Grok Issue #1 2021

contributors

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Mohammed ‘Ayo Busari’

DEPUTY EDITOR

Tess MacGregor

SUBEDITORS

Aneeta Bejoy

Duncan Bailey Isabelle Lewis Jennifer Maxwell Katelyn Clark Maggie Leung

CONTRIBUTING

WRITERS

Adilah Ahmad Anika Donnison Chris Hipwood Duncan Bailey Isabelle Lewis Jennifer Maxwell Katelyn Clark J Saw Maggie Leung Mohammed ‘Ayo Busari’ Nick Poynton

Sophie McGeough Tessa Covich

HEAD OF DESIGN

Nina Dakin

CONTRIBUTING DESIGNERS

Amanda Teo

Bailey Walker Gaby Ortiz Garreth Bennett Isabel Huizen Jack Birchmore

Joaquin Atizado Kayley Slater Nina Dakin Oscar McKay Pei Wen Lim Scarlett Coley Winnie Foss

COVER ARTIST Scarlett Coley

LOGO

Chris Leopardi

ADAPTED FOR ONLINE PUBLICATION BY Cheyenne Valero Nina Dakin Sarah Bailey Tabassum Ishra

CONTACT grokonline.com.au grok.editor@gmail.com facebook.com/grokmagazine instagram.com/grokmagazine twitter.com/grokmagazine issuu.com/curtinguild @grokmagazine

NOTE FROM THE CHIEF EDITOR 02 FROM THE DEPUTY-EDITOR 03 FROM THE PREZ 04

AN ODE TO THE 2020 AUSTRALIAN MUSIC INDUSTRY 06

FICTIONAL ESCAPISM: A GET AWAY FROM A PLACE OF PANIC 12 TO UNGUARDED HEARTS 16

AN AGE OF YOUTH’S RESISTANCE 20

STUDENT STRUGGLES: MENTAL HEALTH 24

THE DINOSAUR HUNT: A MAD SCRAMBLE FOR ANCIENT LIFE 28 YOU SMELL! THE SCIENCE BEHIND YOUR UNIQUE SCENT 32 THE PERPLEXING ART OF RESILIENCE 36 WRINKLES & RUBRICS 40 AFRO CREATIVES MAKING A DIFFERENCE IN THE PERTH MUSIC SCENE 44 THERE’S NOTHING BETTER THAN TAYLOR SWIFT’S RE-RECORDING REVENGE 48 ELASTICITY

A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR

MOHAMMED "AYO BUSARI"

KAYA, WELCOME TO THE 2021 ISSUE OF GROK!

Thank you for taking the time to read this year’s first edition of Grok Magazine, Curtin’s student-run publication. Grok is a creative and beautiful platform that allows passionate and enthusiastic students to share their art and skills, be it feature articles, prose, poetry or visual arts.

I feel so honoured to be the Chief Editor for Grok this year. It has been an amazing journey so far, and all thanks go to the Deputy Editor, editorial team, creative design team and all of our wonderful writers. This year has been quite busy with a lot of people recovering from the 2020 global health crisis, which undoubtedly made a huge impact on everyone’s lives. Despite some cases and a few lockdowns, we always came back stronger each time. With all that has been going on this year, it is only right that the theme of this issue would focus on Resilience: In light of 2020, and most importantly the combating of the mental health crisis. Resilience is very important in the world we live in. As students, we face all sorts of adversity throughout the university, such as stress, depression, academic difficulties, illness or

financial instability. And with the COVID-19 pandemic, I guess it is safe to say that these adversities multiplied. To be able to get to a recovery stage after these difficult life events is an act of bravery that needs to be shared with the rest of the world.

In this issue, our feature looks at the importance of the Australian music industry and how it has played a major role in combating the mental health crisis that was caused by the COVID-19 pandemic. For West Australian students, music allows us to relax and reduce our stress when dealing with our day-to-day battles, keeping us resilient.

In light of 2020, we’re uncertain where the world is currently at; some people have recovered, some are recovering now, and some are still battling with their adversity. The only thing that is sure right now is that talking about these things is a way to bounce back and grow as a society, regardless of what life throws at us.

Remember, you can do anything if you try! Stay safe always. x

FROM THE DEPUTY

Phew! Another semester is done and dusted. 2021 has been a ride thus far, and there have certainly been some stellar highs and lockdown lows for the first half of the year. Grok has been hard at work bringing you the latest local updates, important Curtin news and current campus vibes. If we’ve learnt anything this past six months, it’s that COVID-19 may dictate our whereabouts, but it doesn’t limit our creative potential.

We know we can adapt to the situation; we can do the right thing for the good of our community, and we can still thrive. As students, we’ve had to adapt our learning methods and, even when online learning drove us up the wall, we got through things knowing that we weren’t alone. If you ask me, that’s what resilience is; knowing you were dealt a bad hand, adjusting your tactic, and getting on with it the best way you can.

This issue highlights the resilience of Curtin students, each in their own way. Being creative, locking yourself in your room to binge watch Netflix, finally being able to clean out your wardrobe… It’s these things that make us feel ‘normal’, even if we were cooped up inside. And, luckily for you, Grok’s captured that all in one neatly bound place: for you to digest in your own time with a warm cuppa, contemplate how your limits were tested this year (thus far), and to follow your Curtin peers as they ruminate the intangible, multi-faceted concept of resilience.

from the prez

Kaya,

During the past year, the world has faced many challenges; and Curtin students have made many personal, financial and academic adjustments. For some in our community, especially international students, the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic has been huge. And while the challenges are far from over, we have and will continue to work together to support each other and the Curtin Community. Last year, the Guild recognised that students needed a way to stay connected and combat isolation during the lockdown; and while our “virtual” community was not the same as being on campus, it helped. Working with the university, we ensured the academic impact of COVID-19 was minimised; and I am especially proud that the Guild coordinated a food aid program that distributed more than 2000 food aid packages to 1200 students.

It is wonderful to see so many students back on campus this year. I, for one, appreciate the things I once took for granted, such as meeting friends, attending events on campus and being

connected to my peers and teachers through inperson learning.

There are 120 clubs in full swing this year, and we were able to welcome our new Curtin students to a modified Guild O'Day and Toga party. I hope you were able to attend one of our faculty’s meet and greet sessions and attended some of our events: the Wellbeing Fair, Upcycle Markets, Cat Café and the tropical End of Semester Bash.

A special thanks go out to the students, more than 2000 of you, who took part in the consultation about Curtin’s plans for the Learning for Tomorrow blended learning strategy. Students have made it clear that they want to prioritise on-campus learning, and for students to achieve their best we must all support our teaching staff.

COVID-19 has highlighted the importance of community and connectedness amongst students. We made it through together, and the Guild looks forward to continuing to rebuild a thriving on-campus culture.

Jesse Naylor Zambrano 52nd Guild President

AN ODE TO THE 2020 AUSTRALIAN MUSIC INDUSTRY

It’s electrifying.

The sound reverberates up my body as microscopic shivers; it zaps and taps and dances its way around the crowd. My arms sway in time to my neighbours and the low-pitched beat. Sweat drips on my forehead, hair whips against my face.

It’s an out-of-body experience.

The sound rises above us all to take a bow, crescendoing in a chorus of screams and chants. The band gives one last guitar riff and its farewell. They leave the stage with fanfare; we leave with our hearts in our mouths and our souls alight with the power of live music.

It's before the global COVID-19 outbreak, and life is good.

Live music ground to a standstill in 2020 as the pandemic swept across the globe like a tidal wave of devastation. Life as we knew it was irrevocably changed, and we had to take some drastic measures to protect our communities.

distanced elbow greetings. This didn’t leave many opportunities for live music to resume safely, and the possibility of dancing in a mosh pit again with thousands of other fans was a faraway dream.

The foreseeable suspension of live music placed considerable financial stress on the Australian music industry, valued at $555 million in 2019. Audiences for these concerts were often larger than revered sporting events, supporting tens of thousands of musicians, technical crews, roadies, venues, and hospitality workers. One of the first sectors impacted by the COVID-19 crisis, event cancellations and rescheduling in the creative industries has caused $345 million in lost income for Australians. Job security concerns, financial strain, and anxiety for the future of Australian music has exacerbated the mental health crisis and tormented the community.

In a bid to save the industry, new and creative festival and event formats emerged to bring music back into the lives of a dispirited society. We looked toward social media and dynamic online platforms to distribute and share our love for live music from our couches at home. Isol-Aid was at the forefront of Australian online music festivals, building an online community dedicated to supporting the industry from our couches at home. Streaming live content through TikTok and other social media sites, musicians and audiences from across Australia could connect during a period of extreme isolation. Organisations such as Support Act rallied to deliver crisis relief for those affected by the COVID-19 pandemic with (only) a $10 million grant from the Australian government.

strings and the feverish ‘welcome back’ from bright-eyed artists was heart-warming; reigniting a hope that had been lost when the days and months stretched out and doom scrolling consumed our lives.

The greatest hurdle to becoming comfortable in a crowd again was psychological. After months of reinforcement from local and federal governments to social distance, it felt unnatural to have someone within our 1.5-metre ‘bubbles’. Physical contact felt illegal, and I was crippled with paranoia that a mask-wearing police officer would jump out from behind a bush to slap me with a $1,000 fine at any time. These intermediary periods felt suspended in time as our reactions varied between the extremes; vehement self-absorbed pandemic-deniers and covidiots who flouted the rules; and conscious HAZMAT suit-wearing, toilet paper stockpiling

individuals.

Western Australia hosted one of the first COVID-safe live music festivals in October of 2020. Good Day, Sunshine Festival trialled a new format that capped audience numbers and segmented them into four separate zones. Complete with their spacing restrictions, entries, and facilities, the spinning stage allowed audiences in every zone the chance to experience the band live from the comfort of their section—and energetic dancing ensued. Similar formats have been successfully trialled across the country, including drive-in concerts and seated concerts.

venues, even to 25% capacity and strict COVID-19 practices, seems inequitable.

The future of live music in Australia is dampened by discrepancies in permitted events. Music proved to be an important support tool during extended lockdowns, offering solace and comfort for Australians during one of the toughest moments in recent history. The monetisation and inequality of recent COVID-19 restrictions could hinder the industry more than the initial shutdown, compromising relief and rebuilding efforts.

Can 2021 become our best year yet for the Australian music scene if it’s without the support and recognition of our government?

LIVE

MUSIC

WAS MAKING A COMEBACK.

Despite this, music events were always the first to be cancelled in the following ‘snap lockdowns’ that afflicted Australian states. As supposedly superfluous and unimportant events, the live music industry was shoved back down just as it started to learn to walk again. Considered low on the government's list of priorities, the Australian music industry has been moved to the side as the first in and last out of lockdowns, making way for other vital industries.

One of these supposed vital industries was sports, valued at $6.79 billion in 2019. Large sporting events in mega-stadiums such as AFL matches and the Australian Open—with crowds over 35,000—were continually given the green light by government officials. These events often had limited social distancing and relaxed restrictions on mask-wearing despite high probabilities of transmission. The refusal to open small music

Artists and industry workers are still struggling to make ends meet. A foreseeable spiral in mental health could lead to a decline in creativity and productivity for the community. Not to mention, an adverse influence on already high rates of anxiety and depression, with suicide attempts for industry workers double that of the general Australian population according to a 2016 study conducted by Entertainment Assist and Victorian University. Whilst there are no official 2020 industry statistics made available for the public, there is no denying the adverse mental health impacts the pandemic has had on the general populace. As JobKeeper winds down, we are left questioning what our music industry will look (and sound) like.

To quote Michael Tilson Thomas, ‘what happens when the music stops? Where does it go?’

The repercussions of the pandemic and the halted music industry have had a considerable impact on young music lovers. As a generation characterised by high social media usage and online interaction, music events were a way to connect and engage with others. Deeply ingrained in the Australian

STUDENT LIFE

youth culture, the quieting of live music due to COVID-19 restrictions severed another vital social tie we had within each other.

Before the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic, young Australians aged 15 –24 were already disproportionately affected in the labour market with an 11.5% unemployment rate in December 2019, double that of the general population’s 5.1% unemployment rate, according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics. The onset of the COVID-19 pandemic hit youth the hardest, particularly in the hospitality and entertainment industries; the very individuals who were supporting and working with the Australian music industry.

In April 2020, an estimated 213,000 young people lost their jobs due to the pandemic, accounting for 35% of the total Australians who lost their jobs in April alone. JobKeeper payments were often unavailable to young people due to a high likelihood of unstable casual employment. These unprecedented numbers put young Australians at a greater risk for mental health issues, with a loss in social connection, career prospects, financial instability, and extreme lifestyle changes acting as primary motivators.

According to a study concerning Australian university students and their media usage in 2020 before and during the early stages of the pandemic, there is a strong positive correlation between music listening and improved life satisfaction. Music is an effective coping strategy for extreme stress and isolation brought upon us by the pandemic, improving our well-being and optimistic outlook for life post-pandemic. The temporary disbandment of live music has

brought into focus its considerable reach with younger listeners and how strongly live music has become interwoven into the very fabric of society. Live music is vital for us to combat the growing mental health crisis for youth and industry workers post-pandemic, improve career prospects and return Australian society to a new place of stability and ease.

‘COVID-safe’ music events were initially developed as a necessity when the industry was at its lowest. Despite this, our resilient industry experienced a growth in recorded music over 2020, highlighting the importance of music in our society as we all collectively overcame a challenging year.

In 2020, we came to realise how unappreciative we were of the creative arts and the solace they gave us. We came to realise the power of human resilience, as we went from record lows to record highs.

Our new reality has been challenging and the recovery long. But we will not be content until we can re-join fellow fans in a packed venue, dancing and singing along to our beloved musicians and the talent behind these shows—together.

"WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE MUSIC STOPS? WHERE DOES IT GO?"

Grok Magazine is Curtin University’s studentrun media outlet.

The writers, editors and designers of our six departments (Student Life; Politics and Current Affairs; Music; Science and Technology; Art and Film; Economics and Business) cover the good, the bad and the ugly—delivering a variety of content to keep you informed.

We publish regularly through our website and produce a glossy print edition each semester, which you can pick up at Guild outlets and across campus.

To make sure you don’t miss a thing, like us on Facebook, and follow us on Instagram.

If you’re interested in contributing to Grok as a writer, editor or designer, or if you have a scoop you want us to cover, hit up the editors at grok.editor@gmail.com.

To understand profoundly, intuitively, or by empathy.

FICTIONAL ESCAPISM: A GET AWAY FROM A PLACE OF PANIC

Words// Sophie McGeough Illustration// Winnie Foss

At times when the world is feeling pretty hopeless, I have the urge to take a breather to get away for a bit. An escape. The place that I see as the only possible source to go is the fictional worlds within movies and TV shows. Unreal worlds —where no decisions need to be made and you don’t have to be a functioning human being for a slither of time. Just a vessel that can take in the story being presented in front of you; living the lives of characters from faraway places.

There is comfort in being able to fall back onto fiction, like an old friend that you can always rely on. Whenever my day is worse than bad, a movie will come to mind and an inner relief fills me up knowing that I have it to distract me from my thoughts and responsibilities.

Last year in June, I got a phone call saying that I didn’t get a job which I was interviewed for. I wasn’t able to continue my day normally because I had hurt my ankle a few days prior. As I sat feeling very sorry for myself, I remembered that 'A Cinderella Story’ was on Netflix and knew I had to watch it. Perhaps I find something comforting about Hilary Duff movies or maybe it was the idealistic plotline of Cinderella, a film where the main character can defy all odds and have a happy ending. I was in a much better mood after I watched it and went about my day feeling more hopeful.

Of course, it is important to remain aware of the world around you, whether it’s local, global news, or even personal issues that you may be dealing with. But, at a certain point, a person can only take on so much. It’s sometimes nice to feel empathy for a character on-screen and what they’re going through, instead of having to worry about yourself.

My usual go-to comfort stories are ones that I watched when I was younger. Things such as Disney channel original movies, 2000s Teen ‘Chick Flicks’ or TV shows that were running when I was way too young to fully comprehend the plotline. They are full of cliches and far from award-winning, but they hold a comfort and hopefulness to them. It allows me as the viewer to not feel as negative and down about the reality around me. It can seem a little artificial to rely on a well formulated and planned out plotline, with good-looking actors, in fake surroundings to give me a feeling of reassurance, but it is more so the emotion and feeling you have after it rather than anything else.

The reason behind my choices in comfort media may be due to the time of my life they were a part of. Times when I was in primary school and without Uni assignment due dates plaguing my mind. It must somehow remind me of the calmness of being a child, as if it is taking me back in time to a past self. Like watching ‘Hannah Montana’ or ‘High School Musical’ can take me back to the summer holidays where watching ‘Saturday Disney’ was a part of my morning routine. The years where I’d get excited to wake up at the crack of dawn, wearing my Little Mermaid pyjamas, cup of Milo in hand, excited for the day ahead.

It's sometimes nice to feel empathy for a character on screen and what they're going through, instead of having to worry about yourself.

A newly found topic I’ve witnessed online is the discussion of ‘comfort characters’. I think they’ve always been around, but the internet has only just come up with a term to describe it. Fictional characters that always bring you comfort, perhaps a similar feeling to being around one of your favourite people. As representation and diversity is more at the forefront of characters in fictional media, it gives viewers more to relate to. This allows audiences to feel supported by fictional characters and plots, being reassured that they are not alone in what they are going through or who they are as a person. As it is so easy to access these stories in this current decade, these characters may be just the thing that keeps people going within their actual lives. Hopefully, the reliability is only to an extent and not an unhealthy obsession, but it is just

another thing that the arts can do for people who perhaps need the escapism that media can deliver.

As the pandemic last year was keeping people within their houses for so long, it is an obvious fact that technology would have been a saviour for a lot of the population. People would have been left feeling trapped and lonely. Watching films and TV shows would have been an outlet that allowed them to see more than the walls of their homes and more faces than those who they lived with. In the past year, I’ve seen more of a discussion online of new tv shows and films than ever, making me believe that it allowed for a more engaged audience while everyone was stuck at home. It enables people to discuss stories that are in an entirely different world,

not having to talk about the news and how awful everything has been throughout Australia and other countries. For decades, stories within the arts have enabled an outlet for many people, allowing places to visit that give them great comfort. The discussions between engaged audiences can bring together communities of those who need each other. People love to live vicariously through others, those who live more exciting lives than they can ever imagine. Stories brought to screen can be just the dose that some people require to gain something missing within their day. If they need to take a breath, they can relax for just a moment to appreciate the wonderful world of fiction.

UNGUARDED HEARTS: HOW THE LAW FAILS TO PROTECT INDIGENOUS ART AND CULTURE.

Precious Indigenous art is constantly at risk of being misappropriated and misused by individuals and businesses who casually disregard copyright laws. Even then, the traditional copyright laws intended to protect the intellectual property of artists fail Indigenous creators and storytellers, for whom their work is so much more than art.

Netflix’s hit series 'After Life' came under scrutiny after their production company used an unauthorised copy of Aboriginal artist Warlimpirrnga Tjapaltjarri’s painting in its first season. Derek Productions ended up compensating Tjapaltjarri and paying retrospective licensing fees, but the replica remained a fixture in the main character’s living room. This casual disregard for the work of Indigenous artists is unfortunately common, as artist BiBi Barba regrettably found out.

Speaking to The Point, BiBi expressed her sorrow after finding out that her artwork, Desert Bloom, was reproduced by Hotel Eclipse almost 14,000 kilometres away in Warsaw, Poland. Bibi’s art was plagiarised by an interior designer throughout the hotel—the artwork which she used to process the breakdown of her relationship was now replicated on carpets and wall trimmings. It’s a crude and inconsiderate replication that BiBi’s intellectual property lawyer Terri Janke likened to a kind of “terra nullius” when speaking to The Point. The hotel and interior designer refused to acknowledge that there was even any copyright in the first place—a lack of recognition and a sense of entitlement that is all too familiar to Indigenous artists.

Words// Isabelle Lewis Design// Nina Dakin

These are both examples of contemporary artists, who are protected by copyright—which, in Australia, is contained in the Copyright Act 1968. The law protects a person’s creative skill and labour, typically for the duration of the person’s life plus 70 years after their death. No formal application is necessary for copyright to be enforced and, whilst copyright applies, the owner has all rights to the work including sales, reproductions and publishing rights. The law appears all-encompassing, fairly surmising that 70 years of posthumous copyright is sufficient. But Western concepts of ownership fall short when it comes to protecting Indigenous art, and many traditional stories and other works are far older than 70 years. Therein lies a very serious issue for many Indigenous creatives.

Foremost, the Act applies copyright to an individual’s work—not the work of a community, council, or responsible elder. For instance, if a traditional story is plagiarised it is a challenge to enforce copyright since there may be no owner. It may instead be the responsibility of the community to whom the story belongs, the Elders who maintain oral tradition, or a designated keeper who is responsible for the story (but not its originator). The Act also lists originality as a key requirement for the application of copyright—something which distinctly marks the work as being the person’s unique creation. Academic Sue Bunting explains that many Indigenous works are left unprotected since many art pieces (like paintings, carvings, songs, stories and dances) belong to the eternal, rather than the temporal—therefore what the Act considers the process of creation is one of discovery for the community the art belongs to.

Likewise, the Act must be satisfied that the work is in material form (i.e., physically written or painted). According to the Act, without a physical copy, the work has not passed the ‘ideas’ phase and is therefore not a work covered by copyright. In the past anthropologists and researchers have written down centuries’ old stories and traditions, or copied traditional art, giving them the right to publish and disseminate the work—and collect the royalties. Bunting continues, explaining that oral tradition is not regarded as sufficient for giving evidence and, as such, attempting to claim copyright by attesting that a relative or community member told them that the contested piece belongs to them is regarded as hearsay. Significantly, a material form may not even be enough to protect the sanctity of a piece. Researcher Katrina Chapman explains that an individual entrusted with physically depicting designs and stories is given a responsibility to protect the art from disrespect (such as reproductions or maltreatment). Likewise, the individual entrusted with creating this physical depiction is not regarded as the artist or creator; that title belongs to the community they are a part of. But the law will consider them the owner of the copyright and, as in the case of John Bulunbulun & Anor v. R & T Textiles (1998), will only offer a remedy to the owner of said copyright—not the community who are behind the artwork itself.

This vulnerability is compounded by low-level access to legal resources for Indigenous communities and artists, in addition to disrespectful attitudes and casual misappropriation, leaving Indigenous artists open to plagiarism and theft. The introduction of an ‘authenticity seal’ in 1999 by the National Indigenous Arts Advocacy Association (NIAAA) helped somewhat in allowing the public to differentiate between genuine Indigenous products and reproductions which simply emulate an Indigenous ‘style’. Despite the success of this approach in the realm of crafts and other products, this does little to dissuade dishonest businesses who claim to sell handmade, Australian traditional native art as the Sydney Morning Herald investigated. A 2017 article by the magazine reported that before the 2018 Commonwealth Games, Gold Coast local gift shops and retailers were flooded with imported goods, forcing genuine artists out. None of the products had the seal or claimed to be genuine Indigenous art, so the sale of enamel-lacquered boomerangs and clapsticks wasn’t illegal. These shops draw in consumers with bargain-basement prices, and target tourists who may be unaware of the significance of supporting genuine Indigenous artists. Likewise, in the realm of fine art, the sticker (or even a note of authenticity) is not always appropriate. The seal is also unsuitable for dances, songs and stories—a blanket approach such as this is simply insufficient.

Reforming existing legislation is one avenue put forward by researchers as a remedy for plagiarism and misappropriation of Indigenous art. Amending the Copyright Act will be a tremendous overhaul; however, decolonising the law to incorporate Indigenous concepts of ownership, meaning and the connection is vital. In the meantime, Indigenous artists and communities remain vulnerable to misappropriation, unscrupulous business practitioners and opportunists who see a wealth of spiritual and cultural significance as a quick cash grab. And while we wait for institutional change, artists like BiBi are the ones who suffer and fight not only for the safety of their work, but for their culture as well.

Youth activism is a term coined in the nineteenth century when young people fought for better working conditions. Now in the twenty-first century, there is a growing trend of youngsters and students who take to the streets and advocate about topics they are passionate about across the globe. They work together as one to speak to significant issues, from asking for a greener future, to fair education, the battle against racism, push for gender equality, democracy, and many more.

The scale of youth-led movements is now more elastic, accessible and deliverable credited the the fast-growing technology and digital media at our fingertips. This phenomenon has been referred to as digital activism, raising several hashtag movements that have broken the chain of delivering advocacy at a local level. Activism can now stretch directly beyond the borders between nations. In lights of hope, young people are an inspiration and future solution to our pains in the world today.

Autumn Peltier – Water Rights

“We are keepers of the generations yet to come.”

Autumn Peltier is a young Anishinaabe Indigenous activist from Ontario, Canada who is fighting for a cleaner water resource for the Indigenous population. She was named the Chief Water Commissioner by the Anishinabek Nation in 2019. Peltier is a fierce advocate for contaminated water on Indigenous land and has attended the Children Climate Conference in Sweden, spoken at the United Nations for World Water Day and addressed the issue to Canadian Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau.

Greta Thunberg – Climate Change

“You are never too small to make

Greta Thunberg is a Swedish environmental activist who fights for climate change. She sparked momentous movements concerning climate change including the Fridays for Future and School Strike for Climate. Greta inspired many young people to start their local fight on climate change. She has been a youth representative on world stages including the World Economic Forum and the European Parliament. Aside from climate change, Thunberg also helped raise awareness for Asperger syndrome, by sharing her own experiences.

We are keepers of the generations yet to come.”

– Autumn Peltier

a difference.”

Words// Maggie Leung Design// Garreth Bennett

Haaziq Kazi – Ocean Waste

“My generation is inheriting not just this legacy [people cannot live without plastic] but also the problem that comes with it: the problem of what we throw in our oceans.”

Haaziq Kazi is an advocate and innovator from India who is passionate about tackling the trillion tonnes of plastic waste and maintaining the marine life in our oceans. At a young age, he designed the machinery ship called Ervis which has the potential to help the world clean wastes in our oceans. The Ervis Foundation fights plastic pollution, whilst supporting a sustainable future for our oceans.

If one man can destroy everything, why can’t one girl change it?”

– Malala Yousafzai

Malala Yousafzai – Girl's Education

“If one man can destroy everything, why can’t one girl change it?”

Malala Yousafzai is a Pakistani young activist who fights for girl’s education in her country where strict Islamic law applies. Girls and women are all restricted from attending schools and being active in society. At the age of 15, Yousafzai survived an assassination attempt and was later awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. After the incident, she continued her advocacy and became Time’s most influential person in 2013. Her courage also inspired the induction to Pakistan’s first Right to Education Bill to improve education for girls. The Malala Fund now continues to support girl’s education in various countries across the globe.

Patrick Gunasekera – The Arts

“Racism is a weapon, really. The reason why racism exists is to disempower people of colour and Indigenous people.”

Patrick Gunasekera is an interdisciplinary artist in Perth. From theatre to poetry, he has extensive experience in various art forms. He has been published in the Australian Poetry Journal, Voiceworks, Seesaw and more. He advocates rights addressing youth, mental health, disabilities and issues facing the LGBTQIA+ community. Gunasekera also voices concerns regarding domestic violence and diversity in his community.

Takeaways in youth activism

Youth activism is argued to be a learning environment for adolescents. It provides a space for the youth to practice problem-solving collectively and learn about active listening. Australia’s youth provide an alternative voice in society and their perspectives should be celebrated. Young people have the power to voice new ideas about underlying (and rising) social issues. The interaction between different generations will fuel conversations leading to potential solutions. Participating in activism

will nourish the growth of youth leadership. Youth activism is not about profound young leaders dominating headlines but, rather, about taking the lead and encouraging other passionate individuals to speak for our future.

Youth activism is not about a singular, it is about the story of a group of many. As a university student, if you have a voice eager to be heard and a brimming passion, you should not wait; the world is ready to listen.

POLITICS

STUDENT STRUGGLES AND MENTAL HEALTH

Words// Anika Donnison Illustration// Oscar McKay

The Coronavirus pandemic has been an uncertain time for all. For the student population, the uncertainty surrounding courses and whether or not they will continue on campus has caused many extra strains on the already stressed group.

A psychological study by the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health found that “33.8% [of their student participants] showed low wellbeing and 31.5% very low wellbeing”. This study investigated the psychological wellbeing of Australian students in January 2021, “highlight[ing] the need for universities and policymakers to focus educational, emotional, and financial support” in the wake of COVID-19. Additionally, it found that 74.6% of students “found it more difficult to learn online than face-to-face”.

A 2020 analysis on youth mental health and wellbeing by Headspace discovered that 34% of “young Australians (aged 12–25) reported high or very high levels of distress”, compared to 32% in 2018.

These distressing statistics call for greater action from universities and the Australian Government to get involved in student’s mental health. Within Curtin University, many different services are offered to combat the drastic issues connected to the mental health of students. Within their counselling services they provide “one-on-one therapy sessions and group programs”, student wellbeing advisory services, social workers and the Guild’s Student Assist.

Although these services in theory work to directly tackle the issues surrounding student’s mental health, in practice this is much harder to achieve.

“It is always terrible to hear when students have difficulty accessing Curtin Counselling due to long wait times, a triage system that is often fully booked early in the morning, and the ten appointments per year cap that limits students […]. Students are suffering more and need more support due to how the pandemic and lockdowns have affected their study and home lives; it would make sense for the Uni to put more resources into the service given the current climate.”

- 2021 Curtin Guild Accessibility Officer Clare Metcalf

Personally, I have suffered many mental strains through my degree. Outside of pre-existing issues, the university’s strict regimen and bombardment of information is difficult for anyone to handle, let alone young adults. The question ‘what are you going to do once you finish’ has haunted my waking moments.

I’ve watched as that enchanting yet dreadful final semester approaches and suddenly, the rest of my life is about to begin.

And I don’t know what to do with it.

Young people at university are at a high risk for psychological distress and mental illness. At the same time, this group is less likely to be financially secure. For many students, free and accessible mental health support on campus makes the difference between getting help and suffering in silence.

"Study is already stressful and demanding, but the effects of the pandemic and online learning have added isolation and a lack of structure to the burden. Curtin needs to evaluate how their approach to teaching and learning might be exacerbating students’ mental health.

Staff are not paid for the time it takes to get to know their students or answer their emails––they do it on their own time. If staff were appropriately paid for all the work it takes to run a class, could we not have more engaging, inperson experiences? Could staff not pick up on struggling students early, or provide academic support early, before it snowballs into mental health impacts that require Curtin Counselling?

The Curtin Student Guild is advocating for wait times at Curtin Counselling to be reduced urgently, but also for the adoption of teaching and learning practices that help students’ mental health, rather than making it worse."

- Curtin Student Guild

I have been very lucky; my family is financially supporting my mental health support and I have amazing support systems around me to help. But I understand that not everyone is so lucky.

The ability for the University to have a free counselling service is fantastic, but this becomes almost redundant with long wait times.

The mental health of students can’t be ignored without dire consequences.

Lewis Illustration// Nina Dakin

THE DINOSAUR HUNT

THE DINOSAUR HUNT

A MAD SCRAMBLE FOR ANCIENT LIFE

They spend all day digging through dirt and clay, moving hundreds of kilograms of densely compacted earth to sift through minerals and pry their delicate reward from deep beneath the surface. It’s dusted, polished, primed and primped and sent to be sold to the highest bidder. Maybe an avid collector? Or a scholar? Maybe a museum with money to spend? Who knows, it could be anyone—after all, who doesn’t want a dinosaur skull?

My interest in the fossil trade (both illegal and legal) began after reading an article about a taxidermied Great White shark that sat abandoned in a warehouse in regional Victoria for 8 years. The shark, named Rosie, was bought by Tom Kapitany: a botanist, geologist, entrepreneur, and owner of the largest crystal shops in the southern hemisphere. At the bottom of one of the several articles I read about Rosie and her entrapment, almost like a little footnote, was a disclaimer “Kapitany was fined $20,000 USD after illegally smuggling dinosaur eggs into the US”.

The speed at which I proceeded to research Tom Kapitany and his illegal paleontological exploits should have given me whiplash. It brought to the surface an entire world of smugglers, traders and hobbyists who traipse the globe in search of fossilised treasures, trespassing on abandoned mine sites and hurtling themselves through jungles to find the perfect secret hunting ground. When one pictures a heist, it’s usually gemstones and priceless classical art that springs to mind—not coprolite. And yet a quick google search proves that this isn’t some unsophisticated dig ‘n’ grab; it’s an entire industry.

Fossil collecting and trading has always been big business. In the Victorian era, men and women alike would scour beaches and riverbeds for evidence of ancient life; and prolific fossil hunters like Mary Anning made a living from selling remains to museums, universities and other collectors. Governments quickly realised the value these old bones had, and many countries saw to it that any fossil found on native soil was to stay there. But the flame had been sparked, and people figured that hey, they can dig old stuff out of the ground and sell it to the highest bidder too.

And sell they did. The trade is highly lucrative; Sue, the Tyrannosaurus Rex was bought by Chicago’s Field Museum for $8.5 million USD in 1992—and just last year in 2020, amidst a global pandemic that has left millions in poverty, a second T-Rex skeleton named Stan was sold at auction for a record $31.8 million to an unidentified bidder. Actor Nicholas Cage purchased a T-Rex skull at an auction in Beverley Hills for $276,000, and countless specimens are available to buy on eBay or at stores like Kapitany’s Crystal World (which has quite a few specimens available on its online store, with most only going for a few hundred bucks). It’s a market all of its own, and scientists are getting worried. Museums are at risk of being priced out, leaving incredible specimens like Stan the T-Rex unable to be studied—instead the giant sits in the private collection of an incredibly wealthy individual; a once Tyrant King now reduced into a living-room talk piece.

Now, many of the fossils on the black market come from China and Mongolia. Both countries have strict penalties on the extraction and sale of fossils, however the huge land size and widespread corruption make monitoring this trade difficult. In 2004, Professor John Long of Flinders University joined the Australian Federal Police on a raid of a suspected fossil smuggling operation based in a Perth warehouse. At the time, the Chinese government had started to crack down hard on the violation of heritage laws, which forbid the export of native fossils. Inside the warehouse were petrified remains totalling $6 million AUD in value, each belonging to a species found solely in China. They were even wrapped in Chinese newspaper, giving the police dates and localities of the smugglers. Oh, and the T-Rex skull Nicholas Cage bought? Not a T-Rex skull at all, but a Tyrannosaurus Bataar—native only to Mongolia, which has also criminalised the export of its fossils. Thankfully Cage gave the skull back, and Eric Prokopi, the smuggler who procured it from the Gobi Desert and got it into Beverley Hills auction house, was caught.

But the smugglers at the heart of this massive, ancient syndicate claim that without their market we risk losing these fossils forever. In Australia, the development of mine sites and increasing infrastructure has fossil hobbyists worried; they insist they have no choice but to step in and collect the remains, lest they be destroyed by another explosive mine site expansion or crushed by giant diggers and trucks. Kapitany, perhaps Australia’s most prolific convicted dinosaur smuggler, defended his actions to the Sydney Morning Herald, stating that “I can legally crush a fossil in Australia for road base but somehow it is illegal to trade in fossils which can be bought from any store in the US”.

It’s convoluted and messy, and yet somehow amongst all of it both hobbyists and scientists want the same thing: to appreciate, study, and wonder at the beauty and impact of the incredible creatures we shared our planet with. The fossils connect us to them, to their time, and we see their never-ending impact through all the layers of earth and bone. It’s hard not to be in awe of them, to want a skull or a fossilised vertebrae on your shelf. But now they need protection— they need us to keep them from being ravaged and lost in the pursuit of infrastructural development and from those who would keep them, locked up so tightly that they might as well be back under the earth. The fact that even after 67 million years these fossils are still around is an impressive reminder of the perpetuity of nature—let’s not be the living thing that wipes them out for good.

"...IT COULD BE ANYONE—AFTER ALL, WHO DOESN’T WANT A DINOSAUR SKULL?"

"...IT COULD BE ANYONE—AFTER ALL, WHO DOESN’T WANT A DINOSAUR SKULL?"

YOU SMELL!

THE SCIENCE BEHIND YOUR UNIQUE SCENT

Words// Adilah Ahmad Illustrations// Isabel Huizen Design// Nina Dakin

If you’re the kind of person that sleeps with a special pillow or teddy, you’ve probably noticed that you’ve got a signature scent. You may have also noticed that other members of your family don’t have the same scent. That’s because, just like our fingerprints, every person has a unique body odour! All seven billion of us. This is referred to as odourtypes, which are determined partly by our genetics. Odourtypes are essentially (olfactory) smell ‘tags’ which helps to distinguish individuals from one another and even helps us to pick mates.

HOW DO WE SMELL?

Humans are able to smell all sorts of things: from the buttery popcorn at the cinemas, to the floral scent of the mystery stranger that just walked past, and the smell of smoke from a fire in the distance. The science of smell is very complex. The ability to smell comes from specialised sensory cells called olfactory sensory neurons, which are located in a small patch of tissue deep within the nasal cavity. Each olfactory neuron has one odour receptor, which are stimulated by specific smells. This could be the smell of freshly mowed grass or coffee brewing in the morning. Once the neurons detect the smell molecules, they are in charge of sending messages to the brain, which plays a key role in identifying the smell. There are more smells in the environment than we have receptors for, and

any molecule has the possibility of stimulating a combination of receptors. This creates a unique ‘representation’ in the brain which the brain can register as a ‘smell.’

We don’t just smell through our nose either, we can also detect smell via chewing! When we chew, aromas are released from food that travels in a channel that connects the roof of the mouth to nose. Which explains why when you’re sick and all blocked up, you can’t taste! The odours from the food can’t reach the sensory cells in the nose due to inflammation.

Your sense of smell is also influenced by the common chemical sense. This is basically the sensations of irritation that are evoked by chemical stimuli when they activate certain nerve endings on the moist surfaces of the eyes, nose, mouth, and throat. An example of this is when our eyes water cutting onions, or the refreshing coolness of menthol. We are not necessarily smelling those things, but they trigger our common chemical sense.

It is vital for us to detect smells, which is important for survival. We need to be able to identify the foods we eat, and even danger that we need to avoid. However, interestingly, according to the study by Castro and his peers in 2013, we can quantify these range of smells into just 10 basic qualities: fragrant, fruity (non-citrus), woody/ resinous, chemical, minty/peppermint, toasted/ nutty (e.g popcorn), lemon, sweet and two kinds of sickening odours: pungent and decayed.

ODOURPRINTS AND SCIENCE

Our unique odourprints can have many applications in science as the possibilities range from diagnosis of diseases and even crime prevention. But it’s proving to be a challenging task as every person’s odourprint is complex and is impacted by a multitude of elements – age, genetics, diet, their living environment, and products used. Unlike humans, perhaps unsurprisingly, our trusted companions don’t have this issue. In a trial lead by Ludvik Pinc in 2011, specially trained German

Shepherd dogs were given the clothes from sets of twins. They were able to distinguish between the otherwise carbon-copy individuals, even though the twins live in the same environment and eat the same food!

Another challenging aspect in differentiating odourtypes is that different body parts produce different profiles of odourants. Our skin, underarms and genitals are all colonised by different groups of bacteria, and the odour produced depends on the type and number of bacterial colonies, skin glands and secretions in the area. All of these will contribute to make the volatiles that influence your odourprint. To extend this concept, the volatile chemicals in our breath and urine are more influenced by our diet compared to the in ones our underarm sweat and other secretions.

When studying human odourprints, scientists collect these volatile organic compounds (VOC) and other chemicals using absorbent material to conduct laboratory techniques such as solid-phase microextraction to prepare the VOCs for analysis, usually by gas chromatography/mass spectrometry (GC/MS). The results are tabulated to list the various odour chemicals and their concentrations.

A study by Penn and colleagues conducted in 2007 analysed human axillary (armpit) odour by collecting samples from the underarm sweat of 197 adults in a small town in the Austrian Alps over a 10-week sampling period. They found 4941 distinct GC/MS marker peaks across all samples, with 373 of them being consistent throughout the sampling period. This complex mix of VOCs involved mainly short- and long-chain hydrocarbons, alcohols, carboxylic acids, ketones, and aldehydes. After a thorough analysis, the researchers reported finding individually distinct and reproducible GC/ MS fingerprints.

In another study from 2012 lead by Mitro, researchers compared the underarm odour of 44 individuals from 3 different age groups (from people in their 20s up to 95 years old). Older participants, those between 75 to 95 years old, were found to have a distinct scent. This unique scent that is colloquially known as ‘old people smell’ was described as “fairly neutral and not very unpleasant.” The authors of the study and many other researchers think there may be an evolutionary connection as to why humans are able to distinguish people of different ages by smells. And on that note, a study from 2013 by Lundström and colleagues confirmed what we all knew: babies smell delicious. No seriously, baby scent triggers a special part of our brain activated by rewards. From an evolutionary point of view, this seems to be a significant medium to create an emotional link between mother and child, which in turn, ensures important functions for the baby like breastfeeding and protection.

With more research and development in the field, odourprints might have the capability to be an important aspect in identifying the sick, picking a suitable mate and distinguishing kin from non-kin. Certain diseases like cancers are also thought to have a signature scent on the bodies of patients. These odours may not be detectable to human noses but there have been stories of dogs and cats able to sniff out disease and even death in nursing homes. Several cancers, including melanoma and lung cancer, produce odour signatures that can be detected in urine, breath, blood and stools of patients. In some cases, the odours are strong enough that dogs can be specially trained to detect them, and quite accurately too!

Despite the many knowledge gaps, the study of human odourprints have the scientific potential to diagnose common diseases in at-risk patients, identify criminals via “the smell of fear”, and even as a security ‘fingerprint’. There is still a long way to go before we get there, but the possibilities are exciting! In the meantime, hopefully you’re inspired to have better hygiene…

STUDENT LIFE

THE PERPLEXING ART OF RESILIENCE

Words// J Saw Design// Jack Birchmore

My initial plan was to write a thoroughly researched piece about martial arts, ancient philosophies and meditative techniques to improve resilience.

I had planned to be downright inspirational with cool quotes from Bruce Lee, “Be like water. When you pour water in a cup, it becomes the cup. When you pour water in a bottle, it becomes the bottle. When you pour water in a teapot, it becomes the teapot.”

I had planned to dazzle and wow with astounding statistics like “People that practice martial arts are 90% more likely to overcome adversity than the rest of the population.”

I had planned to mandate Bikram Yoga, “The mental health benefits are (just) too great to ignore. When you are comfortable in contorting your body into odd shapes and forms in 40-degree heat, your mind follows. This is resilience!”

Yet, for all my wise bravado and practical trainings, resilience has never unfolded this way for me. It has never been as ideal as breathing my troubles away. I have never retreated to secluded mountains to find Zen in times of catastrophe. I have never karate chopped life’s obstacles into smithereens.

For in my catastrophes, there has never been time to even react.

Everything happens so suddenly—and all at once.

In fact, my experiences have been more like a high-speed accident; one minute I am happily eating a kebab while cruising along the highway, and the next minute I am floating through the air, dumbfounded, headed into a rocky embankment.

Resilience, for me, is the aftermath; limping away from the collision, perplexed, now questioning how I managed to survive.

Last year, during those peculiar weeks of COVID-19 lockdown, was a perfect example.

At the beginning, it all seemed like a joke; the bloody media causing unnecessary panic again. Undisturbed, I went along with the COVID-19 narrative as if it were a surreal game—and that game being, of course, to combat middle-aged women for toilet paper. Yet, as usual, it was all fun and laughter until someone lost a proverbial eye.

After the lockdown hiatus, I returned to my casual labouring job to find the place desolated. Most of the staff had disappeared. Only two people remained—myself and Barry. As if we were the last two idiots on earth, we wondered if we had missed something.

Where did everyone go? Our boss told us the other boys had decided to move down south. It seemed very suspicious to us that for four grown men to make such a collective life decision, but it was none of our business.

Yet things just got weirder and weirder. Our boss, being the owner of the small business, had always been hands on. But now, he could never be seen. At the best of times, we could only contact him via text.

In the morning, we would arrive ready for work, but only arriving to find disappointing notes attached to the locked warehouse door: “No work this week boys—Covid has disrupted the material’s delivery,” or, “sorry, your wages won’t go through until further notice, Covid has disrupted payments”. Even more troubling, our boss had then started to send us to construction sites that never existed in the first place. Each time we would drive for long hours. Each time we would arrive at empty lots. And each time we would have nothing to do. Angered, confused and dismayed, we were uncertain about the situation.

On the one hand, we were pissed off that our boss might be gaslighting us. On the other, we wondered if our work performance had contributed to this punishment. Mixed in between, we were also genuinely worried for the guy; we didn’t know if he was losing his mind and imagining these phantom jobs. Nevertheless, we stuck around hoping things would get better. Meanwhile, back on campus…

I was starting to lose grip on the study front. Education reforms effectively wanted students to steer away from the Arts and Humanities to study the Sciences. In essence, it felt like a grave error to be an Arts student. As if my hard work and dedication were mistakes.

Instead of a bright future, my plans had turned into a catastrophe. Myriads of thoughts scattered in my head like shattered glass in a high-speed accident.

I questioned whether to continue with education. At least, according to the federal government, my course was useless.

I had lost faith in the university. Academics, people who dedicated lifetimes to education, were being axed by the same institute they served and upheld. If those with the highest level of education weren’t safe, what chance did a lowly undergraduate have?

I gained fear for the government. Ever disturbed, ever anxious, I imagined doomsday scenarios. This was every dystopian movie coming into reality. These were the early days of a brutal government conspiracy. Before long, the government would be forcing me into death matches for food rations.

I lost sleep. I didn’t eat. I wrote tragically bad poetry. And I may or may not have sent unsolicited emails to parliamentary figures.

AND THEN… JUST LIKE THAT, RESILIENCE APPEARED.

It wasn’t spectacular. It wasn’t grand. Tony Robbins didn’t waltz into my house and make me walk through fire and give me magical, divine or spiritual powers.

Resilience was as simple as spending some quality time with family and friends. Watching cartoons with my nephews. Shooting hoops with my mates. Having lunch with my sisters. Sharing a joke with dad.

The simple things put life back into perspective. Everything didn’t seem horrible anymore. All the negatives became manageable. I was on my merry journey again.

I got a haircut, ironed my clothes and went in search of a new job. I stopped watching dystopian films and relaxed on the government conspiracies for a while.

I got back into reading novels and poetry. Before long, I was back to appreciating the importance of culture, knowledge sharing and creativity. The Arts, contrary to the government’s opinion, was indeed a valuable pursuit.

And perhaps, I may have also walked through fire to gain magical powers from Tony Robbins.

Wrinkles& and RUBRICS Wrinkles RUBRICS

Words// Chris Hipwood

Illustration// Kayley Slater

The Centre for Aboriginal Studies garden at Curtin is a quiet corner on campus. The raucous laughter of the kookaburras interrupts the serenity from time to time, but today it’s Jenny, a mature-age student, whose laughter spikes the pulse of the usually sedate garden. “Haha, I just love these things,” says Jenny, leaning into a belly laugh triggered by a meme that satirises mature-age students. Jenny, 57, returned to studying in 2015. She is one of the mature-age students making their presence felt—carefully felt, in university classrooms across Australia. Carefully seems like the appropriate word because stepping into a classroom as a mature-age student is like running the gauntlet: a minefield of clichés and stereotypes where one wrong step could result in the collected harrumph of their younger peers, the school leavers. But when Jenny reflects on the age

gap between her and school leavers, the classroom’s major shareholder, it’s not a perilous crevasse she likens it to. “I would leave it up to them [school leavers] if they wanted to come and sit next to me, and I have never had any problems with any of these gorgeous young people. They have always been amazing.”

That said, there are pitfalls that Jenny has been en-garde to. “I don’t want to be the mumsy…I have to watch how I say things.” And that’s not the only booby-trap. Coming off as the self-appointed tribe leader and a know-it-all is a banana skin that many a mature-age student has come a cropper on, judging by the number of satirical memes on Google. That enthusiasm, which can be a point of difference between mature-age students and their younger peers, can be difficult to bridle. “I was 55, sitting in the Tim Winton lecture theatre [thinking] this is absolutely mind-blowing. And then to see

“Shouldn’t she be home knitting?"

“Who’s this old bat and what’s she doing here?"

younger students texting. Some of them saying, “I’m only here because my mum and dad said I had to come to uni,” said Jenny.

Studying for the joy of it, like Jenny, rather than for a career, is a common difference between mature-age students and school leavers. Jacquie, 72, sees this as a blessing.

“I’m here for the enjoyment of it. I’m not being forced to come here by my parents; I’m not sweating that I’ve got to finish because I’ve got to get a good job. I’m just here to learn and have a good time.”

Jacquie enjoys a freedom not afforded to her younger peers, which could be mistaken for a devil-may-care attitude. Though she qualified

for the old-age pension six years ago, she hasn’t lost her work ethic and resilience.

Jacquie picks over her childhood while the song Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey carries down the embankment to the table she’s sitting at. But perhaps Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger might be a more fitting soundtrack.

“I was born just after the Second World War in the U.K. We were very poor, and education was pushed in my family all the time—relentlessly. It was drilled into me that the only way you could better yourself was through education.”

AFRO CREATIVES

MAKING A DIFFERENCE IN THE BOORLOO MUSIC

Words// Mohammed ‘Ayo Busari’ Illustrations// Isabel Huizen Design// Nina Dakin

It has been exactly seventeen months since I first arrived in Boorloo (Perth), and the lack of recognition for Afro creatives in the music scene still doesn't sit right with me.

I came to Boorloo from Lagos just a few months before the COVID-19 pandemic swept across the globe. During the extensive lockdowns, I spent countless hours searching for fellow Afro creatives in the music scene to limited success. Attempting to find and identify the music community here in Boorloo was tough. It wasn't until eight months later that I gradually began to make acquaintances with some creatives––only happening after the lockdowns eased.

As a student with an African background, it can be hard to come across local creatives with similar cultural and national ties that produce African themed and focused projects. You might be new to WA and––as an appreciator of African music, art, dance, culture and creativity–– find it difficult to discover the Boorloo scene and the creatives making noise. Because, whilst WA is accepting of different cultures and communities, African creativity has always seemed to get lost in the big state.

There is a shortage of events promoting the heritage and culture of Africa in Boorloo. Audiences are exclusively exposed to the sounds of big African

superstars such as Davido, Burna Boy, Sauti Sol, Focalistic, Wizkid and Blaq Diamond––none of whom are based in Australia.

So, what happens to our local African artists right here? When do they get to shine? From my experiences, the only time when WA African artists’ songs get played is during events curated by fellow African creatives like gigs and projects curated for Africans.

Despite limits on the number of events curated by and featuring African creativity here in WA, I appreciate the effort put together in successfully creating events for African music lovers like myself. As a masters student, these curated events are the perfect opportunity to take a day off academics and have a fun night out with my mates. I can shrug off the week and vibe to new sounds that inspire and push me as an upcoming DJ and producer to keep mixing and making African music. Knowing there is an audience appreciating the music I play and the projects I work on makes me feel supported and promotes Boorloo as a hub of African talent.

Here is a list of diverse African creatives making a name for themselves in the Boorloo music scene with their unique, artistic backgrounds. Regardless of the music scene, they have found themselves in, they promote resilience as they put African talent on the map.

Adrian Nzvuke

Adrian Nzvuke is a Boorloo-based singer-songwriter known for his soulful mixture of R&B and Pop with a fusion of Afrobeats. Audiences can only watch mesmerised by the raw talent that Nzvuke brings wherever he is performing––either at home, in the studio, or on stage with his band. Nzvuke is steadily refreshing the Boorloo music scene, gaining fans with every show and new release. Nzvuke has played Groovin The Moo, WAMFest, KicksART Festival and Wave Rock Weekender, having enjoyed support slots for POND, Kevin Parker (Tame Impala), San Cisco, Stella Donnelly, Winston Surfshirt & Triple One.

Anesu

Born in Zimbabwe and raised in Boorloo, Anesu is an up-and-coming performer, producer and DJ, known for their catchy R&B melodies, political raps, writing style and vocal versatility. Their musical style is a fusion of Hip-Hop, Reggae and Soul. Anesu draws influences from both those worlds. Influenced by the likes of Lauryn Hill, Kehlani, Sampa The Great & Frank Ocean, music for them is just another outlet to express their most vulnerable self, without fear of judgment. The multi-talented performer is also an activist striving for the visibility of fellow queer people of colour, using their various crafts to empower

Arno Faraji

The Zimbabwean-born rapper and producer was introduced to early Hip-Hop and R&B by his sister at a young age. Since then, his interest in Hip-Hop has grown, and now he is an essential act in Boorloo's bustling Hip-Hop scene and at the forefront of a nationwide Rap explosion. Musically, Faraji is heavily inspired by Hip-Hop sounds, using his influence and charm to elevate his craft and take himself to the next level. His raps, productions and vocals are focused and smooth. His versatility, strength and ability to triumph regardless of what sound he is on or who he is collaborating with makes him stand out as a frontrunner amongst his peers.

DJ Sara T

DJ Sara T is an Ethio-Australian DJ and Producer dominating the Boorloo underground music and dance scene through her experimental sweet electronic sounds and production mix of 90s House and Garage music. In a scene traditionally dominated by men, Sara T continues making a name for herself with her beautiful sets that leave the crowd wanting her for more. She has produced several tracks, with Flybeam catching the attention of the public. Her tracks are known for making you feel like you are in a never-ending dream that brings you peace of mind and cheers your spirit.

DJ Sepsaay

DJ Sepsaay, aka Mamapiano, is a Boorloo-based DJ changing the game for herself and her peers in the African community as a queen of the Amapiano genre. Mamapiano’s goal is to push the Boorloo music scene onwards to better reflect and uphold her community. Her events and mixes focus on honouring and centering marginalised communities, giving them a safe space within the arts and music scene to exist and thrive in a culturally diverse atmosphere. Mamapiano is all about weaving genres together––which she does with total ease––to keep you grooving all day and all night, from your head to your toes.

Kuda Mic

Kuda Mic is a Zimbabwean recording artist bringing listeners a versatile Afro-Aussie, Hip-Hop style with his raps and performances. He is known for giving the Boorloo music community memorable live shows, one after the other. An exceptional artist who is clever and creative with his wordplay and catchy flows, Kuda Mic keeps experimenting with different sounds and pushing boundaries. So far, he has bagged stage time at Boorloo's popular Hip-Hop events––Raparound and Rap Life. He has also led and helped curate a 'Spoken Word' showcase at the 2021 Perth Festival. It is safe to say that there will be no slowing down for Kuda Mic.

poetry slams. She continues to seek opportunities to bring Bla(c)k women together to gather, share experiences and share their crafts and passion, celebrating life itself.

Mubanga

Mubanga is a Boorloo-based contemporary Afro-fusion dance instructor, choreographer and performer that grew up in Zambia. He is well known in the Afro-fusion dance community for teaching local classes in Boorloo since 2016. He is a well-loved leader in the African Australian community due to the numerous projects and events he has managed and executed here in Boorloo. Through his weekly classes, Mubanga nurtures and supports his students as they develop their skills. He is dedicated to fostering young dancers and helping with the promotion of health and wellness through physical education. With his dance community platform, he helps promote African music and make it more accessible to a wider audience.

NOTHING BETTER THAN

TAYLOR SWIFT’S RERECORDING

REVENGE

Two white horses, steered by a coachman in a tan cowboy hat, pull a lavish Cinderella carriage down the bustling avenue. Their trots halt outside Radio City Music Hall in New York City, where a waiting crowd roars at the emergence of curly blonde hair and a silver sequin gown. An extravagant entrance to the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards, courtesy of Taylor Swift.

Later in the evening, Swift goes on to win the Best Female Music Video category for You Belong With Me. Mid acceptance speech, Kanye West grabs the microphone from a shocked Swift. He launches into the infamous rant, feverishly claiming R&B artist Beyoncé should have won instead; a 32-year-old seasoned singer snatching the spotlight from a 19-year-old country newbie and humiliating her on a global broadcast. The crowd breaks out in a chorus of boos and, judging from the disheartened look worn by Swift, she thinks it’s directed at her.

Seven years later West released Famous. Featuring a crude line about Swift, the song insinuates that West’s actions at the 2009 MTV VMAs were the catalyst for her global popularity. Swift publicly voiced her disapproval of the degradation of her hard work and success. To discredit her, West’s

Words// Tessa Covich Design// Joaquin Atizado

wife, Kim Kardashian-West, leaked a phone call of Swift cautiously permitting a line about her to be used.

Swift was now the villain, branded a histrionic liar who revelled in creating drama.

Propelled by constant media coverage, the public lapped up her perceived downfall. Those that did not like her music––or just her––had justification to gleefully drag her down. The hashtag #TaylorSwiftIsOverParty began trending on Twitter. Her ‘long’ list of ex-boyfriends, disingenuous character and annoying victim mentality was constantly ruminated, leading to vicious commentary. Slut-shamed and slandered, Swift had brought the attack upon herself, according to the public.

was forgotten that Swift, a young girl at the time, was the victim of a notorious and selfish Kanye West outburst, and her

THERE’S

It

THERE MUST BE SOMETHING CATHARTIC ABOUT WATCHING A SUCCESSFUL WOMAN FAIL.

undesirable character traits were created by distorted media reports. It evolved into a case of tall poppy syndrome-the public needed to criticise and cut Swift down to size.

In 2020 the full transcript of the phone call was leaked. Swift had not agreed to the degrading line; Kim Kardashian’s evidence was fake. However, she had already made diamonds out of the dirt––her consequent Reputation tour became the highestgrossing tour in the United States. There was no denying Taylor Swift had singlehandedly earned her fame.

Lyrical allusions to a childish West and other celebrity feuds lessened with each passing album as Swift entered her next era of music––and of growth.

Her remaining foe is Scooter Braun, manager to the likes of Justin Bieber and Ariana Grande.

As Swift’s six-album deal with music label Big Machine was met and her move to Republic established, Big Machine was sold. Braun purchased the company, giving him control over the master rights to Swift’s first

"HER REMAINING FOE IS SCOOTER BRAUN, MANAGER TO THE LIKES OF JUSTIN BIEBER AND ARIANA GRANDE."

MUSIC

six albums––a music catalogue spanning 2006 to 2017. Swift has stated she was not consulted about these proceedings. Braun eventually sold Big Machine to private equity firm, Shamrock Holdings, in 2020 for an estimated $385 million.

Swift is no longer profiting off her prior work. But because there is nothing better than revenge, Swift announced in 2019 the plan to re-record the six albums, allowed under the stipulated master agreement.

Re-recording due to record label switching was first done in the 1960s by Frank Sinatra and rock duo, The Everly Brothers. It is still unprecedented and attempted more by male singers, though this latest move is hardly surprising with Swift’s evident determination to own her narrative.

Money is not the catalyst for Swift’s rerecordings. She has been vocal about her desire for ownership. She is taking charge of her music career, just as she took charge of her reputation in the aftermath of the West feud. Her constant push for control sends tremors through the music industry. It gives hope for other female singers to have authority over their musical ambitions, like Kesha––who has been in a legal battle with her former producer, Dr Luke, for over five years. As a passionate advocate for female empowerment and equality, appearant in her documentary Miss Americana, there was never a doubt that Swift would turn this situation in her favour.

Swift has truly grasped onto her fearlessness for this re-recording endeavour. She gambled on the success of her old work, sending it into our current climate where it is all about the new.

As Swift herself noted in Miss Americana, female pop stars seem to have a finite amount of time before public interest and their career plummets. Many remedy this by constantly reinventing their sound and look, like Madonna or Miley Cyrus; if you are not interesting, you are not valuable. Curating image is such an important factor in the success and marketing of a female singer. In comparison, male pop singers can remain nearly unchanged in style and still be relevant. Ed Sheeran is still in baggy jeans, totting around his guitar a decade after his public debut.

Her first re-release, Fearless (Taylor’s Version), mimics the original almost entirely, apart from the six newly released From The Vault songs from within the era and the track from the Valentine’s Day film soundtrack. This album is more polished, with improved vocals, lyric adjustments and crisper instrumentals.

When first plugging my headphones in and pressing play on the title track, I was greeted with familiar gentle guitar strums, enveloping me in an anthropomorphic hug. A memory floated to the forefront of my mind, of my younger self belting out in my best country twang, ‘with you I’d dance in a storm in my best dress––fearless!’ There is an overarching sense of comfort and courageousness that builds throughout the album. These re-releases are intrinsically nostalgic, reinvigorating the emotional attachment for listeners. Her fan base stuck with her during her tribulations and ensured Swift’s re-recorded album would succeed.

Swift reveals her authentic self through her music. The narratives of first love and teenage highs and lows invited young listeners back in 2008 to connect and join Swift on her adolescent journey, just as I gave it my all to Love Story on SingStar and longed for that fairytale romance. The fact that Swift is now in her thirties does nothing to hinder the impact. When a teenage Swift was telling other teens that boys won’t always treat you right, it struck a chord. An older Swift will still tell you that boys won’t always treat you right, but this time there are broader implications: they will be in the bedroom and the boardroom. I will happily award her role model status, considering how she inspires those in and out of the music industry. With five more re-releases expected, Swift continues to redefine the music industry and the experience of female artists. Swift

has transformed the petty actions of fellow singers and the discriminatory treatment by music higher-ups into successful diaristic music, leaving a lasting legacy.

I hope Braun and West are enjoying their tarnished piles of money, while Swift is out masterfully reclaiming her life’s work.

"AN OLDER SWIFT WILL STILL TELL YOU THAT BOYS WON’T ALWAYS TREAT YOU RIGHT, BUT THIS TIME THERE ARE BROADER IMPLICATIONS: THEY WILL BE IN THE BEDROOM AND THE BOARDROOM".

To me, being resilient sounds daunting. The notion of resilience, of a person who is capable of adapting and recovering from change or adversity, feels like a word reserved for superheroes who face impossible odds. Resilience feels hyperbolic, a hyper-real characteristic that people say they are but can never truly be because you’ve never experienced the worst of the worst. When I think about what I experienced last year, the year that we can all agree was horrific for multiple reasons, the word resilient feels inaccurate. I liken my experiences to that of elastic - a constant pull and reform. Instead of life being an ebb and flow of possibility and adventure it became a test of endurance.

Words// Jennifer Maxwell Design// Pei Wen Lim

Not getting a job straight out of uni - pull. Feeling trapped in my own home - pull. Overwhelming emotions of inadequacy and hopelessness that rendered me incapable of doing anything - pull.

I was a strip of sticky tape stuck to itself; an indent of an erased drawing; a knocked-over toilet roll that has been hastily refurled into a white mess. I became infamiliar* to myself— recognisable, yet different. This almost indescribable feeling, this all-consuming emotion that drained me completely of life, was loss.

Last year the world fell into isolation, and in response I wrapped myself in a blanket burrito and laid in my failure.I felt useless, unworthy and unable to fight against it.

I ate my emotions with a side of existentialism and swallowed it all down with a glass of self-doubt. My purpose in life was lost to me, and I felt the pain of its departure.

For as long as I could remember, I was a career-focussed fiend that prided themselves on their intelligence and drive towards success. Once that was taken away from me, I forgot who I was.

I turned to creativity, to sewing, drawing, writing, embroidering. It wasn’t enough. I turned to my immediate family, to my father, for solidarity. He wasn’t enough. I turned to my past, to my achievements to prove that I am still that idealistic girl that dreamed of a brighter future. She wasn’t enough. The thing that drove me, that motivated me and inspired me was gone, and to this day I continue to grieve that loss: the loss of the person that I was.

The person I am now isn’t the person that I had expected to be. I feel as if I’ve aged five years over the span of one. I’m far more frightened of the world than I was before, but I’m carrying on. Even though I am still grieving something that I have tried to fathom into words, I’m becoming a better person. And that is the basis of elasticity: the ability to return to a natural shape after being stretched. Lockdown and isolation pulled and tugged pulled and pulled at my soul until it became unrecognisable to me, but slowly I am beginning to reform. Like an elastic band, every positive change I made helped reshape me.

Falling in love with a wonderfully beautiful girl and finally, proudly, accepting my sexuality - reform. Moving out of my family home that I lived in for 20 odd years and severing the toxicity of my father - reform. Starting a new degree that is completely different to my previous one but is something that I’ve always wanted to study - reform.

Covid-19 has affected everyone, there is no doubt about that. We have all experienced our own type of loss, one that influences each of us in different ways. Although the virus remains a persistent worry for all, we must remember that we are all elastic.

No matter how much we are pulled, stretched or tested, we will always reform. We cannot become the person we were before, that is impossible. But we will become better. All we need to do is persevere, adapt and accept change and, above all, stay hopeful.

*Note: infamiliar – the feeling that you’re distant from the thing that’s familiar. You’re able to recognise it, but it’s distorted and strange to you.

We will be okay again.

A tense pause fills the space between us. The air feels heavy, weighed down with the question. My hands clench and relax as I wait. I’m looking for an answer. Instead, I'm met with a glazed, deer-in-headlights expression. Behind their perturbed eyes, a cognitive battle is going down. The lines are being drawn between expectations and action. I know the turmoil they’re feeling, but I can’t find it in me to care. In the end, it’s just a question. They have two options.

Why is it so hard?

I get confused by recycling.

I know the reduce, reuse, recycle mantra. I know tissues should always go in the general waste bin. I know I need to get this stuff right. But when I stride past the array of colourful bins with their graphic stickers, I break; hovering over these complex containers with my empty single-use coffee cup in hand, absolutely puzzled. I sweat as people walk past me. My skin itches and my face feels tight. Their eyes drill into the back of my head.

Can I just put it in the regular bin? Are they judging my lack of reusable KeepCup? Have I been standing here too long?

Frantically I whip off the lid, tip the coffee dregs into the garden next to the bins, and place the cup – with its inner plastic seal – in the black general waste bin and the lid in the green recycling bin. Crisis averted, I mentally pat myself on the back and swagger off. Yeah, I can recycle.

According to a psychological theory and model crafted by Eric Rassin in 2007, we are naturally indecisive and fickle creatures who struggle with the paradox of choice. Unable to cope with the extensive offerings we receive in developed western countries, we find ourselves trapped in a vicious cycle of uncertainty and regret. Our mental capacity is overloaded, and we can’t keep up with alternatives the hungry capitalist machine pumps out. New is replaced by the new until new isn’t even a meaningful descriptor. Our inability to make decisions is commoditised into goods that fill our lives with unnecessary stuff. Stuff we do not need. Stuff they know we do not need. Stuff our planet does not need.

Still, we consume. Leaving us with more decisions and stressful encounters with the colourful recycling bins.

I find my choices linger with me well past their decision. Like an ellipsis, they suggest a continuation or the removal of material and irrelevant thought patterns. My choices stay with me, but I also use them to hide aspects of myself. Sometimes I conceal things in surveys. Painting myself in a shiny gloss that does not necessarily reflect the true me. On paper, I'm a good civic citizen who is environmentally responsible and conscientious. I strongly agree that I care about the environment and make significant efforts to live a sustainable life. Yet, beneath the veneer, I still accidentally recycle my pizza boxes (you can’t separate the grease from the fibres), purchase single-use plastic bags at the supermarket, and drive to my university when I could easily take public transport. These choices seem inconsequential, but they are not. We are told they are not. We know they are not.

The carbon footprint concept was first invented in the early 1990s by Canadian ecologist William Reese and Swiss-born planner Mathias Wackernagel. We like things we can measure, and the carbon footprint gives us a way to calculate the carbon dioxide (CO2) emissions of an individual or singular entity. Carbon footprint became a buzzword; a badge of honour.

Words// Katelyn Clark Design// Bailey Walker

I first became aware of my carbon footprint in 2013 during my Year 7 Tuesday morning science class. Taught by Mrs Cahoone – affectionately known as Mrs Cocoon – I was given a photocopied worksheet with a list of multiple-choice questions. Your selected answers corresponded with the number of kilograms of carbon dioxide emissions that specific activity released per year, be it catching the bus or walking to school. I pencilled in my answers using a sharp HB, and I remember the shock when my answer was totalled. The number glared at me from the page in my looping handwriting; I felt a hush settle over the class. The responsibility of the world's resurrection now rested on our small shoulders. A responsibility we hadn’t asked for but had regardless been given. The pressure of this responsibility has curved my shoulders, bowed over disproportionately from the weight I now carry every day.

They are beginning to reanimate in small increments. A brow wrinkles. A head tilts. The confused expression melts. Possible answers sluggishly pass behind their inner eye. I can predict their response.

They give me a small smile, ‘Okay. I know it’s bad…’

At least they didn’t try the turtle joke.

I go about my life with the expectations of others hovering in the background. According to leading sustainability scholars such as Paolo Antonetti and Stan Maklan in 2014, social and environmental pressures have been steadily influencing consumer decisions over the last 40 years. Pervasive pressure enforced by society has restored the expectation of sustainable living. It’s uncool and inconsiderate to engage in unsustainable behaviour, and the guilt can be all-consuming if publicly shamed.

straw?’

My friend gazes at me as she pulls out her rainbow utensil from the depths of her tan handbag. Pushing it into the drink with an annoying screech, her long sip taunts me.

Taking the plastic straw from the dispenser, I look back, ‘Um, no?’

Walking away, the crowd's eyes are on me again as I try to inconspicuously sip from my plastic straw. The shame is following me.

The desire to appease and conform to expectations is high. Yet, we cannot always meet these expectations. To share in any sustainability wrong-doing, consumers seek a confidant. By conspiratorially whispering ‘everyone thinks they are just so terrible', they want to invite me into their decision so they are not alone. We’re social creatures, we don’t want to be alone. We want someone to agree with us, validate our decision, and share in the shame.

When I grab a plastic straw, I imagine them picking one with me, and the guilt melts away.

Launching into a passionate tirade on the inadequacies of the options, they patiently wait for my approval.

Plastering on my service smile, I release an artificial laugh and agree in a high-pitched tone. Things I don’t mean escape me, like how paper straws always turn into Papier-Mâché – an overused joke I’m sick of saying.

‘I know!’ they gleefully reply.

I’ve made their day.

‘You don’t have your own metal

By agreeing with their opinion, I’ve subconsciously given them permission to skirt societal expectations and go for the unsustainable option. They can leave feeling guilt-free because their views have been validated.

The increase in their carbon footprint will be inconsequential following this interaction as I’ve given permission. It’s a permission I’m tired of handing out. We should not need subconscious permission from others to make decisions. The paradox of choice should not prevent us from reaching satisfactory resolutions.

But they still haven’t answered my question.

‘Paper or plastic straw?’

LONG-DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP

Words// Anika Donnison Design// Nina Dakin

Kintsugi is a Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted with gold, silver or platinum. It’s always been something I remembered, something people could relate to their mental health, grief, or body dysmorphia. But somehow, I see the gold spread through my relationship. Every lethal crack smoothed and precious. In the end, making it far more beautiful than before, at least in my opinion.

Let me explain.

Whenever I kiss my partner, he tastes like a hundred ‘I miss you’. Each hug a desperate clasp from a hundred kilometres away. Each laugh traced with faded hesitance.

Missing someone is a distinct development within an individual. It starts in your chest. The longing, the aching, the pressure. As time moves on, it spreads, moving to your stomach until food seems dissatisfying. Then to your legs, until moving seems unnecessary. Then your arms, until lifting them to type becomes strenuous.

Finally, your head is consumed; until nothing but thoughts of them muddle through the mess of jumbled thoughts and puzzle piece dreams.

This is a terrifying way to say long-distance relationships are hard.

He’s not there when I need him.

But I’m not there when he needs me.

Although long-distance works for some people, I never wanted it. I purposely went out of my way to ensure it never happened.

Yet sometimes. . .

I sit in my bed. On my twentieth birthday, my partner was just a face on my laptop screen. A wide smile trying to pull my sad shoulders off the floor. Due to lockdown, he was unable to celebrate my birthday with me, instead, we were separated by the distance of a pandemic.

That was when I started seeing the severity of the cracks. I had noticed them before, but suddenly I could see them. Looking at his ridiculous smile, poking his tongue out at me; I realised I needed to cover these cracks. As aggressive as they were, I attempted to pretend they didn’t exist, or that they were normal.

We tried our best. Each visit to each other was another mark on our calendars. No matter how hard our week or month had been, we could rely on seeing each other.

I was desperate to fix it. Our pottery was so precious beforehand. But sometimes you stumble, and I have always been clumsy.

It’s hard. It’s one of the hardest things I have ever done. I learnt a lot. Still, to this day I am constantly learning. Having a long-distance relationship isn’t

something new. But I met him before lockdowns and restrictions became a particular nuisance. We were an hour and a half away from each other, separated by two highways.

The hardest part was the fact that we lived in different regions. When restrictions happened there was little compassion for us, we were locked away from each other.

The dynamic changes between you and your partner when you decide that it is worth the distance.

There was one moment that made me realise it was all worth it. He sat across from me in the pub. His button-up shirt tightened a little as he leaned forward and grabbed my hands. He was handsome. He had grown so much in the past year. Sometimes I felt left behind. But while we walked along this path, he never left without me. He always waited whenever I stumbled, allowing me to pick myself up to learn and be independent, but not leaving without me. Always cheering me on.

That was the moment. When the rowdy pub suddenly became the quietest place in the world, he was there. Holding my hands. During restrictions, I always missed the simple presence and certainty of him. Sometimes he felt more like a daydream; like a wisp of mist, I was desperately trying to catch—to hold.

It was always the simplest thing I missed. His arms desperately holding on in fear of being ripped off. It

...THE DISCUSSION THAT ALWAYS HIT ME THE HARDEST WAS WHETHER LOVE IS A FEELING OR A CHOICE.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

left scars. Like the ones, octopuses would leave on your arms.

These cracks caused many conversations. I won’t lie, we did discuss whether this relationship would be practical and healthy for us.

But we mixed the lacquer. We let the gold shine through.

Our broken pottery relationship was shattered on the floor as we looked down upon it.

The discussion about love has always been prevalent, the discussion that always hit me the hardest was whether love is a feeling or a choice.

I have concluded that it is a choice, in my experience.

Because as I looked theoretically at our cracked pottery like a child looking down in hopes their parents won’t notice, I made the conscious choice to start reattaching those cracks with the gold-laced lacquer. It was still scratched, brittle and broken, but through it all, you could see the beauty.

Sometimes in love, you must look at all those broken pieces and decide whether it is worth salvaging, or whether you pack up and start looking for another.

The pandemic wasn’t easy in the slightest, but I have never been more grateful for the man I met at the beginning.

I don’t pretend that our relationship is in the slightest perfect, or even close. But the best part of Kintsugi is that you can still see those cracks that appeared, but you also see the growth. Forgiveness is moulded in so that you can always remember that you chose each other.

And that is beautiful.

Choose your persona, Rick Grimes, Robert Neville—Max Rockatansky.

Choose everyman for himself.

Choose a long-range petrol tank—

Choose toilet rolls—ammunition—Ventalin

Choose a diet of non-perishable goods and bottled water— Choose who you’ll eat first

Choose a Colt Python .357 Magnum

Choose man’s best friend, structure and triple-redundancy. Choose beyond Thunderdome.

Choose to tap out early.

Choose to take comfort from the thought that you weren’t such a bad bloke.

Choose not to make a fuss.

Choose to leave everything to your cat—including your cat.

Choose eight loved ones to comprise your cortege. Choose to go quietly into that good night.

Words// Chris Hipwood Design// Garreth Bennett

Choose to be the fifth guy in the elevator. Choose 1.4 metres—

Choose to be that prick because some armchair-epidemiologist told you it’s all a load of bollocks.

Choose to know more than the World Health Organisation. Choose to ram your unsolicited rhetoric down everyone’s throats— Choose to know that you know best.

Choose to rally round.

Choose to always look on the bright side.

Choose to check on Doris, the old lady next door. Choose to put a teddy bear in your window— and one in Doris’s window too.

Choose to knit facemasks for frontline workers at Great Ormond Street.

Choose to take the expert’s advice over the pundit’s.

Choose to ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country.

Choose hysteria because your hair salon’s closed.

Choose to lament the collapse of the injectables market as the world is brought to its knees.

Choose to play out your vacuous life through an endless pantomime of histrionic social media posts.

Choose a diet of junk values and a veneer of tat.

Choose a novelty Zoom background. Choose to drink on the job because it feels good and because you can. Choose to make your Internet service provider to scapegoat for you being a lazy bastard.

Choose ‘skip-intro’—choose one more episode— choose one more—choose another.

Choose to do it to m o r r o w.

Choose your future.

CLOSURE

This is thy final piece of closure right now, the exposure of thyself might seem unsure but thou accept thyself with composure.

Life is comfortable, Thou can never be hateful cos now thou realises and is able to understand and be peaceful.

Took a year to come to terms with us, Difficulty to keep moving with a broken bus, We could never really remove the dusts from ourselves. We could never again be us.

It’s time to set thyself free, the journey continues now. Love and affection always, till we meet again old love.

Words// Mohammed 'Ayo Busari' Illustration// Amanda Teo

RAINY DAYS

On rainy days I sit at home and stare out the window alone waiting for brighter days to come, meditating on the golden sun.

But the clouds grow thicker as the sky gets dark, and the distance between us feels farther apart.

I’ll close my eyes and pray tonight for sunlight to break the grip of night but when I wake it’s raining still, storm clouds carried far over the hill.

Darkness now clouds my mind and I feel as though I’m out of time my eyes see grey and so I pray for another pretty, sunny day.

It dawned on me then that storms aren’t forever It’s in our nature for us to endeavor so don’t sit and wait for the clouds to part go and make your own sunshine and escape from the dark.

Words// Duncan Bailey Illustration// Gaby Ortiz

SHE IS

Most beautiful and giving, overzealous is her generosity to others.

Thoughts only filled with selfish desires for himself, acting as he pleases. Everything she gives him, he returns nothing but pain. Nuances of what made her once so beautiful gnawed at as days pass, appeasing to his every abuse.

The futile demands forever growing, but she unconditionally provides, even when bruised and battered. Reluctant to give up, though she knows it’s killing her.

Everywhere she is – here, to what is left.

Words// Nicholas Poynton Illustration// Nina Dakin

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