ISSUE #4
W O E R R D O F
It was C.S Lewis, the author of The Chronicles of Narnia, that spoke about “experience” as an important learning process, vital for the accumulation of life lessons. “Experience is the most brutal of teachers,” he said. “But you learn, my God do you learn.” Nothing can prepare you for the rest of your life as much as any given “experience” can. No amount of reading, studying, or even listening to others talk about their own experiences. You have to create them in order to shape your own impressions, opinions, and ideas. Even challenging experiences from the past can allow you to develop further in a positive way. The experiences we encounter are necessary for us to grow, progress and, most importantly, to learn.
THANKS TO THIS ISSUE’S CONTRIBUTORS: Maria Elige Aliaeva, Jessica Cockerill, Taylor James, Jordan Jeffrey, Benjamin Horgan, Steph McRoberts, and Reece Young. SPECIAL THANKS: Ben Reithmuller, for helping with the design for this issue.
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issue 4 playlist ARE YOU EXPERIENCED?
HENDRIX
MY GENERATION
THE WHO
WALK ON THE WILD SIDE
REED
MOONLIGHT DRIVE
JIMI
LOU
THE DOORS
JEFFERSON AIRPLANE
WHITE RABBIT
NOTHING THAT HAS HAPPENED SO FAR HAS BEEN ANYTHING WE COULD CONTROL TAME IMPALA
SUBTERRANEAN HOMESICK BLUES
BOB DYLAN
LUST FOR LIFE
IGGY POP
DAVID BOWIE
CHANGES DON’T STOP
FLEETWOOD MAC
THE ROLLING STONES
PRODIGAL SON
NOW PLAYING AT 8tracks.com/stylomagazine
Jane Birkin & Serge Gainsbourg
PEN TO PAPER SOMETIMES I WANT TO thank my past self
for keeping journals. I still have all of them today, several ranging from the age of eight up until my first year abroad, straight out of high school (while at the moment I have three separate ones, all of which I insist are for different uses – “I need one for doodling, one for lists, and this one has a leather-bound cover, so naturally, I had to buy it…”)
case “i”. These recorded experiences are of no particular interest to me now, although some I do recall – mostly rushed descriptions of crippling ‘embarrassing moments’ or awkward descriptions of first kisses.
I often flick through pages and pages and am struck by how severely important these past experiences must have been in my life at the time. What was then ‘the end of the world’ is There has always been an internal sense of urgency almost entirely forgettable now, and I suppose that is an unintentional piece of advice handed over from my within me to capture my surroundpast self to my current – and future – self, in ing observations and experiences, “WHAT WAS THEN THE END OF the form of a pubescent journal. The truly imthrough artwork, mindless rambles from my stream of consciousness, or THE WORLD IS ALMOST ENTIRELY portant memories stick and are played out in as exemplified by my childhood dia- FORGETTABLE NOW ... THE TRULY vivid clarity. ries, tenaciously documenting every IMPORTANT MEMORIES STICK.” Perhaps we should enjoy each moment as it living moment. I would frantically rush to get the concurrent happenings of my life onto paper, arrives, regardless of importance, because in three weeks, six my thought process often moving inconveniently faster than months, or five years, it will merely be a past experience for your past self to be preoccupied with. This goes without saying, my pen. whatever is worrying you or concerning you or occupying a Was it really necessary though? Certain entries from major part of your life right now, breathe through it, let it pass, said diaries painfully articulate mundane, banal days at school acknowledge it (whether you choose to do so in the form of penor at home that are often prolonged over pages and pages of to-paper or not) and prepare yourself for the next experience. wonky handwriting and gestural circles placed over each lower Maybe your state of mind is not determined by the happenings in your life, but rather your attitude towards them. Words by Andie Phillips
A rtwo rk b y R eece Y o u ng a nd S tep h M c R obe r t s
MOUNTAIN SOUL
Christopher McCandless’ van (Into The Wild, 2007)
I go to the forest to put my fears to rest beneath the moonlight there’s no prejudice I can be myself from head to toe A beautiful monster, craving natural flow Passion is the spark, love is the fuel Further out into the mountains Deeper through organic ragged wood The ebb of being exploding in my chest Life rushing through my veins Rivers, are teachers Trees speaking to all creatures this is what it means to Be.. Branches swaying in the wind young wings learning freedom The further away I get from expectations the more I receive invigorating revelations about this land, about who I Am
Words by Maria Elige Aliaeva
whitepill
by jessica cockerill As terrestrial organisms we live in constant flux. Our bodies are tightly closed like stomates, sealing in the seawater of our blood. But we cannot survive this way, and we are forced to take in and expel our surroundings. By uniting the extremes - total reproductive control in humans, and the free-flowing surge of marine life - I hope to capture the experience of alienation from a world we were once a part of. As a coast-dweller, this feeling seeps into me frequently.
TURKISH DELIGHT
I THINK I HAVE always known I was Turkish deep down. Even in kindergarten I knew something was up when my fellow Aussie classmates would snack on sultanas and I would shamelessly snack on kalamata olives. It’s not that I didn’t like sultanas; it’s just that given the option, I preferred to eat olives. No one wants to be different growing up in school, and if I could tell my four year old self how strongly I would one day connect with my mother’s culture; I would tell her to embrace the path of being ‘different’, and that it will all be worth it. I was born in Australia to an English Father and a Turkish Mother, but have always felt like my Turkish roots have completely counteracted my Australian and English passports. So besides feeling like Toula from My Big Greek Fat Wedding, when the white sassy wonderbread-eating young girls ask Toula what she’s eating for lunch, and she says “Mousaka” and they say, “What? Moose caca, hahaha??” (evil laughter), I am so glad that I was raised the way I was.
All of that came crashing down in 2009 when I was in year 10 and I spent a summer in Turkey with my family. I had been a couple of times before when I was younger, but this time it was different. A whole new appreciation for my background was ignited and I was finally discovering how proud I was of my roots. The Turkish language felt so natural coming out my mouth, it truly felt like my mother tongue was finally being spoken. The long days of soaking up the warm sun at the beach, day-long boat trips to different islands, and endless swims in the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean made its carvings into my favourite childhood memories. The experience of going to the markets everyday, fishermen bringing in what they caught that morning, the abundant range of spices, sweets and jewels at the bazaar - it all culminated to what it meant to live in Turkey for me. For the time I was there, I did not feel like I was just there for a summer, I felt like I’d been living there my whole life. I became a Turk in every thing I did. I squirted fresh lemon on all my meals, I religiously ate yoghurt and even drank ayran*, I recognized that çay* was Being brought up by parents of different cultures not only a drink but an institution, I smoked like a Turk, I only meant I was very aware, even from a young age, of the world washed myself with olive soap, and I often played backgamthat lay beyond Australia. As I grew older throughout school, mon with the locals on white rooftops. The enchanting prayer my questionable Turkish roots started to appear even more callings from the Mosques always sounded so hypnotising to and more. I inherited my mother’s big Turkish eyebrows me, and I would pick out some of the Arabic words I knew which were always something I hated; especially growing up in from the prayers of the Qur’an that my mother had taught me the early 2000s where having pencil thin eyebrows was your as a young girl. I had finally realised how ‘rich’ a culture could pathway to glory. My mother used to always used to say to me, be, and how beamingly proud I was to be “Taylor, look at some of the most beautiful women of the world’s eyebrows, look at “I HAD FINALLY REALISED HOW a part of it. All the things that I’d tried to Brooke Shields, look at Cindy Crawford!” ‘RICH’ A CULTURE COULD BE, AND hide while growing up, the things that I I had no idea who those people were, and HOW BEAMINGLY PROUD I WAS TO thought would potentially segregate me frankly I didn’t really care, because in BE A PART OF IT. ALL THE THINGS from my classmates, they were now my those awkward teen years the only world THAT I’D TRIED TO HIDE WHILE favourite things that made me an Avşar. you saw was purely based around the peGROWING UP.” Living thousands of miles away, rimeter of your school gates. And plus, it’s only every couple years I see my Anneanne* and Dede*, this wasn’t the 80s mum, this was the 2000s. so when we are together it’s always so precious. Half of our time was spent with them hugging, squeezing, kissing me, Then came my name, which I never thought would be and pinching my cheeks. I didn’t mind it because I know how an issue until people started to discover that most of us had much it kills them for us to live all the way in Australia. My Anmiddle names. “Taylor James,” I hear you say, “That sounds nenne thought the more food she made me, the more I would like a fairly conventional white name?” Yes, it would have love her, so she would always ask me what I was hungry for. been, but my mother decided that Taylor James sounded just As for my Dede, just thinking about Turkey makes me miss too English so she put her Turkish maiden name in between. him so much. He would always wear his hat and smoke his So, while everyone was content with his or her middle names pipe in his chair; and I would swing on the hammock adjacent of Jane, Grace or Brown, my middle name was Avşar. It soundand we would play cards in the garden for hours, so contently ed weird, it looked weird, and I couldn’t even pronounce it untouched by anything else going on in the world. He was so properly myself. I was so embarrassed of having such a foreign beautifully patient with me and never refused a game, and I middle name, and shunned it whenever it came up. I told my was so blissfully unaware that he would let me win half the classmates it meant and was pronounced like Asia in English, time. After all it is my Dede, Süleyman Avşar, who is responwhich was obviously a lie but people seemed to believe it anysible for my middle name, and my eyebrows, both of which way. I was very aware of the many other cultural differences I wouldn’t have any other way today. Inshallah* I will have that could potentially isolate me from the majority at school, a child one day, and regardless of whether they are raised in and I diligently avoided any mention of them at the chance of Turkey or not, I will give them my middle name of Avşar. But not fitting in. Looking back on it today the things I was worried this time around, I will tell absolutely everyone. about seem so stupid and insignificant, but I can remember how life-destroying they felt at the time. Being Turkish felt like Ayran- a salty yoghurt drink a social burden following me around, and I was so eager to get Çay –black Turkish tea rid of it. Although I had to deal with a few altercations along Anneanne - grandmother in Turkish the way, in my later years of schooling I thought my fight to be Dede - grandfather in Turkish ‘white’ looked as strong as ever. The day eventually came and Inshallah - a common saying in Turkey: “gods willing” in I thought I had made it as I was the same as the loud, overArabic bearing, dancing, red-cruiser drinking Ashleys, Courtneys and Brittanys at parties we went to, and I thought it was brilliant. Photos and Words by Taylor James
FEBRUARY 2014
Taylor James
Artwork by Jordan Jeffrey
A MESSAGE TO MY NIECE
Sometimes when you try to stand up, whether it is for who you are, for your sister or for your friend; you’re going to fall down. Sometimes it’s because you stumbled, most times it’s because you were pushed, but there will never be a time that you will jump.
P ho t o s and Wor d s by Benja min Hor g a n
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