Editorial The following publication is a collection of visual and written narratives that tell stories of betrayal. Beyond a focus on betrayal, each contributor has explored themes that relate to the experience of coming of age and transitioning into adulthood.
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GROWING UP Expectations fade away as we grow to learn the reality of adulthood.
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EMPLOYMENT
MY (SHITBOX) CAR
MY FIRST LOVE
The perils of working in fast food chain store.
Only the top one percent can afford anything more than a piece of useless metal.
Falling in love too hard and too fast.
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RELATIONSHIPS
HEALTH AND FITNESS
MY BRAIN
And for some of us, it just keeps happening. Again and again.
When the pursuit of a healthy lifestyle becomes a health risk.
For many of us, our brain makes every day is a struggle.
01 “I want to become a pilot when I grow up!� was what I told my mum when I was young.
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My child self had an interesting fascination with flying. It didn’t matter if I was going to fly commercially or via the Air Force. As long as I was going to pilot a plane, life was good. Excessive watching of Top Gun might’ve influenced that ambitious goal. Obviously it’s not the case 15 years later but I was a kid in a privileged home. My parents loved me unconditionally; I felt like I had it all and that life was easy. My parents still care for me now, to which I’m very grateful and will of course pay them back one day. However, this isn’t the case.
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recalling it. After playing outside, I’d be on my computer playing video games or tuning in to the TV for afternoon cartoons (Voltron was usually aired).
Each childhood memory is like a channel you flick through with the remote. Placed in the deepest part of my brain within the vast emptiness of space is a TV box. Turn it on and there is noise amongst the images. The context can’t be described but you can see what’s happening. I attempt to remember the key memory to its full extent but the noise fades out and the screen becomes clear.
Birthdays were perfect for any five year olds. The whole extended family was there: aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins. I admired my grandparents greatly since they looked after me more than my parents (who were often away for work). Pretty much raised me in their house, which was my second home. I had my childhood in the Philippines until my family decided to migrate to Australia, encapsulating the time of my youth to now.
Having the time to play outside was the best thing in life as a kid. I would ride my board downhill next to my house. Wasn’t very good at it so I’d end up falling off and scraping my knees most of the time. That’s what I remember vividly. There’s a stinging sensation in my knee just
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I guess grandfather’s sickness took such a toll on my aunts & uncles that they forget to think about the simplest approach. Grandma argued so much with him that she got sick with stress. My mum would relay these stories to me while stricken with tears. Witnessing your mother cry wasn’t a good sight. We get sent pictures of grandpa’s health updates. He’s still wearing his smile, only now it’s tinged with frailty. All we can do now is to wait while trying to spend as much time as possible with him before he passes.
The last time I saw my grandparents was when they were still strong. I barely get to see them now, perhaps once every three to five years. We received messages from home that my grandpa was getting sick. Not like your average fever sick. It’s all his years of drinking & smoking that is finally catching up. With different kinds of diseases spreading throughout his body, doctors suggested numerous surgeries except it only delays the inevitable. Even if surgery were to happen, other diseases in his organs would’ve interfered. The medicine was always so expensive too. There were countless arguments raging over my family over where he should be placed since no one wanted to look after him.
What I’m trying to get at is that yes, growing up has betrayed me. It has taught me that the people I love will eventually die, with the same thing planted on me. My conclusion is to expect the worst.
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02 I was told to keep away. The stories I’d heard were horrible. But I was desperate.
Back in early 2013, I was a first year university student with no income. I needed to find a job urgently, so I tried applying. Morning to night, on public transport, whilst gaming, I applied everywhere. Except that’s where I fucked up. I was told by friends to keep away from the fast food industry since it scarred them mentally and physically. I brushed aside their pleas, “You guys are weak,” I said, not knowing the dangers of fast food restaurants, “all you do is make burgers, easy”. Never have I been so wrong.
line, I couldn’t help but smile. There were no words to describe the happiness I felt during that moment. Finally, after 17 years of not contributing to society, I caught my first gig. But that euphoria didn’t last long though. A quick rundown of the store: my branch of Hungry Jacks was its own establishment next to a petrol station. This meant it was your typical chain with a drive-thru and party room, next to a bustling highway and within a suburb. That was the first strike, it was always busy. This is the part where employment fucking betrayed me.
After several weeks of email rejections, I received one from Hungry Jack’s. “Congratulations!” it read, “It is with great pleasure that we welcome you as a new crew member.” Reading that
The first few days of the job were intense. I was employed to work as a cook, so I had to memorise everything there was in the menu. It certainly wasn’t easy. 12
Whenever an order came up on screen I’d always ask for assistance because of how intricate and confusing the burgers were to make.
One instance, I was still wiping the bun toaster at 1am. With a manager growing bitter because of the time, I made haste with the job but felt an excruciating pain.
Given the fact that there was always a constant rush of customers ordering, I’d be under pressure most of the time because my managers and co-workers kept shouting their annoyance at my slow speed.
Unaware while wiping the sides my right hand found itself inside the toaster, causing second degree burns. All I felt the next few days was a terrible intense pain. My hand was wrapped to contain the bubbles of flowing pus that covered its entirety, including the fingers. Just like melted cheese, my skin had glued itself onto the toaster.
This would only aggravate me and cause me to disregard my own safety. Don’t get me started on work related injuries. There was this one time I worked a closing shift. The store stops business at 11pm but employees had to stay back to clean and prepare everything for the next day.
I was only able to use my left hand for the next three weeks until it healed. 14
I read into workplace injuries, I discovered that forty-six percent of recent burns victims say that the pressure from managers asking employees to work faster was the main reason for their burn injury [2].
The funny thing about Hungry Jack’s was that not everything was freshly made like you see on advertisements. Take the vegetables for example; they were sliced by the employees and laid prepared inside a tray and refrigerated until needed.
With that fact, I can safely conclude that managers are one of the main causes of injury. They’re why fast food employees hate their job.
You guessed it, another accident occurred to me revolving around that problem and it was entirely my fault. It was during a day shift, notably around the afternoon I had to prepare sliced tomatoes for the upcoming week.
It can be argued that injuries are a rite of passage for all of us but out of them all endured during my time at Hungry Jacks’, that burn will be seared in my memory for the rest of my life. 15
Now you see, we don’t slice the tomatoes using a knife like any other restaurant would.
the device. Blood started gushing out like a leaking pipe but to my shock, my thumb wasn’t sliced into twelve different pieces. Rather there were a few deep cuts, deep enough to see my bones. My finger had to be wrapped until I got to the emergency room.
We’d use this contraption which had 12 blades attached to it in order to cut the tomatoes evenly. You can obviously guess what eventually happened.
That incident still didn’t stop me from working there however, but I finally gave in my notice a year later when it clicked that we were being under paid.
Placing a tomato in its given slot in the contraption, I didn’t notice my left thumb within the slicing zone. I activated 18
03 It was a maroon Mitsubishi Verada 1994, with a one star safety rating [3].
to different places. The only noticeable thing was the paint job. It was peeling off on the front hood like a person with dandruff. It was only after a few months of driving that problems started to arise.
Ever since obtaining the license to drive solo, all I could think about was getting a car. I was a naĂŻve 16 year old with hardly any vehicle knowledge but anything was fine, so long as it got me from point A to B.
First problem was the air conditioner gradually getting weaker.
So, with no advice on how to inspect a car, I bought it with my own money. Listed for $500 from a private seller on Gumtree, it was a good deal at the time.
My car was a boiling piece of metal in summer; I was melting even with the windows rolled down. Contrasting with winter, where the lack of a heater nearly froze me to death.
Everything seemed okay, driving the car 20
Next issue was the car losing its strength - it was slower than usual after accelerating from a stop and that only got worse as months progressed.
It forced me to crank the steering hard towards the emergency lane. From there, I called NRMA road assistance to check out the problem and waited two hours for a tow truck to take it back home.
The slow speed became bearable the longer the car was driven. You’d think that slow acceleration was the last of my problems with the car. Nope. The power steering belt suddenly snapped out while I was driving on a highway, restricting me from turning or changing lanes.
Once everything was fixed, I was able to drive the car again. But of course, living up to its name of a shitbox, the car was slower than before with the battery going flat.
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Had to pay more money than the initial cost to keep fixing the damn car. The cherry on top after all repairs were done was that the car wouldn’t start up anymore. Had to call NRMA for another check over, only to be told that the engine was wiped out, making the car unable to be driven. Not believing them, I got different opinions on the state of the car with the answers being all the same. “The car is unsafe to drive and not road worthy. If the police pulled you over, there will be lots of defects pointed out.” That’s it. I didn’t have a car to drive since it was sent to the scrap yard. Worst investment I ever made.
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04 Angry tears are a feeling hurt, but simultaneously, also a feeling of exasperation. You feel like you’re just boiling with frustration. [4]
that well but I did know he was friends with that girl I saw so I decided to go, hoping she was going to be there...
It all started in senior high, I was 16 years old and had just started year 11. It was the first week of my new school; I was walking around, getting to know the place until I saw someone... we both made awkward eye contact and quickly looked away.
She was. We didn’t even get introduced to each other, we just started talking and playing games with each other. I don’t know what it was, but I could feel this connection between us like we were meant for each other.
She was beautiful, but I knew she was way out of my league and that I wouldn’t have a chance with her. So I thought.
I’m pretty sure she felt it too because no matter where I went, she would always end up by my side.
Some guy in my class was having a party and invited me, I didn’t know this guy 28
It was this weird feeling that I’ve never felt before with any girl, I don’t know how to explain it but it just felt right.
In the past month so many things have changed, the girl that I thought I would never have a chance with liked me. We were pretty much a couple without the name of boyfriend and girlfriend, we would go on dates, hangout at each others houses, hang after school and I would walk her home every day after school. I’ve never been so happy before, things were going great.
From then on, we started talking and hanging out at school and outside of school. We would message each other all day every day, spending multiple hours on the phone staying up till 3am. It was going better than great, we both confessed to each other that we had feelings but wanted to take things slow.
Until her Ex came back into the picture. This is the part where I get fucking betrayed. 31
For some reason she would still talk to her ex here and there and what made it worse is that he went the same school as us.
now. But I knew there was a problem. At school I was hearing rumors of them hooking up again and hanging out behind my back. I confronted her again but she kept denying it, until one day I caught her.
So one day when we were hanging out after school at the shops, she gets a text from someone asking to hang out. She tells me its one of her girl friends and they’re and they want to hangout.
Our school had this winter sleep out where students sleep at the school for one night. I told her I wasn’t going, but I arrived there late.
She gets up without saying bye and just leaves, at first I thought it was a bit weird and rude to just leave like that without saying bye to me, but I trusted her and ignored it.
Everyone was already spilt up in there own groups, I go around trying to find her, asking her friends if they’ve seen her. They told me they last saw her hanging out in a classroom with her ex.
As I’m walking around the shops with my friends I see her, walking around with her ex and a group of his mates.
I get really mad and start running to the classroom, as I open the door I see them sitting on a table about to make out. I push him off the table and am ready to beat the shit out of him, she holds me back and keeps repeating, “nothing happened”. I get so mad I start boiling up and get teary, this is called Angry tears. I just look at her heart broken and in disgust. Trying to hold my tears in.
I get really mad and cut but thought to myself to trust her enough to not do anything. Later that night I confronted her about it. We had a fight and she didn’t see the big deal about hanging out with him because they were just “friends”
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From that day on, I never talked to her or even looked at her again. At school I acted like she didn’t exist and that I was fine without her, but deep down I still loved her and was still so heart broken. I would try to keep myself busy to forget about her, like to go parties and drink and smoke but nothing helped. I was depressed and it took me months, no it took me a year to get over her completely. Until she left Australia to live somewhere else, deep down I still secretly had feelings for her but never told her. But this heartbreak taught me a lot, I learnt not to fall in love so quick and easy and to not get too attached to someone because they can betray you at anytime.
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05 At 17 years old, I learnt that relationships full of love are nothing. Nothing but a complete lie. Nothing but utter bullshit.
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I was 15 years old the first time. Nervous, geeky, pubescent; I fell face first. In love‌ with a gorgeously fucked up teenager and evidently, an asshole. It was my first relationship. The first time I was truly, madly, in love and truly, madly, betrayed. He injected feelings into me I didn’t know existed and sent flames running up my skin, with his featherless fingertips. He taught me why people feel the need to slice their own skin, he taught me irrational jealousy and he taught me what it felt like to lose a parent that was not my own.
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He taught me plenty of lessons, the most important being - how to be thrown away for someone else, without my own knowledge, and how the inside of a human body can feel like it has just shattered to a million tiny fragments. Cheated on. People who are too old to remember love told me lies like: “You’re only young, you’ll get over it” and “You’re so young, you don’t even know what love is”. But they only saw the tears of a teenager and didn’t see my lifeless body that sat on the bottom of the shower floor. They couldn’t hear the suicidal plans being made in my head of when and how, I was going to end my life. I guess they were right about one thing… I did get over it. Slowly but surely, four years later.
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At 15 years old, I learnt that people could drain the light out of you and leave nothing. Nothing but complete darkness.
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YOU'RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH. HE DOESNT LOVE YOU. HE DOESNT CARE ABOUT YOU. WHY ARE YOU WASTING YOUR TIME? YOU'RE REPLACEABLE. YOU'RE A WASTE OF SPACE. NO ONE WANTS YOU. YOU'RE GOING TO END UP ALONE. WHATS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU'RE CRAZY. YOU DESERVED IT. YOU'RE NOT WORTH IT. EVERYONE LEAVES YOU. ITS ALL YOU'R FAULT. YOURE OVER-REACTING. YOURE THE PROBLEM. YOU'RE NOT WORTHY OF HIM. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? CAN YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT? YOU SHOULD JUST KILL YOURSELF. WHATS THE POINT OF TRYING? YOU'RE SO STUPID. WHY DID YOU SAY THAT. NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE YOU. YOU'RE SO SELFISH. BITCH.. BITCH.
The most important lesson he taught me was that wounds that are healed, can be just as easily ripped open again and rubbed with words of salt like, ‘I don’t want to do this anymore,’ so out of the blue, a day before reassuring me with kisses and ‘I love you’.
I was 17 years old the third time. I was mature, intelligent and now untrusting and I wanted everything I wasn’t. He sewed me back up with a tender touch and words of affection. He taught me how to put myself back together. I taught him how to be confident and what it tastes like to have someone else’s lips on your own.
At 17 years old, I learnt that relationships full of love are nothing. Nothing but a complete lie. Nothing but utter bullshit.
He taught me who Stephen Curry was, what it was like to love another family and to believe in myself. 46
I was 20 years old the fifth time.
And I loved, I loved this one with all my heart, and he did not love me back but couldn’t let go.
I was educated, an adult and a deep thinker.
A constant push and pull, a chess game of head battling heart. He filled all the right places and ticked all the right boxes, but he didn’t love me.
He was quiet, shy and I knew he was hiding something. Like Alice in Wonderland, I grew curiouser and curious-er and tore his outer wall down brick, by brick. Like Humpty Dumpty, he was smashed into pieces in different areas and didn’t belong to anyone – except, soon enough me.
And I guess a relationship without love is what I wanted and wished for. But somehow I still felt betrayed. Betrayed by trust. Betrayed by men. Betrayed by love.
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At 20 years old, I learnt that the chemical formula for love is C8H11N02+C10H12N20 +C43H66N12O12S2. Dopamine, Serotonin and Oxytocin [5]. It can be easily manufactured in a lab, but overdosing on any of them can cause schizophrenia, extreme paranoia, and insanity. At 20 years old, I learnt that my serious of being alone is because of my constant need for someone to be with me, to constantly be in a relationship; and relationships only fucking betray me.
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BT
Dr. S Reiter Nepean Mental Health Centre. Level 2, Nepean Hospital, Kingswood 2747
Tiarney Baker
NAME: _____________________________________________ ADDRESS: __________________________________________ Leyra Teb St, Glenmore Park 23/03/2009 DATE: _____________________________________________ PRESCRIPTION/S:
- Melatonin (Insomnia & Night terrors) - Fluvoxamine (Anti-depressant) - Aripiprazole (Anti-Psychotic)
06 “Eating “correctly” can become a harmful obsession, one that causes a person to adopt rigid diets that eliminate crucial food groups, and cost them their overall health, personal relationships, and emotional well-being.” [6]
Naturally, the excess weight started to fall off. I might’ve stopped there, but I got a buzz every time the figure dropped on the scales. And while I saw the transformation in the number, I struggled to see a shrinking body in the mirror. An unhealthy complex was building, but I couldn’t know it.
It started at 65 kilos. I’d returned from a trip in South-East Asia with a bit of extra baggage around the belly and I was feeling pretty uncomfortable in my tightening clothes and self-conscious about my growing hips. So I began by cutting out the obvious offenders - junk food, beer, cigarettes. And pretty soon I was reading health magazines and food nutrition labels. I naively donated my money to health marketing buzz words like “superfood”, “whole” and “organic”. I bought a Fitbit and I joined a 24-hour gym.
I remember that at 62 kilos, I thought, “When I weigh 60 kilos, I will be happy.” And when I fell to 60 kilos, I decided, “When I weigh 58 kilos, I will be happy.” But at 58 kilos, I still insisted, “When I weigh 56 kilos, I will be happy.” 52
So when my progress on the scales slowed down, I turned to calorie restriction. It sped up again with a new ferocity.
Then, at 53 kilos I lost my period…
Hunger had become a gratifying sensation. And if ever I was especially hungry and succumbed to eating more than I was comfortable, I became really strung up.
I vaguely explained the situation to her, mentioning my dizziness and fatigue. The weigh-in and body measurements revealed my body mass index to be 18. “Borderline anorexic.”
Three months passed. Still no painters. I made an appointment with the doctor.
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I returned a week later. She looked at me with raised eyebrows and told me my blood results indicated my hormones to be dangerously low - that of a menopausal woman. Yes, now I was a 52 year old glamour granny trapped inside a 21 year old girl’s body. That’s why I was such a bitch all the time. She instructed me to put on weight three kilos. “Eat. Eat. Eat.” So I did. I snapped out of the calorie restriction. I ate more. I put on the three kilos. My period returned. However, completely unconsciously I slipped into another fixation around health that gave me a sense of ritual, control and fulfilment. I was eating more calories, yes. But I had started to monitor the macronutrients and micronutrients in the food I ate. I cut excessive fat, salt and refined sugar from my diet. I obsessively read nutrition labels and ingredient lists. I abstained from consuming artificial colours, flavours or preservatives. I recorded everything I ate on my phone. My addiction to exercise also grew. I didn’t know it, but I had become reliant on it to moderate my moods. And I continued to work out even when I was injured or sick. My period didn’t come back again.
I couldn’t say when I relaxed my grip. But as I did, life’s interruptions started to chip away at the wall I’d boxed myself up in. Cracks formed. Light filterd through. I began to glimpse a life I was missing.
Clean eating gave me a sense of gratification, esteem and spiritual fulfilment. So if I strayed from my commitment to food purity and relentless exercise — if I deviated by indulging in an oily meal or a couple of slices of bread — I compensated the next day with restriction and more exercise.
It wasn’t easy - it still isn’t easy - to shrug it off and carry on. My brain has been rewired by the experience. More complex than that though, I was attached to the thing I had become. I put so much of myself into it - my esteem, aspirations, spirituality.
Fearful of any interference with this regime, I avoided eating away from home, or even seeing friends if it clashed with my exercise routine.
It’s hard to let it go, because if you do, who might you be? And if you find the answer confronting, what mechanisms might you use instead to deal with it?
Trapped in an obsession, I began to feel that the beauty in my life had faded... *** 58
07 Humans are deliberate and logical creatures. Sure, maybe some people are, but I’m certainly not.
company, there is always a longing to be somewhere that you’re not.
How can I write something about an essential part of my being? You just do. You will yourself to do it and continue typing. So please, read on.
Then there are mental distractions. Important things need to be done but you’re arguing with your brain kind of distractions. You want to be somewhere or do something with your life? Oh no sorry, says the brain that’s perpetually distracted. It’s a constant battle with your brain when you know what to do to be successful (everyone has their own definition on being successful) but you just won’t do it.
There are a lot of distractions in this world. There are the physical outside distractions of nature. Pondering about the clear blue skies and the warmth of the sun while you’re stuck inside. Imagining the crashing waves of the beach while in reality, it’s the middle of winter. Whether you’re alone or with 60
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Why is that? Everyone else seems to be fine. Why am I the one sitting here staring at my computer screen, unable to type?
school, going to social outings, listening to music that enticed me and having my first romantic relationship. Where did my brain trip up?
Humans are rational. We like to analyse situations, weighing the pros and cons of what we’re faced with. Making us deliberate and logical creatures [7]. Sure, maybe some people are, but I’m certainly not (to an extent).
Could it have been the alcohol affecting my brain once I turned 18 (the legal age to drink here in Australia)? Or how about all the times I’ve hit my head by accident? Or what about the break up? Perhaps it’s a combination of all things negative that has happened and have now manifested stronger than ever as I’m emerging into a young adult.
There was nothing out of the ordinary with me growing up. I went through the usual things - making friends during
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fucking betrays me is when it comes time to health (food and exercise wise). I was a chubby kid and have since lost some of my roundness. Of course, it took many years to get to a healthy place that I’m happy with. Pushing myself to do morning runs and eating within certain times. An easy sounding habit that is annoying to maintain with a brain like mine. ‘Let’s not run today because it’s too cold’ versus ‘C’mon! A few more steps! Just do it!’
They’re all possible reasons for why my brain fucking betrayed me. Especially in social situations when I want to make new friends. I was okay in school; not the popular kid but not one studious enough to be bullied on. Now out in the real world, sometimes it’ll be difficult to approach someone and say, “Hi, you’re kind of cool and I’d like to be friends with you”.
Guess what I’m trying to get across is that my brain isn’t perfect and probably never will be. I’m still learning everyday how to talk with it but it’s going to take a while and I’m okay with that.
On some occasions, the sentence doesn’t even get as far as a simple “Hi”. Why, brain? Another situation my brain 65
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