heart-wrenching lyrics to experimental, build-and-release song structures that burrow themselves into your brain until you can’t let them go. It’s a strange take on home, given how harrowingly brutal the album can be in discussing its subject matter of suicidal ideation and relationships stunted by ill mental health - but the emotional throughline of each track is begging you to continue existing, and persevering to hold onto anything you can while the world around you is plunged into chaos. Just keep holding on, e hoa mā. I’m already so proud of you all.
Editorial by Liam Hansen (they/them) @liamhanse.n
EDITOR
Illustration by Stella Roper (they/she) @dodofrenzy ARTS EDITOR
“It’s Insane”The Graduate Unemployment Boom Getting Us Down
In December, Ruby Bird graduated with a Bachelor of Design, majoring in Communication Design. Not only did she get a degree, she graduated one of the top of her class, winning the top of school award for Communication Design.
Less than a month later she was rejected for a job at Woolworth’s stocking shelves, despite having worked there in the past. It wasn’t her first choice of job, or her second, or even her tenth. She spent weeks trawling job adverts, writing cover letters, and being rejected - or more often, hearing nothing at all.
Ruby isn’t alone. In Aotearoa we check in on unemployment four times a year. Most recently was the beginning of February, showing that 5.1% of the population is unemployed. This is the highest number since 2021, in the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic. The bigger picture shows these problems go a lot deeper.
Economist at the New Zealand Council of Trade Unions, Craig Renney, says it’s young people that are bearing the brunt of this rocky job market.
“The number of 15-24 year olds not in employment, training or education is rising rapidly.
“In June 2023 there were approximately 400,000 employed in the country. If we look at today, that’s fallen by about 5%, by 20,000 to 379,000.
“They are not in education because the numbers in education again have fallen. So they’re not doing anything.”
But this doesn’t mean a lack of trying. Bird says that the constant rejection has been disheartening.
“It’s been pretty difficult. I’ve applied for so many and heard back from pretty much none. It’s been so much harder than I expected.”
Renney says the jobs simply aren’t out there.
“Online job adverts fell by 27.2% this year. Every sector is seeing falls in jobs being advertised - as are every skills level. There's no way you can escape.” The country is in a crisis when it comes to employment, and Renney says unfortunately it's set to continue to rise.
“Over the next 2 years, the reserve bank is predicting cumulatively around 60,000 fewer jobs existing.”
Bird knows she’s not the only one in her situation, but the sheer number of young people also trying to get jobs adds to the difficulty.
“I’ve definitely noticed similar difficulties with a lot of friends, or an-
yone who’s been looking for a job.
“My friends who did the same degree as me are all finding the same thing - there’s no jobs in the industry.”
This meant her hunt had to expand, she found herself trawling hospitality listings, still to no avail.
“I would be on the job seeking apps and there were things like a part-time sales assistant at Tank Juice with 700 applicants. Stuff like that is insane.”
The impacts are not only financial but emotional too.
“It’s hard not to take it as a personal thing, because it can make you feel pretty useless and like I’ve spent all these years getting a degree for nothing.”
Renney emphasises that it's important to remember that this simply isn’t the case.
“Things will get better. They do. It’s tough, people shouldn’t be hard on themselves. It’s really easy to take these things personally, but often it’s not.”
Written By Evie Richardson (She/Her) @evi3m4y
EDITOR
Finding the Right Whare
To be honest, musicians and flatting don’t usually mix. Add on a touch of homesickness and a general shortage of te reo Māori speakers and you’re on the road to a complex Google search. Thinking about all the times I’ve searched for the perfect place—only to settle based on area or convenience— makes my head spin. I know I’m neither unique nor alone in this struggle and I am forever thankful that I have the means to pick an apartment or house to stay in. He ahakoa tēnei, I have hit the jackpot, moving into a space that not only has a beautiful studio for weekly use, wooden floors for my partner’s convenience, but is also home to two taahua Māori musicians who are making waves in the Aotearoa music scene. It is my pleasure today to introduce my brilliant flatmates and discuss why living in a house with musicians is a blessing (sound problems included.)
To the tāngata whenua, home is a place of belonging built on the foundations of trust and whanau. The absence of Te Reo Māori in my living spaces has sometimes made me feel idle, isolated and separate from the beauty of my culture. It is strange to walk the streets of Tāmaki Makarau and see a mixture of my reo on signs and posters with it never reaching my ears. Few countries but ours have the juxtaposition of a strong Indigenous presence that does not permeate the English language barrier. Meeting my new flatmates and settling in a place that embraces Māori and music, the two languages I feel most drawn to, has been a dream come true. I feel as if I’ve stumbled across a sacred taonga, with small interactions in te reo brightening my day and making me feel at home. Our new whare is brimming with talent, artistry and understanding. My flatmates, Hari and Cat, are both thriving in their areas, both strong Māori wahine making beautiful R&B/Pop/Rap music. So what is it truly like, to live amongst a bunch of noisemakers in a residential area?
Our flat runs very similarly to any regular flat, with a couple of key differences. Constant communication is a must, as we all want time in the studio and will often take turns making loud music at one end of the house. I’m not entirely sure how we’ve avoided noise control, but our neighbours seem to vibe with the loudspeaker pretty often, so that may be a contributing factor. We’ve had listening sessions where we share what we’re working on, which is a good way to bond and learn more about each other. Nothing like sharing the juicy lore on which ex you wrote which song about, amirite gang? A flat like this ensures that you have constant supporters, for music, gigs and inspiration. Living alongside people who make such a different genre of music to mine is great for when I get writer's block, as it means I have two live resources of new ideas and creativity. No one questions when you are in the studio until 2am, and no one asks you to quiet down or stop. Acceptance, the biggest key to my whare, isn’t listed on many Facebook Marketplace flat ads but is the most important factor in finding a place to
live. You won’t always find a flat full of people doing the same thing you do, but you should lean towards those who exhibit the same values. There is nothing worse than feeling you have to tiptoe in your own home, and if you’re paying for the current housing rates, you deserve at least a little comfort.
All in all, you can’t always expect to get the perfect people and the perfect house. Flatting is a gamble, with the house almost always winning. I can promise you though, that the people you need to be with to thrive are out there, whether that be on Facebook Marketplace, Trade Me, or the 99th group you’ve joined to try to find a match. It’s like a dating app, figuring out where you match and what you’re willing to give up to have a roof over your head. For my fellow indigenous folk, who are feeling a little homesick and experiencing the aforementioned cultural barrier, I encourage you to venture outside of your usual circles. Oftentimes the best things will find us in the most unexpected places.
Written by Hirimaia Eketone
EDITOR
President’s Letter
Kia ora whānau,
Welcome (or welcome back) to AUT! I’m your returning AUT Student Association (AUTSA) President for 2025, and I’m stoked to be writing this little piece for our very first issue of Debate this year. If we haven’t bumped into each other on campus yet, here’s a quick rundown: My name is Alicia Lemmer, I am a 4th year Communications & Business student and I work full-time to represent you (AUT students) and spend half my life in meetings (and the other half catching up with university work) – but there is honestly no place I’d rather be, because although my schedule is often crazy, I love it!
Why am I here?
To put it simply, my job is to make sure student voices get heard—loud and clear. We’re talking about everything from making study spaces more accessible and student-friendly, to celebrating cultural diversity, to advocating for lower fees and for better lecture recordings. I like to say that I’m your president, and if there’s something you need help with, I want to hear about it! – president@autsa.org.nz
What’s the plan for 2025?
Here are my 3 key plans for 2025:
• Raise AUTSA’s Awareness: It’s likely some of you didn’t know who I was until you picked up this magazine. That’s why I want to boost awareness of AUTSA—who we are, what we do, and how we can help you. For example, did you know AUT students have access to free doctor visits and six free counselling sessions each year? These services are all part of the Compulsory Student Services Fee (CSSF)— or Student Services Levy—that you pay each year. The government requires that money be used solely to benefit students, which means it can’t fund academic teaching or admin. You pay $1192.00 (including GST) for 120 credits of study, and that fee helps fund everything from health services to campus events. Let’s make the most of it!
• Student Engagement, Community & Fun: I’m all about creating a vibrant campus life where you feel welcome, heard, and excited to come to university. That means pop-up events, Q&A sessions, free food, cultural celebrations, and festival-style events where you can unwind (and maybe show off your dance moves). I want every AUT student—no matter your background or major—to feel a part of our community. If you’ve got an issue, a cool idea, or even just a question, let me know!
• Advocating for change at a National Level: In 2024, AUTSA became a part of the Aotearoa Tertiary Students Association, teaming up with other student groups across New Zealand to push for better conditions for students nationwide. One of our biggest missions this year is to advocate for those on unpaid placements. We’re committed to improving financial hardship support, taking over the campaign to address unpaid placement conditions, and generally fighting for real, tangible solutions that make student life better for everyone.
Where do you come in?
I’d love to see more of your faces at AUTSA activities. Don’t be shy, slide into the DMs, follow AUTSA on Instagram to keep up to date with what's going on @autstudentassociation, stop by the AUTSA office, or say hi if you spot me wandering campus. My biggest hope for 2025 is that we work together, share ideas, and bring a new bigger, better & fresher energy to campus life.
Hope to catch you around campus!
Written by Alicia Lemmer (she/her) AUTSA President
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Ki te whakakāinga i te ngākau o Taranaki Maunga
The mana of the great constellation of mountains surrounding Taranaki Maunga has been restored with the official passing of Te Pire Whakatupua mō Te Kāhui Tupua/Taranaki Maunga Collective Redress Bill.
The maunga is the third natural location to be granted legal personhood, both in Aotearoa and across the world, joining Te Urewera and the Whanganui River. The officiation of legal personhood translates the important Māori cosmological view of nature as an ancestor. For the local iwi in Taranaki, Taranaki Maunga is appreciated as a central element of the region’s history and environmental composition.
Ko Taranaki, ko Pouākai, ko Kaitake, koia te puna i heke mai ai te tangata. Koia ko hō mātou nei okiokinga, ko mātou nei tō rātou okiokitanga.
The restoration of Taranaki Maunga to the iwi of Taranaki has not been an easy feat. Before British settlers renamed the maunga ‘Mount Egmont’ in 1770, the mountain was known by local inhabitants as Pukeonaki or Pukehaupapa.
The legend of Taranaki told of a conflict of passion which drove the mountain away from others in the central North Island.
Taranaki Maunga and the surrounding ranges were confiscated in the early settlement period under the powers of the New Zealand Settlements Act 1863. Since then local iwi have struggled with severance from their whenua and tupuna.
While the mountain regained the official dual name Mount Egmont/ Mount Taranaki in 1986 and sole title Taranaki Maunga in 2020, the granting of legal personhood marks a significant and essential step in the recognition of Māori rangatiratanga.
Iwi negotiator Liana Poutu (Te Ātiawa) described the momentous journey undertaken by the community to reach this milestone.
"So many people have fought for the recognition of our maunga as a tūpuna, the reinstatement and the recognition of his proper name. All of these things are coming to fruition today with these final readings of this bill."
For both the iwi of Taranaki and the wider community, the maunga are geographical reference points, from which a sense of place and mutual identity have been founded.
In a statement to Parliament, the Taranaki Iwi illustrated the maunga as “not simply landmarks [but] the embodiment of whakapapa… the essence of the region”.
The collection of peaks, named Te Kāhui Tupua, will be recognised in New Zealand legislation as a legal personality, possessing inalienable rights and protection. This will be protected by a collective called Te Tōpuni Kōkōrangi, featuring both iwi and Crown representatives, who will manage the park and act on its behalf. As part of the redress of historical wrongs committed by the Crown, a formal apology was issued alongside
the officiation of legal personhood.
Taranaki iwi chief executive Wharehoka Wano was proud of the efforts of generations of Māori, honouring the momentous occasion as an opportunity for restored motuhake and kōmārohi of the iwi.
“Kia whai mana ngā iwi o Taranaki, kia kōkiri, kia whakahaere i ngā kaupapa ki runga i tō tātou tauheke maunga. Hīkaka katoa mātou o te whānau.”
Kota hita nga
Expanding our World
Written by Hirimaia Eketone
Kota hita
“ngenge”
Kia ora e hoa ma,
Welcome to the first of many ‘Kotahitanga - Expanding Our World’ columns, where I teach you the meaning of a specific Māori word and demonstrate how you utilise it in your dayto-day conversations. I believe as a nation we should be past the simple “Kia ora” and “Kei te pehea koe” by now, so follow along with each issue as I try to inject a little more reo into your life.
Today’s word, under this week's theme, is “ngenge.” I associate ngenge with “home” as it is a Māori verb for “tired, sleepy, weary.” You would use this in conjunction with “moe”, which is the adverb for “sleep.” As university students, part-time/full-time workers and more, “ngenge” is such an easy word to add to our vocabulary as a description of something we all experience. Whenever someone asks you how you are, simply say, “I am very ngenge today,” or, in Māori, “He tino ngenge au/ahau.” This small verb can be used in a plethora of settings and is a great addition to your daily vocabulary!
Adapting te reo Māori into your everyday life is something that becomes less daunting the more you do it. Teach your friends, whanau and teachers simply by utilising this word. The path to te reo inclusion and acceptance starts with small steps that I believe we are all capable of. I’ll leave you with a whakataukī, or Māori proverb to start your university term right.
“He aha te mea nui o te ao? He tāngata, he tāngata, he tāngata.” What is the most important thing in the world? The people, the people, the people.
Mauri ora!
Stress Positions (Theda
Hammel, 2024)
Not enough films – let alone left-field comedies – are about the follies of sharing a flat, in my opinion. It gives me bittersweet butterflies to champion the bleakly funny Stress Positions, even at this late date, as the best movie of its kind; a uniquely millennial drift of boundary discomforts, frustrating habits, passive-aggressive communication, unwelcome crushes and strained friendships that could only come from flatting; let alone in the self-quarantining stages of the COVID-19 pandemic. Let’s call it a paranoid take on the screwball comedy, where Terry Goon — yes, that is his name — brings his injured (and handsome) nephew into care, to the immediate romantic interest of his flatmates. It cleverly frames the proximity and surveillance of this ‘party house’ as an analogy for the self-actualisations that emerge in a queer space. Hammel’s script has a stagey, surreal effect that some will call ‘quirky’ and esoteric, but I find it weirdly true to life: a lot of the time, for better or worse, you’ll be forced to read between the lines.
The Taste of Tea (Katsuhito
When thinking about My Neighbor Totoro, the Catbus scene typically comes to mind. (A multi-legged feline in the shape of a bus screeches through a forest in the rain.) The last time I saw this scene, though, I was caught off-guard by the utter lack of music accompanying it; just the sound effects and the silence around them. Of course, music is a powerful nostalgic trigger, but to me, no sounds spark the tranquil ambience of growing up quite like trickling water, or chirping cicadas, or swishing leaves — sitting idly outside is what I remember most about growing up. I struggle to name a film that romanticises this feeling as funnily as Ishii’s The Taste of Tea — a slow, peaceful, surrealist web of mysterious childhood experiences that, while presented by members of this Japanese household, could’ve also been something an old friend told you in reminiscence.
Ishii, 2004)
“Coming home in the age of burnout”
A trio of film recommendations by Ricky Lai (he/him)
One Week (Buster Keaton & Edward Cline, 1920)
Oh, this one’s a classic piece of comfort cinema — which is a funny result from such dangerous stunts. A 25-minute silent-era short about a couple trying again and again to build their house with a pre-arranged kit and a set of instructions. If you haven’t seen this, watch it on YouTube; if you’ve already seen it, watch it again. While I love the melodramatic Charlie Chaplin and the personable Harold Lloyd, Buster Keaton is my favourite of the three silent-comedy pretty-boys because his blankly confused face and mechanical stuntwork gets right down to the irritating, day-ruining obstacles of trying, again and again, to get things done. Making a home life should be bare-bones and simple, but the instructions have never been easy to follow. I also like the part when the piano falls on his face.
Ngā kōrero mo te kaupapa o "whakakāinga"
Ko te kāinga kei reira te ngākau. Engāri ehara te kāinga i te wāhi noa. He tangata, he tūrangawaewae, he aronga toi whenuatanga.
The concept of home is not always easy to grapple with. Beyond a physical place—such as where you were born, grew up, or where your family comes from—home can also be an experience of safety and familiarity. For many, it is a place, a person, or an idea to which they can return when seeking a sense of belonging.
The meaning of whakakāinga, to establish a home, differs across cultural lines. In te ao Māori, the notion of tūrangawaewae, a place where one has the right to stand and reside, is a central part of how Māori conception of home links to a larger narrative. Identifying with the mountains, rivers and geographical place that one is from also grounds the sense of belonging for Indigenous peoples in a location. In the Western tradition, home has a literal bricksand-mortar connotation, which is paired with a more transcendent sentiment of home, expressed by the old adage ‘home is where the heart is’. The household is also often conceptualised as a place of manaakitanga — hospitality and generosity towards guests—as in many Middle Eastern cultures, where a balance is sought between the security and privacy of a home and its social function. In contrast, while the notion of home or whakakāinga implies the setting of roots in a place one expects to return, nomadic conceptions of home are tethered to connections to people, feelings and objects, that remain strong outside of a physical location.
Whatever idea of kāinga best aligns with your own experiences, a loss of your relationship with your ‘home’ can abruptly force you to redefine your sense of belonging. The nature of one’s deeply personal experiences and perspectives attached to the idea of home can make this an isolating road. Every person I asked about this topic reflected on the unique and sensitive confrontations that characterised their disconnection and reconnection with the concept of home. Three of those people shared more deeply with me about how they are working to rebuild their sense of home against a backdrop of severance.
The first was Jade, a Kiwi-American who moved to New Zealand from the United States when she was eleven. Jade recently lost her childhood home, along with many of the noteworthy landmarks of her old neighbourhood — her school and the houses of friends — in the Palisades fires.
“Home is more broad for me than just the place I grew up, but at the same time, where I grew up is very important to my sense of home, I still remember all the addresses I’ve lived at”
Sara Mckoy (she/her) @saramckoy CONTRIBUTING WRITER
More than five and a half thousand homes are thought to have been lost in the ‘firestorms’ which tore through Palisades earlier this year. Jade recalled the critical days in which her friends were forced to flee as their neighbourhood perished.
“There are always fires, every year there are photos of ash up in the hills. But the morning of the Palisades fires, [my friend] sent another photo and it looked worse than before… [later that day] my friends started to evacuate… then hours later we turn on the American news and everything was on fire… it was so weird because I had been so far away from it for so long… but I remember walking around my neighbourhood just the year before when we’d visited thinking ‘i want to live here, I want to raise kids here’.”
In the span of several hours, home transformed from a place that held the nostalgia of childhood to a neighbourhood in ruins.
“It will rebuild of course but it won’t ever be the same… all those niche little places, everywhere I had memories, they’re burnt, they’re gone…”
For Jade, the act of whakakāinga has evolved from establishing roots in a place — although the places she feels connected to are still an important aspect of ‘home’ — but focussing more on the people she shared those places and experiences with.
“I think [home] evolves into being less than one place that I lived, and more of the community that I found while I was there… I would much rather lose my whole house and everything in it than someone who is important to me, who is home for me”
My brother Koby spoke to me about the concept of home in a context of total disconnection. For him, home is Taranaki — the place our family is from and the landmark that adorned our house growing up. But for Koby, being born in Australia after our family uprooted and moved away from Taranaki, his relationship with home has been difficult to reconcile.
“If someone asks where I’m from I instinctively say New-Zealand, but every time I say that I realise that’s not quite true… [but] I feel naturally connected to Taranaki, to New-Zealand, that just feels like where home is for me.”
Koby described home as anything he could associate with New-Zealand. His desire to reconnect with the place he perceives as home is anchored in a feeling of being on the outside of an identity he didn’t have the chance to immerse in.
“I feel like I’m standing at the gate of this whole world that’s waiting to reveal itself, once I find that connection to place, I can reconnect with who I am in myself.”
Whakakāinga resonated with Koby as an opportunity to reestablish a sense of belonging to New-Zealand no matter where he is in the world. Learning about tikanga Māori and taking reo Māori classes have also helped him build a bridge between his sense of belonging and the country he feels disconnected from.
“[Understanding te ao Māori] helps me to appreciate the values and ideas of the country, it feels like a way to express my heritage, to express my identity… I want to feel like I belong to somewhere, like I’m not just a fake kiwi”.
30 year old Loa, who recently moved across the world to Aotearoa from Germany, described a strong grounding of home as internal, rather than any place she’s lived or identifies with.
Born in Peru, adopted to parents in Luxembourg, then living ten years of her adult life in Berlin, home is not just one place Loa pinpoints on a map.
“My home is just where my fixed bed is.”
For Loa, her sense of belonging has also crucially been connected to other people. Where she felt she could develop deep relationships, like with friends at school or roommates in a new city, it was easier to feel grounded. But experiences of racism in Germany shifted her sense of belonging into a sense of unease.
“After six years in Berlin I felt more like that was my home [than Luxembourg] ” but after numerous instances of receiving racial abuse, “I didn’t feel welcome anymore — and I couldn’t talk to anyone because all my friends are white. They could listen to what I was going through but they couldn’t hear me…”
Despite her love and connection to the people and places she had gotten to know over several years in Germany, her negative experiences there, paired with her loss of connection with Luxembourg after so many years away, made it difficult for her to really identify with Berlin as home. This was an isolating ordeal for Loa.
“I felt so lonely in my sadness.”
Moving to New-Zealand was an opportunity for her to redefine what and where home is. The main way she establishes a sense of belonging is through meeting new people, but also feeling a sense of familiarity wherever she is.
“I want the daily things here… to drive down the street and recognise everything… to connect with people on a deeper level”
Even as her definition of home grows and changes, Loa returns to the idea of home as a quotation she read in a book, “Home is where I don’t have to explain myself.”
Whatever your conception of home, whether any of these stories resonate with you, this kōrero reflects the deeply personal nature that whakakāinga often assumes. Despite the divergence of experiences surrounding this topic, it is clear that home transcends the walls of the houses we live in. Home flows from the mountains and rivers that we use to identify ourselves; home resides in the people
we love and connect with wherever we are in the world; home is the stories, memories and experiences that ground our sense of selves.
Ki te whakakāinga, ko te kimi ko wai koe.
MONDAY 3 MAR
AUTSA Open House
12-1PM | AUTSA, WC Level 2
Come hang out with us and see what AUTSA is all about! Meet the team, grab some free food, and score your chance to win epic prizes. This is your perfect excuse to chill, connect, and find out how we’ve got your back at uni
Vesbar Vibes: The
Big Welcome BBQ
1PM | Vesbar R18
Come for the BBQ, stay for the vibes. Bonus Alert: Score a FREE sausage sizzle by scanning the QR code and following us on Instagram. Yep, it’s that easy!
Tote-ally Creative:
DIY Bag Art
12-2PM | Te Ahuru Recreation Center, Paper, WQ315
Design your ultimate semester tote bag! We’ve got tote bags and paints. Perfect for carrying your books, snacks, or questionable life choices this semester.
Pick Up Basketball
1PM-3PM, Location: WQ104 (Te Āhuru Recreation Centre - Box)
Join us for pick up sports, grab some snacks and meet some like minded people!
CAMPUS CONNECT MIX & MINGLE
6pm onwards | Vesbar
Whether you’re single and ready to mingle, just want to make new friends, or catch up with old friends, this night is for you! Free entry. Connect
O WEEK
TUESDAY 4 MAR
Postgrad Brunch
11AM-1PM, Vesbar
Calling all postgrad students! Take a break from research, readings, and deadlines to treat yourself to a brunch with your fellow scholar. Let’s brunch, postgrad style!
Art Gallery Tour
11:30am-12:30PM Meet at Hikuwai Plaza
Get a guided tour of the Art Gallery from our of our AUTSA team members, and make some new friends while you’re there!
Tote-ally Creative:
DIY Bag Art
12PM-2PM Hikuwai Plaza Marquee
Want to design your own bag for the semester? Come along and create/paint a blank canvas tote bag for yourself!
Herb Planting Session
11:30AM-1PM
Te Ahuru Recreation Center, Level Up Lounge, WQ301
Ready to flex your green thumb? Drop by and join Amelia from AUT Sustainability for a chill herb-planting sesh!
Pacific Students Lunch
12pm - 1pm | The Va
Calling all Pasifika students! Kick off your first week at uni wth free kai and great company, hosted by the Office of Pacific Advancement and AUTSA.
Pick Up Volleyball
1PM-3PM WQ104 (Te Āhuru Recreation Centre - Box)
MIND GAMES:
HypnotiC COMEDY!
6PM onwards | Vesbar
WEDNESDAY 5 MAR
Sugar Rush: CAke OFF Competition
12:30PM - 1:30PM
Te Ahuru Recreation Center, Paper, WQ315
We’ll bring the cake and the crowd—you bring the creativity. Compete to decorate the most Insta-worthy cake and claim ultimate sugary bragging rights. Freebie Alert: Stick around after the cake showdown for FREE ice cream!
City Scavenger Hunt
1PM-2PM
Hikuwai Plaza Marquee
Snap a pic of all the tasks which can be found in the AUTSA office - show it to our team and go in the draw to win a prize!
Paint and Sip
2PM-4PM
Hikuwai Plaza Marquee
We’ve got free art supplies waiting for you and some refreshing non-alcoholic drinks to keep you cool while you paint your masterpiece!
Origami & Chill
2-4PM, Te Ahuru Recreation Center, Paper, WQ315
Join us for an origami-making workshop where you’ll turn simple paper into masterpieces!
Tekken Takedown
3PM-4PM | Vesbar R18
Winner stays on each round— rack up 7 wins in a row to secure your spot in the semi-finals.
Pick Up Futsal
1PM-3PM
WQ104 (Te Āhuru Recreation Centre - Box)
Mechanical Bull
6PM onwards | Vesbar
THURSDAY 6 MAR
Campus Kai
12PM-1:30PM
Hikuwai Plaza Marquee
We’re kicking off with Campus Kai, a free lunch from AUTSA which happens every fortnight throughout the semester!
CLUBS EXPO!
12:30PM - 3:30PM
Hikuwai Plaza Marquee
Ready to level up your uni experience? Discover the amazing clubs and communities AUTSA has to offer. From creative collectives to outdoor squads and everything in between, there’s something for everyone to vibe with. Don’t miss out—your next adventure starts here!
Boardgame Hub
2PM-5PM | AUTSA Office
Level up your breaks at AUTSA’s boardgame hub is your go-to spot for good vibes and great games. We’ve got a growing collection waiting for you—classics, party games, and everything in between.
Pick Up Badminton
1PM-3PM, WQ104 (Te Āhuru Recreation Centre - Box)
Movies in Hikuwai: INSIDE oUT 2
6PM-8PM | Hikuwai Plaza Marquee
We’re bringing you a cosy outdoor movie night in Hikuwai Plaza! Inside Out 2 will be playing, and you get access to our popcorn, candy floss, snack and candy stations. Tickets are only $5 - come along and make a core memory! Head to Eventfinda.co.nz for tickets.
SALSA 101: SIP & SPIN
8pm onwards | Vesbar
FRIDAY 7 MAR
Tautoko Breakfast
9AM-10AM | AUTSA Student Lounge, WC202
Here to cover your breakfast needs! Tautoko will be providing a breakfast for students who are on campus!
FOOD TRUCK & MARKET DAY!
12-3PM | Hikuwai Plaza
Kai, sweet treats, craft and thrift stalls - there’s something for everyone! Come along to hang out and relax. Follow AUTSA’s instagram to see the list of vendors!
Pick Up Volleyball
1PM-3PM, WQ104 (Te Āhuru Recreation Centre - Box)
Talent Showcase
5-7PM |Hikuwai Plaza
Got a talent you would like to show off to the student body? Have a group who have been practicing for a while? Sign up the Talent Showcase evening where student share their talents. Let’s see if AUT will come out on top in the Annual University Dance Battle Clash!
House Beats & Afro Night
8PM-Late | Vesbar
Calling all uni students who live for house and Afro beats—this is your night! Get ready for an electrifying mix of Afro rhythms and funky house beats, featuring guest performers and spot prizes throughout the night. FT. DJ Happy Feet keeping the dance floor moving all night long. Don’t miss out—bring your crew and let’s turn up at Vesbar! Free entry.
Vesbar - R18
Join us for a hilarious and mind-bending night as the renowned Hiaming Jiang takes the stage, blending hypnosis with comedy for an unforgettable show. Free entry.
Dust off those boots, grab your mates, and see how long you can stay in the saddle. Prizes are up for grabs, the music will be pumping, and the drinks will be flowing. Free entry.
Join us for an introductory Cuban Salsa & Bachata class, where no experience is needed—just bring your energy and a willingness to move! After the lesson, stick around, show off your new skills, and enjoy Margarita specials all night long. Free entry.
WEEK 2025
MONDAY 3 MAR
Tautoko Breakfast
9-10AM | AUTSA ME109
Here to cover your breakfast needs! Tautoko will be providing a breakfast for students who are on campus!
AUTSA Open House
12-1PM | AUTSA ME109
Come hang out with us and see what AUTSA is all about! Meet the team, grab some free food, and score your chance to win epic prizes. This is your perfect excuse to chill, connect, and find out how we’ve got your back at uni!
TUESDAY 4 MAR
Tekken Takedown
11AM-12PM, AUTSA ME109
King of the court! Challenge each other to a game - winner stays each round. Take out 7 wins to take one of our semi finals slots.
Flight Club: Paper
Plane Challenge
12-1PM | AUTSA ME109
You’ve got 30 minutes to construct and experiment with your paper plane, then see how far you can fly it! Top 5 distances win a prize, so get involved!
Speed Painting
1-2PM | AUT South Pool Area
Grab a friend - try your hardest to paint the image infront of you in 1 hour - closest resemblance will get a prize!
WEDNESDAY 5 MAR
Campus Kai
12-1:30PM, MH Building
We’re kicking off with Campus Kai, a free lunch from AUTSA which happens every fortnight throughout the semester!
CLUBS EXPO!
12:30-2:30PM MH Level 1
Ready to level up your uni experience? Discover the amazing clubs and communities AUTSA has to offer. From creative collectives to outdoor squads and everything in between, there’s something for everyone to vibe with. Don’t miss out—your next adventure starts here!
THURSDAY 6 MAR
South Scavenger Hunt
12:30-1:30PM AUTSA ME109
Snap a pic of all the tasks which can be found in the AUTSA office - show it to our team and go in the draw to win a prize!
SUMMER SPLASH: Pool Party
12:30-2:30PM AUT South Pool Area
Grab your swimming togs, bring your mates, and dive into an afternoon of sun, music, and water fun. We’ve got free food to keep you fuelled!
MONDAY 3 MAR
AUTSA Open House
12-1PM | AUTSA AN101a
Come hang out with us and see what AUTSA is all about! Meet the team, grab some free food, and score your chance to win epic prizes. This is your perfect excuse to chill, connect, and find out how we’ve got your back at uni!
TUESDAY 4 MAR
Boardgame Hub
11AM-1PM | AUTSA AN101a
Level up your breaks at AUTSA’s boardgame hub is your go-to spot for good vibes and great games.
Campus Kai
11:30AM-1PM, AN101a
We’re kicking off with Campus Kai, a free lunch from AUTSA which happens every fortnight throughout the semester!
CLUBS EXPO!
MAKE NEW FRIENDS!
12:30-2:30PM Outside Tukutuku
Ready to level up your uni experience? Discover the amazing clubs and communities AUTSA has to offer. From creative collectives to outdoor squads and everything in between, there’s something for everyone to vibe with. Don’t miss out—your next adventure starts here!
WEDNESDAY 5 MAR
Pacific Students Lunch
11:30AM-12:30PM, The Va
Calling all Pasifika students! Kick off your first week at uni with free kai and great company! Join us for the Pasifika Welcome Feast, hosted by the Office of Pacific Advancement and AUTSA.
ICEBREAKER GAMES NIGHT
4-6PM | AZ204
Join us for a night of fun, laughter, and easygoing games designed to help you meet new people. From Human Bingo to Rock, Paper, Scissors Showdowns, you’ll leave with new connections and maybe even a competitive streak!
THURSDAY 6 MAR
FOOD TRUCK & MARKET DAY!
12-3PM, Outside Tukutuku
Kai, sweet treats, craft and thrift stalls - there’s something for everyone! Come along to hang out and relax.
FRIDAY 7 MAR
North Campus Scavenger Hunt
1:30-2:30PM | AN101a
Grab your phone and snap pics of all the tasks waiting for you at the AUTSA office. Go in the draw to win epic prizes!
MovieS on CAMPUS: INSIDE Out 2
7-9PM | AZ204
End the week with a cosy Inside Out 2 movie night! $5 ticket gets you a popcorn, lolly and candyfloss station. Head to Eventfinda.co.nz for tickets.
As a kid, I loathed Filipino food—it never felt like home. In my primary school corridors, every step would be in calculation, as a sudden waft would make you an easy target. The smell of soy and garlic clung to your garments, a distinctive scent that lingered in your nose.
“Oh my God, what is that!” they yelled.
“I guess she’s back with her dog food!”
The kids would pinch their nostrils and cover their mouths. A cacophony of bellowing laughter would echo throughout the air— ingenuous, yet it was known to be laced with judgement. Before you knew it, you’ve stepped into their territory. A place that’s not meant for people who look or speak like you.
I watched as their pearly whites shone bright with phoney smiles, most of which were reminiscent of the crackers they ate; plain and clean.
“It looks so gross! Did you cook this food in a swamp?”
I was envious of the way they could carelessly indulge in their meals. No one batted an eye to their talon-like fingers digging into de-crusted ham and cheese sandwiches. It wouldn’t be called messy or unhygienic, but rather practical and natural, a whole different vocabulary.
Praise was always awarded to kids who learned the mastery of a knife and fork. It signified nobility and luxury. It was a simple activity to conform to the structured dining etiquette of the Western world. Thus, I learnt at an early age to follow this protocol. Anything apart from those two choices of utensils would make you an outcast, prone to scrutiny.
This self-consciousness of my eating habits culminated in an addiction to fit in. The days of spoons and forks were replaced by conformity: sticking your index finger out, holding your knife in the right hand and your fork in the left. Each tool had its distinct purpose: knives were meant for cutting and forks were meant for stabbing. That was the implicit agreement. The only right way to
Back then, I didn’t realise those comments were laced with colonial prejudices. The casual remarks have desensitised me into thinking it was normal. Only in retrospect did it become clear that their motives went beyond everyday conversation. Even with something as simple as food, preconceived notions of the past still lingered, reinforcing harmful stereotypes.
In a desperate attempt to fit in, I practised and practised for countless hours at the dining table. It didn’t matter what was on the plate, expectations from others held me captive to adhere to this way of eating for whatever dish was concocted. For dishes like kaldereta, each slice of beef was meticulously cut into slabs, just the right size to fit into my mouth easily. My father, who often prepared this dish, would boil the beef longer to tenderise the meat. He did this to make eating these dishes more efficient, providing an easier way to cut food using a spoon, which was the original utensil we used for eating.
I started refusing to eat rice, believing that it interfered with the satisfying and clean way of eating. To be frank, I also stopped
because someone told me eating the refined version made you gain weight. Adapting to this dietary choice was quite a challenge, especially since rice is a staple of our culture. Not only do we include it in our meals due to its abundance in the farmlands and quick source of carbohydrates, but also its importance in bringing prosperity and unity, acting as the glue to all Southeast Asian families.
When the day came, after hearing the sharp ringing of the bell for lunch, I was ready. There was no more slimy mess inside my lunch box, no more smell of foreign spices and herbs. It was just plain. It was just clean.
Carefully, I ambled through the corridors, searching for the perfect spot to sit before popping open my lunchbox lid. Inside were roasted chicken, asparagus, a silver knife, and a fork. Each had its designated place—knife on the right, fork on the left. Of course, while cutting apart the drumstick I kept my index finger out. At first, the task went smoothly, almost perfect… Until I ate a piece of chicken off my knife.
The hyenas of kids bore their eyes into mine, scrunching their faces in disgust. There was no point in reversing what I’d just done. My brief moment of confidence vanished into the harsh reality of maintaining a facade I could never truly embody. Even in my feeble attempt at conforming to the norm, I still failed.
Throughout my days obsessing over becoming part of the plain and clean crowd, I lost touch with a significant part of my identity. Conformity is counterintuitive. I was working so hard to erase a part of my culture—something that I could never remove as it’s been passed down for generations and onwards. It was from then I understood that the more I strayed away from tradition, the more I began to lose a part of myself.
A couple of months later, I had an epiphany at my mother’s work potluck. I can still picture it vividly—an array of colourful dishes, vibrant with vegetables and meat, each combination mouthwatering. Different scents were infused in the room. This time, there was warmth in the air through the laughter of others. The room was a melting pot of diverse cultures, all providing their own taste through their dishes. A robust aroma of various soups wafted in the air. Laid out on the table were curries of different shades and hues. Some salads showcased every green imaginable, complemented by a variety of rice—long, brown, white… Every kind! I was in awe of the various faces that surrounded me, some of which even resembled my own. There were no plain crackers or ham and cheese sandwiches. No judgement—just absolute solace.
This transported me back to a cherished memory when I was six years old. At home, I was stuck with a stuffy nose and a throbbing headache that wouldn’t budge. It was during this time that my lola (grandmother) saved the day through a bowl of sinigang, a simple dish stewed with tamarind, tomatoes, garlic, and onions. As I took a sip of the hot and tangy broth, I was comforted and soothed of my aches. From this simple moment of care in my life, I realised such importance that comes with compassion and food.
vours from the dishes on the table. Reconnecting with the home I once lost touch with evoked such a deep sense of guilt within me. I reflected on the days I could have spent cherishing those around me and embracing my own uniqueness, but instead, that was wasted on shame. Memories are what we make of them, and for me, food is now home.
Written By Angeline Lucas
It’s essential to be surrounded by the right company of people who appreciate and love you, just like those who enjoy the fla-
The Haka Party Incident –remembering forgotten history closest to home
Written By Sofia Roger Williams (she/her)
@sofiarogerwilliams
CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Off the back of the Hīkoi mō te Tiriti last year, and as the coalition government continues to face criticism over its policies regarding Māori and Indigenous rights in Aotearoa, there is no better time than now to reflect on how we remember our home’s history.
In 1979, a group of Māori and Pasifika activists – later named He Taua - confronted Auckland University’s engineering students over the annual capping week tradition of performing their mock haka. The ‘Haka Party’ had become increasingly problematic over the years, with many of the students drunk, dressed in grass skirts, and with offensive symbols and words scrawled over their bodies. What followed He Taua’s confrontation, was a ‘three-minute war’ and landmark court case that would alter race relations in Aotearoa forever.
You might remember this story from The Haka Party Incident play, where writer and director Katie Wolfe (Ngāti Mutunga, Ngāti Tama, Ngāti Toa Rangatira) brought attention to this lesser-known part of history in the form of verbatim theatre – or perhaps (as my coworker reminded me) from the NCEA unfamiliar sources exam a couple years ago. However, wider New Zealand society has largely forgotten this piece of history.
After a wildly successful national tour of the play, Wolfe has continued the conversation with a documentary film of the same name. I had the pleasure of sitting down and speaking with her about the film at what she called “the scene of the crime”the 95bFM studio above the University of Auckland student quad.
Wolfe explained, “[The haka party incident] broke open this idea of systemic racism within institutions in Aotearoa, and how in the 1970s - we looked at that for the first time.”
The film is an emotional whirlwind. I found myself oscillating from feeling disturbed by the mock haka, amused by certain humourous editing choices, admiration for He Taua’s bravery and saddened watching them begin the practice of filming themselves in case they need to hold police accountable for potential brutality against them. What stuck with me most was that this story involved people my age, occurred on the streets I walk every day and at the very institution I attend - the place I call home.
Through interviews with members of He Taua and engineering students, as well as others involved in the event, such as the University of Auckland student magazine Craccum editor at the time, David Merritt, and President of the Student's Union, Janet Roth, the story is told by those who were directly there. However, with He Taua and the engineering students leading the storytelling, there is often a harsh juxtaposition between the two perspectives almost 46 years on.
As they reflect on the event, members of He Taua - Hone Harawira, Zena Tamanui, Hilda Halkyard-Harawira, Veronica Leef, Georgina Walker-Grace, Miriama Rauhihi-Ness, and James Pasene - are shown sitting in Waipapa Marae holding photographs of other members who couldn’t be there - a thoughtful touch. Their dynamic and authenticity as a group bring a much-needed sense of warmth to the film.
The most enthralling and (frankly) disturbing part of the documentary was watching the four featured engineering students’ lack of introspection about the incident. Parts of it were undoubtedly bewildering to me. However, you can’t help but appreciate their willingness to be a part of the film, as the message of The Haka Party Incident wouldn’t be the same without them.
Another stand-out moment for me is when the film shows Auckland University students holding a forum on racism in the quad following the incident, where an estimated 3,000 people came together to listen and share their perspectives on whether the ‘Haka Party’ was appropriate. To conclude the forum, the engineering students invited the Māori students to their department, where everyone sang Imagine by John Lennon. Although, retrospectively, the song choice is a bit on the nose (and many in the cinema laughed at this moment), the forum's productive outcome and the students' ability to end up unified after being so divided on an issue moved me.
Through an impressive range of archival footage, interviews, and photographs, The Haka Party Incident connects the events of 1979 to the present - and the line is very clear. In reflecting on the past year, Wolfe said she thought it was “actually really positive in a way” to see the continual fight for Indigenous rights in Aotearoa.
“I see [He Taua] as being very heroic figures in terms of the ka whawhai tonu mātou - the continual struggle - that goes on.”
“In New Zealand, we sit in the context of world politics where fighting for the rights of indigenous cultures is something that goes on and on Even if we feel like we’re going a bit off course, our voice is still incredibly strong.”
Wolfe told me that the saddest part in the film for her is when Ben Dalton, a member of He Taua in 1979 and now chief executive at the Waitangi Treaty Grounds, is shown speaking at Waitangi last year to the coalition government. It’s a moment that I didn’t pick up on my first watch but stuck with me after my second. After working his whole life to progress Māori rights, Dalton says, “We’ve still got a long way to go. We’re not quite speaking each other’s language yet.” He’s right. We may not all speak each other's language yet, but the more we learn about each other and our history, the more fluent we become.
The Haka Party Incident is an opportunity to contemplate our national identity in Aotearoa. Whether you’re Māori, Pākehā, or Tangata Tiriti, the film begs the question: What does it mean to be a New Zealander? Moreover, what does it mean to be a student?
It’s often said that we learn history so we don’t repeat it - true. But we also learn to understand each other better and be better listeners. The impact of the events we study is not transient and should not be treated as if they are.
The Haka Party Incident is an indispensable watch for anyone who calls Aotearoa home. For those of the older generation, you’ll likely spot someone you know (my mother spotted three). And for those going into, attending, or recently graduated from university, it provides a fascinating insight into what it once was. No matter who you are, even if you’re simply a lover of brilliant film-making, I couldn’t recommend watching The Haka Party Incident more.
The Haka Party Incident is now showing in cinemas across Aotearoa. Listen to the full kōrero with director Katie Wolfe on 95bfm.com
As an expat, my sense of home has changed over the years, but films have remained a constant anchor to everything I love.
Movies have shaped my choices, offering both a sanctuary and a home within my mind—one I can return to no matter where I am. They connect me to distant loved ones, my younger self, and cherished memories. In many ways, cinema has been both a refuge from reality and a guide for the future.
My journey abroad has not been without its challenges. There have been times when anxiety has crept in unexpectedly, leaving me feeling isolated and overwhelmed. During these moments, I find solace in Pixar's simple yet profound storytelling. Rewatching Coco and singing along transported me back to Mexico, easing my loneliness in a foreign land. Discovering a te reo Māori version deepened my appreciation, a beautiful reminder that cultures as diverse as New Zealand’s and Mexico’s share common values. It reinforced the idea that film is a universal language of belonging—anchoring us to our roots and connecting us to others through shared emotions and experiences.
Beyond serving as a personal sanctuary, films have also bonded me to loved ones across distances. When I’m separated from friends and family, we find ways to stay connected through film. A synchronised video call, where we hit play at the same time, brings us together across distances. Even sharing a cherished scene from decades past can revive those bonds in an intimate, almost magical way. These shared moments evoke laughter and nostalgia but also remind us that, even when apart, we are united by the stories we created and shared. The power of film extends
beyond nostalgia, strengthening relationships and keeping the essence of home alive despite physical distance.
One of my most memorable adventures was my first solo trip to Europe, inspired by my obsession with Before Sunset. The film led me on a midnight movie location hunt through the rainy streets of Paris. Somehow, I rallied a group of hostel strangers, and together, we created our own mini cinematic journey—dancing in an underground club, sharing a spontaneous picnic, and watching the Eiffel Tower light up against the night sky. This unforgettable experience now lives alongside the memories of Jesse and Celine, revisited each year with the rewatching of the film. It was a reminder that films can inspire action, turning dreams into tangible experiences.
There is no question that films shape our identities and reveal the many facets of “home.” For some, home is a tangible place—Tokyo for those captivated by Lost in Translation. For others, it is found in the quiet intimacy between two characters, as in the refuge Ennis and Jack create in Brokeback Mountain. Movies wear many hats: they entertain, bring people together, and, for many, act as a form of therapy. I often recall Alejandro González Iñárritu’s words: “Cinema is a mirror by which we often see ourselves”. Each character, scene, and emotion reflects a part of our journey, affirming the transformations that define us. Just as films help us see ourselves, they also illuminate the ever-changing nature of home, reminding us that belonging is as much about the stories we embrace as the places we inhabit.
As I continue to explore different stories and perspectives through films, I add new layers to my understanding of home. Each movie experience contributes to an ongoing
evolution in how I define my place in the world, constantly reshaping both who I am and where I belong.
After watching The Lord of the Rings trilogy as a child, I felt an inexplicable pull towards New Zealand—a place I longed to call home. Now, after two and a half years here, enduring endless visa processes and navigating life without even a car, I have yet to experience the serene comfort of a hobbit’s life or the thrill of riding a white horse across sprawling plains. Nonetheless, I carry countless memories of a personal journey that would have remained unwritten had I not taken to heart Gandalf’s advice: “The only thing we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us”. Every part of a film, even the simplest piece of dialogue, can encourage us to embrace the unknown, propelling us forward in ways we may never expect.
The bond between home and cinema remains a constant part of who I am, shaping not only where I belong but also who I become. Rewatching one of my late grandmother’s favourite films, Under the Tuscan Sun, transported me back to when I’d confide in her about my dream of escaping to the countryside, learning to cook, and building a romantic home just like Frances. Just as Before Sunset led me through the streets of Paris and Coco reconnected me to my roots, this film, too, serves as both a tribute to my past and an invitation to new possibilities. Each film leaves a distinctive mark, guiding me toward my next adventure. And so, it gently urges me to book those Italian lessons, step boldly into the unknown, and continue shaping my ever-evolving sense of home.
Written By Melissa Jimenez Najera
(she/her) CONTRIBUTING WRITER
bread & circuses,
a sports column by luke fisher
“The Bearable Weight of Zero Talent”
I was fortunate enough to be dreadful at sports during my youth. I had this thought when I recently found myself back at my home of mediocrity: the Harry Barker Reserve in Gisborne.
Even though it had been nearly two years since I last played cricket, nothing had changed. It possessed an eerie familiarity, almost as if it had been frozen in time. The leather cricket ball still struck the bat with that same satisfying thud. Cries of “CATCH IT!” and “KEEPER!” occasionally interrupted the symphony of chirping cicadas. The sun beat down through our near-non-existent patch of ozone.
The familiarity went deeper than that. My old team, Gisborne Boys’ High School, were getting battered. And so they should be, they were a bunch of wiry teenagers going up against fully grown men. One of the few remaining Boys’ High batters was run out off a free hit, a cardinal sin in cricket. As the poor lad trudged forlornly off the field, and my old coach buried his face in his hands, I reflected on how lucky I’ve been to have the opportunities I’ve had. To have parents who always cheered me on, despite me cutting that forlorn figure too many times to count. But I didn’t always have such a mature perspective.
When I was younger, cricket was everything to me. I went to every training session; every game. I knew all of New Zealand’s cricketers, and when they played my eyes were glued to the TV screen. I’d sometimes even start playing cricket shots mid-conversation — and wonder why I stayed single through high school. I was tragically in love with the game. But it seemed the game didn’t love me back.
For any cricket nerds out there, I was an opening batsman with a career average of bugger all and a strike rate of diddly squat. My first enduring memory from age group cricket is the taste of the cold gas station steak and cheese pie I choked down after getting out for 0 in my first regional game. The tears did not mix well with the already soggy pastry. Over the years, I made failure an aesthetic. After getting out, I would tuck the bat under my left armpit, remove my gloves and position my helmet’s chin strap in front of my mouth — my head would not lift until I crossed the boundary. Just like the professionals.
Cricket was an abusive girlfriend, but I came back to her every single summer until Year 13. Why? For the love of the game: to chase the feeling of smashing dad over the backyard fence for six. For being in a team full of lifelong friends. For celebrating with those friends, not because you won the game, but because you passed the target the coach set for his shout of Maccas soft serve on the way home. Because those rare moments of success made you feel like you were on top of the world. Cricket was a home for me, and sport still is.
As I sat watching another classic Boys’ High batting collapse,
I thought about how my relationship with sport has changed over the years. The biggest realisation: my journey isn’t unique. I used to think I was the only one who struggled with bad performances when I was just your average built-like-a-toothpick teen with an underdeveloped prefrontal cortex. Youths are more likely to experience performance anxiety during sports and lack the emotional toolbox to deal with it. As we grow older, we tend to regulate our emotions better, aiding performance. Worry less, do better.
I’m grateful for not having any sporting talent because I can enjoy all the benefits of playing a sport — improved mental and physical health, better sleep, social connection, and more — without having to worry about how well I play. Sure, my social 7aside football isn’t played in front of 70,000 fans, but that means if I score an own goal I don’t have to face the wrath of the fans and media afterwards. That is, unless my teammates set up a faux press conference in which case I’d be forced to harness my inner Nick Kyrgios and give it right back to them.
So, if you’re worried about playing a sport because you sucked when you were younger, don’t worry, most of us did. Close your eyes, and become your inner five-year-old. I see mine right now. Feeling the freshly cut grass between his feet, and the Milo plastic cricket bat in his hands, he faces up to Dad. Dad stands at the other end of the pitch, spouting fantastical bullshit about his old age making him wily and easily underestimated. Mini-me tells him to bring it on. He tosses the ball up. I run towards it and smash it straight over his head. Holding the pose, I stand and admire it as it sails over the fence and lands in a crusty cow turd. That was awesome. I can’t wait to face the next ball.
Written By Luke Fisher (he/him)
@lukefisher7__ CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Geoff’s Emporium: In Memoriam
Having lived in Mount Eden for over a decade now and being an avid lover of anything crafty, the Dominion Road Geoff’s Emporium has been a happy place of mine for a long time. I have hazy memories of nosing around through the textile aisles, with what felt like endless rows of fabric towering over me like a bedazzled fortress. Hand stretched out, I am greeted by various textures. A smooth satin, a fluffy velvet and some scratchy material I don’t care to know the name of. Endless rows of stickers, jewels and ribbons - providing endless inspiration to me, even now in adulthood.
Serving as a second home to many, Geoff’s Emporium provided all sorts of paraphernalia to allow any creative - no matter their experience - to explore art, fashion and craft at a student-friendly price point. It also had a notable array of Halloween costumes.
As it closed its doors on the 1st of February, I can surely say Dominion Road will never be the same. The decision for the Mount Eden location being laid to rest is not specifically due to economic factors, but rather, the owner Deroll Lamb deciding to scale back the emporium empire to only the Brown’s Bay Ike’s Emporium. Deroll (also called Ike) took over the Dominion Road Geoff’s Emporium from his father, the late Geoff Lamb, who opened Geoff’s Emporium in 1980. Geoff also convinced him to open Ike’s - becoming a Kiwi business spanning two generations. However, as Deroll stated on the Geoff’s Facebook page, “The old guy who runs the place is becoming a little too long in the tooth and needs to slow down a bit.”
While yes, there are fabric stores, $2 shops as well as online shops like Temu and Amazon that seem to sell everything and more, they could never provide the same experience as Geoff’s. An in-person, all-in-one craft store served by incredibly passionate and knowledgeable locals is something rare to see these days, with many other locally run businesses closing down or converting to online storefronts.
The change of consumer habits in purchasing craft products from in-person to online is interesting. In terms of accessibility, I suppose
it makes sense: a lot of people don't have time to wander the glittering treasure trove aisles of a local craft store for hours. However, I can guarantee it is an experience you need to live through. Particularly with materials such as fabrics, threads and paper, I think there is value in touching and experiencing the product in person before making a purchase, as often what is pictured online doesn’t match the reality.
Last year, a documentary, The Truth about Temu, came out about the amount of toxic chemicals within fashion products of Shein and Temu, with some, including those for maternity and childrenswear, having unsafe levels of lead, phthalates and PHAS. One faux silver necklace was tested in the documentary, with lab results stating it contained 10 times more lead than is legally allowed in the UK.
Prolonged exposure to heavy metals such as lead can form a large array of issues, and the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation (IHME) estimates that more than 1.5 million deaths globally were attributed to lead exposure in 2021, primarily due to cardiovascular effects. Lead poisoning most prominently affects children, as they may absorb up to 4–5 times as much lead as adults from an ingested dose. There is no level of exposure to lead that is known to be without harmful impact.
With all this said, I can’t imagine what the concoction of potentially life-threatening ingredients in purchased craft products (in particular jewellery-making materials) could be - but from what is shown in The Truth about Temu, I have a strong idea it isn’t anything reassuring.
Before you ask, I am very aware drop shipping is a real problem that exists within the NZ market. For even an informed consumer, it can be hard to determine whether a product on the shelves of your local department store is not simply a repackaged version of what you saw on AliExpress. It is for that reason that it’s so important to be an actively conscious consumer: This means checking labels for products made in NZ, or doing research before purchasing goods for the next
craft session - particularly if kids are playing with (and likely chewing on) them. When health is quite literally on the line, it’s essential to do some level of research.
This is why stores like Geoff’s Emporium mattered. Shopping there wasn’t just some transaction, it was an informed choice. I could trust what I was buying because I had a face to the product and a business owner who could tell me where it came from. That same sense of confidence carries over to other NZ-based, in-person craft stores like Gordon Harris, Spotlight, and Lincraft, where knowledgeable staff can offer guidance and answer queries - something far more reassuring than a faceless customer service email.
Geoff’s Emporium brought in people from all sorts of backgrounds with just as diverse skills and hobbies, and united everyone through the love of making. I wouldn’t have gotten into a lot of the hobbies I have today - and certainly wouldn’t have saved as much money on materials during my time at art school - without Geoff’s. Whatever replaces Geoff’s Emporium, I know I will always hold space for those bright yellow walls and the iconic gorilla costume that had been stapled onto the wall since the beginning of time.
Forever stitched into my memory,
RIP Geoff’s Emporium, Dominion Rd 1980 - 2025
Q: Hi Tashi! Longtime reader, first time caller, etc. I've recently realised I've developed feelings for my friend, and I'm kinda fucked up over it. I know she doesn't feel the same, and I'm never planning on telling her since I value our friendship too much (we've known each other for ages), but it's still been bothering me a lot. Any tips for dealing with unrequited feelings?
A: Dear Longtime Reader,
It would be remiss of me not to give you my sincerest condolences. I’m so sorry. Developing feelings for a friend is akin to the complex initiation process for priests in ancient Egypt that included ritual purification, symbolic death and rebirth, and fumbling around in a dark cave for several days. Let’s try to make sense of that together.
The problem with having a crush on a friend is that there are only two healthy options for dealing with it:
1) Suck it up. Rant to your other (trusted) friends about it, and have a fat cry. Crushes last as long as you’re feeding them. If you know that your friend doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, it's your job to nip it in the bud if you want to stay friends.
2) Confess your feelings. She may feel uncomfortable and the friendship might end. But then again, maybe it won’t. You mentioned she doesn’t feel the same way, but you’ve never told her. In an ideal turn of fate, she may be happy you confessed.
All this being said, I’ll get back to your main question.
Unrequited feelings feel fucking awful. I’ve been there, and I don’t envy you. It may sound counterintuitive, but the next time you get The Yearning™, try thinking about (or writing down) the things about your friend that attract you to her. Is it her humour? The way she butters her toast? Does she have an impeccable style? Thinking about the qualities you admire allows you to adopt them yourself and gives you a keen eye for spotting them in others (someone available). And ask yourself: Am I in love with this specific person, or
with an idea of them?
It’s important to feel your feelings though. Mourning the loss of a relationship that only exists in your head doesn’t make the sadness feel less real. Consciously grieve the fantasy of being with her— write her a letter you never send, acknowledge the loss, and allow yourself to move forward rather than staying stuck in longing.
We sometimes fall in love with unavailability because it fulfils the longing for connection without the messiness of a real relationship (or potential rejection). But remember that the sexiest and most romantic attribute to look for in a partner is reciprocation. There is nothing hotter than someone wanting to be with YOU.
Q: I cheated on my ex and I want to take responsibility somehow. Ultimately, I have trauma related to what happened and I kept gravitating toward these dark situations but I no longer feel caught in that and I want to somehow apologise better or make good from the bad I’ve done. Do you have any advice on what I could do?
A: Dear AP,
There are two potential realities here. One is that your ex knows about the cheating, you’ve already apologised (but not to your new standard), but ultimately you’ve broken up already. Two is that your ex doesn’t know about the cheating, you’ve already broken up, and you’re looking to make amends for past mistakes.
Apologies can run the risk of being selfish when time has passed. Your urge to “make good from the bad” is admirable but possibly misguided. An effective apology is about acknowledging harm and offering accountability rather than expecting forgiveness. You have to consider why you feel the need to reopen this case. Will this new and better apology help your ex on their journey? Or is this just a way to make yourself feel less guilty about what you did?
I do have some more practical advice for you. Regrettably, I have some experience with similar scenarios. The uncomfortable truth about cheating is, for most of us, it doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Millions of factors come into play when someone makes the stupid decision to be unfaithful. It doesn’t make you a bad person; you’re still worthy of love. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s abhorrent behaviour. For the cheated-on person, it brings up feelings of jealousy, abandonment, and rejection. Any trust you’ve cultivated gets biffed out the window. But let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater. Esther Perel is a Belgian-American psychotherapist who has written extensively on the subject of infidelity, and luckily for you, I’ve read her book; The State of Affairs: Rethinking Infidelity. She makes the point that infidelity isn’t just about the act itself but about what was happening internally at the time. What were you seeking or trying to escape when you cheated? How have you changed since then? What patterns led you to these “dark situations,” and how can you ensure you don’t repeat them? This kind of self-reflection will allow you to make sense of what happened. I encourage you to talk to trusted friends or a therapist about the situation.
Instead of making an apology purely about easing your own guilt, Perel would likely encourage you to consider what your ex needs (if anything). If you are no longer in each other’s lives, I’d strongly advise you not to reach out. Consider writing a letter that you don’t send, as a way to process your feelings and reflect on your growth. Perel often talks about how guilt can be a sign of having a good moral compass, but it shouldn’t become self-punishment. You can’t
live your life if you’re constantly self-flagellating over every mistake you’ve made. Instead, ask yourself: How can I ensure I act with more integrity in future relationships? Can you engage in work (therapy, creative projects, or helping others) that channels your past mistakes into something meaningful?
Lastly, since you mentioned trauma, Perel would likely stress the importance of self-compassion and continued healing. She often speaks about how past wounds can lead people into destructive cycles, and breaking those patterns is a significant step forward. I’m genuinely sorry you’re feeling shit right now, but I promise it’ll get better if you put in the work. Ultimately, accountability isn’t about erasing the past—it’s about learning from it, making different choices, and becoming someone who acts with more awareness and care moving forward.
Q: How does one acquire a hot goth gf? Asking for a (girl)friend.
A: Dear Yuri Enthusiast,
If only Cupid’s arrow could pierce the Goth Girl of My Dream's skin (preferably for the addition of another sick piercing), so she would fall madly in love with me. Unfortunately, Cupid doesn’t exist. But hot Goth girlfriends certainly do.
My first piece of advice would be to acquire goth friends. It is a well-documented phenomenon that goths tend to flock together, much like the birds they worship: ravens. This might mean you have to take up the Goth lifestyle yourself if you haven't already. Fortunately, I’ve found in my research that there are many types of Goth to choose from: Pastel Goth, Cyber Goth, Casual Goth (Mall Goth), Witchy Goth, whatever a Hippie Goth might be. Heck, if the 5th century sounds more to your liking, you could model yourself after the Visigoths or Ostrogoths, the group of East Germanic tribes who played a significant role in the fall of the Western Roman Empire. Sounds pretty hardcore to me. The options are really limitless. We live in a world where Goth subcultures have evolved, branching into various styles that incorporate different aesthetics, influences, and music preferences. What a time to be alive!
Once you’ve incorporated yourself into the Goth community of your choice, the next step is really very simple. Sheep actually do this part very well. I won’t be citing any research here, since I got this information from a TikTok video, but it sums up the sapphic experience.
Research conducted on domestic sheep found that a small percentage (around 8–10%) of rams (male sheep) consistently show exclusive same-sex attraction—choosing other rams over ewes. It was a bit confusing for researchers because ewes (female sheep) didn’t seem to be displaying same-sex attraction at all. What they hadn’t taken into account was how sheep court each other. When a ewe develops a fat crush on a fellow sheep, they show their interest by standing completely still and staring at them. When it's a ram that the ewe is interested in, he’ll be the one to make the first move. But for lesbian sheep, neither makes the first move. They will just stare longingly at one another - much like how I court women as a scared bisexual.
So maybe try staring longingly at women, and hope one of you is bold enough to make a move. I hope this helps.
As New Year’s resolutions fall into the mediocre tune of everyday life, many face the reality of work, school and responsibilities. I, for one, have jumped straight back into the throes of musicianship, with exciting gigs and gruelling band practices in store for the foreseeable future. Safe to say, my energy levels have reached record lows despite desperate attempts to make it through January with as much sanity as possible. Ahakoa tenei, my Spotify Wrapped decreed that when my No. 2 band for 2024, Hans Pucket, puts on any show I must be there - so there I was. On a warm Saturday night at Double Whammy, I stood amongst a crowd of friends and fans and basked in my yearly recharge of bloody good music.
Opening for Hans Pucket was the legendary Skilaa, a band that I believe needs no introduction as they have been making waves in the Aotearoa music scene since 2018. Despite my obvious bias with past tutors Chelsea Prastiti and Michael Howell creating the project, I cannot recommend this band enough. Fusing R&B, soul, jazz and hip-hop influences into an unbeatable wave of sound, Skilaa represents the pure explosion formed when creative geniuses are left in a room with only their instruments and the boundless landscape of their imagination. Leaving me breathless while invigorating my very being, Skilaa filled the room with sounds that can only be described as omnipresent. Were it not for the glass of water in my hand and the collective foot tapping on the concrete floor, I would’ve truly believed I’d died and been resurrected. My highlight of the set was Solos, featured on
their most recent album, Tiger in the River. Each member of this ataahua ensemble consistently shines in each tune but Chelsea’s flawless vocal control throughout this fast piece was nothing less than brilliant. To achieve such a high level of melodic understanding and execute lyrics with clarity at this speed is art itself, leaving the crowd trembling and begging for more.
Do not mistake the title of ‘opener’ for anything less than a bombshell clearing the way for the next act - Skilaa is the epitome of expression in music.
Once Skilaa had set the stage, warming our hearts and feeding our souls, Hans Pucket bewitched us with vigour, class and their signature awkward charm. From on-stage banter between the band to synchronised hopping by Oli and Callum Devlin, this gig felt more like a catchup amongst friends, where someone with exquisite taste had complete control of the aux. Like Skilaa, Hans Pucket is a band consisting of extremely talented musicians, a couple of multi-instrumentalists with a confusing overlap of names and faces. They fit into a wondrous genre of complaints made into art- from depressive statements backed by rock music to jazz-pop songs that glorify defecation. Transforming dark humour into something more complex, this band is set to take on any number of global stages, with groovy tunes that you can relate to a
little more than you may care to admit.
New songs on the setlist fit in perfectly with the classics- my personal favourite has always been Kiss the Moon, from their album, No Drama. However, tonight my favourite had to be Fuck My Life. Nothing can beat the feeling of dancing along to lyrics you know off by heart, singing back and forth between Skilaa’s Chelsea Prastiti and your partner. I can’t quite explain the collective high we all felt as audience members, watching Callum Passells shred on the saxophone as the rest of the band ramped up the energy by 100%. Safe to say, as an avid gig-goer myself, there is nothing quite like getting out into the scene alongside friends, fans
and musicians to celebrate and support brilliant performances by homegrown artists. Hans Pucket has the whole of Tāmaki and beyond backing them, proven again by the packed room of supporters who came to such a last-minute gig. Hats off to the band for all the work they have put in behind the scenes in the last year- we missed you, yet rejoiced as we basked in the new music you are yet to put out into the world.
There are many wondrous things to take away from this review- whether you join the top 0.001% of Hans Pucket Spotify listeners, or you chuck on Skilaa as your motivation to finish off a uni assignment. In any case, avid Debate readers should take this as
a sign to get out into the scene and listen to local music. Aotearoa has the palm of the music industry in our hands, with some of the best talent out there busking in the Auckland CBD. Get out there! Listen! Pay attention! You will not regret it, I promise you that.
Written by Hirimaia Eketone
(they/them)
TE AO MĀORI EDITOR
