Ishan Verma
Off To A Street St — Art And so, it began again... be er our city for? Would it What would you rememb of ne tu ne hts or the monoto the chittering traffic lig heat s? The festive summer the PTV announcement de your graves St that both ma or that first date on De skin burn red? yst e eightieth volume, Catal For the first issue of th riences and revels in lived expe ds en mm co re ts, un co re in the in our hearts that orda and anecdotes cherished to call home. city of Naarm as a place n to a stroll on the steps Consider this an invitatio of the CBD.
Ishan Verma
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Street Sounds
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Letter from the Editors
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50 Steps
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Identity of a Tram
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An Interview with Lana Laham
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Ishan Verma
A City of Voices
President’s Report
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Unveiling Melbourne’s Wardrobe
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Ryan Wong
Scrawl
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Lonely Girl Ishan Verma
Love Letter Art (Ingénue) to Melbourne
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A day off work
Line in the Sand
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26 32
Heatwaves and Solo Escapades
Insignificant Moments in the City
Sam Kerr Saves the City
Fun Times
Dear Melbourne
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Calendar
Ishan Verma
Catalyst Colophon Catalyst Issue 01 2024 Established in 1944
Cover Design Sisi Akarapichet Ishan Verma
Contact catalyst@rmit.edu.au
Designers Sisi Akarapichet Elyssa Chen Monique Pulivirenti Megan Tran Huiyu ‘Frankie’ Tian Ming Ngoc Trinh Ishaan Ambavane Soumil Sawmill
RMIT Media Collective RMIT City Campus Building 12 | Lvl 3 | Room 97 Printer Printgraphics Pty Ltd 14 Hardner Road Mount Waverley VIC 3149 Australia Editors Ishaan Ambavane Louis Harrison Soumil Sawmill
Photographers Arham Khan Ishan Verma News Officer Bridget Clarke Elior Malka
Creative Writing Officer Mahal Cuya Gaia Choo Maisie Mateos Nithya N Lara Scuri Farida Shams Culture Officer Tansy Bradshaw Eloise Dalais Hannah Elizabeth Robbins Entertainment Officer Luka D’Cruz Olivia Hough Yuvani Jayatillake Elliot Mulder
Catalyst and RMIT University Student Union (RUSU) acknowledge the people of the Woi wurrung and Boon wurrung language groups of the eastern Kulin Nations on whose unceded lands we conduct the business of the University. We respectfully acknowledge their Ancestors and Elders, past and present. Catalyst and RMIT University Student Union (RUSU) also acknowledge the Traditional Custodians and their Ancestors of the lands and waters across Australia where it conducts its business. Catalyst is the student-run publication of the RMIT Student Union (RUSU). The views expressed herein are not necessarily those of the Editors, the Printers, or RUSU.
Street Sounds 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.
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The Brown Snake - Thelma Plume Kitchen - Ruby Fields to Perth, before the border closes - Julia Jacklin Germaphobe - Mim Jensen Rae Street - Courtney Barnett Revolutionary, Man - Winterbourne Talking to Walls - The Rions Chicago - Demo - Sufjan Stevens Melbourne - DMA’s You’ve Already Won - Gretta Ray When We’re in Fitzroy - Gretta Ray Bus Stop - There's A Tuesday Wes Anderson - Alex Lahey Leaving For London - Pacific Avenue SITTING IN TRAFFIC - Ruel DEATH WOBBLES - CODY JON It’s Been a Long Day - Spacey Jane I Was Neon - Julia Jacklin 2006 - Morgues Lights Out - Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers Milkumana - King Stingray In The City - Charlie XCX, Sam Smith Girl’s - Nice Girl, Michael Kime Melbourne Sound - Matty Lincoln, Mandas Got Me Started - Troye Sivan Stacking Chairs - Middle Kids The Bug Collector - Hayley Heynderickx Harry Street - Suzi Making It Through - Angie McMohan Free - Florence + The Machine
3 : 16 4 : 54 2 : 57 4 : 20 4 : 31 4 : 48 3 : 20 4 : 09 3 : 35 3 : 26 3 : 59 4 : 11 4 : 10 3 : 41 4 : 15 2 : 52 4 : 04 4 : 03 4 : 27 2 : 55 3 : 05 2 : 56 4 : 33 4 : 50 3 : 18 3 : 08 3 : 48 3 : 52 4 : 42 3 : 55
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ED
Letter from the Editors
When did writers stop opening correspondences with ‘Dear Readers?’ Such a striking one-liner to begin a letter from our desk — addressed to our audience — and so, it remained the preliminary thought occupying our minds as we foraged the front matter of earlier volumes for some much-needed inspiration. Perhaps its past absences wouldn't matter. Perhaps it could be a new beginning, something we hope stands the test of time. Perhaps it would be our beginning. So, here it goes... Dear Readers, Welcome to Volume 80! And with that, we have begun, so let us revisit our first thought — a thought uncanny but unquestionably worth exploring. Through anxious doubts and pesky thoughts, uncertainty binds our beginnings. I’m sure our editorial lineage sides with us on this; uncertainties are all we’re left in common as we reach our conclusions. Each Volume is an opportunity to reinvent and innovate; each is distinct from the ones known before, naturally personal, representative of the Editors’ interests, love and passion, and bound to be a ‘catalyst.’ And so, it shall be. We begin this year’s catalysis by inviting you to a stroll through Naarm (Melbourne)’s Central Business District. We hope this issue serves as a welcome to those new to the city and a love letter for those revisiting. Here’s to Volume 80, our new beginning. Happy Reading! With love, Ishaan, Louis and Soumil.
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President’s Report
Hello, Everyone! My name is Ella Byrne, and I am so excited to be your RMIT University Student Union (RUSU) President this year! I am studying for a Bachelor of International Studies. A fun, but not really fun, fact about me is that I love my veggie patch. I have a small veggie garden which I can’t stop talking about, in which I am currently growing tomatoes, lettuce and basil. Welcome to RMIT! Whether this is your first time at uni, you’re new to RMIT or a returning student, congratulations! I can guarantee that university life is an exciting and insightful experience, and I hope you make the most of it. When I started uni, I had no clue about anything. I was unsure about what to bring, where to go or how to make the most of my time here, but something I learnt early on — handy to this day — is that the RMIT buildings are listed on Google Maps by their number. I also remember attending RUSU events during O-Week, which helped me get engaged in student life but also helped me learn more about the Student Union, and the clubs and departments that fell under it. Trust me, uni is much more fun when you are involved in communities like ours and attend events that they host. It’s a great way to have fun and make friends.
also to support our student community. We hold many events not only during O-Week but all throughout the semester. We are here to help, stand with you and take a stand for you. RUSU provides a diverse range of support in areas including but not limited to welfare, student rights, mental health and food security. We also provide students with a medium of expression with our publication, Catalyst, which I deeply admire (PS: You can be eighty per cent certain that they didn’t tell me to write this). I remember picking up my first copy of Catalyst in Building 80 back in 2021, and I haven’t stopped reading the work they publish ever since. It is incredible to see what students write and create for Catalyst, and I hope that people reading consider submitting a piece, too! I am so excited for their upcoming work this year; I wish the Editors and their team all the best to pursue their creative endeavours. As I mentioned, I am so excited to be your RUSU President for 2024. We have a great team of office bearers who are here for you! Sign up for an annual RUSU membership now to not miss any action.
The role of the Student Union and that of mine as its President is not just ensuring you have a blast at uni but
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A CITY OF
VOICES What really is signature about Melbourne? You expect to feel an identity, a unanimous voice to emerge from the cluster of diversity but that’s not what Melbourne has. There are always multiple voices to be heard. Multiple identities to adopt. It is a city of activity under widely sombre skies, like there’s something brewing amongst the crowd much like the coffee it loves. There’s always energy and motive behind the way pedestrians walk. Like they know something you don’t. And this is precisely what I was wondering as the new kid on the block — I had no idea where everyone was headed. There was much to do and much to accomplish here. So many opportunities before me when I started opening up to the idea of having moved to a new city. I had started to learn to imbibe the spirit that came along with the hustle, learned to get uncomfortable in places where I usually fit and started to struggle with the boundaries of who I was in order to understand who I wanted to be. I tried new things and took part in events around the city — started with what the university offered, then moved into the city. There was always something to look forward to in this city. There was this one event I attended in the city, which
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was the Italian festival at the Royal Exhibition Building. The Building itself was built around 1880 to capture the opulence, energy and excitement of Melbourne for the International Exhibition then; now it cemented itself as an icon and acted as a makeshift hospital, morgue, exam hall and so forth. The design of it is intricate and influenced by several European styles, and you can’t stop yourself from taking a look at the beautiful ceiling for a minute or two. What really spoke to me was that this building, yet again, housed a present day Italian festival — a celebration of a culture and its people — and everybody else got to immerse themselves in it. And this was the moment I recognised what the city itself was trying to say. The song has no distinct voice but there are so many notes in it. Melbourne was never about blending into a single voice. Its graffiti lanes always echoed individual sounds and you had to find the frequency that fit with yours. Much like a putty puzzle piece — first you get to mould yourself and then you get to discover what part you play.
A City of Voices
The city is in its details. Everyone is springing to do something with their day. They’re either invested in their walks, their book clubs, their music festivals, their Friday nights or their favourite beaches. The city swings from sweater weather to cargo shorts season in no time, but the spirit is never confused. It’s always headed somewhere. It ebbs where it finds the space to and always has the space to include, to partake and to rejoice. There is newness and wonder amongst its people. They’re always rearing to move and do stuff. The energy is infectious but is determined to stay undefined. Simply because a definition is limiting and Melbourne wants to stay limitless.
The beauty was never in the cover but in the book itself, just like how you had been told was the case all these years. When you start to read, you find the details that make it feel so personal and THAT is the moment you realise where everyone is headed.
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50 Steps to have the Most Melbourne 01.
Wake up, ideally to the morning calls of magpies,
02. Tune into ABC News Breakfast because you can’t stand sunrise, 03. Check BOM but take it with a grain of salt, 04. Leave home w unconfirmed plans for the night,
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See Troye Sivan.
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Rush to make a booking at the new Lucas Group restaurant.
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Check PTV but take it with a grain of salt,
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Complain about traffic.
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Read a Broadsheet article about a new sandwich shop in Fitzroy,
05. Complain about traffic. 06. Bemoan posers encroaching on the north, obscuring the fact you too encroached on the north.
20. Revel in nostalgia as you go past the Aquarium on the train, 21.
Top up your Myki at Melbourne Central Station,
22.
08. Meet someone at the uni library and ask them, ‘Where did you go to school?’,
Bullishly go to the State Library, refusing to believe you will not (and never) get a seat,
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09. Drive halfway across town to Footscray to get a Bánh Mì
Get disappointed when you don’t get a seat at the State Library.
24. Try to go study on the lawns outside the State Library,
07. Wear a Uniqlo puffer jacket despite the fact it’s 25 degrees (it’ll come in handy when it inevitably starts raining at exactly 2:30 pm),
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Complain about traffic.
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Shop at Goodbyes,
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Go to Dejour for a new pair of jeans (you’ll inevitably get too overstimulated and leave empty-handed),
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Buy a coffee that puts your bank account into withdrawal.
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Have a picnic on any Carlton boulevard to try to find Troye Sivan,
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Leave the lawns of the State Library because it starts raining.
26. Discreetly photograph the evian water girl. 27.
Listen to Spacey Jane and pretend you’re in a movie as you walk the Flinders Street Station underpass,
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Shuffle through your Spotify playlist, and let the rogue 80s pub-rock march on,
in 24 Hours you can possibly have... 29. Finally confirm plans to ‘just get dumplings’,
oat iced latte for a morning pick-up,
30. Insist on taking the tram but take an Uber instead,
44. Scroll realestate . com . au for 3 bedroom houses in the northern suburbs, despite knowing you will never be able to afford a house with your communications degree,
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Complain about traffic.
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Describe a dilapidated brick building as ‘a bit New York’,
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Go to the world’s most expensive wine bar for a couple drinks before dinner,
34. Call the bartender a ‘wanker’ behind his back. 35.
Stage a sunset photoshoot outside a random terrace house,
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Unintentionally get plastered at your yum cha dinner,
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Restlessly pine for your friend’s IGET bar.
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Go to the local pub and pretend to be interested in whatever sport is playing on the tellies,
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Say you can’t wait till footy season starts.
40. End up on Chapel Street, 41.
Say how much you love Melbourne because Melbourne is the best and there is nowhere like Melbourne,
42. Scroll your socials and consider moving to Sydney for the beaches. 43. Go to Mile End for an egg and bacon bagel, and an
45.
Scroll Seek for jobs in Melbourne that will utilise the said degree.
46. Get cut off by a bus on Victoria Parade in your Hyundai i30, 47.
Try to take a detour through side streets (you will inevitably drive the wrong way in a one-way only laneway),
48. Tentatively make plans that night for a ‘chill one’, 49. Do it all again 50. Complain about traffic
Melbourne’s landscape is brimming with vintage stores and op shops where you’re bound to find something from Goodbyes, and Lost and Found. Fortunately for us Melbourne Metropolis has its own fashion world, from the likes of Brunswick all the way to Brighton discovering a different style is expected. There is something for everyone and with the creativity of the city and the emerging designers, from RMIT and the Whitehouse Institute among others, newcomers won’t be short in finding their own fashion taste. When looking into the depths of the Melbourne fashion scene across the city, you’ll find a diverse mix from thrifted and local designs, to perfectly tailored plain suits. There is a big vibrancy that can be found from stalking the @melbournefashion TikTok account to strolling up Brunswick Street or even heading to Collingwood yards for your post-work drinks. You’ll find an array of looks that are pieced together effortlessly.
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There is a uniqueness to the fashion community in Melbourne, originating from the underground art scene in the CBD combined with a mix of luxury/designer wear on Collins Street. A perfect combo would picture Jean Paul Gaultier baggy cargos pieced with a vintage $12 corset found at the bottom of the discount bin, paired back with some Doc Marten Mary Janes and a silver chunky chain and bag from your grandmother – this is the Melbourne classic ‘cool’ blend. You’ll see a black-on-black outfit, which in the mid 19th century became popular in Melbourne to reflect European fashion and has carried through to 2024, where the weather is still two-faced and one must dress for all seasons in one day. Plain in colour; an outfit is changed through the vast layering of a hoodie, vest, trench and skirt over baggy pants. The outfit is no longer basic. A monochrome outfit uncovers various textures and shapes, through carefully accessorising and the embracing of local small brands – the outfit of the Melburnian is something of complexity. There is a straightforward nature in Melburnian style, one whereby you won’t be able to buy anything a person wears as it is simply vintage or something their parents owned. This can make finding an aesthetic to follow a disheartening task in a city where there is a silent pressure to fit into the North grunge appeal but also the contrast with the perceived South as overtly lavish and preppy. Though you might not be able to buy someone’s outfit (and this can be depressing), thrifting is one of the best ways to reduce our overconsumption as a nation, promoting the re-use and recycling of perfectly cool items. A few recommendations are Lost and Found Market, RetroStar Vintage Clothing, Goodbyes Brunswick and Swop Clothing Exchange. Most vintage stores lie in the North of Melbourne in Collingwood, Brunswick and Fitzroy but stores like Shag and Paris ’99 are in the South. Constantly pushing the boundaries of the fashion realm through layering (especially for the turbulent challenging weather), Melbourne is ever-evolving in its responsibility to lead as the city of the arts and fashion.
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Lucas Davies
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Malachy Lewis
Identity of a Tram In an increasingly car-dominated world, while the 50s saw cities tear up their tram networks, Melbourne's intrinsic societal, practical and cultural symbiosis with its trams ensured their renewal and sculpted our CBD's nervous system. The idea of the anomalous tram — a small train with covered wheels that runs on public roads — fostering an identity as a cultural icon fascinates me. These locomotives trundle along Melbourne's streets as they have for over a hundred years, connecting people from all over the city and baking themselves into its mythos. We've all been on them; many may even rely on them as they entrench their way into our routines. One must imagine the soundscape of the CBD without tram bells to truly realise how core they are to Melbourne's industrial identity. With the ding of the bell and their remarkable colours and physiques, they come alive, but one must wonder how their personality evolves depending on their environment. Do they feel happy or sad at full capacity? Do they get angry at the sight of cars? What's their attitude towards Authorised Officers? As I write this, the Swanston/La Trobe Street intersection's tram tracks are getting replaced due to their old age, an expected and essential process as countless trams run over them daily. This ongoing construction is a testament to the demand and importance of our trams and their tracks, gleefully burdened with the weight of expectation.
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“PEACE IS THE OUTCOME; LIBERATION IS THE WAY. LANA LAHAM ON HOPE, COMMUNITY AND COLONIALISM
Portrait by Storm Bloomfield
One thing that informs the culture of Naarm is its people’s will to come together and protest. If you’re new to Melbourne, you’ll likely see protests as you move around the city. In recent months there have been frequent protests and marches calling for a Free Palestine. To understand more about these protests, Catalyst sat down with Lana Laham, a Palestinian-Mauritian woman studying for a Bachelor of Social Work at Victoria University and working in disability support on stolen land. Over the last few months, Lana has been organising with The Sit-Intifada at Parliament of Victoria, a community of Palestinian, Pro-Palestine allies and activists committed to seeing a Free Palestine through engaging in acts of decolonisation, direct actions, lobbying governments, protesting and so forth. 12
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An Interview with Lana Laham Soumil Sawmill: I would love to know why you stand with Palestine on a personal level.
channels, they are the ones much more easily swayed by biased media reporting.
Lana Laham: Outside of my identity as a Palestinian person, I believe that standing with Palestine is the right thing to do because it’s a human rights issue — not a political or a religious issue. Our fellow human beings are being murdered en masse... I think if you’re a human being with empathy, this is where you should also be standing.
The people on the ground doing the work are the voices we need to hear. Families of these journalists have been killed while they are doing this job, and they still return to the job three hours later.
SS: You talk about supporters of genocide, settler colonial powers, as well as western imperialists. How do they benefit from letting a genocide go on? LL: Well, I think it’s multiple things. The acquiring of resources that come from the Middle East, a very oil-rich region. It’s always been about this acquisition of land and power and having the most really — what these Western imperial powers want is total domination — total control. SS: So many institutions and organisations — including governments and media houses — have shown a biased response towards the war. What blinds them? LL: The media is quite an easy one to see. While for the government, it is quite simple: if our government was to take a stance against Israel in support of Palestine, that would mean they would have to check what’s going on in their own backyards. They would have to recognise their own history of colonisation, invasion, and genocide; I think doing that would be a contradiction for them, and I don’t think they are ready to have those kinds of conversations. SS: Given this institutional bias, how can one be well-informed in times like this? What sources do you follow to keep yourself up to date? LL: Well, what’s interesting is the demographic of people believing the biased news compared to those who are aware of what’s going on, on the ground. The demographic of people seeing on-theground accounts of the journalists like Anas (@ anasjamal44), Bisan (@wizard_bisan1), Hossam (@hossam_shbat), Motaz (@motaz_azaiza), Plestia (@byplestia) — reporters who are literally risking their lives to share footage on the ground, is much younger; people that are probably not watching mainstream news anymore, streaming a lot more, watching YouTube, watching social media... are getting a much more unfiltered, unbiased take on what’s happening whereas the older generation who are not necessarily on social media, those still watching the TV
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There are groups like Middle East Eye and Eye on Palestine that are showing what is happening on the ground. These are the things that people need to see; you need to see with your own eyes what is happening there. It’s the unfiltered truth; there is no propaganda behind this; we are seeing people pulled out of the bombings, carpet bombings, children, dead bodies, parents carrying their children in bags — the most horrific things, and I urge people to not look away when you see that. We are living in this age of importance of selfcare and digital detox when you need to take a break. Yes, those things are all valid, but I think if you’re doing that a hundred per cent of the time and going, “Oh, I can’t see this at all,” then how would you know what’s going on in the world? You need to expose yourself and let yourself see what’s happening. SS: I heard the speech you delivered on Sunday at the State Library, where you spoke about community, collective voice and grassroots activism. Something you said that I resonated with was: “Freedom has never come from the top.” What change are we capable of as allies and activists living seven thousand miles away? LL: Many things. We can be a lot more aware of our buying power; there is a huge push for Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS). It worked in South Africa during the apartheid. We can also continue to call on our MPs. APAN, the Australian Palestinian Advocacy Network has a form where you can type in your address, as it automatically inputs your local MP and sets up a template that you can send to your MP. Once you get a response from your MP, either saying that they support Palestine or taking a stance with Israel, then you can act accordingly. Get a group of friends, bring your community, sit outside your MP’s office. Let them know you’re not moving unless they give you an answer as to why. Show up to rallies, show up to direct actions. There are different types of actions that are happening almost every single day. There are direct actions happening where people are putting themselves on the line to block the ships, like the ZIM ships that are sending weapons
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or weapon parts over to the state of Israel. So, these are the things we need to do as part of the community here that will be helpful. Share a lot of content, even if you have very minimal followers. It’s not about the reach to your own followers but the fact that the content is circulating within the app, and that kind of content will get more platform. So, continue to share and post on social media as people on ground in Palestine are asking us to do. To expose what’s been going on, to share the atrocities that are happening no matter how horrific. People need to be exposed to this because they’re living it, and we should just be able to see it. SS: An up-and-coming conversation is that many have started seeing ceasefire as a pathway to liberation instead of being the destination itself. Where does your viewpoint on peace and liberation converge and diverge? LL: This conversation is coming up quite a bit now, which is great! The message was always about how we wanted peace, but peace is the outcome to liberation; it’s not about telling people to peacefully sit down and accept their oppression and genocide. Because what you’re saying when you ask for peace is not directly talking to the oppressor but to people that are oppressed and telling them you need to peacefully accept what’s been happening to you when that’s not the answer at all. We need to continue to remind people that peace is really like a wishy-washy way of saying, “Oh well guys, just stop all the fighting, and all get along.” You’re ignoring such a huge context when telling people that all we need is peace and everything is going to be okay. Peace and liberation can coexist, but liberation needs to happen first for peace to happen. To have peace, we’re going to need to end the occupation, we’re going to need to lift the siege on Gaza. SS: What is your source of hope in these times? LL: That is a tough question. I go back and forth between feeling hopeful and feeling hopeless. I am not surprised that our government has done nothing this whole time, but I’m tired. I’m exhausted knowing that we live in a place like this that doesn’t value human life enough to take a stand. On the other hand, I think that hope is... Hope is coming from the people in Gaza. It’s the people that are still getting up every day and are demanding dignity, the will to live, demanding that they still have joy even though they’re being bombed every single day, that they still should smile, care for each other, love each other.
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I don’t know if you’ve heard this — I’m not sure who has coined this phrase — but it goes: “We’re not freeing Palestine; Palestine is freeing us.” They’re showing us strength and resilience even though they shouldn’t have to. That’s where we get our hope — we get our hope from these people who have endured so much and are still so steadfast in their position of wanting to remain on their land, steadfast in the fact that they have such a connection and such history to the land, to their community that they’re not willing to leave; they’re willing to remain in their homeland whether they die or whether they live. And I think that’s such an act of strength; that’s what gives me hope. I also think that specifically within the Sit-Intifada, I’ve met so many people that I wouldn’t have met outside of the circumstance. This traumatic, violent situation has created connections between so many people. It’s my people, my Palestinian people. It’s the strength and resistance of all Indigenous people fighting their oppressors globally. And it’s the people I’ve met here who are committed to decolonisation, no matter what it takes. You give me hope. Support for RMIT Students Students at RMIT who have been negatively impacted by the ongoing conflict in Gaza and require additional support, can contact the following services: Bullying, Discrimination and Harassment – RMIT Safer Community Phone: +61 3 99252396 Email: safercommunity@rmit.edu.au Emotional and Wellbeing Support – RMIT Counselling Phone: +61 3 9925 5000 Web: via Service Connect Assessment Support – RMIT Special Consideration Web: Special Consideration – RMIT University
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Mahal Cuya
T
HE 2019 MELBOURNE GRAFFITI DOCUMENTARY on YouTube titled “Our Mark” is far outcry from the vivid and wonderful realm that we’re familiar with about Melbourne street art (travelling an hour into the city by train to take selfies in Hosier Lane as we all squeeze through the tourists and the artists attempting to fit a piece of themselves into the walls). It’s not street art. Instead, we’re confronted by graffiti instead. The first 30 seconds opens with an explosive montage. Quick snippets of trains at night. Blurred faces. Tagging things in the dark. A shaky camera with heavy breaths as they run from something or someone. The clips are all synced to perfection to the music of “The Eve Of The War, 1980 Disco Steve Thompson Remix” by Jeff Wayne and Justine Hayward. Graffiti Writers are interviewed with their identities protected. There’s a thread that links all of them together on why they do it. Whether it’s family or because it was cool (it’s note-worthy that young white Australian men take on hip culture, steeped in Blackness and so much nuance, and boils it down to a sense of ‘coolness’, is strange) or community. They all started young. It acted as an
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outlet of sorts to get all that bottled-up emotion that suburban Australian boys have in their tiny little bodies. The documentary ends with a graffiti writer getting arrested by police. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. We’re concealed near a bag as we see glimpses of three police officers surrounding a Melbourne youth. It feels like some sort of power play as they berate the graffiti writer: “You’re being spoken to by a Sergeant of Police, don’t talk to him like a piece of shit or I will treat you like a piece of shit. Are we clear?” Melbourne earned the title of being a “stencil capital of the world” back in 2005 by Jake Smallman and Carl Nyman. They passionately document the Melbourne stencil graffiti scene for years. It has become a tourist attraction. It’s what Melbourne has become synonymous with along with coffee and what not. But there’s a difference between the pristine street art in the CBD that’s flush with careful artistic choices and aesthetics and the raw and unfiltered ones alongside my home. It’s still wet and dripping, lines overlapping each other and the proportions just a bit askew that you can tell that it’s made by someone new. What’s the difference between a well-established street artist who has all the resources available to legally create, and someone in the far suburbs away from the CBD who’s scraping by with half-empty cans and shoddy but passionate scrawls on the back of the supermarket as they attempt to make a statement about the world and it’s rickety edges like a vision out of The Second Coming? Because at the end of the day, there is a person behind deciding whether something is defacing private property and legal street art through interpretation of laws and bending it just slightly to their will. A piece of Melbourne history might be painted over with a fresh coat of paint in the hidden alleyways and we would none be the wiser.
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Neha Subramanian
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Cherry Cai, Seamus Daniel
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Ryan Wong
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Seeing them at the bottom of the stairs made me want to jump and scream for joy like a child because there were the four people who loved me the most who accepted me in whatever state I am, waiting for me with big smiles and open arms. And I am cured and I am loved and I am happy for the first time this week. And all of a sudden, she doesn’t matter, and he doesn't exist and it's just the five of us, off to eat udon where we will bicker and talk shit and where I will feel like my spirit returns to my body, and I am alive again. I never knew friendship was like this, and now, I feel an ache in my chest for these people I did not know two years ago. The tall blonde boy, the quiet bearded boy, the flower girl and the gift giver accepted this lonely girl and I will forever be in debt , as I am irrevocably changed, and I am irrevocably happy.
l r i G y l e on catalyst
To Melb I sit in my favourite cafe on Swanston Street. I am the owner of a newly procured Vanilla Chai Latte, my standard order. I could be killing time before I head to a comedy show, or enjoying a break before I continue my shopping for the day. Whatever is happening it doesn’t matter, what matters is that I take time to pause. As a writer I have always loved doing this. However, coming from a small country town, not a lot happens. Whereas in Melbourne, its busy. For some people it can get overwhelming. I recently discovered I am ‘low registration’ in a sensory profile. Part of that is I need a lot more of a thing before it registers. This may explain why I love the busyness of the city. Sitting in a cafe, I know that there is a possibility that I may run into someone— but unless I am specifically meeting someone — the likelihood of that is far less. I can just sit, enjoy my latte and watch the world go by. On the corner a bunch of girls are dressed up in clothes that look like a bear attacked them. Whoever made the decision that crop tops were fashionable again, I would like to speak to them. A woman and man wonder along with their offspring tailing behind. Their joyous bouncing around their parents makes getting to a destination twice as long — the blessing of learning to walk in a straight line. I know from the state of the world to avoid the city on the days of protests, today though I have still seen a few people around handing flyers for the next one. I love Melbourne because as someone who came from the country, I have joined multiple communities for my interests. I love Melbourne because there is better access to public transport. I love Melbourne for its culture and arts industries. I love Melbourne for the fact that I can be myself. Mostly, I love Melbourne for the fact I can sit in a cafe, write and let the world go by. And for the record - it isn’t Starbucks.
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Tansy Bradshaw
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(Ingénue) 26
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Farida Shams
‘Is this what adulthood feels like?’ My friend asks from across the red-clothed dinner table, her face illuminated by a candle, her elbows resting on the surface, chin held up with both hands, fingers interlaced. Adulthood? It feels like I am still nine years old, innocent and wide eyed in a time so far gone. I write stories in a notebook my mother gifted me for my ninth birthday, I draw in a sketchbook for art class while everyone complains around me. I make ‘get well soon’ cards for my mum when she is sick. My mum drops me off at my best friend’s house, and we listen to a well-known boy band, her brown hair running down her back and woven together, mine in a braid that has come undone. My best friend rolls around in my bed, cheeks flushed, her pink dress moving with her, ‘do you think it’s this fun to be a grown up too?’ I give her an assured nod, ‘I think it will be even more fun.’ She closes her eyes and her lips lift in a content smile, ‘I can’t wait to grow up and have our own place together.’ ‘Me too.’ I think I know everything at nine. I turned nineteen in a foreign country, my best friend in another. She watches my life in pictures instead of experiencing it together. I wish I was living your life; she says. My life started feeling like adulthood when I’ve come to enjoy things that used to annoy me as a kid; breathing life in lieu of going headfirst.
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I go on errands with my friends, and we make a fun day out of it, treating each other to good coffee as gratitude. We take walks along the beach at St. Kilda, tote bags slipping off our shoulders, thighs sticky from sweat, my glasses foggy from the heat. We frequent restaurants that feel like sitting in front of a crackling bonfire with petrichor in the air. We saunter around the Yarra when leaves start to change colour. We eat gelato on cold nights while we watch street buskers, concealing our red noses in fuzzy scarves wrapped around our necks. We go to museums, art galleries, we drop in at bars for poetry night, we go to live music shows. I overhear someone talk about the Bell Shakespeare theatre company; I think nothing of it until I see a flyer at my local café. I go home and buy a ticket to A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Conversations changed from crushes to if we think about marriage at all, if our current timeline matches with what we thought it would be like as kids, if I know this is what I want from life, and all I know is that I know nothing at nineteen. I write stories in a notebook I bought for myself; I make sculptures for a university design class while everyone is quiet around me. I cook soup for my mum when she is sick. I drive to my friend’s house I had met the year before, and we listen to a band which used to be my childhood, reminiscing. And so, I look around the dimly lit restaurant, soft chatter surrounds me with the sound of jazz music playing in the background. My friend in a thrifted black dress, her black hair neat down her back, mine slicked back in a bun, and I smile. ‘Yes, this is what adulthood feels like.’
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V80 I01
Hannah Elizabeth Robbins
I set an alarm for 8 am.
A day off work
I hit snooze even though I only had 15 minutes to leave. I have tried to cut back on the times I hit snooze. It has generally been around five times (40 minutes).
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Why don’t I just wake up earlier? It was going to be 32 degrees. The kitchen already had sun spewing over everything, making the plants droop and my forehead sweat. I had already packed a bag the night before. A yoga mat, a black one-piece, a laptop, a speaker, sandals, a dress, tinted 50SPF sunscreen, a wallet, medication, socks x 2, a USB, a camera, a camera battery, a water bottle, keys, lighter, journal, “Seeing Other People” by Diana Reid, charging cables and a small brim sun hat. I loaded everything into the car and drove from Flemington to Fitzroy. The traffic wasn’t as bad as I expected for 8:30 am. The cars backed up on racecourse road for a minute or so. I thought about the last couple of years, about how I had changed during lockdown and uni, jobs and relationships. I thought about times I had taken this exact route in an Uber well past 11 pm, the bars, gigs, restaurants, and 7-elevens. The money spent, the drinks had, the keys lost, the confusion of trying to find your way back home stumbling out of one of the Brunswick Street bars. I turned up my radio and sang the rest of the way. I listened to “I Get Better Every Day” by Computerwife. “Is it irrational to say? I get better every day”. I got to the 3rd door on a janky back street. My friend opened the red door. I walked through the bottom floor of the terrace house and noticed a thick oder that hung in the air. “Did you leave your washing in the machine or something?” “No, I think a rat died again”. We quickly raced up the street. I walked past a wall with ‘I <3 Melbourne’s graffiti.’ We did a Pilates class. Afterwards, I sat on the mat in a heap and laughed with the balding mid-50s man next to me. I liked him because he groaned when the instructor said, ‘Let’s get our blood pumping’. It was barely 10:45 am. It felt like I had lived an entire day already. I got juice, my friend got an almond chai latte, and we ran back to the janky alley. We saw a car with the driver’s seat door punched in.
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V80 I01
A day off work
I drove to Hawthorn and met another friend. We drove east for 40 minutes until we arrived at Ferntree Gully Quarry Recreation Reserve. I like that place for a few reasons, mainly because the visitors are either parents with babies and dogs or teenagers with a couple of ciders and cigarettes. The water there is quite green and beautiful. It leaves a slight muddy feeling on your skin. I swam for a while and tested how deep the water was. My friend dived to the bottom, and it took 14 seconds for him to resurface. I watched everyone around me and listened to the sounds of everyone existing. Dogs barked, kids asked their parents questions, couples exchanged kisses, and three men took turns doing back flips off the wooden deck. I sat down and read, waiting for the heat to dissipate in the city so I could have a glass of wine and think about the rest of summer.
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V80 I01
Maisie Mateos
Had my shift not wrapped up earlier than usual, leaving me with an unexpected void in my Saturday night plans, I might’ve missed out on the scorching heat and contagious high spirits that graced Melbourne’s latest summery weekend. Just two days prior, the city was drenched in thunderstorms, making this sudden burst of warmth all the more valued. Despite my earlier resolution to make 2024 a year exclusively for “main character moments,” there I was, cruising home on the tram at 7:00 pm, contemplating a quiet night in. While I bathed in the glow of Melbourne’s harsh sun, contemplating my options, I realised my bank account was feeling much lighter than this sizzling 30-degree evening. As I settled into a seat by the tram’s window, I thought, ‘this isn’t very main character like,’ and decided to salvage my Saturday night. Browsing through Eventbrite, my search bar was spammed with keywords like ‘near me’ and ‘cheap.’ The tram thundered down Sydney Road, a lively artery pulsating with Saturday night revellers flooding into bars and restaurants. Outside The Retreat Hotel, groups gathered on the benches, clutching half-empty schooners and chilled reds, savouring the warmth. Meanwhile, some sought refuge from the relentless heat indoors. With my phone as my guide, fate smiled upon me, as I stumbled upon an event starting in a mere two hours — Bar Oussou. The name hinted at musical odysseys and a rendezvous of creativity and culture. One Spirit Africa, an afro-fusion band blended with drums and unique vocal harmonies was set to start at 9:00 pm, with tickets selling fast for only $12. My intrigue deepened when I discovered that Bar Oussou was just around the corner from my home. A shining beacon in Melbourne’s music labyrinth, it spared me the wallet-draining ritual of late-night Uber rides, leaving my week’s grocery budget intact. With excitement bubbling, I eagerly reached out to friends, casting my net for potential companions in this last-minute adventure. Alas, the universe seemed to conspire against me — busy schedules, empty wallets, and radio silence met my inquiries. However, this minor setback wasn't enough to derail my quest for a memorable summer's night.
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V80 I01
Heatwaves...
I’d often witnessed this venue in full swing as the tram carried me home late at night. The soulful medley of jazz and bass would spill onto the quiet streets of Sydney Road. Bar Oussou was where genres collided, musicians jammed, and the sounds held boundless artistic expression and culture. When the time hit 9:45 pm, I had already savoured a glass of Pinot Gris when I gracefully made my way to the bar — fashionably late. My cheeks flushed against the warm evening breeze, and whether it was the dry heat or the dry wine, beads of sweat delicately prickled on my forehead. Anticipation hung in the air as I approached Bar Oussou, its interior bathed in the radiant glow of neon pink and purple hues. A fusion of velvet couches, ambient lighting, and an array of instruments, including guitars and drums played in full swing as I weaved through the crowd. One Spirit Africa had already taken the stage when I arrived, with vocals reverberating through the room. The afro-fusion rhythms permeated the air, and I found myself captivated by the vocal harmonies that riffed and glided through the swaying bodies on the floor. Fred Nii Addo, the lead performer of One Spirit Africa, embodied the essence of the music with an infectious energy that ignited the entire venue. As fellow band members carried the beats, Fred danced with unwavering passion, each step choreographed to the heartbeat of the drums. As he threw his hands in the air, the audience reciprocated, creating a rhythmic exchange that echoed the soulful beats. Fred’s movements transcended mere dance; they were a profound storytelling expression, fostering a visceral connection to the Ghanaian roots of One Spirit Africa. Lost in the rhythm on the dance floor, my responsibilities for tomorrow a distant thought, Bar Oussou exceeded its late-night hotspot reputation. It evolved into a sanctuary, a showcase of multicultural talent, and a vibrant testament to the serendipitous beauty that defines Melbourne’s music scene. As the final notes of the night echoed and the crowd dispersed outside, I too stepped out into the cool night air. A gentle reminder echoed, that sometimes the most memorable experiences unfold when we embrace the unplanned and venture into the unknown. Melbourne’s summer nights, with its heatwaves and live musical ambiance, held a promise; that even in solitude, the city had a way of weaving stories and creating moments that lingered long after the last chord faded away.
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V80 I01
t n a c fi i Insign s t n e m o M Walking alone in the city never felt as lonely as it seems. At first, all the unfamiliar faces were daunting — compared to living in a small town where everyone can be traced to some not-so-distant mutual. But, there is comfort to be found in being unknown. The looming skyscrapers may remind her of the endless sky, but it placed everything into perspective. It reveals how much space is truly around her.
Her journey home ends soon enough. The tram bell ringing out as it shuttles down her street. She stuffs her hands in her pockets and listens to the sound of car tires sliding against wet cement. The smell of rain still clings to the night breeze as the stars gleamed weakly behind street lights. She knew these moments would slip from her mind before the morning sun trickled through her bedroom, but that was the gift of being unknown.
It was like what her mum always told her — everyone is so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. We exist for such a short amount of time, who will be left to remember us? Some people find this confronting but she found it comforting. There was solace in how many yellow pockets of lights shined from offices, apartments, hotel rooms as the sun sinks behind buildings. She watches as idle people slow their pace, lingering by a busker singing a song. A light flickers behind their eyes as they recall a moment lost in time, or perhaps a person they once knew. Laughter echos from a group of twenty-somethings as they huddled under the thin tarp of an umbrella. Their giggles causes a man in a suit to leer, exasperated by them and the rain ruining the leather of his shoes. Beyond the initials etched in the tram window, she saw a man bolting down the street, barely making it in before the door swing shut. An older woman chuckles quietly as the man spluttered, attempting to catch his breath.
Words by Lara Scuri, photograph byNishtaRan a
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V80 I01
There is a line drawn in the sand between me and my mother, I miss what the world was like without it. I am 6,000 miles away from everything I know, while I impossibly yearn for an ounce of familiarity. MH141 brought me here, with two months’ notice and no return ticket. The notion of an indefinite stay in a strange land with strange people unsettlingly settled in the pit of my stomach, perpetually threatening to lurch out of me. Every day I would take a trip to the centre of this city, wanting to tear down the skyscrapers with my bare hands and turn them into wooden houses. I heard my nails across tar and metal when I pictured digging up the picturesque streets into dirt road. Clutching my head with frustration because every passerby was speaking a language that was not mine. Everyone is familiar with the groups of Chinese migrants who are perpetually there, seemingly existing solely to ask you to sign their petitions of questionable moral credibility. I knew not of their petitions, nor understood what they were for. All I knew was that they spoke my grandmother’s tongue at a time I felt so far away from her. To hear the voice of a friend come from the mouth of a stranger in a strange place made me yearn with less agony for what I thought was lost forever. The city is beautiful. It is filled to the brim with à la mode fashion and the latest in the cycle of trending culture. Its buildings are sky high, and its people seem to be bursting at the seams with unique subcultural forms of self-expression. It bustles with trams and sidewalks, an incredibly walkable place with an infinite number of things to see. But I don’t know how a pedestrian crossing light works. I am overwhelmed by what seems to be so normal to every other person in the vast crowd crossing Flinders St, while I am paralysed in the middle because I just took the wrong tram for the third time today. It all moves like clockwork, the giant chunks of metal that occupy the night sky and the streets are standard. It reaches February and the city remains the same. It is not littered with red lights and lanterns, there are no banners wishing you a happy new year. My confusion is replaced with realisation as I reconcile that my most beloved celebration is not celebrated here. My mother is at home with red lights and lanterns, giving oranges to the neighbours. I yearn so desperately for an empty night sky, dirt roads, wooden houses, and my grandmothers’ spoken tongue, but there is a line drawn in the sand between me and her.
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Gaia Choo
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V80 I01
Luka D’cruz
SAM KERR SAVES THE CITY Long has Federation Square nestled itself quietly in Melbourne’s city centre. Controversially opened in 2002, the public gathering space has been subject to wide criticism; it’s irregular surface unaccommodating, its lack of shade in the sweltering Melbourne summers and rainy winters, its structures sitting firmly in ‘Top 10 Ugliest Buildings’ lists, and its ventures into privatisation, which sparked protests to protect Melbourne’s cultural institutions. Crucially, these protests have been led by the congregation of people. Whatever aspirations the Victoria State Government have had for its potential of gathering and unity, it has surely had little to do with them. When Federation Square feels alive, it’s because the people have made it so. One night in August, this felt most prescient. Cold, clear air. The claustrophobia in every direction. No seats, no space, nowhere to go. No moon up above to offer comfort. The sky that night would instead be lit by orange flares, beaming LED screens, and the noise of 10,000 spectators all gathered in a tight bunch, exhibiting their nerves in all the beautiful and ugly ways that watching sport allows. Fresh off a nail-biting quarter final win, the Matildas had placed themselves in opposition of England, for a spot in the Women’s World Cup final. The past week had been both brimming with the elation of progressing so far into the tournament–further than any Australian football team has progressed on the world biggest stage — and the stark realisation that the Lionesses were just about as tough of an opponent as you could get, and barring any miracle it would be a tall order to progress any further. All the same, at Federation Square — one of Victoria’s 11 live sites to watch the game — the energy had all the mess of passion that would tell you this game operated far beyond the realms of winning and losing. In order to secure a spot, my close friend and I met up when it was still light outside, watched as people siphoned in to reach capacity an hour before kick-off — which of course did not stop the barricades from faltering many times over the night — and began to reckon with all the nervous excitement that had built up prior. We exchanged our apprehensions that Alanna
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Kennedy, a key defender for the Matildas, had been withdrawn due to concussion, discussed tactics to distract from the nerves, and placed our hopes, like all others gathered across the country, in our Captain Sam Kerr. 8 pm. Kick-off. Federation Square is now clouded in orange smoke. Collective frustration begins to boil as the Lionesses fire shot after shot, with no exchange down the other end for the Matildas. The frustration capsizes when England break the deadlock to go 1-0 up. While there are no fewer people at Federation Square, the spirit dims, and the atmosphere threatens to evaporate. Sam Kerr has been on the bench the entire tournament; injury concerns have hindered her whole tournament up until this stage and denied the world the privilege of seeing one of its premier athletes compete. But tonight, she starts on field. As the game enters halftime with the Matildas still down, the glances around the Square, the emotions of young children, the teenage rowdiness in the crowd, all point to a miracle from Kerr being the only way out. It’s the 63rd minute. England lead an attack deep into their half. A second goal would surely demoralise and put the result of the game beyond doubt. But Australia intercepts. Enter Sam Kerr. Unaccompanied by teammates, in the face multiple opposition defenders, she charges. Federation Square is dead silent. Everyone forgets to breathe. What would follow is an ultimate, life-affirming contrast. We watch as Sam Kerr unleashes a strike from 25 yards out, and as it sails through to the back of the net, to the disbelief of 10,000 gathered hopefuls, our Federation Square feels alive again. Flares flying, beer flying, families rejoicing, young girls, children looking at the screen and seeing a glimpse into an achievable world. My partner, to whom football is of no priority, texting me to tell me because of Sam Kerr, that she’s watching the game now. My close friend and I embracing, losing our voices, directed by the compass that sports gives us. Federation Square, albeit brief, born anew by a goal, and the triumph of gathering to be seen and represented.
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V80 I01
Elliot Mulder
FUN TIMES You’re five years old, shooting down the slide at that weird silver playground near the museum. Your heart rocks blissfully, and you dart across the playground to do it all again. That bliss doesn’t perish when you see it nowadays; you’re just so glad that time was kind to it because it makes those old days a little easier to recall. You’re nine, and the rain drizzles when Mum takes you to Fitzroy Gardens for the first time. It sucks when she orders you not to run off because you’re in a new world, and exploring it all as instantly as possible is all you want to do! You search for teeny-tiny people living inside Tudor Village. You attempt to bend backward enough to see how tall those titanic trees are and discover how vibrantly green they turn under the rain. The serenity that day offered, through slow breezing wind and rustling leaves, is unforgettable. You’re thirteen when you bike Moonee Valley Creek. After a million times, it never gets old. You glimpse at life: friends kicking soccer balls, skaters attempting tricks beneath the Sound Tube, and family dogs of all shapes and sizes. And the graffiti sprayed across bridges and train tracks — with unintelligible word sand
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V80 I01
Fun Times
unfathomably innovative art — defines Melbourne to you. You can’t help being in awe of such endless raw creativity.
crawls and picnics and a drunken D&M on Swanston Street. You feel so lucky to have experienced wonderful times and friends you once believed impossible.
You’re fifteen, and you start dating this girl. On your first date, you wander the Botanic Gardens, and neither of you shut up the whole day; it’s awesome. Life begs the question of what’s on in Melbourne, and you wanna find it all with her. You chase down desserts from Carlton to Southbank, watch movies on Curtin House’s rooftop and trek through festivals like Rising, White Night and Antipodes. The two of you run laps around the city, and stopping sounds atrocious.
And now you’re at your laptop, your phone pinging as your girlfriend asks what you’re doing together on Saturday. Your mind rushes through places you have or haven’t been, but nothing interesting comes to mind. But you’ve walked the Gardens alongside her, each time uniquely lovely. So you could suggest a place you’ve been to a million times or somewhere entirely new. The company makes Melbourne unique — and we’re all the better for it.
You’re eighteen, and you’ve made it to uni. You’ve never been around so many creatives with familiar passions, and you spend every morning at that terrace cafe talking about them all. You could sit there infinitely. But beyond those chairs await writing clubs and workshops, and you learn so much from such lively characters; you’d hate to be elsewhere. You’re twenty-two and working at a cinema in the city. While it ruins the appeal of movies and even the CBD, the weirdoes working there know what to say: pub
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V80 I01
When I was three, I learnt to swim at the wave pool in Cheltenham. Dad drove us there every Sunday; I would sit in the backseat, bathers on underneath my dress. Clawing into his skin every time the waves crashed, chlorine under my eyelids, too afraid to let go. When I was eight, I was an artist. On Degraves Street, eating a cupcake, people-watching on a table outside the café, seated with Dad. A group of 20-somethings walked past, tote bag straps sliding off shoulders, coffee cups in shaky hands, ringed lips quickly moving as they talked, docs tapping the bluestone pavement underneath them. I followed them into the art store in the Box Hill Institute building. Stroking horsehair paint brushes against my cheek, fingering through drawing pads, the paper thick with apprehension. I slid a handheld set of watercolours across the counter, shyly asking Dad if he could buy them for me. Four houses later, they still live in my desk drawer, stacked against half-used notebooks. When I was fourteen, I spent summers alone in St Kilda. I watched a group of Hare Krishnas engaging the public in a vibrant kirtan, walking along the boardwalk, dancing and chanting, arms and necks moving together like the tendrils of a giant jellyfish. Everything was orange: the colour of their robes, the sun setting on the horizon, my skin against the sand. The taste of apricots in my mouth pooled on one side, my hands sticky with sweat and salt.
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Miranda Abbott
When I was sixteen, I bought my first Persian rug and placed it against the foot of my bed. It was wine-red with white and blues, intricately woven together in a cosmic pattern of triangles and diamonds. My Richmond share house smelt of garam masala and wet clothes. In my bedroom, its windows open, I watched myself become a woman. When I was seventeen, I found a grocer on Sydney Road selling whole walnuts. At my home in the afternoon, with a ceramic bowl on my lap, I became a child again, lying in the patch of sun on the floorboards where my mum would crack walnuts open and place them on my tongue. I can hear her hum. You were there to see my first horse ride at a school fete, the first time I used a rope swing to jump into a river, the first kiss, the last fight. My memories of Melbourne are like dream matter. I blink slowly and remember fragments like a kaleidoscope. Small colourful tiles becoming a mosaic the longer I close my eyes. When I show a new friend around my home, my first love, this city, Melbourne, I am learning to swim again.
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MARCH MON
TUE
WED
THUR
4.
5.
6.
7.
– SEM 01 Begins – VE Smoko
– Chill&Grill: Brunswick
– Chill&Grill: Bundoora West – RUSU Orientation Festival
– Welcome Bash
11.
12.
13.
14.
– Labour Day (Public Holiday)
– Brunswick Welcome Drinks – C&G: Brunswick
– C&G: Bundoora – Free Breakfast: City & Brunswick
– Clubs Fest – Free Breakfast: Bundoora
18.
19.
20.
21.
– VE Smoko
– C&G: Brunswick
– C&G: Bundoora – Free Breakfast: City & Brunswick
– Queer Mixer – Chill&Grill: City – Free Breakfast: Bundoora
FRI
SAT
SUN
1.
2.
3.
8.
9.
10.
15.
16.
17.
22.
23.
24.
30.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
– VE Smoko
– C&G: Brunswick*
– C&G: Bundoora – Free Breakfast: City & Brunswick
– Boat Party! – C&G: City & Bundoora East* – Free Breakfast: Bundoora
– Good Friday (Public Holiday) – Mid Sem Break Starts
31. – Semester 01 Census Date
* = Easter Hunt
notes
APRIL MON
TUE
WED
THUR
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
12.
13.
14.
19.
20.
21.
26.
27.
28.
1.
2.
– Easter Monday (Public Holiday)
– Easter Tuesday (RMIT Holiday)
8.
9.
10.
11.
– SEM 01 Resumes – VE Smoko
– Chill&Grill: Brunswick*
– Chill&Grill: Bundoora* – Free Breakfast: City & Brunswick
– Chill&Grill: City* – Free Breakfast: Bundoora
15.
16.
17.
18.
– Labour Day (Public Holiday)
– Brunswick Welcome Drinks – C&G: Brunswick
– C&G: Bundoora – Free Breakfast: City & Brunswick
– C&G: City & Bundoora East – Free Breakfast: Bundoora
22.
23.
24.
25.
– VE Smoko
– C&G: Brunswick
– C&G: Bundoora – Free Breakfast: City & Brunswick
– Anzac Day (Public Holiday)
29.
30.
– VE Smoko
– C&G: Brunswick*
FRI
SAT
SUN
* = Multicultural Week
notes
PUBLISHED ON ABORIGINAL LAND ALWAYS WAS, ALWAYS WILL BE.