Metior Magazine - Edition #17 by Metior Magazine

METIOR

Murdoch Empire Telegraph & Indian Ocean Review

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Edition #1 February 2016 Sticky Situations

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CONTENTS Words from the Prez ��3 Editorial ��3 News & Features News in Brief.................................................................................5 Murdoch parking fees surge by average of 30 per cent.............6 Murdochians with a message: Roger Cook................................10 Scientology and the sceptic........................................................11 Murdoch student to shave it all for cancer research.................14 Why I am a Vet student..............................................................23 Creative Non-Fiction Which ghost wrote this essay? ��20 Changing Lanes...........................................................................24 Conrad’s middle finger salute to the law...................................28 Sunday Drive................................................................................29 Commentary One man, one decade, still no degree �� 8 & 9 Why men should be feminists....................................................25 Murdoch is dropping the ball on Indonesian Studies................27 Fiction & Poetry Beyond reach......................................................................15 & 18 Toybox..........................................................................................26 Arts & Culture PIAF Top Picks..............................................................................31 Photography Ava Mandal...........................................................................7 & 27 Simon Tubey............................................................ 12,13,16 & 17 Liam Thomson ��21 Madura McCormack ��22

Murdoch Empire Telegraph & Indian Ocean Review â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Since 1975 Edition 1, February 2016 Metior acknowledges that this is and always will be Aboriginal land. Metior is a Murdoch University student publication. For latest Guild news, events and info go to www.the-guild.com.au Find us on Facebook & Twitter metiormagazine metiormag Want to catch up on previous issues? Go to www.the-guild.com.au/metior Outgoing Editor Madura McCormack Sub-Editor Caris Horton Graphic Design Karmen Lee Cover Photo Ava Mandal

Contributors Ariana Rosenberg David Visser Caris Horton Conrad Maclean Gavin Scolaro Jarrad Bouckaert Jessica Senz Lincoln James Cook Olivia McKinley Roland Belford

Photographers Ava Mandal Madura McCormack Liam Thomson [facebook.com/castawayphotographyaustralia] Simon Tubey [simontubeyphotography@gmail.com] Join us online METIOR is always looking for more friends, especially on the interwebs. Check us out on www.metior.com.au. Want to contribute? Email the editor today. Editor Caris Horton

Advertising Lindsay Walton

Email metior.editor@student.the-guild.com.au

Phone (08) 9360 6562

Address Murdoch University Guild of Students 90 South Street, Murdoch WA 6150

Email l.walton@the-guild.com.au

Printed using petroleum free inks and green electricity. Both paper manufacturer and printer are certified to ISO14001, the highest international environmental standard. [From Scott Print]

Disclaimer Metior is published by the students of Murdoch University, under the governance of Murdoch University Guild of Students. Content should not be regarded as the opinions of the Guild unless specifically stated. 2 The Guild accepts no responsibility for the accuracy of any of the opinions or information contained within the magazine.

WORDS FROM THE PREZ Words by Guy McDonald Hi all, I’m Guy, your 2016 Guild President. What does that even mean besides you should, on principle, suspect me of being a careerist political hack? Well, it also means I’m in a decent position to help make your time at Uni a little bit better. How you ask? Well at the Guild we try to improve things by: •

holding fun events like the Festival Day (March 3rd, bring bathers!)

•

funding and supporting student clubs and societies (check out our website for deets)

•

employing professional staff who help students with welfare and academic issues

•

complaining to the University & advising them on how to be more awesome

•

complaining at the government and very occasionally getting listened to.

So, what’s happening this year? Too much stuff to say here- Follow us on Facebook! I also feel like I ought to impart some sage advice on how to live Uni life well, but it’s hard to top the advice of Tim Minchin (Google his 2013 address to UWA graduates. Really) It’d be great to be able to direct you all away from the Forbidden Forest and warn of the painful death awaiting you on the third floor corridor but, alas, this institution is not so obviously magical. The true magic of this place resides in the people you meet and the actions you take here. It is easy to glide through Uni without meeting people or getting involved. Fight that. If you want campus to be more like a college movie then be the change you want to see in the world. Start a club, do a sport, run for elections, protest things and improve things. Contribute to the student magazine (welcome back to print, Metior!) And nag the Guild to help you with such projects (except for the elections bit). XOXO- Guy McDonald, President of the 40th Murdoch Guild.

EDITORIAL Words by Madura McCormack Sometimes it starts from the base of the spine; other times you feel it around the throat first. When the nervous system wraps its tendrils around your neck and makes the blood rush to your face. Then that prickly sensation hits the brain and all you hear is “Fuck, I need to get out of here.” That’s a sticky situation. Sticky situations don’t care who you are or where you are. They just happen. Immigration Minister and professional boiled cabbage, Peter Dutton, knows this best. He teaches us that if you get caught up in sticky situations like sledging female journalists and insulting island nations on camera, you have to make an effort to save yourself or else keep living that stewed vegetable life. This mag finds itself in awkward spots too. But we get out of it, learn, and grow (take notes Peter). Our dwindling finances have seen us move online*, which means we get to be closer to you and the sometimes-painful Facebook comments section. Sure we’re broke, but that doesn’t mean METIOR will ever stop talking about the sticky situations the uni puts itself in. Hopefully you stick around and keep us company. This is METIOR’s first print edition since end 2014, and my first and last as editor. I’ve thought about writing in this bottom half-page for years, and now that I’m here, I have to immediately let it go. And while I wrangle the space between graduation and employment, I can only hope I’ve been of some significance to this proud student mag. My chapter here closes as you flip the final page, and the rest is now up to your new METIOR Editor, Caris, and all the contributors who put in the hard yards. So sit back, chill out, and enjoy this edition. *We’re on www.metior.com.au by the way.

your MEAL MAKE YOUR

COUNT

This May, feed yourself on $2 a day for five days, raise money and take action to help fight poverty.

LIVEBELOWTHELINE.COM.AU 4

NEWS IN BRIEF Eeva Leinonen takes up her role as Murdoch Uni’s new Vice Chancellor. She leaves her role as Deputy VC of the University of Wollongong. World War II veteran Alan Peacocke bequests $3 million to Murdoch University. It is the largest single chunk of money ever received by the Uni. http://yhoo.it/1SRyLVk

45 per cent of applicants pick Curtin as their preferred university this year, according to TISC statistics. Murdoch comes in third of four.

The Sunday Times reported in February that despite the softening rental market in Perth, there was an undersupply of rental accommodation near WA unis. http://bit.ly/1nFRQgC Murdoch Uni ranks 61 in the Times Higher Education list of the most “international” higher education institutions in the world. Curtin and UWA rank 26 and 31 respectively.

Parking fees at uni have skyrocketed this year, with Red Zone permits now at $480/year and Green Zone permits at $200/year. Prices up average of 30 per cent.

WA’s crime rate surged in 2015, with 600 crimes committed per day. Domestic assault cases up by 22 per cent. UWA revealed in December it would cut 300 jobs, including 100 academic roles and 200 professional jobs, though it would employ another 50 academics. http://yhoo.it/1X4Nv2m

Murdoch Uni scientists dressed 30 Perth cats in flashy wildlife saving collars and found that the felines still roamed the same distance, but killed less animals. http://bit.ly/1UPwLuG 5

MURDOCH PARKING FEES SURGE BY AVERAGE OF 30 PER CENT Words by Madura McCormack Parking rates at Murdoch University have increased across the board, with full year Red Zone parking now costing $480 and $500 for students and staff respectively. This is a marked increase from 2015 when the same category cost $390. Parking at the Student Village has risen a staggering 47 per cent for residents, at $250 per annum and $140 a semester. The rate increase has been made to reflect the true cost of maintaining, operating and upgrading parking services says Steve Dickson, Senior Executive Director at Murdoch University. “Murdoch University is embarking on an investment plan to improve our car parks and roads,” says Mr. Dickson, stating the new fees will allow for necessary upgrades to the 13 car parks and 15-kilometre road network.

students doesn’t start us off on a good foot with management for the New Year.” The Murdoch Guild met with University administration on January 18 to voice their concerns, but the university refused to lower prices.

“In 2013, we announced the University was unable to continue to heavily subsidise the delivery of parking facilities and services.

The cost of parking-related maintenance and services is currently more than $1.2 million per year, according to the university.

After consideration on the financial impact on our students, it was decided we would only adjust fees on a gradual basis and over a number of years,” he says.

The increased rates will fund on-going maintenance and safety such as improved lighting and 24/7 security.

Mr. Dickson confirms that any further parking rate increases will be capped at the rate of inflation until 2018.

Parking availability at Murdoch University is twice the national average, at 39 spaces per 100 students, says Mr. Dickson

The University made an announcement on January 14 stating that the latest increase is ‘the final installment of a four-year staged process’.

While still better than other universities, which average 19 spaces per 100 students, parking at Murdoch is a competitive sport.

Union and students unhappy

“When I was last there [in 2014] parking lots in the expensive red zone were always quite empty while the green zone was so full.

The National Teaching and Education Union [NTEU] Murdoch office say there was no consultation before the increase, and the surge was only noticed when a member went to purchase a permit.

People were parking on the verges then receiving hefty fines despite having nowhere else to park,” says Murdoch student Hannah Pratt.

The NTEU has since launched a petition opposing the price hike, garnering hundreds of signatures in its first few days alone.

“Punishing us for parking or having a car when that’s a prerequisite for most jobs in Perth and, therefore, necessary for survival for many working students is wrong,” she says.

“Students and staff who live in areas where public transport isn’t readily available or practical will be seriously disadvantaged by these changes,” says Beth Cole, NTEU officer at Murdoch University.

This article originally appeared on www.metior.com.au

“The lack of consultation or even advice to staff or

PHOTOGRAPHY Photography by Ava Mandal

ONE MAN, ONE DECADE, STILL NO DEGREE Words by Roland Belford Ten years at Murdoch. A decade of dodging quendas, missing assignment deadlines and trying to act sober in class. When I arrived at Murdoch I was 18 years old. Now I’m pushing on 30. Rent at the student village was $90 a week, jugs at the tavern were $8 and Twix bars were $2 from the vending machines. To sign up for tutorial or lab groups, the lecturer would announce what door the class signup sheet was on at the end of the first lecture and a sprint across campus to find the door would occur. Most of my friends were the other regional yobbos from down south that enrolled at Murdoch. My first few years at this uni can be characterised by a lack of engagement. I didn’t engage academically or socially. I drifted through a slew of electives from computer science to sustainability and media, while slowly navigating the shifting goalposts of a Bachelor of Education. My progress suffered because my social life revolved around Kardy Tuesdays, Newport Wednesdays and Mad Thursdays at the old Murdoch Tavern located in the amenities courtyard. The week was for drinking and the weekend for recovering. More ‘wholesome’ university social experiences like joining a faculty society or a hobby club weren’t available because with voluntary Guild membership and no SSAF there was no funding for student clubs on campus. I’m pretty sure the 2006 Guild handbook listed all of about five clubs. When 2009 rolled around, I was no closer to obtaining a degree and my younger sister had enrolled on campus. At orientation day, a lonely Canadian girl was holding a piece of paper with “Murdoch Hockey” scrawled across it. I signed up for my housemate, my sister and myself. By September two teams had formed and we were bonding over too many vodkas in a Gold Coast apartment. This was so much fun that I planned my next two years solely around participating at Uni Games and hung out exclusively with hockey friends. There was something oddly comforting about being in the same social group as my only sibling. I recall this moment I had to myself in 2011. I was walking to the store for groceries and thinking about the upcoming student elections. The council had been in disarray the previous year, in part due to my derailing of the 2009 elections. High on this inflated sense of influence over campus life I pondered, “I could run for sports officer, or Rural Regional and Interstate officer. Yeah I should get on council and bring full communism to Murdoch.” After buying milk I had changed my mind, realising I shouldn’t take on anything additional considering my life was like a smorgasbord of nibbled cheese and beer soaked crackers. By the end of 2011, I was single, unemployed, had changed my address six times in as many years with no end in sight for an undergraduate degree, whatever that was in. Hockey friends graduating and invitations to weddings brought all this into focus. Despite bombing out of university again in 2012, I found myself in a steady relationship with a member of Guild Council and gainfully employed in the disability service sector. In 2013, I put my studies back on track and through a convoluted comedy of errors found myself the Presidential candidate on a Guild Council ticket that ran more or less unopposed, unless you include the Kool Kid’s Quenda Club candidate who still garnered 33 per cent of the vote. Being President was an interesting affair and you might gain some insight from my rambling editorials in old editions of this magazine. I like to think I brought about a slightly more engaged campus but I can only measure that from Facebook likes, number of registered clubs and voter turnout in 2015. Despite being on the home stretch now, with just 40 contact hours between here and graduation, I still want to help others get involved with campus life. Hopefully this story might give you an idea how (not) to do this. I also made a handy flowchart. People talk about the ‘university experience’ and I think I had the complete one albeit without a degree. So don’t worry about growing up or finishing on time and treat everything as a learning experience.

HOW TO GET INVOLVED ON CAMPUS Words by Roland Belford

MURDOCHIANS WITH A MESSAGE: ROGER COOK Words by Madura McCormack The year was 1983. It was during that federal election that the Hawke government promised the country that land rights would be achieved for Australia’s first people, their cultural sites and objects fully protected. It would also be Roger Cook’s freshman year at Murdoch University. Studying a Bachelor of Arts in Public Administration, Cook was an active student politician and is now the Labor Party member in the seat of Kwinana, deputy opposition leader of WA, and champion for Indigenous land rights issues. “By the time I got to university I was motivated and inspired and quickly got involved in student politics,” Cook says. He had taken the cue from his older sister, who had cut the rug at Murdoch before him. Veronica Cook was Murdoch University’s first female Guild President. “But I guess I was a dreadful undergraduate student, my student record speaks for itself.” His real learning, he says, came from being involved in the general student movement, and the opportunity to be involved in student politics. At the end of 1984, Cook was Murdoch’s delegate at a national student convention, where the idea of a large countrywide student union was floated. The conference was ultimately unsuccessful, but Cook kept the ball rolling in WA. Nationally, the mining industry and the resource-rich western state came down hard and fast on Bob Hawke’s good intentions for the First Nations people. Strongly supported by then WA Labor Premier Brian Burke, the mining conglomerates mounted a major scare campaign against land rights for the indigenous. The end of that same year, Premier Burke successfully introduced legislation that denied Aboriginal communities the right to veto mining or exploratory activities.

representative body of and for Australian university students’. It is better known today for its annual conference, where student politicians gather to debate policy behind doors closed to student media. Back when the NUS came into fruition, the national student representative body was grappling with the Hawke governments plan to reintroduce tertiary fees, after Prime Minister Gough Whitlam had removed them in the 70’s. “We were unsuccessful at stopping the reintroduction of tertiary fees, but I think we maintained enough pressure so that there was an equitable outcome for everyone,” Cook says. Credited for starting the NUS, on the very grounds of Murdoch University, Roger Cook says he only put together the very basics and established the consensus that Australia needed nation wide student representation. He doesn’t take credit for the size and power that the NUS has gained since then, saying that it was those after him that put in the hard yards. While student politics was fulfilling, and essentially kick started his entire career, Cook reckons the fight for Indigenous rights is what has taught him the most. “If it wasn’t for the opportunity to work in native title and other Aboriginal issues, I would have lost valuable life lessons on social justice and equity.” He has previously been the National President of Australians for Native Title and Reconciliation, Australia’s biggest Indigenous rights organization, among an array of other positions in the sector. “Any Australian should be greatly concerned about the inequities and social justice issues that confront our Aboriginal community. We are diminished as a nation if we continue to treat the First Nation people in such an appalling manner,” Cook says. While his passion for politics and indigenous issues is at the forefront, Cook says he did find the time for some shenanigans at university.

“We came back to state [from the student convention] and started building at that point, with my other colleagues, a cross-campus representative body,” Cook says.

“It was called The Great Race in those days, a hell raising relay and wheelbarrow race involving water bombs, shaving cream, and other items of sabotage,” he says.

In a little less than two years, he and his colleagues established what has now become the National Union of Students, with Cook as their first president.

“Those life experiences on campus as an undergrad are really incredibly important. Stay active, stay engaged. Celebrate and enjoy student life.”

The National Union of Students (NUS) is the ‘peak 10

SCIENTOLOGY AND THE SCEPTIC Words By Caris Horton More Australians believe in the power of Satan than the power of L. Ron Hubbard, creator of Scientology. Well, according to 2011 census data at least. Maybe I should have studied Satanists. Thinking back, I wonder if they would have been more normal. Nevertheless, I was determined to talk to the Scientologists and I was getting nowhere. In the words of Adele, I must have called a thousand times. Chasing down interviews with them led to claims that someone would get back to me. Disclosure time. I don’t believe in anything. Not fate, gods or fairies that live in your garden. So what was I doing running with the religious crowd? Well, university assignment aside, I wanted to see just what these people were doing in our little city. Just how crazy were they? Would I be changed? Spoiler alert. The answer was no. Scientology was big in the 50’s and 60‘s after their main man, Hubbard, wrote a book called Dianetics. Dianetics was all about humans being ‘thetans’ or spiritual beings. It outlined ideas about how ‘engrams’, or bad memories, are stored in a person’s ‘reactive mind’ and the only way to get them out was to go through auditing and read more of Hubbard’s books. Hubbard was here to help. He certainly helped his wallet. Dianetics exploded with the 50’s crowd and money went straight to Hubbard to build his tax-free empire. It was clear that I wasn’t going to get through by making calls. So I did what any sane person would do. I filled out a personality test. Specifically, the Oxford Capacity Analysis test that is splashed all over the Scientology websites. Not surprisingly, it has nothing to do with Oxford University. The test promises to reveal key personality traits in an easy 200 questionnaire session. To get your results, you had to walk into the Scientology centre. After answering questions about whether I read train timetables for ‘pleasure’, I was in. Wedged between a convenience store and a souvenir shop, the Scientology centre on Murray Street is unassuming from the outside. All of the action takes place on the top floor. Past the fold-out table weighed down with pamphlets warning you off alcohol, ecstasy and LSD. I’m cautiously greeted by a young woman with black, Sharpie eyebrows and big, unblinking eyes that could probably hypnotize. As I later noticed, Wide Eyes hardly breaks eye contact. The centre was seemingly normal at the surface, much like the people I encountered there. Although, also like the Scientologists, if you look a little closer, there is whole bunch of crazy going on. There are desks, potted plants, and a radio playing the almighty Bruno Mars but there was also an office specifically designed for no alive person. I was told by Wide Eyes that it was meant to be in tribute of the deceased Hubbard. They had even kindly left a sheet of paper and a pen on the desk in case Hubbard ever decides to rise from his grave and pen another book. It’s all very considerate. Speaking of unassuming, I was able to meet more Scientologists. Like a perky, upbeat, red-haired woman of nineteen who later told me that they believed that a person could get rid of radiation poisoning by completing their “Purification Rundown”. Turns out this rundown meant sitting in a sauna. I learnt that one of the benefits of reaching ‘Clear’, or a state achieved after completing every course and auditing session, was that your eyesight would become perfect, even if you had glasses. I was about to say sign me up but I had just paid for new frames so I thought I’d pass. As for my personality test results? Wide Eyes told me I was very stable, very confident in myself. Turns out I was composed, active and non-aggressive. All good signs. As Wide Eyes tells me with a concerned look, I’m apparently also cold-blooded and heartless. Like some kind of lizard queen. It makes sense when you consider my hobby is to steal candy from babies. According to her, the Scientology test results never lie but according to me, I had to leave that madhouse. I was told that she could help me by prescribing “Steps to Life”, a course written by Hubbard which I could buy for the low low price of 50 bucks. Call me coldblooded and heartless but no thank you. I think I’ll stick to my heathen ways.

PHOTOGRAPHY Photography by Simon Tubey

MURDOCH STUDENT TO SHAVE IT ALL FOR CANCER RESEARCH Words by Madura McCormack An estimated eight Australians are diagnosed with leukaemia every day, with 1, 720 people losing their battle with the cancer in 2014. Murdoch student and Guild Sustainability Officer Lauren Hodson knows too well what it’s like to be drawn into the crossfire, losing her father to the disease ten years ago. On March 13, Lauren will take to the clippers and lose her long locks in a bid to raise funds for the Leukaemia Foundation.

1800 500 088 March 10-13 “I’m doing this as a f%#k you to cancer: you can take away our warriors’ hair but you will never break their spirit,” says Lauren, who studies international aid development and law.

Taking this big step has been years in the making, she says, and is something she has thought about for years. Her father was diagnosed with cancer when Lauren was very young, and after a successful bone marrow transplant, managed to stave off the leukaemia for two years. Just two weeks after her 13th birthday, Lauren’s father succumbed. “Despite the impact that cancer had on my Dad, he had never looked as brave or more like a warrior than he did when he was going through treatment and fighting his battle,” she says. It was during her father’s cancer treatment that Lauren found herself invested in fundraising for cancer research. “My school teacher knew, and read us this old Japanese tale about the Hiroshima bombing. In this story it says if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you will have a wish come true. I decided I would surprise him and fold a thousand paper cranes, and the whole school came together to fold them,” she says. Presenting her father the cranes was a moving moment, and what happened after added to the gesture. Lauren and her mother approached the hospital to use the cranes for a fundraising event, and through this, earned enough money to refurbish the somber hospital walls into a more welcoming space for patients and their families. “It shaped the way I look at fundraising for cancer research. I really see the value of it and the people got to see the immediate benefits when they went in to get treatment for cancer,” Lauren says. To her, taking part in the World’s Greatest Shave means standing in solidarity with those that fight the courageous battle with cancer. She wants to show them that they are not alone. “Cancer fighters should feel like the brave warriors they are, they should be able to hold their (bald) heads high with pride knowing their strength in the war they are fighting.” So far she has raised 75 per cent of her goal amount, and needs only a small push to reach her target. To donate to Lauren’s World’s Greatest Shave campaign, head to http://my.leukaemiafoundation.org.au/ laurenhodson

BEYOND REACH Words By Jessica Senz Jamie threw his iPhone on the floor and sank back into the couch. He didn’t want to pick it up ever again. Not after that. Not after what he had just seen. He chastised himself for not clearing the screen before he had discarded the device. Now it would be there waiting for him, ready to burn its image deeper into his memory. If that were even possible.

Keely Abrams is engaged. Jamie thought it a cruel joke that it was the first thing he had seen when he opened his Facebook app. He couldn’t believe that he had found out that way. Did she really think so low of him that she couldn’t even tell him herself? Jamie knew the answer to his question. The truth was that Keely did not think low of him at all; that would mean that he was in her thoughts to begin with, and that simply wasn’t the case. He was not someone who held a place in her consciousness. Jamie had resigned himself to this fate a long time ago, yet some tiny part of him had always held out hope that one day she would realise that it had been him all along; he was the one that she was meant to be with.

Dizziness was taking hold. The razor-winged butterflies in his stomach were slowly slicing him from the inside out. Soon, there would be nothing left of him. Resting his head on the wall behind him he let out an audible sigh. There was no point in trying to fight it, the hurt had already begun to well up inside of him. His throat felt tight, his skin started to prickle. Dizziness was taking hold. The razor-winged butterflies in his stomach were slowly slicing him from the inside out. Soon, there would be nothing left of him. Soon, Keely would have taken everything. Jamie contemplated spending the rest of his life on the couch. It wouldn’t be a long life, of course; he would not get up for water, would not get up to eat. He would stay right where he was, letting the relief of starvation fill his hollow body. He would give himself over to the darkness, welcoming the painless eternity. Jamie fantasised about sitting lifeless on the couch until the eve of Keely’s wedding. His sister would find him. The news of his death would quickly reach Keely’s ears. She would be distraught after realising that she would never see him again, never send him late night messages, no longer see his name on her newsfeed. She would finally realise how she felt about him. She would call off her impending nuptials. She would withdraw from the unforgiving world. She would… The smile that danced on his lips disappeared almost as swiftly as it had come. The pleasure that came from his pretend death was fleeting; Jamie did not wish to hurt anyone, not even Keely. Especially not Keely. Slumping himself forward, he closed his eyes and let his memories envelop him. The recollections radiated from his body, swelling and expanding until they pushed all of the air from the room. It was intoxicating, losing himself in their time together. Jamie thought about the moment he had first seen Keely. She had been sitting on a green camping chair, a cigarette hanging from her cerise lips. Strands of light brown hair fell loosely around her face. All he could think was that she was the most perfect human being who had ever lived. The most perfect human being who would ever live. She had taken an interest in him too, and even though she liked him, it was not exactly in the same way that he liked her. Jamie yearned for Keely, was all consumed by her, yet she just thought of him as interesting. That’s what made it hard for Jamie to be around Keely sometimes, but it’s also what made him crave to be with her even more. Within weeks, Jamie had started to actively be wherever Keely was. At one point, he even started dating one of her friends just to be around her. It wasn’t something that he was proud of, but he certainly didn’t regret it. It was a necessity that worked out well. The deception had gained him almost three months with Keely. It was blissful, until she had loaded up her car and moved away out of state. Continued on page 19.

PHOTOGRAPHY Photography by Simon Tubey

BEYOND REACH Words By Jessica Senz Continued from page 16 Jamie shook the image from his mind as he stood and made his way to the bathroom. It hurt so damn much thinking about Keely, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was so much a part of who he was that he didn’t exist without her. She was the Isolde to his Tristan. The Guinevere to his Lancelot. The splash of cold water on his face was exactly what he needed. Slowly, the prickling sensation started to dissipate. He felt a tiny bit of relief. Water dripped down the front of his shirt as he stared blurry-eyed at his reflection. The droplets on his reddened complexion made him look like he had just outrun doomsday. He hadn’t of course, that day was still waiting for him. Without warning, the notion of sweat took him back to the maroon carpet of his auntie’s lounge room floor. Keely had moved back to town the year before and come to see him. It was the first time they had slept together, and Jamie could remember the overwhelming sensation of happiness he felt as he laid there spent, a perfect creature wrapped up in his arms. He could remember the cinnamon scent of her hair, the tangy taste of her skin on his lips. It had been twelve years since that night, but he could still conjure the memory with perfect precision; her matching underwear, the sheerness of her body, the hotness of her breath on his flesh. And then he remembered her leaving. Again. Keely had flown to Melbourne for a weekend that ended up lasting for two years. Jamie was glad to be pulled back into reality by the sound of his phone ringing. He took a step back from the basin but did not turn to leave. Instead, he continued to stare at himself in the mirror. Who was the man staring back at him? Jamie did not know. The face looked like his, had the same dark hair and dark eyes, but it wasn’t him. Something wasn’t right. The phone continued to ring, echoing through into the bathroom. Jamie was scared that it might be Keely who was calling. But an even worse fear was that it wouldn’t be her. He slumped his shoulders forward. Of course it wouldn’t be her. Turning on his heel, he headed to the lounge room. He picked up the phone without looking at the screen and walked back to the bathroom. It vibrated in his hand, daring him to reveal the caller. Jamie would not give in, he refused to confirm what he already knew to be true. Keely was not the one calling. Why would she? It’s not like he ever crossed her mind. Keely made that perfectly clear today, just like she had done countless times throughout the past fifteen years. Jamie gripped the phone tighter, the edges digging into his palm. He would never look at it again. Squaring his shoulders, Jamie pulled his arm back and threw his phone as hard as he could at the mirror. There was a smash as the phone hit and broke into pieces. The mirror cracked and splintered, sending stray shards of glass into his face. They connected with his skin but he felt no stinging, no pain. There was no anger or sadness, just acceptance. Keely was lost to him, and without her he was nothing. A church without a God. A harpist without a harp. He continued to stare into the remnants of the glass. The person looking back at him was no longer whole. He was ruined, a fragmented version of his former self. In the broken view, Jamie finally saw his reality. This was who he was now. This was his true form. A man who had learned that unrequited love was the hardest of pills to swallow. A man that only knew himself when he was shattered into pieces. A man beyond reach. Jamie drew in a deep breath and knelt to the floor. Looking through the wreckage of his phone, he found his sim card and dusted the glass sand off with his fingers. He had better buy a new phone as soon as possible, he mused. After all, Keely could call at any moment.

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WHICH GHOST WROTE THIS ESSAY? Words By Jarrad Bouckaert It was two weeks before final exams when Rich received the email. He had been accused of ghost writing a research essay, of paying someone else to do his work for him. With exam crunch time looming, this was a level of stress any student would find daunting. It rattled his nerves, although he knew he was in the clear. Just like the rest of us, Rich had written the essay only the day before it was due. A week and a half passed without much thought of the accusation. His nerves were running high enough from the elevated caffeine intake and a lack of sleep, until a second email dinged in his inbox. His academic chair had arranged a meeting with the arbiter, a person who would decide Rich’s fate, the so-called judge in the academic court of law. The timing couldn’t have been worse, with the meeting scheduled for two hours before he was due to sit for the exam of that very unit. With less than a week left, Rich had not only exam stress swimming in his gut, but a fail grade hanging over his head like a low lying storm. Rampant ghost writing in Australian universities came to light in 2015 with the uncovering of a cheating racket in Sydney. An elite institution, the University of Sydney, went so far as to launch a taskforce to combat the cash-for-plagiarism business. But has increased diligence to root out cheaters drawn innocent students into the crossfire? Rich knocked on the arbiter’s door, who turned out to be a lecturer he knew. Looking up from the monitor, the arbiter motioned for him to sit down without a word of welcome and launched straight into it. “Did you write this?” the arbiter asked, dropping the question as bluntly as he had the essay on the table between them. “Ahhh yeah?” Rich stammered. “Because we have evidence that suggests otherwise. This essay came back as a complete match with a website called customhdessays.com.” “That can’t be, I wrote this essay myself the day before.” “Well it is believed that the level of the essay submitted was well above the level that you’re capable of.” “I’m going to ask you the definition of some words used in the essay,” “Um…okay,” Rich mumbled, the accusation seemingly cutting for an essay he received 65 per cent for. Rich now faced a situation that was unthinkable before; he may well fail this unit. Dejected and worn out, he headed to the Tav for a drink before the exam. I had just finished my 9am exam and was celebrating with a pint of Carlton Draught. I saw Rich coming down the steps from the cafeteria and waved to him as he walked into the smoking area. He gave me a nod, said hi and walked straight to the bar. As he sits down I jokingly said, “How’d it go? You set them straight right?” “Nah, it was brutal, I might be in trouble here.” Vacantly looking out onto Bush Court he asks for a cigarette, which was odd because Rich doesn’t smoke. “What do you mean? They have nothing on you,” I said. A couple of minutes went by and Rich wasn’t interested in my light-hearted reassurances that he was fine. He finished his beer and stood up, still in a daze and headed for his exam. He failed it. The evidence that justified the academic chair to refer the issue to the arbiter was the Turnitin report that came back showing a strong match with a custom essay website. On closer inspection it was the essay question that had been flagged, not any of the essay content. It was also the tutor’s opinion that the essay was above Rich’s capabilities but instead of talking to him directly, Rich was dragged through an unrequired fracas. Universities are no doubt aware of the increased use of ghostwriters among students. Plagiarism is a black mark on any academic transcript but is it up to students to defend themselves?

PHOTOGRAPHY Photography by Liam Thomanson

PHOTOGRAPHY Photography by Madura McCormack

WHY I AM A VET STUDENT Words By Olivia McKinley The hardest part of vet school is getting in. Or so they told me. My name is Liv and I am a final year vet student at Murdoch. As I enter the oh-so elusive final year of my degree, I look back on what has been the most exhilarating, terrifying and fascinating adventure of my life with a sense of nostalgia. The dreary eyes of an 8:30am equine lecture that are searching for a coffee (or five), the confusing hunger pang half way through a Tuesday afternoon anatomy lab (it’s the formalin, I swear!). The devastation after finding out you didn’t win the $1000 from Cow Pat Lotto (think grids with numbers and a cow full of poo). I will miss it all. It has been a once in a lifetime experience. My experiences as a vet student have not only taught me that if you cover a sheep’s nostrils, you can indeed obtain a urine sample or that it is disturbingly comforting to have your arm inside a cows rectum on a cold winters day, it has also taught me a lot about myself. Vet school is a journey of self-discovery. Emotionally, physically and mentally it tests you and pushes you to limits you never even thought existed. I didn’t realise that I could sit in a library and study for 18 hours a day, every day during exam period. I also didn’t know I could be covered head to toe in poo and lube and god knows what else, and never be happier (get your head out of the gutter, I was pregnancy testing cattle). I often get asked what keeps me sane. I often doubt I was ever sane to begin with to even consider becoming a vet. All jokes aside, without my peers I would have crumpled under the pressure and stress of vet school. They are the only people who truly understand why you shed that tear over that anatomy prac exam that you studied so hard for or why you start crying and laughing five minutes before you walk into a pathology exam. They get it. They were standing there with me as I picked up a scalpel for the first time in anatomy class and there as I picked up a scalpel for my first every surgery. My advice is to make friends in vet school (or any degree for that matter), because they get it and it is comforting seeing someone else lose the plot over the same medicine exam, as you did. The people in our lives who aren’t stuck in the slug of vet school tend to struggle a bit with the whole concept of vet school. They don’t understand why we feel guilty for watching that episode of Grey’s Anatomy even when we have done all our lecture notes, submitted that pathology assignment, and our readings for radiology are up to date. There is always something else to do or learn. You are never “free” for a lack of a better word. It is one thing that is grossly taken for granted. There is also the feeling of guilt when we have to bail on drinks at the pub last minute or decline an invitation to your partners, second cousins dog’s wedding because you are stuck at an overnight shift in the emergency department. It sucks letting people down but that is the reality of vet school. I promise it isn’t all doom and gloom and no social life. Again, my advice for those entering this crazy degree or thinking of applying is to make friends in vet school. That is the number one most important thing. Those friends and your peers will be your rock. They will hold your hair back for you at your first ever overall pub crawl, they will cry with you at 2am in the library and they will be there with words of support as you scrub up for your first spey. Your friends will keep you grounded yet freak out with you. It is quite the paradox but it is weirdly comforting. The Murdoch Veterinary Student Association hold amazing events such as the overall pub crawl, winter dinner and vet camp are a great way to mingle and blow off some steam. Trust me, vet students know how to party! All in all, vet school has been amazing. It is a hilarious, sometimes disgusting, phenomenal experience. If you think you aren’t “smart enough” to get in, I tell that little voice in your head to shut it because you are! If you have dreamed of being a vet since you were 7 years old, and you can’t imagine doing anything else but helping people and their animals, then you can do it. You can do anything if you put your mind to it. So work hard and stay motivated. Plus, who wouldn’t want to be paid to play with puppies and kittens all day*, right? *disclaimer: this is a complete lie.

CHANGING LANES Words by Ariana Rosenberg Anise loved how the overarching lanes of Arizona State Route 101 weaved through the sky, knitting Maricopa County together. The gold convertible turned into the highway as Anise’s mother, Leslie, focused on navigating through traffic. The older woman was wearing her Phoenician Resort Spa uniform and her hair was done up in shiny, yellow waves. Leslie glanced at her daughter, hoping to break the discomfort of silence.

car and opening the trunk to take out a worn bag. Anise quickly took the handle before Leslie could and walked through the petty excuse of a garden. She hoisted the bag onto the polished floors of the apartment. Leslie’s perfume lingered everywhere, masking the scent of countless cleaning supplies. Anise brought her luggage up to her room. Ignoring the gaudy pink walls and frilly canopy bed, she dumped them next to her wardrobe. Downstairs, her mother gave her a selection of discs to peruse. While she chose a movie, her mother prepared dinner. Before Anise turned the movie on, her mother interrupted her.

“How was your week?” “Fine, nothing interesting happened.” “How are your dads?” “They’re okay, same as last week.”

“I have family in Perth and I’ve been considering moving back to Australia next year. Would you like to come with me?”

Anise turned away, eyes unfocused. It seemed like this visit would be no different. She was used to it though; two years was a lifetime for an eleven-yearold. At some point, she’d have to decide which parent she’d disappoint.

Anise hadn’t expected this. It was such a shock and she was unable to enjoy the movie. She had trouble going to sleep that night since her mind was restless. Anise recalled her childhood as she struggled to make such a life-altering decision.

The car behind them came close to nudging the backlights. Leslie indicated left and prematurely changed lanes, grinding her teeth. A few minutes passed before she calmed down enough to adjust her mirror.

Was giving up her home worth it? Could she leave her family and friends? Her past memories began to blur together. Her thoughts and experiences overlapping anxiously. Just one thought could trigger an onslaught of associated memory. All had interconnected over time and encompassed the only place she recalled fondly.

“How was school?” “Exactly the same. I’m still going to after school care.” “Halloween is coming up next weekend, are you doing anything?”

A place to call home, a sanctuary that fills your heart with warmth. It doesn’t have to be in your homeland or the same house you grew up in or even on the same continent. The home remains beautiful in the mind even as the passage of time shapes it differently. Her home comforted her, pacified her soul and calmed her mind with its loving melody.

“There’s a school festival, the dads will take me.” Leslie didn’t continue the conversation. It had been lost and Anise refused to fill the silence with pointless small talk. Leslie concentrated on driving, watching the bitumen get swallowed into the wheels while the engine purred in harmony. Anise had thought of talking to her parents about how she felt with their divorce. She could attempt it, but she feared finding out if her parents loved her less. What if their disunity had warped their perception of her?

She only had three close friends, and a new school would give her a fresh start. She would miss her family and her dad’s various family friends in Scottsdale, Arizona, especially her dads and Zayde. Anise’s dads inspired her to get involved in theatre while Zayde inspired her to read and become a writer. She would miss him the most.

Their divorce had changed her view on life and love. She was no longer enchanted by life’s beauty. Daddy Peter and Leslie’s marriage had been the brightest in her eyes. She hoped to find someone who she could support, care for and show affection but now she was disillusioned.

Anise sighed and eased into a light sleep. While the decision had been made, her heart would remain in Arizona. 2009 would be a new phase in her life. She just couldn’t imagine how she’d cope leaving everything familiar behind.

Her mum drove into the parking lot, turning off the

AN INVITATION FOR MEN TO BE FEMINISTS Words by Gavin Scolaro “The first act of violence that patriarchy demands of males is not violence toward women. Instead patriarchy demands of all males that they engage in acts of psychic self-mutilation, that they kill off the emotional parts of themselves. If an individual is not successful in emotionally crippling himself, he can count on patriarchal men to enact rituals of power that will assault his self-esteem.” ― Bell Hooks Gentlemen, this is why I would like to invite you to become feminists. The gender pay gap and the lack of equal opportunity are important but, let’s be honest, we don’t really understand what it is like to have that happen to us. What we do understand is what it is like to be ridiculed by our fellow man for doing anything that doesn’t fit into “macho” culture, to have to deny a part of ourselves in order to fit in and be accepted by society. Through this social pressure to be macho, we can begin to understand what the social pressures on women feel like. This is where feminism comes in because it can help us break down the gender roles that bind us and instead allow us to just be people. Over the last 100 years, women have repeatedly proven that being feminine doesn’t mean being weak, yet we still have this ridiculous notion that if we act feminine or show any form of emotion we are somehow not as good or strong as other guys. So let’s break down these gender roles starting with a few very simple actions: 1) Learn about feminism: jump on Google, grab a book or have a talk with someone who is knowledgeable and find out more. 2) Be mindful of your actions: stop yourself from enforcing gender roles on yourself, your fellow man and women. 3) Talk about it: talk to others about these ideas to both teach others and learn from them (remember to be nice about it). 4) Remember it’s not just about men: while feminism can help men, it is mainly about women as they are the ones that are most oppressed so remember to support women’s rights and their fight for equality too. Please note that I am a white cis guy and as such don’t feel comfortable writing from a woman’s point of view. Despite it being very important, I can never really understand what it is like to be them, which is why this article is about and directed at men. Let’s start a dialogue on this.

Do you want to volunteer? Volunteer Task Force supports elderly and disabled people in the Perth Metro area so they can live independently in their homes Full training and expenses provided

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Call: 9318 5700 Email: volunteering@volunteertaskforce.org.au Visit: www.volunteertaskforce.org.au

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TOYBOX Words by Caris Horton Hollow little porcelain doll You crack and split apart Nothing, nothing, no thing inside Lacking any heart Hollow little porcelain doll Beautiful and broken Chipped away your fragile shell Weak apologies go unspoken Funny funny tin man Now tin with no more curls Lets her touch his metal plates As he swipes for new tin girls Funny funny tin man Not willing to befriend Hard for her on a park bench Cold for her at the end Fresh new rag doll Too quick to mess around Played too hard to spite herself Her jokes fell apart on the ground Fresh young rag doll Her words bleed out and drain Hates to make the tin man cry Washes her mouth out with soap again Rag doll and the tin man Heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s lost all his bear skin He scolds and scolds as is his way She takes flight with her usual grin.

MURDOCH IS DROPPING THE BALL ON INDONESIAN STUDIES Words by David Visser & Photography by Ava Mandal Apa khabar? Kumaha damang? Piye kabare?

Proudly based at Murdoch University since its conception, ACICIS has been a key player in providing Australian students opportunities to study in the archipelago. It has decided to move to UWA, home of the PerthUSAsia Center.

For those of you who understand even one of those phrases, congratulations, you are part of a small and dwindling population. Every year less and less is being done nationally to engage with our largest Asian neighbour. Murdoch Uni is no exception.

While the sorry state of Indonesian studies is due to a multitude of factors, there is no denying that us, the students, play a part in its decline.

Once the home to some of Australia’s most renowned Indonesianists, Murdoch has joined the growing number of universities to drop its specialist Indonesian program, leaving the Asian Studies degree clinging on by its nails.

We have become so complacent about the ins and outs of campus politics that we lose sight of what we are actually here to do: learn, think differently, and most importantly – learn about people other than ourselves. As the progressive bleed of Indonesia experts continues from Murdoch, we can only blame our own lack of interest for this.

A total of four people picked Asian Studies at Murdoch as their first preference in this year’s round of uni application, according to TISC statistics.

But maybe we can solve this. It starts with us fighting for these dying programs the same way we demand cheaper pints at the Tav. Talk to your lecturers about Southeast Asia, don’t just walk in and out of classes.

There’s no arguing that Australia has slacked off, and shadow Treasurer Chris Bowen summarised the consequences of this at an Australian Indonesian Business Council conference recently. “It will take nothing short of a sea-change in approach from governments, educational institutions and business to get the level of engagement we need,” Bowen said.

As easy as it is to look at Indonesia and think ‘Bali, Bintang, Bombs’, there is more to it than that. This is the same country slated to be one of the world’s top economies by 2050, with a population of 250 million people and growing.

Back on Bush Court, gone via retirement is Professor David Hill, an irreplaceable vein of our university and founder of the Australian Consortium for In-Country Indonesian Studies (ACICIS).

Let us be the independent thinker that Murdoch wants us to be, and start making a change.

CONRAD’S MIDDLE FINGER SALUTE TO THE LAW Words by Conrad Maclean Some time ago I received a mysterious phone call from a man named Abby. Abby said he was a policeman and worked in the terrorism unit. Abby wanted me to come down to the local police station for a chat.

After that first meeting the police would occasionally arrange to meet me and ask the same dumb questions. I remember one time they arranged to meet, they asked me if I knew anything about Melbourne. Soon after, a terrorist attack in Melbourne set for Anzac Day was averted.

I assumed I was being questioned about a short journey I had made to Kurdistan in 2013, but when I met him he didn’t seem to know anything about that. If he had I’m sure he would have contacted me sooner.

I tried to file a Freedom of Information request to find out about that report. I was told I needed to apply for specific documents relating to the report. It was catch 22. I didn’t know which documents I should apply for because I knew nothing about the report.

Abby was very polite and friendly. His lapdog accompanied him; an officer who I think has some psychological training. He looked like he was about to bark really dumb questions like a yapping Chihuahua. “Are all Muslims terrorists? Have you posted anything to Tony Abbott? Describe Tony Abbott!” Yeah right mate.

I asked for help at the office of the Justice of the Peace. They couldn’t help me. I went to the Magistrate’s court. They looked at my record. No. It didn’t look like anybody had made any reports or charges against me.

I don’t know if these two were playing some good cop bad cop routine, but if I was a socially alienated youth on the verge of running off to join ISIS, Officer Lap Dog’s attitude would not have endeared me to Western authorities.

The Magistrate’s office gave me a number to call. A police oversight contact line. The sergeant I spoke to said she was sorry. The report outranked her security clearance. She wouldn’t be able to access the relevant information to answer my questions.

The policemen told me they wanted my help. They said they wanted us to be on good terms.

I decided to see my local member of parliament. I went down to Simone McGurk’s office. I described my problem to the receptionist to see if they could help me. The receptionist said something like ‘Nuh’.

They knew I was studying counter terrorism. The police said a report had been made against me. They asked me if I had seen anything suspicious on campus. I surmised our university must be under some sort of surveillance since that student ran off to join ISIS last year.

Fuck you too mate. I talked to the people at Scott Ludlam’s office. I told them my story and we sent an email up to Scott. I’m yet to hear back from Ludlam.

For all their talk about how we had to work together, the policemen would never tell me what the report was related to, how they got my number, or how they knew I was studying counter-terrorism. I don’t even know how they knew I existed.

To this day I have no more answers. I’m writing this because I’ve exhausted all other avenues. I owe these creeps nothing and I sure as hell don’t trust them because they’re not being straight with me. They call me up at a moment’s notice and ask me stupid questions. I have nothing to hide. I don’t want to get stitched up in police corruption and sent to maximum security for a crime I didn’t even commit. What else can I do but make this as public as possible?

I can’t trust these people until I know those things. Simple as that. The WA police force does not have a reputation for getting things right. How do I know I’m not going end up like the Mickelberg brothers or Andrew Mallard? Why should I think I’m not the next Darryl Beamish or John Button? I don’t know if I will be condemned to spend my youth in jail for a crime I didn’t commit, yet those policemen have the arrogance to tell me we have a ‘fair exchange of information’.

Conrad is a counter terrorism student and regular columnist for METIOR. Liked this article? Read more from him on www.metior.com.au

SUNDAY DRIVE Words by Lincoln J. Cook I felt like a creep. A uni party and they were all younger than me. Liquor would be my crutch that night. A half decent bottle of whiskey and a suggestive look or two. Truth is I ended up embarrassing myself on guitar in front of a cute young American girl, as a couple of second years exchanged telling glances across the front lawn of the ground floor apartment. I got so messy drunk that night. The girl I kissed earlier couldn’t stand to look at me and the girl I longed for locked me out of her room. I resorted to freestyling deeply personal rhymes to some strangers I’d met amongst a circle of couches. The morning was brutal. One which required a stern look of bitterness and a pass through McDonalds drive-thru in preparation for the tedious drive ahead. Before long I was away. Rocketing southwards, homebound towards the land of bad memories and beautiful beaches. My stomach had sent out a number of warning signals throughout the morning but it wasn’t until I’d broken through outer suburbia and into the wild that my brain made the connection. My stomach had become a cesspool, the rushes of anxiety becoming increasingly unbearable as I tore down the open road. Last night’s curry, straight whiskey, shame. Each churn came quicker than the last. My mind was racing from the sudden rushes of adrenalin as I held in the toxic bile and fermented salt and vinegar chips. I was reaching delirium. Irrational thoughts, hot and cold sweats. I wasn’t as far as Williams before it became clear. This had to happen.

They say farts are the screams of trapped poo but this was no less than a jail break during a riot. Racing thoughts clouded my mind as a pulled over to the side of the road. Who was that girl, why do I do this, what am I now!? At that precise moment what I can only describe as my survival instinct kicked in. I’d have to go bush, take care of business and then ride commando southwards. I jolted towards the trees, denying the fire of an unwanted shart. As I shuffled through the scrub, knees weak from the impending release, I noticed a small tin shack appear beyond the trees. I picked up speed, forcing back vomit as I struggled up the beaten pathway. On my approach, I prepared to hold my breath. The stabbing pains of my violent son raged within in me. They say farts are the screams of trapped poo but this was no less than a jail break during a riot. I forced open the sheet metal door and there it was, flies and all. No time to prepare a landing pad or a fireman’s blanket. All systems were go and the pilot was in the jump seat. The relief was sublime if not for the ongoing tingles, goosebumps, anxious flutters and shakes of exhaustion. Upon my return to the car, I sat back in a daze as flash backs of the girl I’d met the night before filtered through my brain. She was beautiful and at present I was anything but. I thought of that kiss, and her neck, and Valerie’s ass. She’s a different girl but whatever. Next thing I know, morning wood’s knocking on my door like a cop in a fucking drug raid and there’s only one person around to answer. I scrounge through my Macca’s bag for some napkins, reach and grab an old dirty pillow from behind my seat, close my eyes and think of her. ‘Her’ is a compilation of many but the truth is there was only one ‘her’ and she’s long gone. I rub one out, take a deep breath and fall into a shallow slumber. The sound of magpies dancing on the car bonnet was unmistakable. I awoke, stretched, sat up and removed my pillow. Refreshed from this experience, I turned to my right and reached for the seat belt. Only to discover one of those family van, people mover fucking clichés. Packed full of Chinese tourists, all looking down at me in my shitty hatchback, surrounded by wadded up tissues, glazed in sweat and filth, fly undone, and ready to rumble. I adjusted my seat, offered up a smile, backed the car out and took off. It was a Sunday, and she was lovely.

METIOR’S PIAF TOP PICKS Summertime in Perth also means festival time. With Fringeworld now finished, the Perth International Arts Festival (PIAF) has taken its place and is underway. PIAF has shows for everyone, from huge art performances to small theatre shows. Metior has compiled some of our top picks for what you should check out this coming month.

Meow Meow’s Little Mermaid This cabaret take on the Disney classic has singer Meow Meow, otherwise known as Melissa Gray, take center stage. The show promises a night of sea shanties and sex appeal as Meow Meow works her way through this re-imagined Hans Christian Andersen tale. 24-28 Feb, UWA Octagon Theatre, Nedlands. Tickets $25 from Ticketek

A Mile in My Shoes This interactive exhibition, created by The Empathy Museum, asks you to step inside a giant shoebox and keep your mind open. From there, you can choose the shoes of a stranger and walk around the Stirling Gardens in them while listening to their life story on provided headphones. The shoes may belong to anyone, from a FIFO worker to a recently arrived refugee, but all stories promise to be enthralling. 18 Feb – 6 March, Stirling Gardens, Perth CBD Free

Home Experience a 60-meter cinema screen showcasing Australia’s history from the time of foundation through to the mining booms of modern times. This musical and visual extravaganza will feature the work of many great Australian bands like The Drones, John Butler Trio and many more. Aboriginal history and heritage will also be recognised with songs from Ernie Dingo and a ‘Welcome to Country’ segment created in collaboration with 14 different clans of the Noongar people. 13 Feb, Langley Park, East Perth. Free

Blackmarket Blackmarket is for those of us who don’t mind a good interactive event. It will see you running through the streets of Subiaco while you try and survive in a fictional world where the black market economy rules. Cash won’t mean anything as you have to try and trade your belongings to gain survival knowledge that can help you as a keen hustler. Is it an art show? Is it an adventure? Well, some would say that this is a bit of both. 16 Feb – 27 Feb, Subiaco Tickets $71 - $79 from perthfestival.com.au (Selling Fast)