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NOTES FOR SYDNEY
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It was a warning for me before I flew to Sydney. I knew it and carefully prepared myself for many bizarre experiences in Australia. But even getting myself ready for the vast differences in culture, nature and people of Sydney, I have still quite got it yet and what I mean by “it” here is mostly about my feelings. Living in a new country is not only about the challenge in how you can perceive and adapt to a new reality and culture but also about your freshly developed emotions which will often conflict with your past intimate sensibility.
Notes for Sydney will be my records of a peculiar Sydney through the eye of an Asian boy influenced by American culture. And it is for you, too. If you are also a stranger to Sydney, send me your notes for any unexceptional experience while living in this city.
Note 1: Christmas
Once I travelled to Strathfield. There is a little square near the train/bus stop in front of the plaza where they usually build a giant Christmas tree (of course, a fake plastic one). I was standing there, wearing a t-shirt, and watching the worker hang the star upon the top of the tree under the direct sunlight and 30 celsius degree heat of summer.
Although I have never lived in any western country or never been a Christian, all my ideas about Christmas were influenced by Hollywood movies and American music. They shaped many ideas in me about the family spirit of Christmas, which shared a similarity to the soul of Tet (Lunar New Year) in my country. Like the series of movies, Home Alone, a lonely and left-behind kid only wishes and craves for the warmth of family in the cold and snowy days was my earliest memory about Christmas when I was a kid watching them on HBO. Or listening to the cosy and mellow voice of Dean Martin or Bill Cosby, you can easily sense the feelings of a white Christmas.
But there was no “Jingle bell” playing around on that Strathfied’s square or any white snow falling on a summer Christmas. Instead, there were intense songs from the cicada, frenzied, calling for love.
Note 2: Lunar New Year
Lunar New Year or Tet is a major spring festival of many East Asia countries and people. It shares the same spirit of family gatherings with Christmas, and here in Sydney, they also share the same spirit.
The festival usually happens in the mid-summer in Sydney with the heat and dry
weather of sunny days and continues with a whole week of rains and thunderstorms. It is the opposite feeling from the cold and humid spring I went through for more than 25 years in my country. It creates more nostalgia for the spring festival when everyone dresses up in pretty winter clothes and traditional festive foods.
Fortunately, Sydney has a large Vietnamese community. You can easily find some traditional Vietnamese cuisines and enjoy the vibrant festive atmosphere in Bankstown or Cabramatta. However, it is one missing thing, which is the frisky music of Lunar New Year that was annoyingly playing everywhere (unlike any cosy songs from western countries). Still, you can only listen to the symphony of cicadas in Sydney here.
Note 3: Thursday blower
Sydney welcomes me by the irritating noise of a leaf blower waking me up after days of jetlag on a Thursday morning in Autumn. It might be familiar to western countries, but it was my first encounter with these awful machines. As a weekly cleaning service from the building manager, I know I have to suffer them at least once a week. And then during the city lockdowns, nobody could escape from it as everyone was stuck inside working or studying at home (yes, they still could go out to clear the leaves while you could not leave your room). It was common to hear the blowing over someone at a zoom meeting.
This is why I can understand that even the locals can not stand that irritating sound. Some people even question whether they intentionally make the blower so loud as an iconical sound while there are more advanced technologies to reduce the sound of vacuum cleaners.
Can we use another friendly and gentle method to clean just these falling “leaves”? Until then, I have to run away every Thursday with these leaf blowers screaming over my ears and realise that even the cicada’s melody is much better.
By Nam Do
THE TAKEOVER:
HOW ART IS INVITING US TO WALL STREET
“The economy” is a mechanism that eludes me. Stocks? Investments? I’ve always been comfortable with feeling excluded from the world of finance, partly because I simply don’t understand enough of it, and partly because I have an aversion to capitalism.
When my friend started investing her money into shares a while ago, I was simultaneously impressed by and opposed to it. The former because she understood “the economy” enough to participate in it, and the latter because I saw no reason to collaborate with the large stakeholders and ugly corporate giants.
In my head, “the economy” is a tall building filled with suited, white men, all of them corrupt, all of them greedy. I think of it as a place that prohibits equality, climate justice, democracy, and diversity. I blame capitalism for a lot of our problems while still actively participating in capitalism as a consumer and an employee with no alternative lifestyle at the ready for immediate use. In this sense, I suppose I feel let down by “the economy.”
Until! About a month ago, I was watching T.V. and during a commercial break, an advertisement for an online brokerage platform, Stake, showed. I usually hate commercials, but this ad? I could not get enough of it. Every time it popped up, I gave it all of my attention; I would go as far as to say I love this ad. I would go even further to say that I regard this ad as a piece of literature.
The campaign, called The Takeover, shows a cartoon character presenting a monologue as he breaks through the impenetrable financial landscape of New York. The black and white cartoon stylistically calls back to Fleischer animation (you know, like Popeye and stuff?) from the 1930s, alluding to the inaccessibility of the Wall Street world. The character’s poetic monologue is performed by Black Chakra, a prolific and powerful slam poet from Baltimore, and is dripping with witty, fierce lines. He describes the “makeover” of traditional finance as a place “where old things, wrinkly things, like president conventions and velvet ropes don’t matter anymore.” It is a makeover “without the suits…long overdue.”
As a campaign that is trying to broaden its customer base, The Takeover suavely speaks to young people like me who have no interest in “the economy.” It combines art with commerce (since when was that possible?) to advocate for accessibility and opportunity for anyone who isn’t a wealthy, white man. Suddenly, after feeling excluded from the financial world for so long, “Wall Street and the ASX [are] now at our fingertips.”
I think what struck me the most upon seeing this ad for the first time was its manifesto to transition “the economy” out of the filthy pockets of colonialism and patriarchy into a more contemporary and diverse demographic. Stake is claiming to be a “back door” to Wall Street, inviting those of us in who have been locked out for so long. We who feel
alert to society’s injustices are finally being directly addressed by “the economy,” encouraging us to interrogate their outdated systems. This interrogation of accessibility is facilitated by art and poetry. I feel seen, so to speak. The big bad machine called Capitalism finally sees me, not as a capitalist but as an advocate for change, an artist.
So if I love the ad so much, did I start using Stake? No. Do I want to transition into the mechanism of the economy if it is transitioning into a welcoming place for me? Theoretically, yes. The conviction of Black Chakra’s spoken word poem truly connected with me; I could chant lines like “This is a takeover, mobile, not hostile,” for weeks. But I would chant them simply because, as a writer, poetry is one of my first access points to politics. I don’t think I want to chant them because I want to literally invest my money in Wall Street.
Similarly, I feel empowered by the final words, “now we’re jumping the fences and walled gardens, ready to take our seat at the table,” and the visuals of the character walking down a long boardroom table in a colonnaded room, pissing off and scaring the ugly, greedy billionaires seated around him. This final scene activates a sense of pride and fight within me – us poets are barging through! But do I actually want to sit at the billionaires’ table? Do I truly want to rub shoulders with the suited men there? Even if I’m allowed into the colonnaded room wearing a crop-top and flip-flops, I don’t want to enter it just to sit with the men in suits. As we are hauntingly told by Elizabeth Warren, a U.S. senator, “If you don’t have a seat at the table, you’re probably on the menu.” I guess I don’t really want access to the “back door” of Wall Street; I don’t want to bring my folding chair there. Instead, I would prefer if “the economy” just relocated to a nice park, where I can build my own table.
So if I don’t want to actually transition into the world of finance and investment but I still feel prompted by the literature of Stake’s campaign to participate in the decolonisation of “the economy,” what should I do? Seeing my friend invest in shares certainly inspires a real-life example of the deconstruction of traditional financial conventions (she’s a nineteen-yearold nursing student) and I value that she is contributing fantastically to the “makeover” of commerce. But as I am still uncomfortable with participating in shareholding etc. for the pure sake of gaining profit, I think I have to refocus my financial action so that it benefits the things I value. Money is power, this I am sure of. Poetry is power, this I believe in.
In all honesty, I don’t know enough about the economic climate or bureaucracy to come to any certain conclusion or offer myself any concrete advice. But that, I think, is what makes The Takeover so impactful: despite my financial inexperience and ignorance, the ad challenged me to deeply consider “the economy” as an institution. The Takeover, like any successful piece of art, prompted me to ask questions about our society. The campaign confirms that art and literature truly have a large role in politics and economics, not just culture and philosophy.
If we want to transition to the table in “the economy,” or even takeover it, then I leave us with this question, posed by Black Canadian writer Robyn Maynard: “It’s really important that we ask, ‘what is that table oriented toward?’”
By Bruna Gomes
EASIER
We sit in our usual grassy spot next to the demountable classrooms. Pulling my skirt over my knees, I grab my lunch out of my backpack as the chatter turns from the boring maths class to something deeper.
“Do you guys ever wish you were white?”
The tension hits like a boulder. Looking down at our very “fascinating” lunches, we observe each other, avoiding eye contact. It happens to be one of the few times when the Caucasian kids aren’t sitting with us – we have full freedom to talk about a heavy subject like race, but still, we proceed with caution. I speak up.
“Well, from my perspective, it would be easier for me to get cast.” I’m a theatre kid – my eyes are set on the stars and nothing else. “If I wasn’t Asian, I’d get to be in more main roles.” Jane agrees. “I think that white kids get more opportunities in general.” Rose, who had moved from China to Australia during primary school, interjects: “I really do like being Chinese – it’s okay, but…”
“But it would be easier,” Lucy, who brought up the question, murmurs under her breath. After spending most of the conversation picking at our lunches, we look at one other, nodding slightly.
From my teens to my early twenties, I did a lot to make my life “easier”. I laughed along to casual racism, quietly moved carriages instead of confronting people, and spoke in a “whiter” tone during situations where I felt unsafe or uncomfortable. But I also put myself in a lot of positions where I ended up being the “token Asian person.” The people closest to me said that was a good thing – I was the sole representative of my community. Instead of feeling pride, I tucked my race away alongside my other insecurities, because it was easier to smile and laugh than recoil into a defence stance whenever something even mildly racist popped up.
The arts led to both the downfall and uprising of my love for my cultural identity. The industry manages to be simultaneously inclusive and exclusive at the same time. As I finished my first degree in backstage production, diversity in the arts peaked. A lot of effort was, and still is, taken to make sure that casts are diverse and that everyone has a chance to tell their story. But behind the red curtain, my noodle lunches were the joke of the day. It was then when I decided that despite my love for all things theatre, it wasn’t worth it. I didn’t venture too far off. Distancing myself from the work itself, I went to performances as an audience member and showed support by volunteering.
I was in a seat in the front row of a tiny box-like theatre in early 2019. An East Asian lady beelined towards me. Plonking herself down, she moved her handbag from her shoulder to her lap and dug for her phone. We sat for a few minutes in silence; solo theatre-goers sitting together in solidarity.
“What brings you here?” She peaks up at me from behind her steel-framed spectacles.
“Oh, just supporting.”
“My brother works backstage. I’m Em.”
“Ashleigh.”
As I attended more shows, the beelining kept happening. But I was the bee: and it was a game. Stepping into the dimly lit room, my eyes would skim the rows of seats for someone to talk to. Throughout this journey, I chatted with all kinds of people. Our small talk was always the same: we started with our reasonings for existing in the space that’d then turn to a chat about how our culture fits into the arts and theatre, and then we’d have some kind of deep discussion about “representation” or “authenticity.” After months of these conversations, an opportunity arose.
I was offered a spot in a mentorship program where I’d work closely with professionals in the media industry who identified as culturally diverse. The first session: as I introduced myself, I stuttered and shook.
Maria Tran, a Vietnamese filmmaker, martial artist, and the coolest person I’ve ever met, led the workshops. This program was the first time that I was in the majority. And that was weird. It was also weird that everyone else was so vocal about their ethnic identity, even confident about it. My own parents didn’t teach me any other language except English so I’d fit in – to them, there was always something to be ashamed of as a Chinese Malay descendent. These workshops were a saving grace: we learned how to make films about the good and bad in our communities. We talked about all kinds of racism in Australia. We didn’t just tolerate but embraced each other’s culture.
Maria’s big speech at that first mentoring session is something I always go back to, even today. It stung.
Why do we do that? Why do I do that?
Because it’s easier?
I’ve grown up hiding from confrontation. I’ve stuck to talking about the tricky topic of racism and race within my own community. I only celebrated culture when it was safe to do so. Yes, because it was easier. It’s easy to run away from things that scare us. As I ran further from the fear, I was lucky to be reeled back in by others. I have learned that I’m allowed to confront people who make me feel unsafe. I’m allowed to celebrate my culture without the rolling eyes and cruel laughter. I’m allowed to do whatever I want.
I have spent many years getting to know Maria as well as expanding my circles. I’ve even tiptoed my way back into a job in the arts. To be honest, I have become a bit of a pride monster when it comes to cultural identity. I never talk it down anymore, hide it or lie about my ancestry, I love to talk about the food I eat, the outfits I wear – even if I can’t pronounce the names.
Whilst my journey is one that many people shouldn’t need to go through, it’s brought me to a place where I accept my culture, I embrace it, I celebrate it – it’s something that’ll always be part of who I am.
By Ashleigh Ho
GREEN SEEMS SUS
SUSTAINABILITY: WHAT IS IT, WHY WE SHOULD DO IT AND HOW TO GET STARTED. AN INTRODUCTION BY THE MACQUARIE UNIVERSITY SUSTAINABILITY SOCIETY (“MUSS”)
You may have seen the sudden rise in labels like “eco-friendly”, or Insta influencers promoting a “sustainable lifestyle” and you’re a bit suspicious of this being just another marketing technique. So, what does it mean to be “sustainable”?
Sustainable: practices that cause little to no damage to the environment and are therefore able to continue for a long period of time.
Now you’re probably asking, what’s wrong with what I do now? What changes can I make to be more sustainable?
Fast Fashion
Being sustainable is largely about reducing your waste. An area usually not considered is the clothes we wear. In Australia, every 10 minutes, 15 tonnes of clothing and material waste is dumped. That is equivalent to 31 kilograms of clothing per person per year. The fast fashion industry is responsible for 10 per cent of CO2 emissions making it one of the highest polluting industries and Australians are the second largest consumers of textiles. It seems that we have the habit of buying cheap new clothes, wearing them for a season or two and then throwing them away rather than repurposing the material.
Ways we can change these habits:
Thrift shop It’s a great way to stop funding cheap manufacturing and you can find some great vintage fashion, not to mention that it’s much kinder on a student budget.
Hand-me-downs and borrowing Whilst donating to Vinnies may relieve the guilt of passing on perfectly fine clothes, only 15% of donated clothes actually see shop shelves again. Instead, pass on your clothes to siblings, cousins and friends and vice versa borrow and adopt clothes from those you know.
Mending and Rags If the garment has a tear, try to mend it, if it’s too far gone, add it to the rag basket. Rather than contributing to landfill, you can extend the life of your clothes
and then use them as rags around the house instead. This way we properly use up the full capability of the material.
Food consumption
Stay calm, don’t freak out! I’m not about to tell you to go vegan. We’re all about baby steps here.
Food consumption has two elements to it – the food we choose to consume and the food we don’t consume which turns into unnecessary waste.
The food we consume Knowing what we put into our bodies isn’t always a front of mind consideration when we’re craving something to sate our hunger. However, I would encourage you to consider where your food is coming from and how that industry impacts upon our beautiful planet.
Most people get their fruit and veg from their local supermarket because it’s convenient. However, the fresh produce on their shelves is only that which is pretty enough to meet display standards and results in the rest going to landfill. Instead, try to shop at local fruit and veg markets where the beauty standard is less strict, and you can buy in-season produce.
Food waste One of the UN’s sustainable development goals is to halve food wastage globally. Food waste is responsible for 8-10 per cent of greenhouse gas emissions and, globally, one third of food produce is wasted. Australia comes in as the 10th most wasteful country – throwing out on average 7.5 tonnes of waste a year, worth about $2000-$3800 a year. That’s a lot of money thrown in the bin.
Instead of following your cravings and shopping for more food, use up what you have at home first. To help with this, make a weekly dinner/meal plan, that way you are only buying what you know you will cook. This helps with budgeting too, so it’s a win-win.
Compost your leftovers. Starting and making your own compost may not be for everyone but that doesn’t mean your scraps have to go to waste. Apps like ‘Share Waste’ help you find local composters in your area so you can help each other out. There are also apps like ‘Olio’ and ‘YWaste’ which you can use to find cafes trying to get rid of their end of day leftovers at lower prices.
These are just some of the small changes we can make in our day-to-day life. If you would like to learn about more issues in the sustainability space and seek more handy tips, check out Macquarie University Sustainability Society (MUSS). We’re on Instagram (@muss. mq) and Facebook (/muss.mq).
