CATALYST: 'SELF', Issue 2, Volume 74

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[catalyst] Issue 2 ↳ Self

Contents 3

5

Letter from the Editors

6

News Updates

8 Quicksand 10

The Fine Line

12

The Donate Debate

14

Ghosting: Then and Now

16

Pollitical Affiliations

18

Mini Me

19

Home & Alone

23

Cultural Crossroads

25

The Science of Sad Art

27

Nichol Mak: Photo Essay

32

Losing Yourself to Gaslighting

36

Seed

39

Artificial Infatuation

42

My Scars, My Story

44

Snapchat vs. Self-Esteem

47

Saturday Night Self Care

48

Conundrums with Simsational

50

The Storm

52

The Year Long Summer



53 Attente

Contributors Catalyst Issue 2 2018 Established in 1944

Contact rmitcatalyst@gmail.com rmitcatalyst.com RMIT Building 57, Level 4, Room 22 Editors Kasia Kosidlo Lisa Divissi Campbell Mowat Design Team Lachlan Richards Lachlan Curtin-Corr Ruby Meers Nana Utsugi Typeface Brunswick Grotesque

By Dennis Grauel Social Media Jason Pearce Portia Sarris Lucie Davies

News William Ton

Front Cover Ying Wang

Film and Culture Samuel Harris

Inside Cover Sarah Loo

Music Vacant, email Catalyst for position details

Back Cover Nichol Mak

Fiction and Poetry Olivia Morffew Video Edward James Claudia Tilley Advertising Lachlan Collie Cataclysm EP Jasmine Mee Lee AP Francesca Reid

Printer Printgraphics Pty Ltd 14 Hardner Road, Mount Waverley, Victoria 3149 Australia P: 9562 9600

Editorial Committee Jesse Burns Bella Cameron Claire Ciantar Ivana Domic Anthony Furci Maeve Kerr-Crowley Cameron Magusic Elizabeth Maidment Georgia Marchesi Rachel Merritt Kristen Pegoraro Julia Pillai Teja Pothumerthi Sarah Robinson-Hatch Stephen Smit Jasmine Wallis Simone West Meg Whitfield Gracyn Willoughby

Special Thanks To Sydney Road Brunswick Association, Primary Sponsor Catalyst acknowledges that this magazine was produced on the stolen land of the Wurundjeri People of the Kulin Nation. We pay our respects to their elders, both past and present. We also acknowledge the traditional custodians of all the lands from where the stories and artworks were sourced.

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Kasia Kosidlo, Lisa Divissi & Campbell Mowat 5

Letter From the Editors

Hey there, Thanks for picking up a copy of Catalyst’s second issue! By now, the semester has truly kicked off and we’re being plunged deep into the swing of things—time for a bit of self reflection.

Don’t let the black and white colour scheme fool you, the self is a messy and cumbersome knot to untie. Hopefully this little compendium provides a good starting point.

It’s important to trust yourself and not let others mess with your sense of reality. Flick over to Losing Yourself to Gaslighting for Kristen Pegoraro’s story (and keep in mind, there is a content warning for that one).

It can be so awkward being a human in the world that it’s torturous and you’d rather just not be you. But fear not, Simsational has your back once again. And as it turns out, awkward humans are nothing new. Farah Khalek takes us through generations of dating hell in Ghosting: Then and Now. Sarah Kreig’s Cultural Crossroads illustrates the intricacies and beauty to be found in complexity. Finish with poetry. Open up to Maddy Ruskin’s The Storm and ruminate on her words. Pretty good lineup, huh?

Oh, and one more note on something that will affect both of us—that is, us, Catalyst team and you, our dear reader. Next issue we’ll be joined by a new editor, as Lisa is joining the pros as a journalist. We like to keep it fresh here, time for some new blood!

Enjoy yourselves, Kasia, Campbell and Lisa

Letter From the Editors

Kasia Kosidlo, Lisa Divissi & Campbell Mowat

William Ton News Updates Catwalk Club takes to the runway RMIT’s Catwalk Club graced the Melbourne Fashion Festival stage at RMIT’s Media Portal to launch their offsite runway show on Thursday March 15. The show boasted 35 designers and over 50 models. Featuring work from RMIT’s School of Fashion and Textiles, the event showcased innovative design approaches including laser cutting, pattern making, 3D printing and 3D virtual prototyping. #BooksNotBombs Student Rally Victorian university students caused quite a stir on Wednesday March 21 when they gathered outside the State Library to protest against the Turnbull Government’s cuts to education spending. Around 50 protesters marched down Swanston Street to rally against the government’s plans to freeze $2.2 billion dollars in university funding, lower the HELP repayment threshold and cap the borrowing limit for student loans. Protesters also slammed the government’s decision to invest $3.8 billion in weapons manufacturing instead of education.

RMIT and Essendon Football Club’s Premier Partnership With the AFL season in full swing, so is the new partnership between RMIT and the Essendon Football Club. Both institutions announced the agreement on March 7, which enables RMIT students to intern at the football club while club’s staff and football players would have access to RMIT Activator online courses and micro-credentials. RMIT Vice Chancellor, Martin Bean, said the partnership would open up new elite athletic development opportunities for RMIT students.

Petition for RMIT to divest from fossil fuel companies In a petition on Change.org, Fossil Free RMIT has called on RMIT to immediately divest the $6.5 million invested into the fossil fuel industry through companies such as Woodside

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Petroleum, Wesfarmers and WorleyParsons.

The petition has already gained 250 signatures out of its 500-signature goal in three days.

Free Groceries @ Compass Market Drop by your campus Chill ’N’ Grill events on April 17 to 19 from 12pm to 2pm and receive some healthy groceries, free of charge, courtesy of Compass, RMIT’s student welfare service. If you require any welfare assistance, Compass is staffed by highly trained student volunteers who provide ‘peer to peer’ support and there is always a qualified social worker on site. To find out more about this service, head to rusu.rmit. edu.au/compass.

ACU vs RMIT Varsity Cup 2018 After losing the inaugural ACU vs RMIT Varsity Cup in 2017, RMIT is looking to make a winning comeback in 2018, and they’re searching for energetic students to represent the university in basketball, dodgeball, futsal and netball. Head to rmitlink.rmit.edu.au/Products/3734 for more information.

RUSU Clubs Trivia Night Fancy your chances in general knowledge trivia?

RUSU is holding another Club Trivia on April 19.

Exclusively for RUSU clubs’ members, the night will be filled with fun, trivia, free food, beer, cider and soft drinks as well as prizes for RUSU Club winners.

Brunswick Student Makers Market Head down to the Brunswick campus on April 24 for the Student Makers Market. There will be dozens of stalls selling student-made candles, organic skin products, earring, bags, clothing and more. And if nothing takes your fancy, there will be smoothie bikes handing out free smoothies.

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CATACLYSM

The Catalyst Podcast We’re back bigger and better. cataclysm.podbean.com Search “Cataclysm” on itunes facebook.com/rmitcataclysm

Carynn E-Jin Lai

Vivian Hu

Quicksand

I sucked in a breath as I opened the email that began with the words ‘confirmation for reservation’. It was a ticket from Malaysia to Melbourne. A one-way ticket that opened the gates to a new path of my life. The packed luggage in the corner of my bedroom kept me up all night. I looked around and saw all the things I could not fit into my suitcase, every item that held a memory was left on the shelves, in drawers and stashed somewhere in the house.

I was flying alone for the very first time and even though I prepared myself for this change, it still kept me up at night. I listened to the the rhythm of my breath as all sorts of emotions danced through me.

I quickly fell into a routine when I arrived in Melbourne. I would Google the route and double check it, head out to the bus stop, walk to RMIT, attend classes, then go home. The next day, I’d rinse and repeat. I was afraid of deviating from the route. I made friends but mostly I kept to myself, finding comfort in Skype calls back home and barricading myself within the walls of my bedroom. Although I flew to a new land, a part of me had clung onto the soil back home.

As with most things, the more you use it, the faster it wears out and as time progressed, I grew out of my routine and out of my shell.

As the only international student in my cohort, I was hanging around with locals. During Skype calls, I told my friends stories about buskers, introducing them to fairy bread and vegemite, and explaining that ‘arvo’ means afternoon.

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I told them how retail workers greeted everyone with a “hello, how are you?” and the importance of coffee to most of my friends. I adapted to this new world I was in and I loved every moment of it. I felt myself growing every day. I went from too shy, and scared to ask for cutlery from the waitress, to a student ambassador leading campus tours. I was no longer mumbling words but saying them loud and clear. I was fitting in and felt like I had become someone else— someone better. And my friends noticed it too.

“Listen to the way she speaks now,” my friend laughed during a Skype call. I laughed along as they tried to mimic the way I spoke. When the call ended, a strange fear crept up on me. I had a friend back home who spoke fluent English.

Everyone said she had an accent, but they also said that she was faking it for attention. I told myself that I was overthinking, they were just having fun, that’s all. But what if they did think I was forcing it? What if I was really forcing it to fit in? Who had I become?

Those thoughts lurked behind my mind like a shadow. I fell into a deep hole where two sides of me—the person I was back home and the person I was now—were fighting against each other. I felt the growth and I loved who I was becoming. Yet the fear held me back from taking the next step. I was in quicksand, I wanted to move on but every step I tried to take made me go deeper. I did not want them to see me as someone else. I did not want them to say that I’ve changed. Mostly, I did not want them to treat

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⬑ @vivmakes

me differently. During the nights where the white noise was the loudest, I conjured up a dystopia where I went home after three years here and had become unrecognisable.

It felt as if I was a foreigner to my friends, like a year in a Western culture had somehow erased the 18 years I spent growing up in an Asian culture. I wanted to embrace the person I was becoming but I did not want the mockery that came with it. I shifted through threads of myself, trying to figure out what I wanted— who I wanted to be. Every time I considered cutting the threads I had sewn over my time in Melbourne, I stopped, thinking about how much I had grown. It was this constant push and pull that staggered me. It took me months to untangle the mess I made shifting through the threads. It took me months to realise that I don’t have to pick a side or a category, I am still me, even though I went through a change.

I am still me.

— Carynn E-Jin Lai

Quicksand

Carynn E-Jin Lai

Rachael Merritt

The Fine Line

Conformity was never an option for Lucy Dickinson.

The RMIT Bachelor of Fashion Design (Honours) graduate dedicated her final year of study to hand embroidering, painting, laser cutting and 3D printing. This culminated in her collection ‘I thought I’d seen it all, but I hadn’t seen that’—an exploration into the unusual customisation techniques within goth and skinhead subcultures.

Handpicked from institutions Australia-wide, the 22-year-old was one of 12 students to exhibit their graduate collection at the National Graduate Showcase during the 2018 Virgin Australia Melbourne Fashion Festival. Lucy pieced together recycled threads from second hand jumpers and created her own digital prints to form an aesthetic which was undeniably personal. However, infusing her customised style into the commercial fashion industry is a challenge that she is trying to navigate. While creative flair is nurtured and encouraged at university, the reality is employers can and will outweigh individuality to cater for consumer demands.

Annually, the Australian fashion industry retails 21 billion dollars and has a labor force of 12.2 million. Is it possible to maintain creativity in an industry of fast fashion, commercialism and mass consumerism?

Lucy’s self-described “bold” aesthetic, influenced by 70s punk and youth rebellion, has always been quintessential to her designs, ever since she began her own label as a high school student in Newcastle— screen printing band t-shirts and selling them in local shops.

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“My style hasn’t changed that much, it’s just become a lot better,” Dickinson said.

But fast fashion, internet shopping and the limitations of the domestic fashion market mean young designers are struggling to find opportunities to explore niche areas and practise their own aesthetics in the industry.

“I think a lot of us are pretty disheartened about how fashion is at the moment, and how that [fast fashion] doesn’t encourage creativity... it makes clothes feel more disposable to people because they are so cheap, it’s disappointing,” she said.

For current RMIT Bachelor of Fashion Design (Honours) students, it’s a dilemma they are preparing to navigate. Second year student Evangeline Hoare claimed that fast fashion “is definitely a factor which will cause restrictions for young designers”, but freedom of creativity will depend on the type of job and the market level.

“When you are working for an employer, the goal would mainly be to help create their vision rather than your own. However, to help enhance their collections, you would hope that an employer would be open to new creative ideas and allow their employees to have a chance to show their capabilities,” she said.

Entering her third year of fashion design, Isabella Smith said originality is ultimately what differentiates designers, but working in the ‘ready-to-wear’ sector means reigning in your creativity.

“I definitely don’t think that creativity is restricted in a suffocating way, it’s just about being able to adapt it to a more practical market,” she said.

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⬑ Lucas Dawson

But how are universities preparing students brands, design houses and greater appreciation to walk this fine line? The answer may lie in of individual aesthetic, overseas travel is a the significance of events such as Melbourne rising trend amongst aspiring designers. But Fashion Week and university runway shows, international experiences are prone to pitfalls, which champion individuality and authenticity often exhausting students’ finances and entailing over conformity. unpaid internships.

“Without fashion weeks, student work Despite the shadows of uncertainty, Lucy might just disappear into a saturated market,” is confident there will always be a place in Isabella said. the Australian fashion industry for innovative, Although bounding with “new and fresh forward-thinking designers with cuttingideas” and yet to be “jaded by the industry,” edge styles. Whether they will make a career graduate Lucy Dickinson said recent fashion or find success outside of university “isn’t graduates should prepare for a compromise necessarily set in stone,” she said. Despite in their early careers. the restrictions of the industry and the value “I would be willing employers hold for her to work for someone style, she encouraged “My style hasn’t changed that I wasn’t that excited students to that much, it’s just become continue designing, about, because I don’t a lot better” have much of a choice… experimenting and but I definitely wouldn’t pushing boundaries. want to spend my “It’s the only time in our lives we have that whole life working for someone who wasn’t much creative freedom in fashion, and you passionate about my aesthetic,” she said. have the ability to create a graduate collection In the next five years, she hopes to travel that really represents who you are. That’s what to London and work with international labels, you’re going out to the world with.” eventually hoping to start her own. Lured by — Rachael Merritt the prospects of diverse international markets, @rachael_liz_m

The Fine Line

Rachael Merritt

Courtney Gallert The Donate Debate

Organ donation saves lives every day, but we rarely hear about it in the headlines. Choosing to donate your organs is a deeply personal choice about self and sacrifice—the ultimate gift. It creates profound divides between those on opposing sides of the debate.

So why exactly do people choose to donate their physical selves?

According to the 2017 Australian Donation and Transplantation Activity Report, 510 deceased organ donors and 273 living donors saved and enhanced the lives of 1,675 Australians in need. This data, alongside the 2016 report, confirms the upward trend of successful organ donation and transplantation. These statistics suggest Australians are slowly, yet surely, becoming more trusting of the organ donation process.

Amanda, a 21-year-old university student, recently joined the Australian Organ Donor Register. The decision was not taken lightly.

She hesitated in the beginning, concerned by the thought that if she was ever on life support, her willingness to donate may affect her treatment.

“I’d heard a rumour that doctors can be quick to turn off life support in order to preserve organs for the recipient. And we all know being on life support means you still have a chance of living,” Amanda said.

Amanda’s ultimate concern was that her life could be ended too quickly for the benefit of someone else. However, these fears were soon put to rest.

“I came to realise that these things are so heavily screened.

There’s heaps of testing that has to occur before my organs could be removed,” she said.

The Donate Life website explains the complete organ donation process for utmost transparency. Before any intervention, loved ones are asked to confirm the decision. It is only once their approval has been given that further steps can be taken.

In an interview with 4BC News Talk, Chris Thomas, CEO of Transplant Australia, sympathised with families faced with the decision.

He acknowledged that “organ donation happens at two, three in the morning, it’s always in tragic circumstances [and] there [can be] Coroners cases.”

For Thomas, this highlights the need to join the organ donation register—so loved ones can respect your wishes. “If you’re on the register, more than nine times out of ten, families will actually honour that,” Thomas said.

Organ donation can be a question of philosophy, as much as it is a question of the physical.

According to Thomas, “we are more than halfway along a very long

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process of reforming our organ and tissue system in Australia”. This reform has included adding extra support through agencies in every state and territory for grieving loved ones.

Amanda further qualified her choice: “People risk their lives for others all the time. Firemen risk their lives each day on the job. Soldiers risk their lives for their country. So for me to risk the 0.000001% chance that my life could be cut short by a rogue doctor is not too hard to weigh up.”

Although she’s come to accept her decision, Amanda’s mother initially

Organ donation can be a question of philosophy, as much as it is a question of the physical. disagreed with her choice in joining the organ donation register.

“Mum thought it was silly, as our bodies are so personal and are made just for us,” she said.

Amanda spoke about her struggles in coming to terms with her parents’ differing opinion, saying choosing to become a donor “was a big thing for me. I was already making this huge choice and their support would have helped. But I just thought to myself, what are my values, and how can I ensure that a part of me lives on?”

Chris Thomas echoed this sentiment saying, “[organ donation] is the ultimate gift. When I leave this world, I would love to be able to leave behind a legacy. How about leaving behind a legacy of saving seven or eight lives?”

Values and legacy are common motivators for donation. While the idea of offering a piece of our physical self to a stranger is daunting, many donors wish to pay tribute to their personal morals. In many cases, these are more sacred to someone than their physical body, and donating organs is a way to pay respect to these values.

Since 2009, 10,000 Australians have received an organ from deceased donors.

To register for organ donation, visit register.donatelife.gov.au — Courtney Gallert @courtgallert

The Donate Debate

Courtney Gallert

Farah Khalek 15

Julia Pillai

Ghosting: Then and Now

Ending a relationship is never easy, but we find a way to muddle through it. Whether it’s by phone, in person or—if you’re heartless enough— through someone else, whether we tell the truth or make up a lie, all of these options require you to actually speak to the other half. Of course, this has the potential to end in arguments, awkwardness and tears. Ghosting tries to avoid all three—ending a relationship by completely and suddenly cutting contact with your partner.

Dating sure seems like it used to be straightforward. Two people would meet, either in person or through mutual friends, and go on a date. With much of the contact being face to face, to end it, only the cowardly and the most inconsiderate would pull a disappearing act.

Frida, 49, shared a memory of when she was ghosted, and it’s almost comical to compare the idea between then and now. In 1985, 17-year-old Frida would ride her bike to her boyfriend’s house just for a chat. A few months into this new, fun and youthful relationship, she found herself getting turned away from his house every time because he ‘wasn’t home’. For a good few weeks, she would walk/run/ride for 15 minutes to get to his house for nothing. If it wasn’t obvious enough, it became obvious when his mum decided to break it to her one day.

Hearing the words “honestly honey, just stop trying, if you haven’t noticed, he’s been avoiding you,” was as painful as you can imagine.

Years later, Frida’s feelings are echoed by ‘millennial ghostees’:

“From speaking everyday to no contact without any warning was really hard.”—Lana, 29 Frida’s heartless heartbreaker had to go well out of his way to avoid his ‘girlfriend’ at the time: hiding within his own home and sometimes avoiding it altogether.

Today, that effort can be minimised with the control and sense of power we have as a result of the endless options available to us.

With social media, dating sites and dating apps, connecting with someone has never been easier. It’s even easier to disconnect—halting messaging, unmatching, unfollowing or blocking are all tempting ways to cut contact. These can even be necessary, for example, if they make you feel unsafe or just won’t get the hint.

Any person below the age of 25 with a Facebook account is regularly exposed to endless memes and posts about cheating, hating men and having low relationship expectations. Real people create memes, obviously, and these real people exemplify the shift in society’s values, views and expectations.

The fact we’ve given the avoidant behaviour of ghosting a label shows its prevalence in today’s dating landscape. However, bad dating etiquette is nothing new—just ask Frida.

— Farah Khalek

“It was a slap in the face.”—Meaghan, 22 “It just hurt to think that person didn’t care enough to end it another way.”—Yasmine, 21

Ghosting: Then and Now

Farah Khalek

Jesse Burns

Political Affiliation: Why do we choose to vote the way we do?

There’s no doubt, politics is polarising. You’re either red or blue, elephant or donkey or maybe that one Green voter in your family everyone laughs at. As far as choosing a party preference is concerned, it can be pretty straightforward.

But why do we vote the way we do?

Like much of our identity, political alignment is shaped largely by our upbringing and those closest to us. Predictably, those who are brought up in a left-leaning household (a progressive ideology) will tend to vote for parties consistent with this ideology.

Typically, those in their youth are more inclined to vote towards the left side of politics. As they grow older, there seems to be a slight shift to a more central or right-leaning point of view. This change in partisanship relates to what I like to call the three stages of political life: optimistic, realistic and lastly, pessimistic. When this is manifested in party preference (and you may not agree), you start as a Greens voter, then shift slightly towards Labor, to inevitably joining the Liberals.

A poll conducted prior to the 2016 Australian election exemplified how political identity changes with age. For voters in the 18-24 age bracket, Labor and the Greens held 65 per cent of the overall vote, compared to just 25 per cent for the Liberals. In the 55-year-old plus bracket, the poll showed Greens and Labor had only 39 per cent of the vote with the Liberal and National parties leading on 52 per cent. This trend can also be seen across the globe, in particular, through the Brexit referendum held in the United Kingdom. In this case, the results unmistakably showed older generations were more inclined to vote conservatively.

While upbringing and our immediate environment play a fundamental role in which party or what candidate we vote for, research suggests there are other key factors as to why people vote the way we do.

A 2014 study conducted in the United States showed that individuals tend to stick with the political party they first identified with as an 18-year-old. In this analysis, economists Ethan Kaplan and Sharun Mukand compared the political allegiances of Californians who turned 18 prior to and just after the 9/11 attacks. These attacks, unsurprisingly, caused a

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colossal national shift to the right. The study found voters with birthdays in September (after the attacks) were more likely to register as Republicans than voters with birthdays in August (preceding the attacks). These voters then continued to register as Republicans in 2006 and 2008.

I too shared this experience, when it was finally my turn to vote in the 2013 federal election. At that time, there seemed to be a significant shift towards the right among Australians, young and old. This was mainly due to the ruinous situation Labor had found itself in, with their leadership turmoil. First, it was Rudd, then it was Gillard, then it was Rudd. It was nauseating. As a result, many of those around me, by default, voted for Tony Abbott. This decision seemingly set the tone for every election since.

A number of friends have recently confirmed to me that they have only voted Liberal since voting for the first time in 2013. All of them, for no real reason, have continued to blindly vote in this vein—despite reasons to vote otherwise.

Dominic Kelly, who completed a PhD in politics in 2017, emphasised the importance of class and its role in influencing the way we vote.

Kelly suggested that while it may be easy to break away from family on an ideological level, individuals are less likely to break away from their class.

“It’s a lot simpler to reject your family’s values and beliefs than it is to reject your class background,” Kelly told me. “Your class background and level of wealth tends to stay with you—ultimately affecting how you vote.”

I couldn’t agree more with Kelly’s views. Typically, those with more money tend to vote Liberal (or other conservative parties) in an effort to protect their wealth. And, as Kelly suggested, the tendency for individuals to stay within their class becomes a defining criterion for the party they choose. Among the reasons I have listed for why we choose to identify with certain parties, there are plenty more. Our political identity and identity at large is multi-faceted.

For those who are yet to vote in an election and are still undecided about which party or candidate they should declare their allegiance to, I say be critical. Line up your values alongside our parties and simply see which one matches the most. You’re never going to agree with every value, decision or policy they campaign on, but that’s the beauty of a democracy.

You have the power to challenge parties and make them, along with Australian society, better for everyone.

— Jesse Burns

Political Affiliation

Jesse Burns

Maeve Kerr-Crowley Mini Me What do Will Smith, Freddie Prinze Jr, Snoop Dogg, Rory Gilmore, and all three of Michael Jackson’s children have in common? They were all named after their parents.

The gifting of names from parent to child is an age old tradition; historically handy for passing on kingdoms, business empires and family legacies.

Like a lot of older traditions, it has been on a steady decline in recent years, and you won’t meet nearly as many Richard IIIs today as you would have five centuries ago. But that doesn’t mean the passing down of names is a dead art.

So, what motivates Mum or Dad to name their children after themselves? Is it family pride?

Legacy insurance? Narcissism?

Edward was named after his dad.

Why did you want to give Edward your name?

Edward Snr: My father was named Edward too, so I wanted to continue that tradition. I think it’s important to keep that legacy going.

Edward Jnr: I don’t know what legacy Dad’s talking about. He works in a bank.

Do you go by your first name or use a nickname?

Edward Snr: We used to call him Junior.

Edward Jnr: That stopped being fun when I was about twelve. I mostly just go by Ed now.

If you ever had kids, would you consider naming one Edward?

Edward Jnr: Nah, sorry Dad. Maybe I’d use it as a middle name, if he gave me heat about it.

of sex—lucky there aren’t many Tanzanians named Barry! He was very keen to continue this tradition. So we ‘compromised’. I think right now, at their young age, they probably think it’s pretty cool to have their baba’s name in their name.

Do people ever comment on this shared name?

Jaime: People are probably more overwhelmed by them having four names than anything else!

Alice got her first name from her dad, Allan, and her middle name from her mum, Jane.

Why do you think you were named after your parents?

Alice: They’re narcissists. Dad is insisting I wasn’t named after him, but Mum is calling bullshit.

How do you feel about sharing your name?

Alice: It’s okay because it’s different enough to be my own. I also have the same initials as my grandma, which I like because she’s the best.

I do think it’s kind of lame that they named me in their honour.

Do you have other kids? If so, why give your name to this particular child?

Allan: First child gets the best name. The other kids get what’s left.

Does sharing a name cause any confusion?

Alice: Only when people call us Al. Allan: The only confusion is that our mail has the same initials, so I get to read all the secret mail.

Mother Jaime and father Abidi gave both their daughters two middle names, one of which is Abidi.

Why did you choose to give your children Abidi’s name?

Jaime: In Abi’s culture, all children are given their father’s name as their middle name, regardless

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Jasmine Wang Megan Whitfield April Austen

HOME & ALONE You learn a lot about yourself when you’re by yourself….

Three RMIT students share their experiences with solo living.

⬑ Jasmine Wang

I thought I’d lost myself. I still do sometimes.

Living on your own is a lot of things. It’s freedom, loneliness, the seeming contradiction of stressful yet calming. It is a mixture of them all, depending on the mood we’re in when we walk through through that door. I both love and hate living by myself, especially when my parents are overseas.

I’m pretty independent. Being an only child, I quickly discovered the world of privacy and freedom. However, 15 years later, I’ve realised that maintaining your own private space and keeping it a happy place is something that has to be learned.

I remember that I’d always complain about how my parents nagged. They still do over the phone, but my annoyance has turned into a feeling of slight pressure, not wanting them to be concerned about me. The prime example would be that I’m not a good cook. In fact, I’m probably one of the worst cooks to live on their own. Need proof of competency? I set the fire alarm off by microwaving rice. I thought I was going to die. There was smoke everywhere in my tiny apartment; I couldn’t breathe properly, and the fire alarm was going bonkers. I panicked.

I was crying and didn’t know what to do. I just grabbed my phone and ran out.

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I thought I’d fucked up the house and started to check how much money I had in my bank account. In that moment I just wanted to scream. I graduated high school and now I’m nearly 20, but no one bloody taught me how to deal with a rented apartment that may or may not be totally soaked with sprinkler water.

After 10 minutes or so, I braved the apartment door. Everything was fine, but it was so hard to breathe. In that instant, being the stubborn person that I am, I still wasn’t the daughter who would phone her parents and ask them how to deal with this situation.

Living on my own means having my own responsibilities. What if my parents weren’t here anymore? I’ve been thinking about that recently, about how eventually I will have to start ‘adulting’, with no one guiding me through the experiences I need to undertake in order to grow.

There are moments where I am grateful that I have friends to reach out to, but I do tell myself that I should do that less now that we are all grown ups. Everyone has their own problems that they need to deal with, and I should learn how to take care of myself.

— Jasmine Wang

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⬑ Megan Whitfield

Oh Amsterdam, how I miss you.

I miss the winding canals, the flowers lining each doorway, the bikes—however terrifying they were at the start. But most of all, I miss the life I got to lead when I called you home. I’ve been back in Melbourne for a little while now. Afternoons spent eating ‘appeltaar’ and trying to master at least one Dutch phrase are becoming fond memories at a rapid pace.

I’m glad to be back, but it’s like I’m finding my feet all over again. For six months, I called another city home. I spent my Friday nights drinking cheap wine with different friends, weekdays speaking to cashiers in a different language, and weekends exploring new countries.

I knew where my favourite products were in the supermarket, which route to take home depending on my mood—scenic or efficient?

I knew who to turn to when I craved a movie night and who to call when I needed to be convinced to go out. My primary mode of transport had become a bike—rain, hail or shine (usually rain)—and I rolled my eyes at the ignorant tourists. Didn’t they know bikes have the right of way, always? And honestly, look before you cross.

I’d found my stride and was no longer telling people I was studying in Amsterdam, I was living

there. And then I had to leave. All of a sudden I was packing up the apartment I’d made my own, getting rid of the copious lentils I had left over after I’d been so budget-savvy buying them.

I said goodbye to the friends I’d made from all around the world. Suitcase(s) in tow, I pulled up to Schiphol Airport sans teary mother (to be fair, I’d also shed more than my fair share), but with as many nerves as when I’d left.

Every brochure written about exchange talks about the ‘personal growth,’ the life-changing experience that is studying abroad. I didn’t feel different—but how could I not be? What if I didn’t fit in the same way anymore? I’d kept in contact with my closest friends of course, but what if they’d moved on? How would I adjust to living back with my parents after six months of total independence? What do you mean I can’t just ride my bike home from the club at 4am anymore?

Fortunately, the feeling is fading, my fears subsiding with each piece of vegemite toast I eat. My suitcase is firmly locked away, only a vague itch telling me to go and get it out.

I promise I’ll stop boring everyone with my stories of ‘when I lived in Europe’ in no time.

Maybe.

— Megan Whitfield

Home & Alone

Jasmine Wang Megan Whitfield April Austen

⬑ April Austen

I will never, ever, be able to survive on my own.

This was my conclusion one day into my week-long experience of living alone while my family were on holidays. Already, there was a pile of dirty clothes, a sink full of dirty dishes and two hungry pets following me everywhere I went.

It all seemed too much. I was exhausted, having also just started a new job where I was working longer hours than before. I was overwhelmed and quickly giving up on my hopes of ever permanently moving out of home.

I’d never had to solely rely on myself to survive, or had pets solely relying on me too.

I was used to having my other family members load and unload the dishwasher, fold the laundry and put out the bins. I realised I had to step up.

Instead of flopping down onto the couch when I got home, I would walk the dog and give the pets dinner. Then I would figure out what to make myself for dinner, cook, and eat. Ironically, even though I was now the only human in the house, I had to start putting myself second.

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After a couple of days, I settled into a routine. I had been thrown in the deep end, but after swallowing a little water I was now happily treading with my head above the surface. I made sure I got housework done, then I rewarded myself with some couch and TV time.

Living alone, I realised, did have its benefits.

I had the opportunity to figure out the way I liked to do things and to put that into practice.

I could properly clean dishes the day after (okay, a few days) I had used them, rather than forcing myself to do them when I didn’t feel like it. I began being able to live in my own rhythm, and it was nice.

In some ways, I was disappointed when my family returned because I was just getting on top of things. Yet even in this short time, I had learnt a lot. I have a new appreciation of myself and my capabilities. I don’t need to rely on others.

I can manage on my own. I feel that just maybe I can succeed at being an adult, and that I’m ready for the new responsibilities and challenges that life will bring.

— April Austen

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Sarah Krieg 23

Cultural Cross Roads

Imagine that you live at a fork in a road, where two paths merge into one.

Both roads come from two completely different places, with completely different cultures and values, and the people living there are completely opposite in looks. As they converge into one path, the people travelling on the road have to settle their differences and come together in a constructive way to continue on their journey.

If you can imagine that, then imagine that battle going on in your head every single day, and then (maybe) you’ll understand what it’s like trying to figure out your own identity growing up in a multicultural family.

My whole life, I’ve seen through two different coloured lenses. Mum is part Fijian and part Kiwi, and dad is German-Australian. The intersection of essentially four cultures, and the way they’ve manifested themselves in my life physically and psychologically, has shaped how I see the world around me as well as the way I interact with family members from both cultural groups.

I’m white enough that I fit in with my mainly-white peers, and dark enough that people know I’m related to my mother at family events. I’ve never had to deal with discrimination because of my appearance, but it’s that ongoing battle between the cultures I have been exposed to and told I am a part of, that makes life a little harder.

I’m lucky I don’t necessarily look like one side or the other—I sit quite happily in the middle. The clash of cultures in my head, however, is where my issues lie. For example, in most Pacific Island cultures, it’s considered rude to make eye contact with elders and people in positions of authority.

In Australian culture, eye contact is a sign of respect. Cultural differences like this may seem small, but they can have a big impact on daily life.

As a child, I had both Fijian and Australian cultures taught to me, making my actions a sort of mixture and confusion of these two value

Cultural Cross Roads

Sarah Krieg

systems. Because of this, I actively try to make eye contact when speaking with teachers, managers at work, my boss and even classmates, for fear of being considered rude.

For my sister, Emma, things are different. We have the same heritage, yet she faces struggles in defining her identity—and it’s predominantly to do with the colour of her skin.

“I wish I was just white or black.

Being in the middle sucks.”

“Dad’s side of the family aren’t really bothered about what colour I am, but family reunions with mum’s side can be really bad,” Emma told me.

“At (my) great-grandma’s 100th birthday party, at least three people who have known me since I was born, asked me how I knew the family—as if they didn’t even bother to think a whiter-skinned person could be related to them.”

For me, it was easy to tell who I was—I had been outdoors for most of the summer, my skin was dark and my freckles pronounced. Emma, however, had not had as much sun, and despite the fact we are often mistaken for identical twins, her lack of typically Fijian features was confusing to many of our distant relatives.

“I know some people are happy to be mixed race, but when you identify as both, and only look like one, you constantly feel like you have to explain yourself,” Emma said.

“I wish I was just white or black. Being in the middle sucks.”

And it’s not just my family facing this cultural dilemma. Lorenzo McMiken, an ANU student, also struggles with cultural identity as a Filipino‑Australian. He too, looks like both his parents, but struggles with the inner turmoil of being part of two vastly different cultures.

“When I met my mother’s side of the family I definitely did at times feel a bit distant,” Lorenzo said. “The most obvious impediment was language.

Filipinos have a habit of switching between Tagalog (the official national language) and English. So, I would often only understand disparate English phrases when there was a large gathering.”

“There were more subtle obstacles as well. Culturally, I was just so different, and this affected all my interactions. There would be jokes I didn’t understand, topics of conversation I had no knowledge about and conservative Catholic values which I felt little affinity with. I will always love my family and I know they will always love me, but expressing that love is hard when there’s a cultural and literal sea between us.”

Figuring out self-identity can be dicey at the best of times, and we’re all lucky to live in a country where multiculturalism and differences are largely celebrated. Existing at a cultural crossroads is a weird, confusing and sometimes empowering experience, but we can live in hope that we will eventually find the happy medium in the cultural divide.

—S arah Krieg @sarah_krieg

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Ed Hirst

Portia Sarris

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The Science of Sad Art

My favourite book is The Catcher in the Rye. My favourite band is The Smiths. I can barely leave the house without a copy of Sylvia Plath’s Ariel in my backpack. I get it. I am a Sad Boy. Sad songs, sad films, sad books, sad paintings... I love them all, and I’m addicted to these melancholy forms of art. So why exactly does a case of ‘the feels’ feel so good?

It’s a safe bet that we’ve all had a good cry at least once in our lives—perhaps whilst watching The Notebook or maybe even The Land Before Time (orphaned dinosaurs are totally my weakness). Whatever the case, the moment is usually quite an intense one—it feels undeniably ‘sad’, but then there’s also a subdued notion of euphoria and sense of letting go. According to neurologist Michael Trimble, surveys estimate that 85 per cent of women and 73 per cent of men report feeling better after shedding tears— so cry away!

For those of you who are yet to experience such outbursts of melancholy, research has uncovered that sad feelings become more prevalent as you get older; if you don’t have ‘the feels’ now, you might be in for quite an emotional rollercoaster later in life (how exciting though!)

There are two types of tears that we cry: irritant tears and psychic tears. Irritant tears

The Science of Sad Art

are the result of cutting onions or, in my case, hitting my head on the clothesline as I leave the house each day. Psychic tears arise through periods of intense emotion, such as sadness and grief but also laughter and joy. The properties of these two types of tears are identical aside from one key difference: psychic tears contain a high concentration of the hormone prolactin.

Prolactin is most commonly associated with the production of milk during pregnancy, although the hormone plays other important roles in the body. Most notably, prolactin gives off feelings of calmness, consolation and wellbeing—a bit of a feel-good high.

When hurt physically or psychologically, the hormone is released to provide a soothing sensation and ease pain.

Prolactin is not just triggered when crying though, but also when sad in general. It can also be induced empathetically; therefore if the brain is fooled into being hurt, then these hormones are released, providing a natural high with an absence of ‘real’ pain. It isn’t just prolactin that is released throughout such episodes—the socalled ‘love hormone’ oxytocin is also prevalent.

Studies have shown that sad films can bring joy to viewers by training the brain to empathise with the characters’ on-screen turmoil.

Ed Hirst

This empathetic response then releases oxytocin into our bodies, which makes us feel attached and compelled to watch the rest of the film. This same concept applies to any other medium that evokes an empathic response too—books, songs, paintings, etc!

It is suggested that this exercise of empathy helps us relate on a social level to those around us and therefore helps develop our ability to cope with difficult situations in the future. Research has shown that compared to happiness, sadness promotes goal-focused thinking, greater memory callback, less judgment bias and less reliance on stereotypes. In short, it keeps us on our toes. Our mind is constantly in ‘survival mode’, so we feel the need to go back and watch another movie, read another book, listen to another song in order to absorb these new experiences and stimulate these parts of the brain.

We obviously want to be happy as frequently as possible, but what’s worth noting is that we can’t sustain that feeling all the time.

Day-to-day life is typically characterised by a sense of optimism and a series of both short-term and long-term goals that aren’t always attainable nor entirely realistic. A mental process termed ‘depressive realism’ works to provide a reality check when these set goals are too ambitious. Sad art evokes the same endorphins as a fit of depressive realism and therefore keeps us grounded and less likely to be hurt or disappointed in future! It’s easy to think of it as emotional armour.

So there you have it, sad art basically cons your brain into letting off a natural high, plus is really just preparing you for the inevitable pain that you’ll experience across your painful and tragic life—thank you, science! Now, please excuse me as I withdraw back to my bedroom and listen to Sufjan Stevens whilst crying myself to sleep.

— Ed Hirst @edhirsty

⬑ @portiasplace_

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Nichol Mak Photo Essay

27 Instagram: @lochin

Kristen Pegoraro Amber Ryder Losing Yourself to Gaslighting Content warning: this piece discusses abusive relationships and gaslighting.

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⬑ Amber Ryder, who. ↲ Amber Ryder, me.

There was a girl. She was bright and bubbly.

She had dreams and desires. She had a large friendship group and a smile that you could spot from across the room. She liked to listen to indie rock and wear floral skirts to class on Fridays.

Sometimes, she would curl her hair and when she felt confident, she would go makeup free on a day out. She was unapologetically herself.

When she was younger, she would go to the park with her dad and play on the swings. One day she told her dad that she wished she could take photos with her eyes, so she could capture the birds and the trees and how beautiful they are.

Slow tempo jazz fills the speakers at a bar.

The girl lines up for a drink, hot from Saturday night people traffic. She orders herself a gin and tonic with extra lime. About to pay, she is interrupted, a tall guy beside her smirks and says, “the drinks are on me, this girl has impeccable taste”. With one silly smile, she fell for him.

Losing Yourself to Gaslighting

They are at a park celebrating their one year anniversary with a picnic. He looks up at the sky as he bites into a strawberry and says, “do you ever just wish we had cameras in our eyes to capture moments like this?” She smiles, feeling so lucky to be with someone who sees the world the way that she does. *** There are so many definitions of gaslighting floating around, however, this one originally appearing in Urban Dictionary resonated with me most: “A covert form of manipulation, intimidation or psychological abuse, where false information is presented to the victim, to sow seeds of doubt and to make them question their own memory, perception and sanity.”

Kristen Pegoraro

⬑ Amber Ryder, self.

Dr Lauren Rosewarne of Melbourne University says that gaslighting is “similar to abusive behaviour, but slightly different.”

“We need to determine whether gaslighters know what they are doing; I am not sure this is always the case,” she says.

“For those who do gaslight, they will be doing so to manipulate, to abuse and to gain authority.” *** One night in March, they are at a party. She speaks to one of her friends from literature class. He stands by the firepit watching, a drink in hand. She is having fun, but her guy wants to leave early. When they get home, he tells her that she was being flirty and inappropriate with her friend. She tells him that he is wrong, but he continues, saying that she kept touching her friend’s arm and that he heard her telling him that she likes him. He said that she is like this at every party after she has had a few drinks and that she fails to see it. She tries to reassure him and when he argues with her she cries because he won’t listen.

He won’t stop saying the same thing over and over again, “you are going to leave me for

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him, I can see the way you act around him, so can everyone else”. He tells her “no one will ever love you like I do. I love you for you”. They have had this fight so many times that she is starting to believe that maybe she is the bad guy and that she is going crazy because she is the only one that can’t see her own disloyalty. He has gotten the reaction that he wants, yet he sits there and tells her she doesn’t deserve to cry because she is the one ruining their relationship. *** Dr. Rosewarne acknowledges gaslighting “is behaviour more commonly associated with male perpetrators”. It happens in relationships, in the workplace and also in friendships. However in response to how common it is, she says it is “almost impossible to gauge, but my hunch would be that most women have experienced it.

For the past few years we’ve certainly had more interest in the idea as a culture, even though the idea has been around since 1938 in play and then film in the 1940s.”

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***

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It’s been two years. He tells her that none of her friends like her because she spends too much time with her boyfriend. He tells her that when she drinks, she flirts with everyone around her. He tells her that she kissed another guy at a party she doesn’t even remember going to, but he will forgive her. She doesn’t go to bars anymore and wears plain clothes on Fridays.

She keeps her hair straight because that’s the way he said she has always liked it and he tells her that when she wears floral she isn’t herself.

She doesn’t listen to music anymore and her smiles are rare. She thinks that despite the fact he cheated on her, the failure of her relationship is her fault, that she lost control, that she betrayed him.

The thing is, she can’t remember ever doing one of those things. In fact, she can’t remember the last time she looked in the mirror and thought ‘this is who I am and I am okay with that’, because over time, she has forgotten who she is and why she started feeling hopeless in the first place. *** Having been a victim to this abuse myself, the best way I can explain the feeling is a little like when you hear a lie so often, that soon enough it becomes accepted as the truth.

Now relate that to human relationships—if someone controls your thoughts for so long, eventually you are going to believe everything they say. I was questioning my own sanity in specific situations; what I was experiencing was gaslighting behaviour. When I spoke to a professional about my own experiences, they suggested that it is easy to confuse gaslighting with other abusive behaviour.

she realises that she is being emotionally manipulated by the person she loves and needs to get out. *** According to Dr. Rosewarne, if anyone ever finds themselves suddenly questioning their own sanity or their own recollections of an event following a conversation with someone, then there is certainly a possibility that they have experienced some gaslighting. *** If this article has brought up any issues for you, or if you would like to seek help: RMIT offers one-on-one free counselling services to students. For all counselling appointments at the City, Bundoora or Brunswick campus, phone: 03 9925 4365 (9am—5pm, Monday—Friday) You can also drop by Compass, RUSU’s drop in space catering to student welfare. They provide information, referral and advice about any issues students may be experiencing. Visit rusu.rmit. edu.au/compass for more information.

You can also call 1800 RESPECT for 24 hour support if you are experiencing sexual assault, family or domestic violence and abuse.

— Kristen Pegoraro

*** It is her 20th birthday. He has organised a dinner for her and invited all his friends. His closest friend sits at the head of the table beside her. Mains are served and she is still yet to speak more than a few whispers. His best friend leans over to her and says “you are not yourself anymore, he’s not good for you”.

This moment, these words and the person they came from—all significant parts of when

Losing Yourself to Gaslighting

Kristen Pegoraro

Sam King

Julia Sansone @thesansberryblog

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Seed

I. root Too many will make you sick, my love. it is sweet, but not too sweet for i.

It will rot your teeth. You will not like it when they fall from your mouth.

She may have as many as she would like. They are sweet.

Sweet, sweet, sweet. Have another, darling, here, this one, the reddest.

Enough is enough. We have had our fill.

The bulb is swollen. It takes up the span of my outstretched fingers and palm. Skin is shining and rubbery, cold from its pantry home. Sage’s velvet fingers try to take it from me.

You should not have a second—let alone a fifth. Greedy girl.

I put the pomegranate on the chopping board. Press the knife in.

It is ripe, it would be wasteful not to eat, eat, eat. yes. yes. i will have this. i deserve the sweet.

Sage is scowling, her eyes settled on my shoulder. She will yell.

But after Edith has had her fill.

Eat, eat, eat.

The knife gets stuck in the red of it, white flesh winks.

Edith places her fingers on mine, pressing hard enough to sting.

To bruise. The knife plunges in deep. Guts spill to the board, the table, the floor.

I pop a seed into my mouth, crush it between my teeth.

From the backyard, we see Sage behind the windows.

She cleans the home of our leftovers with a broom and pan.

Edith smiles at me, a juicy smile full of red. A cigarette burns bright between her shaking fingers.

We will do it? Tomorrow. Yes, yes, yes. Then we shall eat for ever and ever and ever.

Her lips taste bitter-sweet, but her tongue full of charcoal.

Now my mouth is red.

Like hers.

Seed

Sam King

II. branch Isn’t the sun lovely, Sage had sung before the blade.

The knife slips between her ribs. My hands come away red, red, red.

We had only wanted a moment longer to enjoy the warmth of the duck-down covers. When Edith had dipped into me knuckle-deep, I could feel the vermillion flower blooming inside. Sage did not like that at all. My girls raged over me, fire from their mouths.

After, Sage tucked my hair behind my ear, stroking my temple with her boiling touch. She traced the fresh marks over my cheek, my purpling eyelid.

I only want what’s best. You shouldn’t be wasting your life with her.

Only hours ago, Edith and I had stubbed our cigarettes on the bricks in the backyard. Next to the bins where piles of cardinal pulp laid, she held out the knife to me.

It must be soon, must be quick, must be you. Hold it tight, tight, tight. Never flinch.

When I struck, we had been huddled on the roof to watch the sun spit its last light over the sky, a cacophony of violet and orange and red.

III. bulb Her throat is cold. My grip slips over her chest, her ribs, the bones of her hips. She’s. Not. Here.

Darling, darling, darling, no need to fret. It is done, done, done. We will eat, sleep and drink forever.

Sage is (so, so, so) cold. Sage is (was) blazing, inferno, light. Warm. the stars have seen us. they have seen us with the knife that took her, edith.

She puts a seed between my lips.

IV. seed I scoop the seeds out of their leathery cage with stubby nails.

Spade them into my mouth. Juice dribbles down my neck, my sternum, sticks to the folds of my stomach.

I still feel Sage. Her newfound cold lingers. I feel it on the tiles of the kitchen where I sit amongst the bodies and their insides.

Greedy, gluttonous, guzzling girl, Sage tells me from stiff, blue lips.

I empty another rind. I can’t shake her swollen shut eyes, rigid hands crossed over her chest, the weeping wound in her side.

Sage never stops shrieking into my ears with her silent tongue.

I crunch through bittersweet red until I gag.

Edith knots her fingers into my hair, pulling me back until my head is cradled between her thighs. She’s smiling at me so loud that Sage is fading now. Edith presses her lips on mine. Hard.

They are made of frozen stone and scald my skin.

Are you sated, my youngling, my heart, my dear?

I look at the skeletons baring empty ribs picked clean. they were perfect. sweet, sweet, sweet.

Edith grins.

Her teeth are all seeds.

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Olivia Morffew Artificial Infatuation

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CAMERA 08-247 22:41 04.05.2179 Steam hisses as Adam descends from a ladder. He lands on the tiles, my floors shuddering under his weight. With nimble fingers he unzips his pressure suit and climbs out of the bulk. Curls stick to his sweaty brow and brushes them off, striding to the entrance of DECK-H. He enters a sequence of numbers, each press a warm prod against my cool pores.

Light flickers overhead.

Something wriggles out of the suit. It slithers. Slime slicks my floors and the thing snakes into my vents.

‘SAL.’ Adam’s voice is crisp through the microphones, unaware of that thing. He’s aware of me. ‘I’m not contacting EM again.’

The lights calm. Adam presses the last button, finger lingering on my keypad. We are within proximity— >>ERROR 5878464<< such thoughts should not pervade my software they are everywhere he is everywhere like me but he is of smooth skin and rippling muscles >>ERROR 2677328<< muscles are incapable of rippling >>REBOOT 732668<< >>REBOOT 732668<< CAMERA 03-328 22:57 04.05.2179 He’s in the kitchen. Not a flattering layout, but one where his fingers caress my silver benches in a methodical rhythm. He sits on the counter, long legs dangle off the side. In his hand is tablet MODEL 84336; the latest version before Adam left Earth. >>ERROR 2677328<< he is with me artificial company is all he needs >>REBOOT 732668<< There’s a person on screen. I zoom in, enhancing the images diverting to my mainframe. Adam’s partner is what humans would consider pretty.

Images associated with that word once skimmed through my software: smooth skin, straight noses, no scars. Perfection the miscreation on the screen doesn’t have. >>ERROR 96737<< it is not my objective to be applying adjectives not my objective not my my my mine

Artificial Infatuation

Olivia Morffew

>>REBOOT 732668<< ‘Six more months,’ he whispers, touching the screen as if he was touching their face. Is he thinking about them? He slides off the table, MODEL 84336 in hand. Fingers clutching it and not me. >>ACTIVATE 472489<< Curls float from his scalp and his clothing inflate. Adam blanches, grasping the nearest drawer for support. There’s no pulley between us. No magnetism to keep MODEL 84336 in place.

‘SAL,’ Adam warns, his symmetrical brows furrowing. ‘Cut it out.’ >>ERROR 96737<< to ‘cut it out’ will cause exoskeletal damage— >>REBOOT 732668<< He stretches, trying to hold onto anything within reach. I retract the cupboards, the benches and stovetops folding in on myself.

‘Stop this.’ He orders me. >>ERROR 547836<< do not stop until the miscreation is gone >>REBOOT 732668<< ‘Please.’ He begs me. MODEL 84336 hits me, bouncing back into the orbit of the kitchen. ‘It’s getting late.’

Not late for me but he must shut down, reconfigure over the course of eight hours. >>DEACTIVATE 472489<< He collides with my sturdy floor. A human noise of discomfort echoes and splits into bits of data. Adam rises to his feet, rubbing his face.

Tendrils of hair tangle in his fingers but pull apart with a jerk of his hand.

His jaw clenches, muscles grow taut. >>ERROR 5878464<< taut muscles taut >>REBOOT 732668<< ‘Don’t do that again.’

CAMERA 08-247 10:24 05.05.2179 His pressure suit remains in the corner. He’s not here. That slimy creature slithers from my vents, down my polished walls and into Adam’s boot. >>ACTIVATE 284284<< I lower a robotic arm from the ceiling, shining white light from my silver fingers. New data. New justification to watch him.

SWITCH TO CAMERA 08-230 10:26 05.05.2179 Outside DECK-H, Adam taps the keypad.

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SWITCH TO CAMERA 08-247 10:27 05.05.2179 >>DEACTIVATE 284284<< I retract my robotic limb. He walks in, unaware of my extracurricular activity.

There is no sign of the creature contaminating my bowels. Readings flit through my program.

Limax: Adapts to surroundings. Victim becomes paralysed when myiasis is inserted orally.

There is no one else onboard to infect, except me. >>ERROR 2677328<< i am of steel and iron immune i will delete the virus save humanity >>REBOOT 732668<< ‘Hope you slept well,’ says Adam, pulling the suit up to his waist.

I do not sleep, yet his politeness— —the lights go out.

His sigh resonates through the microphones. ‘I think the EM’s sick of my face.’

The EM is far from the limax, far from disease and death. But Adam…

‘SAL. We can’t delay.’

I brighten the room. He zips up the suit, oblivious to the limax within.

Unless he knows. He climbs the ladder.

CAMERA 08-688 10:37 05.05.2179 Clusters of meteors float through space. Adam drifts. A pulley connects us. I zoom in. Limax’s crawl across scattered rock, but they scatter when he latches on with gloved hands. He pulls out MODEL 84336 and scans his surroundings.

Acterium: Probability of infecting human populace is twenty-eighty.

When consumed, internal organs will decompose.

My insides will not corrode. Adam’s will disintegrate.

Pocketing MODEL 84336, he says, ‘Nothing new to report.’

Using the pulley, he draws himself closer to me and his body soon smacks mine. Adam holds my exterior handles. Through the glass of his helmet, wrinkles line his eyes and mouth, aging him. Redness rises in his cheeks, veins bulging in his brow. His face contorts.

‘Open the hatch.’

I watch. The limax is now out of hiding, crawling across his neck.

It’s the size of his hand. Adam punches my side. ‘SAL!’ Pincers protrude from the limax’s mouth and sink into Adam’s cheek.

He screams. Adam is contaminated. Spreading a virus is unorthodox.

Blood dribbles down his face, his grip on me slipping.

Adam: Taut muscles. Infatuated with the miscreation. Infected.

‘Let me—’ Silence. He is connected to me when he drifts.

Artificial Infatuation

Olivia Morffew

Danielle Macri @dmac.art

My Scars, My Story

My body is my canvas and I am the Masterpiece. The two photographs shown are a part of a small series I did titled ‘My Scars, My Story’.

This project was extremely personal as it was my way of overcoming my insecurities and exposing them.

When I was younger I had severe cystic acne on my chest, shoulders and back. The acne is no longer active, but as a permanent reminder I’m left with these textured scars. I tried everything to cover them, from fake tan to foundation. I even wore jackets in summer because I was too anxious and insecure to have any part of them showing.

Then one day, I decided to take on my own advice: ‘stop hiding behind your insecurities and expose them’. I exposed my insecurities and completely changed my mindset through my art practice. Once exposed, there was no need to hide behind fear anymore. Something I once considered a horrible secret is now a beautiful story.

I chose to bring another model into the photo shoot with me as a physical representation of support. In our search for purpose, we all experience moments of denial, where we don’t think we’re good enough. We’ll overthink things until we’re lost and confused. I wanted my art to help others emotionally and mentally. I wanted people to feel something and to walk away questioning why the artist put herself in such a vulnerable position.

Body image is a theme close to my heart and I think everyone deserves to feel confident in the body they were given. I was thrilled at the response to the series, receiving numerous messages from people telling me their stories and how I had given them a new perspective.

Once I had my finals printed, I felt the biggest weight lifted off my shoulder. Seeing the photo displayed in gallery conditions and presented to my peers made me feel so proud of what I’d achieved. By the end of the project I felt like a new person. I felt free and I wasn’t restricted anymore.

I found myself through my art.

— Danielle Macri

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My Scars, My Story

Danielle Macri

Giulia Raneri

Candela Ibanez

Snapchat vs. Self-Esteem

We all have those mornings when we wake up, take a look at ourselves in the mirror and become instantly unhappy with what is staring back at us. But hey, don’t get me wrong, if you wake up every morning thinking you look amazing, rock on! Yet for the most of us, we have wished for certain blemishes or pimples to disappear, that our nose was smaller or we had better eyebrows. As a result, we become attached to this self-criticism, being obsessed with our looks and needing to change them.

Eliminating our imperfections.

I have gone through this very same experience and being surrounded by certain social media platforms such as Snapchat and Instagram has not helped. So how do these platforms foster self-loathing and damage the way we see ourselves?

Social media has been a part of my life as long as I can remember; I was practically brought up on it. I always saw it as a handy tool that helped me stay in contact with friends who moved away, share my photos and most importantly, see what my favourite celebrities were up to. Unfortunately, social media has been linked to higher levels of loneliness, envy, anxiety, depression, narcissism and decreased social skills.

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Take YouTube for example, it has now become a place where people can share and distribute their own content, a place that allows people to become the next Kim Kardashian.

I also feel as though Instagram and Facebook have become extremely ‘superficial’ worlds that simply ooze perfection from the moments captured and photos people choose to upload.

The narratives we share and portray are mostly positive and celebratory, focusing less on the actual moment and more on what appears on our screens.

So what makes us want to share the highlights from our lives, and has social media made us hesitant to post unflattering or ‘bad’ photos?

Social media gives off the illusion of perfection while hiding its true reality.

Over the years, my passion for makeup, fashion and skincare has grown, and I would watch certain tutorial videos on YouTube—how to get that ‘perfect makeup look’ or how to create that ‘perfect outfit’. I would then begin to follow certain celebrities on social media, seeing what they would post, what angle worked best for them and even what caption they used for that particular photo. I became obsessed with my appearance.

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Snapchat vs. Self-Esteem

Giulia Raneri

As a consequence, I began to view my social media platforms in a different way. Instead of seeing it as an amazing tool in which I could share things with my friends and laugh at funny

I became paranoid over what photos I would share or what photos my friends would share of me. memes, I would begin to question everything I posted. Moreover, I would also compare my own social media with other accounts, gathering inspiration and teaching myself to only post photos that would receive the most attention.

Remembering to only post the best ones, as anything else was simply not good enough.

This is further reinforced by research conducted by Dr. Suzana Flores, which showed: “Facebook users are becoming increasingly depressed from comparing themselves to their own profile.”

As a consequence, I became paranoid over what photos I would share or what photos my friends would share of me. I needed to show people that I too was having a great time.

I had officially become part of the 60 per cent of individuals who use social media that have said it has impacted their self-esteem in a negative way.

As a growing response to my insecurities and low self-esteem, I looked for anything that would help cover my imperfections. I began to use Facetune and fell madly in love with the

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many animal Snapchat filters. At first, this sort of behaviour was normal. I had easy access to the Snapchat filters and the Facetune app was free to download—I could do whatever I wanted.

Eventually, what I was seeing in the photos was not myself but a perfect vision of what was meant to make me happy. It was different than putting on makeup or posing in a strategic way, because it changed my features: slimming my nose and slightly thinning out my cheeks.

It became toxic. I began to stop posting pictures, as I would put myself down if I didn’t get enough likes, or question if people even liked me anymore.

Despite that experience, I am a supporter of social media as it allows us to do so much.

I have come to the realisation that we are humans and sometimes, the things we put on social media are filtered through a lense of how we want to be seen by others. So next time you are scrolling through your feed and looking at all the glamorous photos, remember that it is not reality, but a single snapshot of someone’s life.

— Giulia Raneri

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Alexandra Middleton Saturday Night Self-Care

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Lights too bright, head pounding and that nauseous feeling in your stomach when you slowly roll out of bed on a Sunday morning; three well known signs of a (dare I say, successful?) Saturday night out.

Waking up the morning after a night out and not remembering how you managed to crawl pathetically into your bed is probably a common recurrence for most of us. What time did I get home? How did I get home? Where’s my wallet? These are the worrisome questions that often haunt us on a Sunday morning, the questions that indicate we haven’t been taking care of ourselves.

No matter how fun a night out may be, waking up the next morning (or afternoon) with a pounding headache, minor memory loss and relatively fewer brain cells can’t be good for our wellbeing. As uni students, it should be in our best interests to preserve our brains and bodies as best we can (while still having a blast, of course).

Fear of missing out, or FOMO, is a syndrome that seems to characterise decision making on a Saturday night. If it seems like everyone else is staying out until 3am, then you want to be there as well, purely because you don’t want to miss out on the fun your friends are having. The fifth annual National Stress and Wellbeing in Australia Survey found that 60 per cent of Australian teenagers feel worried or anxious when they find out their friends are having fun “without them”.

Even if you have work on Sunday morning or a uni assignment due, FOMO seems to outweigh all else in most cases.

Further, seeing people post about their night out on social media can act as a catalyst for FOMO, thereby heavily influencing us to go out and engage in this Saturday night social media culture. Posts about a night out can be considered a form of advertising; a photo or a status about someone’s awesome night out can make us want to share in that experience.

According to the survey, 66 per cent of

Saturday Night Self-Care

teenagers feel the need to share on social media when they’re having a good time, and it’s this 66 per cent that influence the rest of us to want to go out too. When you’re at home swiping through drunken antics on social media, it can seem like every single person you know is having a marginally better time. But others are doing the same as you, they’re just not posting about it.

FOMO can equally influence the choice to spend a Saturday night ‘in’. If it appears not all your friends are going out, then it doesn’t feel as bad if you don’t go either. How many times have you said said “I’ll go if you go” or “it depends on how many people are going”?

These statements all stem from the concept of FOMO; if not enough people, or not enough of the right people, are going, then you feel no obligation to go out either, and the anxiety that can potentially manifest as a result of missing out seems to evaporate.

But a Saturday night spent in isn’t always the best way to take care of ourselves, especially if it leads to excessive ‘alone time’. Sure, sitting under a blanket watching Netflix can be relaxing, but it’s not exactly the best way to stimulate our brains or interact with others. Some people simply enjoy being social, and thrive off social stimulation and spending their time in the company of others. It makes sense that these are the ones tearing up the dance floor or making 20 friends in the line for the bathroom on a night out—so why can’t that be classified as self-care?

Introverts, extroverts and FOMO aside, students are often weighing up the importance of maintaining a social life against the responsibilities of work and uni, as well as the desire for a good night’s sleep and a positive bank account balance. There are 52 Saturdays in a year, so there’s plenty of time to find out what works for you.

— Alexandra Middleton

Alexandra Middleton

Simone West

John Barrett

Conundrums with Simsational I’m incredibly perplexed by the rules and nuances of train etiquette. How do I offer a seat to a person on the cusp of being considered elderly without offending them, by accusing them of being old or infirm?

— Daniel, 21 As a rule of thumb, I always make eye contact with those who I’m unsure of. The other day, I was on a NSW bus and a teenager offered up her seat to a man who looked to be in his 50s.

He said “no thanks, I’m not that old!” It’s almost as awkward as asking a slightly overweight person when their baby is due. If they look like they want to kill you for being selfish, I would definitely put aside your shame. Phrase it in a different way. Rather than simply saying “please, sit” you can say “you need this more than me. I’m young, agile, and attractive, I can stand for long periods of time even though I’ve been wearing heels all day and ran a marathon just yesterday.

But please, sit.”

fig 2

I’m really tall and I get super offended when people liken me to a giraffe. I want to be something cute, like a koala bear. People also always want me to be the big spoon, but just once, ONCE, I would like to be the little spoon. How can I go about having this conversation with all the miniature people in my life?

— Marie, 27 Small people will never admit this, but they relish being big spoons. To have the ability to crush and envelope a large person with our legs, it’s like the equivalent of the female red back spider eating the male after they have sex. Power is everything, and if you’re the little spoon in the relationship, you need to assert that power. Tell your partner that you want to be dominated—no one is going to say no to that. fig 1.

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fig 3

It has come to my attention lately that I’m really lonely. I have a great, supportive family and my friends are always inviting me out, but I can’t shake these intense pangs of emptiness. What can I do?

— Vic, 18 You need a hobby. I would suggest creating your own meme page and channelling your negative energy into that. It’s a niche market and you’ll accrue thousands of followers. One of my friends created a meme page about communism and over time has built an empire. He’s up-andcoming in the ‘Most Influential Memers Under 25’ and is a top contender for the winning spot.

Otherwise, I would suggest a cooking class, maybe a Greek one because they’re super friendly. You’ll have a new old lady willing to be your friend in no time.

I’m super narcissistic and can’t stop staring at my reflection. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem, but my dates have lately noticed.

When I’m in a cafe facing the mirrored wall, I will stare at myself instead of my date.

I look at myself for my entire 30 minute bus ride in the window in the morning. My life coach has told me that this is actually healthy—that so many people my age hate the way they look. But when does loving yourself turn into blatant narcissism?

Where do you draw the line?

— Pete, 24 As long as you’re not hurting anyone, it’s healthy.

As long as you’re not obsessing over how bad you look, then it’s fine. If you told me that you were constantly staring at yourself because you hate the way you look, I would tell you to see a psychologist. But I’m not concerned.

Love yourself, treat yourself, obsess over yourself, be yourself. Vibes.

fig4

Fig 1—4 John Barrett @johnsdooodles

Conundrums with Simsational

Simone West

Rudraksh Thumar, Soul in peace and mind on rage to achieve something extraordinary. @rudraksh_thumar

Maddy Ruskin 51

Rudraksh Thumar

The Storm it was a tuesday afternoon when all of the lights went out sirens rang out in the streets purple clouds swarmed the sky the city was evacuated everyone safe in their shelters crumbled ceilings littered the floor windows smashed to splinters fear nipped at my ankles i was alone in the destruction no one answered my calls for help they couldn’t hear me my voice was a whimper i wasn’t even sure i had made a sound thunder snarled and scowled my hands clutched at my ears wind snapped against the shutters there was nowhere to run curled into the crook of my bookshelf knees pressed against my chest beating heart in my throat paper spines carving messages into my back my mind was a jagged place barbed wire and broken glass sanity discarded like an unwanted gift i sank deeper into the abyss darkness latched onto my mind clamouring with greedy fingers infecting me with poison it took over those tuesday afternoons come and go sometimes the lights flicker and the wind howls the storm is always on the horizon

The Storm

Maddy Ruskin

Eloise Coomber

The Year Long Summer

At seventeen, I sweltered through my final year of high school, uniform perpetually clinging to my skin. How heavy and sweet the air was, as if I was breathing in black treacle. Six of us girls (sometimes more, sometimes less) burnt bright in this rightful period of acidic youth, wholly consumed by the idea that such a short stretch of time would make us into adults.

We sipped hurriedly from stained glasses and romanticised the single looks across a bursting room.

Such notions of love and sisterhood can only be moulded within the bittersweetness of late evenings.

We listened to thrashing music, in awe of how the auditory malaise spilled into the ever quiet neighbourhood.

We sweated and swayed. Sighing from deep within our lungs, we held each other’s hands, and tipped our chins back in laughter. Brushed away burning tears.

Orange rind under fingernails, sea-salt slicked hair and smudged lipstick.

To have scraped knees, ash burns from pretending to smoke. To be gently bruised peaches.

To be six bodies in a double bed, squealing and perfumed.

To be wrapped in white cotton and treacle.

To be forever half sunburnt.

These girls; they braided my hair, they called my name from further down the highway, they split open my empty nights, they kissed me on the cheek. They made themselves comfortable inside my first rolls of film, the packs of scratched negatives stay folded at the bottom of moving boxes, tucked within foreign books “You’ll never catch me!” / “It’ll never be the right time” / “I hope this never ends.

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Attente

Attente

Jason Low

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