The Wayfaring Issue 2016

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FREE UOW STUDENT MAGAZINE

T H E WAY FA R I N G I S S U E

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E D I TO R S ’ L E T T E R

T E R T O N L I N E E D I TO R S

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H A S T H E ‘ H AY N E P L A N E ’ C R A S H E D GRIDIRON IN AUSTRALIA?

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E U R O P E A N C O N T I K I S U R V I VA L G U I D E 1 0 1

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COLUMNS

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B E I N G T H E F R I E N D T H AT ’ S L E F T B E H I N D

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WUSA PRESIDENT ADDRESS

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T R AV E L F E AT U R E S

A H O L I D AY L O N G H A N G O V E R

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I ’ V E B E E N I N A LO N G T I M E . ”

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WHY SEXUAL EXPERIENCE S H A M I N G N E E D S TO E N D D O I N G T H I N G S T H E O L D - FA S H I O N E D W AY C A N PAY O F F

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“ I M O N H O L I D AY S , A N D I ’ M M O R E D E P R E S S E D T H A N

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T H E T W E N T Y- S O M E T H I N G F E A R O F B E I N G A LO N E

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T R AV E L L I N G T H R O U G H T H E R E F U G E E CRISIS

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“ I O N LY PAY $ 5 0 A M O N T H F O R F O O D. S O M E T I M E S , N O T E V E N T H AT. ”

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S TA R W A R S : T H E F O R C E A W A K E N S R E V I E W

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“ F I N A L C A L L F O R T H E C A S A N O VA S . . .

AND A MR. HANLEY?” I N N O VAT I O N B Y R E S T R I C T I O N

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T U N E S T O H E L P PA S S T H E T I M E

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C H A I H O S P I TA L I T Y

C R E AT I V E W R I T I N G

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MICROPLASTICS

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F E AT U R E S

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DREAMING OF A WHITE CHRISTMAS

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REACHING NEW AUDIENCES

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B E W A R E T H E L O N E R A I L T R AV E L L E R

16 STUPID THINGS VEGANS ARE TIRED OF

THE FRAGMENTS

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P I N E FA R M S

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PA R T O N E

HEARING

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THE LITTLE WE KNOW,

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CO N T R I B U TO R S

THE LITTLE WE SEE

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ME, MYSELF & I

T H E I R S I D E O F T H E S TO RY

Disclosure:

Acknowledgement of country:

Disclaimer:

The contents of this publication are made for and by the students of the University of Wollongong. Views expressed are of individual authors and do not necessarily reflect those of WUSA or the publisher.

Tertangala and WUSA acknowledge the traditional custodians of the land upon which we meet and work, that of the Dharawal people. We pay our respect to their elders past, present and future, for they hold the memories, the traditions, the culture and the hopes for Indigenous Australia.

Responsibility for the Tertangala is taken by the WUSA council.

The University of Wollongong accepts no responsibility for this publication.

EDITORS’ LETTER

E D I TO R S ’ LETTER

WORDS / Jake Cupitt @jakecupitt

WORDS / Claudia Poposki @claudiapop13

Welcome back from your summer holidays, folks. I’m not jealous of all you people that went overseas and experienced new cultures, learning deep and meaningful things about yourself and the people you went with. Wanna know why? Because so did I! I went to Japan. And I can say that even though my balls have never been smaller than they were in the freezing winter winds of Japan, I made some memories that will last with me forever.

Welcome to the Tertangala 2016! I am so excited to work alongside the fantastic team that we have here – from my co-editor, to our online team and our lovely graphic designer. I have wanted to be a journalist since I was about seven years old, so this is really a dream come true for me. Last year was my first year writing for The Tert, and I learnt so much from my editors and fellow writers and cannot wait to put those skills into play.

But flying back to Australia was something painful, hitting me right in the brain area. Uni starts in less than five weeks!

This year however I have a lot more to look forward to than before, so uni is getting me pumped.

Writing has always been a passion of mine, whether it be creative or for journalist purposes. My main interests, as a journalist, are human and civil rights issues, pop culture and international affairs, so expect to see some of that here from me.

I have the awesome privilege and responsibility of working with some of the coolest people around to make one of the greatest magazines around. I’m in my final year of my degree, which is stressing me out, because who wants to leave uni and get a real job? Not me! I have an internship to start and complete, and hopefully smash out of the ballpark.

There are a few changes this year, with the theme not being the mass of the magazine anymore, and our reboot of the online platform, which hopefully will also develop into an incredible multimedia site.

However, there’s always seeing friends and catching up, and making them feel jealous that I went to Japan. Oh, DID I MENTION I WENT TO JAPAN? Sorry, lel.

This year, The Tert will be way better than ever. And we can only make it better than ever, because of the awesome work of the people that came before us. Their hard work and dedication has given us a platform that is ready to grow and expand.

“Thanks for stopping by, and in case I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening and goodnight” - Jim Carrey 4/

This issue’s theme is travel, which may seem a little cruel when we have all just come back from break, but there are so many different stories from everyone’s adventures that we just couldn’t help but tell a few of them!

I hope to make this year’s Tertangala as special as all previous years, but with a new flair provided the new team. Please enjoy the first issue of The Tertangala 2016 – happy readings!

“Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth“ - Henry David Thoreau

ONLINE TERT

OUR ONLINE EDITORS’ WORDS / Zoe Simmons & Kurtis Hughes www.tertangala.net @ItBeginsWithZ

Hey guys!

We’re so excited to be the online editors this year. It’ll be hard work, but we can get through it together—probably with copious amounts of alcohol. We want to make this year fantastic, and highlight the awesome talent we have writing for us.

So, here we are!

Kurtis: We’re super friendly!

Zoe: And hilarious! Witty! Modest!

Kurtis: Basically, we’re Beyoncé.

Zoe: It’s true, we’re fabulous. Kurtis, tell our amazing readers a bit about yourself!

Kurtis: I love a good rom-com (no judgement), have an overly-irrational fear of spiders, hate people who feel the need to stereotype, and strongly advocate for LGBTQI + rights. I also unashamedly love Justin Bieber’s new album. You? Zoe: I’m a fan of anything wacky, unique, creepy or strange. I have an irrational love for shoes I’ll probably never wear, which is bad for someone who has $2. But, hey; can’t resist a sale. I adore anything with badass women in it, whether it’s Arya or Daenarys from Game of Thrones, my beloved protagonists from Richelle Mead books, or kickass metal bands. I’m also a big advocate for gender equality and animal rights. I also really, really love food. So, why do you write?

Kurtis: I want people to know journalism is a tool for good. It’s a vehicle through which we can change the world, and that’s really important. I want our writers to use the website to improve their skills, and advocate for what they believe in. I want journalism to be a means for a change.

Zoe: I write because I love it. I love words, and the meaning they convey. Sentences can be beautiful, and I’m very passionate about my journalism. It doesn’t matter how big or small something is. Writing can change the world—or at the very least, someone’s world—and I want to be a part of that.

Kurtis: I totally agree. I’d love a job at Junkee!

Their work has great journalistic rigor, as well as being punchy and fun.

Zoe: Yeah, and be sassy at the same time.

Right now, I’d love a job at Mamamia—sass and intelligence. Go Mia Freedman! I’d also eventually like to start up my own site one day.

Who inspires you, Kurtis?

sayings to get you through the year! Go team!

We love you!

“The best revenge is success,” - Frank Sinatra.

“I still believe that if your aim is to change the world, journalism is a more immediate short-term weapon,” - Tom Stoppard.

“You can never cross the ocean until you have the courage to lose sight of the shore,” - Christopher Columbus.

To copy the words of the great Dr Seuss, “kids, you’ll move mountains. Oh, the places you will go.”

Kurtis: Malala Yousefzai (for obvious reasons), and Ellen DeGeneres—the first person to come out on American television.

Zoe: Can it be Claudia? I love Tara Moss, Mia Freedman, Lisa Wilkinson, Amy Lee (from Evanescence) and Richelle Mead. All badass women who break glass ceilings.

Here’s some of our favourite, inspirational /5

WUSA ADDRESS

WUSA ADDRESS WORDS / Sam Tedeschi WUSA President wusapresident@gmail.com

It has never been a more exciting time to be a UOW student. The expansion of the campus, increase in student population, a record number of active clubs, and greater on-campus activity shows that UOW is growing and changing.

In 2015, the students of UOW elected the UNITY team as their representatives on campus.

For the first time in many years, a brand new team was chosen to change the Wollongong Undergraduate Students’ Association (WUSA) and for the first time in UOW’s history, a Liberal was elected President of WUSA. As President, I will stand up for Liberal values at UOW – freedom of thought and speech, equality of opportunity, and the rights of the individual. The new WUSA administration was elected on a platform of change. We are determined to reform the way students are represented at UOW and to ensure that the voices of students are heard by the University.

I am committed to actively engaging with students, staff, and the University to provide the best possible outcomes for students. WUSA will not be the distant protesting voice it has been in the past, but a collaborative partner that will strongly advocate on behalf of students.

WUSA will stand opposed to the National Union of Students and their radical socialist agenda.

They do not represent mainstream students and we will oppose every action they take that is detrimental to students, democracy and Australia. WUSA supports real students, not full-time activists and ideological extremists.

The best interests of students will be at the forefront of everything that we do. Every action we take over the next year will be to enhance the student experience and make 2016 a great year to be a UOW student.

“It has never been a more exciting time to be a UOW student.”

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columns

COLUMNS

HAS THE ‘HAYNE PL ANE’ CRASHED GRIDIRON IN AUSTRALIA? WORDS / Brenton Mills @brentonm13

The hype and hysteria that surrounded Jarryd Hayne on his way to achieving his dream of playing in the NFL has only succeeded in diminishing the game’s profile.

This time last year Jarryd Hayne was finding his feet in America. He was setting up at base camp for training and surrounding himself with coaches and trainers to prepare him for the task of getting onto an NFL team’s roster. The media in Australia and the US were interested in his journey and the excitement gathered momentum as we learnt more about his exploits.

When pre-season training started and it was announced that after performing for NFL scouts at a training combine, a number of teams were interested in Hayne and he received offers from the Detroit Lions, and another from the San Francisco 49ers. There was speculation running through the media outlets as to which team he would accept: the guaranteed money of the Lions or the historic 49ers’ franchise?

Behind a cluster of microphones, and in front of the eyes of TV cameras, Hayne had come to give the world his news. He picked up the cap with the iconic 49ers’ symbol and told the media he had decided to chase his dream by playing for San Francisco in March 2015.

From then on in, we were informed of his teammates heaping praise on a simple rugby player from Sydney with athleticism and drive. He then made the 49ers’ seventy-five man squad and was going to play in their pre-season games to try and make a strong impression, in the hopes of making it onto the final roster. His power running and quick feet catapulted him into the American spotlight, when the former Parramatta Eels hero was starting to make big plays in his pre-season appearances. Fox Sports dedicated a segment to analysing his rapid rise to success, showing all the Hayne highlights.

At last, after some tense days, we heard the announcement that Hayne had made the final fifty-three man squad, and Channel 7 quickly secured the rights to every one of the 49ers’ games for the season. We got the pictures of his first game, the season opener against the Minnesota Vikings. Watched him take the field and then… fumble his first career touch.

Ouch.

It was okay though, he was an Aussie battler. For the rest of the game, the ball was glued to his hand. Week six came quickly, where he played against the Baltimore Ravens. Hayne had managed to gain a total 104 yards on 16 combined touches so far. Then he fumbled the ball for the third time in five games. He was dropped. The gridiron bubble burst. Australia’s newfound enthusiasm for NFL had disappeared at Levi Stadium in California.

The NSW government was hoping to bring the 49ers’ out to Australia to play one of their preseason games at ANZ stadium. They have now had to settle for bringing out two college teams in August 2016 as a consolation for NFL fans in Australia.

The NSW Government, Gridiron Australia, Channel 7 and Foxtel all bet big on Hayne and the 49ers’, but now the casual fan has even less interest in the game.

They were forced to watch a team that has won only four games this season because they were hoping to watch Hayne play in the big time.

Everyone that has invested in Jarryd Hayne’s journey so far is wishing that he will play again and bring a return on his or her investment. Even after his long awaited return to the active roster, the hopes that his presence will have a positive effect on Gridiron in Australia disappeared when he was initially dropped. /9

COLUMNS

WHY SEXUAL EXPERIENCE SHAMING NEEDS TO END

someone because she isn’t attracted to them? Prude. Girl sleeps with someone and really likes it? Slut. Why aren’t the male population of the world subjected to these criticisms? Why are they considered “cool” when they play the field, or sweet when they want to wait? Why are women typically the ones forced to navigate the Whore/Madonna dichotomy? Why does anyone have to? They want you to be the right amount of everything and when you fail, you’re labelled in the negative.

WORDS / Claudia Poposki @claudiapop13

So why do people think that sexual experience shaming is acceptable?

Shaming somebody for how he or she dress or act is a slippery slope to survivor shaming. Saying that somebody is a slut because her skirt is too short or he wears too tight pants is like saying that they were asking for it.

Survivor shaming is so damn wrong.

What is so wrong with liking sex? What is so wrong about not really being interested in sex? It’s 2016, I think we can accept that people have sex drives and that they vary from person to person. I mean, some people don’t experience sexual attraction at all – and that is just how they are.

People are constantly criticized for the things they do or don’t do – particularly when it comes to a person’s sexual experience.

People either have too much sex or they’re considered a prude by society’s standards. Slut shaming is the idea that someone should be ashamed of enjoying having sex – whether that be with several different partners or with only one person, or whether that be someone else’s perception of them or the reality.

The word slut is constantly thrown around as an insult, mainly directed at women, but so are the words “prude” and “virginal”, like all of these things indicate that the person they are aimed at should feel so ashamed of themselves.There are several things that are wrong, the first being: why is this, in the majority of instances, aimed at women? Girl won’t sleep with 10 /

Everyone is guilty of using this language, having this kind of attitude in regards to other people and their adventures with sex. The point is to catch yourself and say – “hey, what is it my business anyway? Good for them!” As long as the participating parties are consenting, legal and are using safe sex and risk free practices, why should it bother anybody how many or how few people somebody has slept with?

COLUMNS

DOING THINGS THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY CAN PAY OFF WORDS / Kayla Chapman @kaylachapmann

As we welcome the New Year, “new year, new me” is a quote we begin to hear a lot of – or should I say, see a lot of thanks to social media. I myself, am not ambitious enough to commit to such a personality change just because a new year is upon us, but I could possibly handle setting a few goals.

Four weeks ago, as I sat on my bed eyeballing my overflowing closet, I set myself a goal to revamp my style. The only reason for my closet overflowing was that I hadn’t cleaned it out for years and as a result, still contained clothes I hadn’t worn since high school. It was time to do the half-decade clean out.

While searching through the clothes I realised I currently wore only a third of them. Cleaning it out was going to be easy. Filling it back up was going to be a lot harder.

How was I going to afford a complete style revamp as I celebrated the festive season and entered 2016? I’ve never used eBay and my poor attempt at using Gumtree meant that selling my clothes online were out of the question. I’d have to make money the old fashioned way and hold my own market stall.

“We may be in a market, but that’s my treasured year 12 formal dress you got there and I ain’t willing to part with it for any less than $80!” That was my way of thinking during the first half of the day. Oh how naïve could pre-market me be? Every second customer was trying to haggle something down to half the price. And could I blame them? I couldn’t. Everything is second-hand after all. Don’t be greedy.

See formal dress saga above. I’m ashamed to admit I was greedy at first. My friend soon told me: “If you’ve got something on the rack it’s because you’re willing to part with it. Remember, it’s doing nothing for you gathering dust in the closet.” Ask yourself if you’d rather give that dress another chance at life in someone else’s hands (while gaining some money to put toward your new wardrobe), or see it hanging uselessly in your closet for another three years.

I had a huge fear that the stall would be a major flop and I wouldn’t make half the money back from the cost of the stall. Those fears were soon forgotten when I had customers searching through my things before I had even set up! I held my stall at Glebe markets for $100 and split it with a friend. If you’ve been thinking about the ol’ wardrobe cleanse, it’s worth spending that little bit extra to ensure you’ll have a spot at a popular market. Here are a few other things I wish I knew before hosting my own stall.

It all adds up.

Be prepared to barter.

Perhaps the New Year will welcome a ‘new me’ after all.

Selling items for a smidgen of the price you paid for them may, or may not be disappointing for you. But let me say, when you’re counting up every $10 sale you made at the end of the day, you won’t give a second thought to what you used to own and all your attention will be directed toward your excitement for a new wardrobe!

/ 11

COLUMNS

THE T WENT YSOMETHING FEAR OF BEING ALONE WORDS / Paige Braunstein @PaigeChanel4

“What’s so bad about getting a vibrator and taking yourself out to the movies until someone who can love you properly comes along?”

Why is it that so many people around me are falling victim to the stigma that “being alone sucks”?

It seems that more often than not, people in their twenties are believing this unrealistic idea that unless they have someone, they’ll never be happy. I recently found that I was becoming victim to this idea. I began to feel embarrassed to be around my friends in relationships.

They’d spend our catch-ups discussing their various issues with their boyfriends, while I would be sitting there quietly thinking about what I wanted for breakfast the next morning. I couldn’t help but wonder, was something wrong with me, or was something wrong with them?

It’d become a daily ponder of mine, wondering how people chose to stay in relationships they were clearly unhappy in simply due to this fear of being alone. I mean sure, stability is nice. No one can argue that being able to comfortably shit at a partner’s house isn’t a special and defining moment in the relationship. However, is that worth forgoing your happiness all because of this stupid stigma that has been instilled into our brains?

I have this friend; lets call her Samantha*, who is the biggest offender of falling trap to the stigma. For the last year, without fail, every time we would catch up she would complain about how she was being mistreated and feeling unloved in her relationship. She would always say, “Paige, I think this is it, I think I have to break up with him”, and so the vicious cycle repeated itself when she didn’t break up with him and would complain the next time I saw her. I’m sorry Samantha, you’re still my friend, but I just can’t fathom why someone would continuously put themself through that. What’s so bad about getting a vibrator and taking yourself out to the movies until someone who can love you properly comes along? Honestly?

Absolutely nothing. *not real name

12 /

COLUMNS

REAC HING NEW AUDIENCES WORDS / Elise Manning @ManningElise

Using music as a platform to spread awareness and promote animal rights has become more common over the years with major celebrities like Rise Against and The Smiths creating songs that send important messages. With a potential audience of millions it can be a very effective way to spread the word.

Hip-hop music is moving beyond sheer entertainment, and quickly becoming a vehicle for social change across the world. Wollongong local and hip-hop artist Azza D is familiar with using music as a medium for social change.

Aaron Deering, also known as Azza D, has been rapping and writing hip-hop since he was 17, but only in the last few years has combined his love for animals and musical talents. In a recent interview, Deering talks about always having a connection to animals.

“I’ve always loved animals, ever since I was a little kid. Looking back I think animals can just sense that kids don’t have any negative intentions towards them and that’s why animals were never really scared of me, I was always really good friends with them.”

Deering said since he watched an advertisement on TV when he was 5 years old showing bears being kept in tiny cages for entertainment, he has fought the battle for animal rights ever since.

“That ad has stuck with me all this time, it had a really big effect on me. The song in the ad was by The Pretenders, I’ll Stand By You, and I’ve always had the idea of remaking it and putting my own spin on it. Kind of making it into a story with all proceedings made when purchasing the song goes towards this cause. Animals weren’t put on this earth for our benefit.”

Having a love for animals and music from such a young age, it just seemed simple to combine both together. Deering is currently in the middle of organising a free gig, which will be held in Stuart Park in Wollongong launching his new album The Secret Tree House with a special track dedicated to animals. Vegan clothing and food stands will also be present on the day.

Musicians play a crucial role as culturally credible messengers, helping to recruit supporters, raise much-needed funds, and inspire those already involved. More than simply passing on information, they also interpret that information through their music, presenting ideas in ways that engage their

audience emotionally. Music, in other words, frames ideas, and primes us to accept new frames. Music shifts cultural norms by affecting and interacting with the way we see the world and our place in it, especially through group identity.

Azza D creates a bond with his listeners who then may be motivated to help the cause, in this case animal rights. Using music as a form of expression is a powerful way to spread messages. Azza D explains: “When you look at it, it’s an obvious idea. Music is a great platform to get a message across, it is something that’s made and stays here, you can play it over and over and the point is never lost. I think as far as rap goes, these are the issues we should be talking about.”

Art is a very powerful communication tool, and its power is likely underrealised within the animal rights movement. Music in particular can have a powerful impact, partially due to the fact that we listen to music we like repeatedly. Even lyrics that don’t sink in the first few times, eventually hit our ears at a time when our minds are open, and art does tend to help open our minds to new ideas.

Today, hip-hop artists and industry insiders are raising their voices in protest of injustice, in favor of peace, and on diverse issues ranging from the events of the Arab Spring to the animal meat slaughter industry. The music isn’t just having a hand in promoting peace, it’s also promoting greater understanding of world affairs and educating Australian audiences on the plight of those outside the country.

Azza D is dedicated to helping bring about change and prevent animal cruelty. Deering explains animals have always been a fundamental part of his life, so it was bound to be a prominent part of his music. Deering hopes one day he won’t have to preach animal rights and the rest of the world will catch up. But for now he will keep spreading peace for the animal kingdom. / 13

COLUMNS

TRAVELLING THROUGH THE REFUGEE CRISIS WORDS / Caitlin Morahan

Caitlin Morahan outlines what to watch out for this European season.

This time of year is crucial to 2016 European adventurers –booking those early bird Contiki specials, weighing the pros and cons of a Eurorail pass and staying up until ungodly hours to snatch up those festival tickets. But what’s easy for budding backpackers to forget, as they decide between bendering at Mykonos or Ios, is that Europe is facing the biggest economical and political refugee crisis since World War II. While this number has dwindled in the winter months, when summer arrives in Europe again, so will the next influx of refugees.

The refugees are coming from war-torn countries like Iraq, Syria and Libya, where ethnic and religious tensions and Western military intervention have given way to horrifying violence. Most make the trip via Turkey, either directly en route from their own countries or after being based there for a year or so.

They then travel across to Greece and through the western Balkans.

Their journey is rapidly becoming more difficult. Several countries in the Balkans have started to refuse people, mainly due to the sheer numbers attempting to cross, but also partially due to increasing anxiety over refugees since the Paris attacks. In November 2015, Serbia announced that it would allow only those who were Syrian, Iraqi or Afghani to make the crossing.

Macedonia and Croatia quickly followed suit, leading to more difficult and lengthy border crossings.

So what does this mean for prospective Australian travellers?

their migrants into temporary housing just outside of Munich. In Turkey and Greece, the migrants are concentrated around Izmir and Lesbos, small areas on the coast rarely visited by tourists. There is also a refugee camp in Calais, the French town where the Eurotunnel connects France and England. There have been numerous disturbances with refugees trying to sneak into the tunnel to reach the UK, however they have died down due to stricter security and border controls, implemented to stop the rise in people trafficking.

Stricter border controls are currently being instigated and the Schengen agreement reconsidered (the agreement that allows border-free travel to EU citizens). This doesn’t affect Australians much, unless you are traveling on a UK passport or the UK working visa, in which case they will doublecheck your passport. It is especially difficult in Eastern Europe, with countries like Hungary and Serbia tightening and lengthening their border crossing procedures, vigilantly examining each entry into their country. Calais also carefully monitors entry into the UK or France and often conducts searches on buses and trucks for stowaways.

It’s both wise and essential to educate yourself. It’s not only beneficial to know who’s who in European politics, and you won’t seem like the ubiquitous beer-swilling, singlet-wearing Aussie backpacker cliché. Read a few articles, look at a map – it will make everything you’re hearing sound clearer.

Honestly, not a whole lot.

For the most part, processing centres and the UNHCR are dealing with the migrants camped out at the borders. You’ll be confronted with tent cities on Serbia, Macedonia and Croatia’s borders, but Germany has safely moved 14 /

Don’t forget – you are doing some unintentional good. Tourism is Europe’s greatest source of revenue for the European countries dealing with the inflow of refugees crossing their borders. So by buying that extra tequila shot in Ios, you’re indirectly helping a refugee in Lesbos. Keep up the good work!

COLUMNS

“I ONLY PAY $50 A MONTH FOR FOOD. SOMETIMES, NOT EVEN THAT.” WORDS / Zoe Simmons @ItBeginsWithZ

I’m asked by a lot of people how I can keep my food bill down so ridiculously low—and a lot of them are especially surprised when I tell them I have a plant-based diet. Isn’t that expensive? They ask. Sometimes, yes—but that’s only for the super fancy stuff. You can buy yourself the somewhat occasional treat when you’re saving heaps of money most of the time. So, here’s my guide to cheap food hacks for uni students—that just happen to be vegan.

Firstly, shitloads of vegetable—I know, I know.

Vegetables, you groan. Where’s the pizza at?

But you can make them super tasty. And they’ll nourish your body too. If you’re lazy, you can buy frozen vegetables cheap from Aldi for like a dollar. Or (the tastier option), you can buy the basics fresh and steam or boil them either in the microwave (cheaper option for electricity) or the good ol’ stove. I don’t even peel most of them— that’s how lazy I am (wash them though!).

They only take around 2-8 minutes to cook (depending on what you have, how much, and how you cook them). Try adding some salt, butter and (vegan) cheese for a quick meal.

Otherwise, adding pasta and a simple sauce is great. If you want to try a super easy peanut satay sauce (amazing with veggies and tofu), it’s as easy as combining peanut butter and sweet chilli sauce. For some extra flavour, try adding a dash of soy sauce, or some (vegan) cream cheese. Grating things like carrot, broccoli or zucchini is also a great and sneaky way to add extra nutrients into your diet.

Tofu is also amazing—and it’s so bloody cheap! Prices start from about $2, and tofu can be amazing if you cook it right—and it’s so versatile. I’d recommend firm tofu. You can dip it

in some bread crumbs and grill it on a sandwich press, and it’s amazing. Tofu scramble (made like scrambled eggs) is also really easy and awesome—just cook everything in a pan with flavours you enjoy (I use curry powder). I also recently discovered a recipe for vegan egg salad mix, which is basically crumbled tofu, vegan mayonnaise (Praise 99% fat free is VEGAN, woo!), and salt and pepper. Adding some nutritional yeast flakes (which has a cheeselike flavour, and is full vitamin B 12, fibre and protein), as well as some paprika, corn, cherry (or sundried) tomatoes, and so on. Not only are these things SUPER cheap and SUPER healthy, but they take only a few minutes—laziness for the win!

If you’re super desperate, there’s always the basics. Things like toasted sandwiches, wraps, homemade pizzas and burritos—which are all relatively easy to make! If you’re feeling a bit fancy, try a lasagne—basically, cook up a whole heap of veggies (whatever you have in the fridge—you can also add some fake meat if you like, but this tends to be pricey) with some tomato pasta sauce. To make your creamy sauce, mix some vegan butter, flour, and various other flavours in a pan over the stove—I like garlic, basil and vegan cream cheese (the brand Tofutti is my favourite, and only around $4). All you do then is create layers, and chuck it in the oven with some vegan cheese on the top—my personal favourite is Bio Cheese, and while at $9 is a tad pricey, I think it’s definitely worth it. Google vegan macaroni and cheese recipes for another great meal!

Creating up a giant batch of food each week is your best friend—then you can just eat the leftovers! Minimal cost, minimal washing up,

minimal power used. For snacks, I love cutting up some cucumber, carrot or capsicum sticks for various dips. Hummus, which is a super cheap $2, can be made way more flavoursome by mixing in some sweet paprika and olive oil (trust me, it’s amazing!). If worst comes to worst, noodles are 99 cents for a packet of 5.

My point is you can eat cheap if you need to—and you can splurge on a little extra things you enjoy, like (vegan) meats, cheeses, or icecreams. But the basics, well, they’re dirt cheap.

Sticking to a budget like this will allow you to save a lot of money per year. It’s not always fun, but a uni student’s gotta do what a uni student’s gotta do. / 15

FEATURES

ENVIRONMENTAL FEATURE

MICRO PL ASTICS WORDS / Simona Ermilova

Although there’s been media coverage regarding micro-plastics it’s been limited. The topic is disconcerting enough that a conversation needs to be instigated with affirmative action set in place. You don’t need to be a youth activist or environmentalist to acknowledge the issue or assist in minimising potentially detrimental outcomes.

Evidence has unveiled that the distribution of micro-plastics is on a global scale, with particles present throughout the open ocean, at high altitudes and even isolated islands. It’s caught enough attention to prompt many scientific studies attempting to understand how micro-plastics in waterbased ecosystem is affecting the organisms that live in them. Not only could the phenomenon affect us at the top of the food chain by eating the creatures below us, these industrially manufactured particles alter the activities of organisms that aid in creating and engineering these ecosystems. To avoid skipping an introduction, I’ll start with the basics.

Amongst all the waste and debris we see floating around in bodies of water which of those are, micro-plastics?

Particles that are less than 5mm in size and stem from a few different processes. The breakdown of larger plastic fragments over time either by UV radiation, high energy current and wave action and the activities of marine creatures is one of the main causes. The direct release through cosmetic products and household/industrial cleaning products into waterways or through urban waste treatment has just as big an affect. They also occur due to the loss of industrial materials during transportation and the discharge of our waste and sewage.

No one has been able to find out exactly what their long-term environmental effects are, however in a report Michelle Change, from the Department of Environmental Science at the University of California stated, ‘their ability to accumulate and persist up food chains should be a concern’.

She surveyed the student residential housing population at the University of California and discovered that collectively they use around 5000g of microplastics per year. This is equivalent of 2500 Ziploc sandwich bags, and the

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“The particles are mainly derived from facial exfoliating cleansers and toothpastes that wastewater treatment plants aren’t equipped to handle. “

particles are mainly derived from facial exfoliating cleansers and toothpastes that wastewater treatment plants aren’t equipped to handle.

Environmental Protection Authority in finding a suitable and eco-friendly alternative to micro-plastics.

An instance that hits closer to home is a 2014 study where researchers discovered 60 micro-plastics per 100 milligrams of sediment in Sydney Harbour. In essence, the area is widely contaminated with them. While the study was underway, the researchers from the Sydney Institute of Marine science caught a worm-like animal that had particles throughout its entire body. A larger animal like a mollusc or fish is likely to consume that worm, and a bird or person will consume the fish. In the mean-time, the particles that were present in the worm are not digestible by any of the organisms and will build up inside the animals at the top of the food chain. This could affect the animal’s health and is a prime example of how the contaminants have the potential of disrupting marine food webs.

On a global scale, cosmetic manufacturers are acknowledging the issue and are phasing out the use of artificial cleansing abrasives. Nonetheless, we don’t need to wait until all products are banned completely or water waste treatment technology is so far advanced that not even the tiniest of particles will pass through undetected. Simple actions such as consciously choosing products without micro-beads in them or picking up floating rubbish both in the water and on the streets could go a long way.

Other organisms affected at large are marine ecosystem engineers. They’re the guys that create and significantly modify and maintain marine habitats.

A common example is the Lugworm which has a great impact on sediment turnover. There have been observed alterations in their burrowing activities as well as a reduction in the production of these sandy sediments. The issue present is due to their role as ecosystem engineers, many other organisms rely on them.

There are 4 states in America that have banned the use of micro-plastics in cosmetic products, as well as the signing of a petition by the Dutch and Germans during the 2013 European Conference on Prevention and Management of Marine Litter in European Seas, held in Berlin, to ban their use throughout Europe. Additionally, the Sydney based Australian arm of Fauna and Flora International, agreed as of 2014 to work with the NSW / 19

FILM REVIEW

STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKENS

One of the best things about The Force Awakens is the amount of practical effects in there. The original trilogy had awesome special effects and that was great, but you can’t just have special effects all the time otherwise you get crap like those other “Star Wars” movies or the Transformers saga . Even though I put it in quotation marks it still hurts to refer to the prequels as Star Wars movies.

It is far better to see something real happen on the screen as Mad Max: Fury Road reminded people earlier this year. It is a great achievement, however, to use both practical and special effects and to have a good balance of the two, having them work together and play off of each other to create an amazing cinematic experience, and The Force Awakens totally pulls that off.

Another one of the best things about The Force Awakens is Kylo Ren. He is such a perfectly done villain and what’s more, so damn interesting! He takes great inspiration from Darth Vader and wants to be the Vader to Snoke’s Emperor. But, the thing is while he is fairly powerful and talented his training is still not complete, but more still, the Dark Side is not strong with him and he is constantly feeling the Light pulling him towards it. And his mother and father are Leia and Han! I thought that might happen during the movie but still, hearing it blew me away anyway.

WORDS / Ben Kohler @FakeBenKohler

SPOILERS!

Speaking of Han, I almost cried when….y’know.

It wasn’t a perfect movie though. One of my main criticisms is that the Star Killer base was not set up well. We saw that it is powerful and definitely something to worry about, but we didn’t really learn anything about it. We just know that it is a planet that they turned into a really big Death Star.

In spite of a few small problems, I’m still desperate to see Episode VIII. The ending for The Force Awakens was perfect with Rey finding Luke. It makes me nuts to have to wait in order to see what happens next, and to find out the answers to all the questions it left me with like: how it is that Rey is so strong with the Force and will she go out with me?

I can finally move on from the prequels thanks to this solid new movie that really is true to the spirit of Star Wars.

I take back all the bad things I ever said about JJ Abrams.

It’s been out for ages but just to cover my arse, SPOILERS! I’ll just get right into it, no synopsis or nothing. We’ve all seen it.

After a year of waiting since that first teaser we finally got the NEW STAR WARS MOVIE! In spite of how agonising the wait was, it totally paid off!

The cast is perfect. Daisy Ridley (who portrays Rey) and John Boyega (as Finn) were almost total unknowns but did fantastic jobs and that is exactly what the people making the movie needed to find. No one knew who Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher were before Star Wars in ‘77 but then they blew everyone’s freakin’ mind!

It was also good that this time around they made an effort to have some diversity in the cast. As awesome as the original trilogy is, almost all of the human characters were white men. Now, there is a pretty decent number of women, black people, Asian people and other diverse groups in the film, which is good for the movie and also for representation.

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OPINION

16 STUPID THINGS VEGANS ARE TIRED OF HEARING WORDS / Zoe Simmons @ItBeginsWithZ

But if the animal is already dead, you may as well eat it, right?

Face palm.

Where do you get your protein?

You do realise there’s protein in more than just meat, dairy and eggs, right? Like, in vegetables? Same thing with iron. Shitloads of veggies is more than enough to be incredibly healthy. There’s also tofu (but not all vegans like tofu!) and other meat and dairy alternatives.

I bet you’re iron deficient.

My iron levels are fine, thank you very much.

But bacon.

Pigs are cute! Why would you want to murder them? They are living things. They think. They feel pain. They have emotions. They have the will to love. Why should they lose their life so you can have a snack?

I’m vegan, and like many other vegans, I am asked incredibly stupid questions all the time. Last week, while at a friend’s wedding, a person came up to me and asked, “what do you even eat?” while I was holding a massive plate of food. So, to clear it up for you, here’s a list of questions, along with answers.

Bacon.

Apparently, humans taste like bacon too. Are you going to eat them?

What do you even eat then?

Air. I eat air. And sunlight. Because it’s not like 75% of the average omnivore eats fruits, veggies and grains in their diets anyway. FYI, the answer is shitloads of vegetables, fruits, pastas, breads, wraps, lasagnes, soups, curries, desserts, chocolates, ice creams cookies . . . Sound familiar? We miss out on nothing. There’s delicious, cruelty-free and healthy alternatives to everything. OREOS ARE ALSO VEGAN!

You’re vegan? Why? I love animals. I don’t want them to die. I don’t want them to suffer. I don’t think they should be mistreated or killed for a human to have a snack. I also care about the environment.

The meat and dairy industry is not sustainable.

According to the United Nations, one billion people do not have enough food. This is expected to rise to three billion within the next 50 years— and animal consumption is a leading cause of this. How? It takes around 9034L of water to produce 0.5kg of meat, compared to 923L for the same amount of tofu. To produce 3.8L of milk, 2585L of water is needed. Furthermore, it takes 4kg of grain to produce 0.5kg of meat. This is because these animals are raised purely to be slaughtered—if the demand did not exist, neither would the strain on resources. These resources could then be used elsewhere and actually solve world hunger.

By converting to a vegan diet, you can save around 829,000L of water per year. Simply decreasing the amount of meat and dairy you consume is incredibly beneficial to the environment and your body. Please, be mindful.

What, do you think you’re better than me or something?

No. Vegans don’t think we’re better than any human or animal. Hence why we don’t eat either.

You’re just one person, you can’t change the world.

Are you serious? How do you think any kind of change happens? We recognise that something is wrong.

We change it. We explain it to other people, and they agree. As more and more people come to realise the environmental and health impacts, if they’re reasonable people, they will change—or at least be mindful and decrease the amount of meat and dairy they consume. And if we treated cats and dogs the way we treat cows, pigs, sheep, chickens (and so on), there would be an uproar. Why do their lives matter less?

We’re supposed to eat meat.

No. We’re not. And it’s destroying the environment. And a whole heap of other health problems.

But plants are living things too, why do you eat them?

Do you tie your own shoe laces in the morning?

Vegans are always trying to shove their beliefs down my throat!

Yeah, because your beliefs are destroying the environment.

My food poops on your food.

You’d eat it too, then, moron. And no, no they don’t.

Do you guys ever shut up about veganism?

No. How do you know if someone is a vegan? Don’t worry, they’ll tell you.

Damn straight, i’ll friggin’ tell you. I’ll tell you until the cows come home. Oh, wait. You ate them. Also, that’s a stupid joke.

Vegans are weak!

Arnold Schwarzenegger is (sometimes) vegan. He also advocates for meatless diets. Want to tell me again vegans are weak?

Did you have to Google how to spell Schwarzenegger?

Yes. / 21

FEATURE

THE LITTLE WE KNOW, THE LITTLE WE SEE WORDS / Jake Cupitt @jakecupitt

As you get older, you begin to realise that if you can do anything that will last beyond your death, you should try as hard as you can to do it. Whatever it is. Some people become the prime minister, some people become porn stars, and some people become writers. All of these pursuits are essentially the same field of work if you ask me, selling yourself for the enjoyment of others.

Unlike Facebook and autobiographies, the lives we lead aren’t always perfect peaches. There’s sadness, and hate, and anger and loneliness, albeit mixed with happiness and love and kindness and friendship and romance and passion.

Our Facebook profiles wouldn’t dare show us the authentic lives we lead behind closed doors, that’s not the stuff we want to leave behind.

So what happens if what we leave behind is ugly? I don’t think that’s anything to be afraid of. If pushed, I think you would rather have an authentic account of your life than a performed one. At least, I would anyway.

The list of adjectives I mentioned before describe one man for me – Charles Henry Bukowski, 20th century American author and poet. Arguably one of the best poets to have lived, and my favourite author. As a devoted fan of his, it’s easy for me to say that it’s hard to like Bukowski at the best of times, but there are other times, where it’s equally as hard to hate him.

As he would have liked it, I’ll start with an ugly moment in his life.

Bukowski was a drunk. A mean drunk. And he drank a lot; more than you could think would be possible.

One night, Bukowski’s friend, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, was hosting a party in his honour after he just finished a series of poetry readings at American colleges. As was normal, the party eventually devolved into a screaming mess of alcohol, drugs and fighting. Bukowski grabbed the hand of his girlfriend at the time, Linda King, and took her into the kitchen, as she thought probably to protect her from the all out brawl that was happening in the living room. But instead it was to accuse her of flirting with fellow author John Bennett. He had her cornered in the kitchen with a frying pan raised in the air, ready to bring it down on her head.

King thought she was done, but she bit him on the hand 22 /

and ducked under his arms, and as he turned to swipe at her he tripped and fell and cut his face on some broken glass. He screamed out “To hell with you bitch, you’re out of my life.”

Never has the phrase, “well that escalated quickly” felt more apt.

Now I don’t blame you if you feel Bukowski was a horrible, mean, ugly man, because I agree with you - he was. However, to say that a man is only one type of thing, and incapable of being anything else is what’s truly insulting.

All I can do is give you an honest and true account of two brief moments in the man’s life, in the hope that you can make an informed decision.

Let me finish with my favourite scene from his biography.

To give you a bit of context; when Bukowski was a young man, he lived in a cheap $3 a night motel, where he met and became intimate with a woman called Jane, the maid of the motel.

In his younger years he wasn’t as bitter, and although still hard and distant, had inside him a sensitive love no woman had given him the chance to express. Until Jane.

Bukowski and Jane lived together for a few years and through the rough and tumble life of 1940’s Los Angeles, they shared many happy and sad experiences. Jane was an alcoholic, much more than Bukowski. She went to low depths in order to get drunk and stay drunk.

Eventually, after a miscarriage, Jane and Bukowski split.

Years later, while wandering through the streets of his youth, Bukowski felt nostalgia when he stumbled upon the cheap $3 a night motel he spent so many nights furiously writing with passion, and drinking late into the morning with Jane. He went to his old local bar, and there she was. Still drunk, but much more worse for wear. The pair went back to her room for the night to drink and catch up, and while Bukowski was nearing the end of his night with the bottle, Jane was still ploughing on, paralytic by the end.

In the morning, as Bukowski woke to the noise of Jane coughing up blood into the toilet, he told her to take it easy and stay off the drink for a few days. In her stubbornness, and habits, she didn’t. A week passed and Bukowski went back to the motel to see Jane, but her room was empty. She was gone. He asked the receptionist where she went and they told him she was in the county hospital. Bukowski rushed over to visit. There he found her asleep in a bed, sick and yellow with jaundice and cirrhosis of the liver.

For two weeks Bukowski stayed with her, day and night, getting anything that could ease her pain. Keeping a cool wash cloth on her forehead, putting chips of ice into her mouth because she couldn’t sit up to drink, holding her arms as she went to the toilet and screamed in pain.

Jane had nobody. No family and no friends except for him. Her own son wouldn’t speak to her. I guess that’s what happens when your entire life is a blur of bourbon, sex and hangovers.

Everybody eventually just leaves.

Late one night, while Bukowski was sleeping next to her in a chair with his hand gently cradling hers, she passed away. With only one friend in the world.

“So what happens if what we leave behind is ugly? I don’t think that’s anything to be afraid of.”

He organised and paid for her funeral, contacted her son, and made sure to take care of the small possessions she had.

Now I urge you not to forget the scene I described earlier, but also know that this moment is true as well.

If you can accuse Bukowski of being anything, it is authenticity.

His life was horrible and he suffered for his passions. He was truly a struggling poet. Maybe we romanticise the life of the artist, sad and lonely but authentic and true. But maybe we should really thank the artist for living a life that we don’t have the strength to, so that we can live vicariously through their honest experiences.

Whatever you think of the man, Bukowski wouldn’t care. He wasn’t interested in fame or fortune, he wanted to be understood, and left to write alone. Well, I thank him for suffering so that I don’t have to. I thank him for letting me experience his life through his poetry.

So when you’re older and realising that you want to leave something behind that will last beyond your death, think of authenticity, in its honest and ugly bones. If there’s little we know, then there’s little we see.

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FEATURE

ME, MYSELF & I WORDS / Kristina Prentoska

Can you imagine walking up to a restaurant at 7:30pm, full of couples, families and groups of friends, taking a seat and having dinner, alone? Yeah, neither could I. The other day, whilst I was waiting for a friend at a café, I had a thought. Why do I care if I’m seen alone having dinner, or lunch or breakfast? Why do we as humans not want to be seen alone?

Is it embarrassing?

I’m going to say it’s down to society’s perceptions. I think we’re inclined to feel sorry for people who are alone. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve grown older and the need to please society is no longer a thought in my mind, but there is nothing more relaxing then sitting down at a restaurant, with your favourite book, your iPad, newspaper or simply nothing and just getting to know yourself.

I was at a restaurant the other day having dinner with 5 friends and an elderly man was sitting alone at a table next to us. At first, I thought his partner was in the bathroom or was at the bar. Later on in the night I looked over again only to realise he was still eating alone. He had his book with him and he was enjoying his own company. Of course, my initial reaction was “oh I feel sorry for him” but then I wanted to slap my self in the face and say “NO don’t think like everyone else.” Maybe he just wanted to sit alone and have dinner by himself?

There are ways to make eating out alone less intimidating. We all have our security blankets like our phone or our book, but what if you just sat there and people watched?

To all those people who have the courage and the “I don’t care what anyone thinks attitude” to be seen eating out alone, I commend you. Tomorrow I’m going to have lunch by myself, without the security of my phone, or book, just me, myself, and I.

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THEIR SIDE OF THE STORY WORDS / Caitlin Morahan

SPOTLIGHT STORY

It’s the end of October and already I can feel the weather changing.

The sun is still out, but the air holds bite and commuters bow their head to the wind. There are not as many vendors on the streets and fewer hawkers with their foldouts of counterfeit goods. They can choose to go inside. They can choose to go home.

I follow Josh to the considerably depleted farmer’s market. A week ago it was bustling with hagglers shouting over one another, this week there are more empty stalls than occupied ones. Josh makes his way directly to a middleaged Serbian woman in a splattered apron and with a stern brow. She softens when she sees him and reaches for two hessian sacks.

We fill them to the brim with red apples. There must be at least 40 kilos, and Josh pays her from his own pocket. The Serbian woman is joined by her son who helps us hoist the sacks onto our backs. “My sister speaks some Arabic,” he tells us. “Perhaps she can help you.”

This is the most common misconception – that all the refugees camped in the park next to the railway station in Belgrade speak Arabic. It’s not true – the Syrians speak Arabic, the Afghans speak Dari, the Iraqi’s speak Kurdish, and the Somalis speak Somali. There is no one language to define them – they are a patchwork quilt of cultures, the only umbrella they share is the journey that brought them all here.

As of today, there are 13 ongoing wars and conflicts in countries across Africa, Asia and the Middle East. The places that people once called home are no longer safe for them to raise their families or live normal lives. The risk to escape their hollowed-out cities can be as high as staying – families walk for miles in the dead of night to avoid snipers or soldiers looking for young recruits - but “home” as they once knew it no longer exists. Half of Syria’s pre-war population has been killed or forced to flee their homes. That’s over 11 million people.

As soon as we reach the park, kids scramble towards us, dark hands grabbing for the hessian. I have the opening clenched tightly in my fist. “Be careful,” Josh warned me. “They grab.” He heads off toward the other end of the park, leaving me with dozens of expectant dark eyes.

“Form a line, please!” I call, trying to maintain some semblance of order. The kids nearly fall over themselves backing up into a badly formed line, because after all – they are kids. They take the apples nearly as fast as I can hand them out – though never without a shy smile, or a halting ‘thank you’.

I pass a couple of apples to a young girl holding a baby, but before she can grab them, another hand closes over the fruit. I look up into the challenging face of an Afghani teenager, who had broken away from the group of boys loitering behind me.

“Wait your turn, please,” I tell him, but he doesn’t let go. I pull hard at the apple but he pulls harder, his eyes never leaving my face, a sneer playing over his dark features. His friends looked on keenly.

I let go. It’s not worth it. There are children waiting, ramrod-straight, in the line for something to eat. The teenage boy takes the apple and turns away, taking a large, loud bite.

He represents the minority – solitary young men travelling alone, they don’t 28 /

engage with the volunteers and they usually disappear after a couple of days. The majority of people here are families with children. They are spread over two parks in Belgrade’s city centre – although the term ‘parks’ is loose – they are expanses of dirt clods and debris, with a few miserable looking trees acting as makeshift clotheslines. The lucky ones have tents or tarps – the unlucky ones have the clothes on their back.

I walk through the city of tents and hand apples to bundled-up mothers sitting guard, while their husbands wait for information from the volunteers set up outside the entrance to the train station. A sign written in English and Arabic tell them their limited options. “Hungary – border closed. Slovenia – border closed. Croatia – border closed, but possible to enter through fields at own risk. Try to stay at roads and rail tracks due to mine danger.” Taxi drivers skulk around the entrance, offering rides to the borders for no less than 200 euro. It’s a forty-minute drive.

Medical attention is scarce. A lone ambulance is parked in the middle of the dusty, tent-ridden landscape, manned by a cranky looking paramedic. There is a queue for eyedrops – days in the barren park have led to red, irritated eyes.

A Syrian woman holds her child up to me. ‘Hospital,’ she says, a strain of panic in her voice. Her hijab is falling over her forehead as she desperately presses a palm to her daughter’s forehead to illustrate a fever. The girl couldn’t be more than three, her eyes dull and pallor drained. Children under four aren’t recognized by the medical team in the parks, and don’t qualify for medical assistance. I can’t seem to get a clear answer as to why, but one word jumps, uninvited, into my head – expendable.

I’m trying to give her directions to the nearest hospital when I meet Saba.

He comes up beside me and takes over, giving her the best route in fluent Arabic. A former translator with the UNHCR, he comes down to the park every day when he has a spare couple of hours, to help where he can. When the woman leaves, he grasps my hand and tugs it gently. “Come,” he said.

“There are people who are curious about you.”

‘People’ turns out to be eighteen-year-old Khalim, from Mogadishu. He asks me shyly if I speak English. “Exclusively,” I smile, joining him on his tarp. There are a group of Somali women surrounding us, from an elderly woman in a broken wheelchair, and a teenaged girl holding a fat, dark-eyed baby, who grins gummily at me.

His mother offers me a hesitant smile, and leans down to whisper something to the woman in the wheelchair.

Four months of travelling has brought Khalim here. Four months of endless days, of sleepless nights, of sore legs and chesty coughs. Four months of uncertainty, of not knowing where the next day was going to take him. Only one thing was for sure – there was no going back. From Somalia to Iran, Iran to Turkey, Turkey to Greece, Greece to Macedonia, and Macedonia to Serbia, only to arrive at an impasse. “Is this your family?” I ask him, indicating the similarskinned group scooping rice out of tin foil with their hands.

Khalim wipes his own rice-sticky fingers on worn jeans. “No,” he says. “We’re just making the same journey.”

SPOTLIGHT STORY

Khalim wants to go to Germany and be a scientist. He loved school back in his country, before the rebels took it over. “I am already learning German,” he tells me proudly. “Guten Morgen!”

It’s the smugglers route that passes through Bulgaria, where refugees are beaten, tossed into prison and shaken down for money. They’re forced to pay the Bulgarian police for their freedom.

The girl with the baby is Hashkik, and her son’s name is Alam. He’s delightfully chubby at six months old, his cheeks turning into ripe plums as he smiles. Hashkik is eighteen years old, and alone. I ask about Alam’s father.

“There isn’t one,”’ she murmurs as she zips Alam’s tiny coat tighter. “I was travelling from Mogadishu with my mother and my younger sister, but I lost them at the Hungarian border.”

“Every day I meet people with broken noses, fingers…countless injuries from the cops in Bulgaria. Some of the refugees say they have even killed people in jail,” says Josh. “It’s getting steadily worse. Yesterday, a man came to me crying, fearing for his life. He was being held hostage by the traffickers and escaped. He didn’t want to pay the fee of 4,000 euros the traffickers were trying to make everyone pay to go from Belgrade to Germany. They told him they will kill him, and if he escapes, they have already sent his picture ahead to other traffickers in Croatia, Slovenia, Austria and Germany to deal with him wherever he goes. We – Save the Refugees - had to sneak him onto the train so he could leave Belgrade unnoticed by the traffickers. Today we heard the same story, but this time from five men who escaped.”

I ask her how. “The police – they had bats and spray cans that hurt Alam’s eyes. I couldn’t see and there were too many people – we got lost from them. Now I don’t know what to do – if I should go and look for them, or stay here and see if they find me. “ I look at her helplessly. This is the kind of question I didn’t – and never would – have the answer to. Alam looks solemnly at me before burrowing further into his mother’s chest. “He’s cold,” she sighs, drawing him in tighter. “When winter comes, we don’t know what we will do.”

None of them know what they will do. Each day the men wait fruitlessly for a train that will never arrive, to take their families to a country that may or may not accept them.

I tell Josh about it later, but he doesn’t look surprised. It’s been his grim reality since he arrived in Belgrade a month ago, after being turned away from trying to help at the borders in Germany. “I knew nobody would tell me I couldn’t feed hungry people here,” he tells me ruefully. “Most migrants are using Belgrade as a pitstop – they’re run down, low on resources and options, and losing hope.”

The pit stop is for them to brace themselves before trying to head north into Hungary, a country notorious for it’s negative reception of refugees. “I figured it would be nice to put a smile on their faces before they get there.”

At first, Josh planned to help out for a week or so. However, the refugee crisis isn’t high on the Serbian government’s list of priorities, and after witnessing the lack of support for the refugees he decided to create something from nothing. Save the Refugees is a non-government organization aimed towards doing just that. Quite a feat for a man whose past employment boasted time as a personal trainer and an infantry officer.

The Serbian government isn’t making it easy – they have since made it illegal to camp in the parks. They provide a small shelter for those seeking refuge, but it’s a distance from the city with only one rickety bus transfer per day. So every night the streets are lined, families tucked into blankets and bodies folded into doorways. Despite these barriers, the Serbian government is at least refraining from actively working against the refugees, unlike their neighbours Hungary – whose Prime Minister blatantly told the refugees not to bother trying to enter his country, and Bulgaria, where the unlucky refugees who are forced to pass through arrive significantly more battered and with fewer possessions.

Refugees coming through Belgrade often have enough cash to keep moving. But now, options are narrowing and there’s nowhere to go. On top of that, they often lack passports, which makes legal crossings virtually impossible. Most of them are here because they’ve been smuggled here, and either ran out of money or are waiting for the smugglers to take them the next leg of the journey.

Enter the fastest-growing black market of people smuggling Europe has ever faced. The millions of euros changing hands on the vast migration movement is the most underwritten part of the entire issue. Mobsters and smugglers operating a specified black market are thriving on the suffering of hundreds of people. The journey can cost upward of around 7000 euro.

More, depending on the documents they have in their possession or not.

Many refugees have paid the fee, been caught along the way and been forced to start over. Traffickers are compensating for the slowing tide of refugees. It isn’t just Serbia – there are reports of apartments in Macedonia and Turkey where refugees are being holed up, and told they can’t leave unless they pay additional ‘fees’. People smuggling has turned into a multibillion-euro market – more than enough to solve to refugee crisis. It’s a black market for humans.

“The smugglers trick vulnerable families into paying thousands of euros to get from Belgrade to Germany. For the ones that have been shaken by Bulgaria, they don’t know they’re an easy forty euro bus ride away from their final destination.” The traffickers believe they are above the law. To the refugees, they refer to themselves as ‘agents’.

“It’s unbelievable,” says Josh. “I started this project to feed people who had no food and somehow, it has come down to helping them escape. Hopefully the human traffickers get what they deserve, but I don’t believe anything will happen because it’s happening all over Europe and the rest of the world.”

“To me, the traffickers are like the wizard in the Wizard of Oz. They talk a big game but they are really just cowards hiding behind a curtain. After talking to other NGOs and the police today, one of the main traffickers with the nickname “Commando” voluntarily went to the police station and gave the police an address where 20 refugees are being held hostage until they pay enough money to leave. Hopefully, the Serbian police went and rescued them. Tomorrow at 9am, we have been asked to talk with the chief of police in Belgrade to tell him what we know about the park and the smugglers who run it.” / 29

SPOTLIGHT STORY

Young volunteers from the Belgrade branch of “Save the Children” occasionally come to the park, setting up paper, crayons and donated games. At first it’s only the younger children flocking to the activity, but gradually the older boys loitering nearby take pieces of construction paper and settle with crayons.

There are pictures of flowers and rainbows and puppies. There are pictures of mountains, of deserts, of homes with holes in the ceilings. There are pictures of boats, of the sea, of people falling. Of stationary bodies and military personnel and pools of blood. Pictures drawn by children, who have seen things no grown person should ever have to see, ever have to face.

Khalim sees himself as one of the lucky ones. He expected to be on the move for over a year, he tells me. “Only to get stuck here,” he says with a rueful smile.

He’s not the only one. I talk to a Syrian family with a colicky baby, her father stroking her eyebrows and humming softly to her as she screams.

His brother hovers nearby, already having proposed marriage to me twice, asking me to take him back to Sydney with me. “If only it were that easy,” I tell him.

There’s a Syrian family set up near one of the fences, two parents and a girl of about seven. “They don’t interact or talk to anyone, they don’t accept the apples I offer them“ Saba whispers to me. “They had another baby, but she cry on the boat to Greece, so they threw her away.”

‘Away’.

Not overboard, but away. An expendable baby girl. I remember the morning the world woke to the image of Aylan Kurdi washed askew on Turkish shores.

He evoked an outcry from all over the world, but underneath the media hype and NGO war cries, hundreds of other families suffer in silence, their children littering the bottom of the Aegean.

“They just want a better life,” Josh says quietly as we walk back to the hostel at the end of the day, the empty sacks slung over our shoulders. “They just want freedom.”

The next day I head to the park bright and early. I have an H&M bag filled with thermal tops and scarves for Hashkik, and warm clothes and nappies for Alam. I can’t do much – I can’t take them home with me and I don’t have the answers to their questions – but I can do this.

They were gone. The space where their tarps had been was bare dirt. A new crossing had opened on the Croatian border, the Afghani family the next lot over told me, and they’d left before the sun rose.

I’ll never know what happened to them. Just as the world will never know the fate of the thousands of families trying to make their way into Europe for a life away from fear. I’ll never know if Khalim became a scientist, or if Hashkik found her mother or her sister.

I can only hope.

If you would like to read more or donate to Save the Refugee visit: savetherefugees.net This article has also been published in Aphra magazine.

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SPOTLIGHT STORY

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TRAVEL FEATURES

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BEING THE FRIEND THAT’S LEFT BEHIND WORDS / Claudia Poposki @claudiapop13

This year, the majority of my friends are going on exchange. One will be in India, two will be in Germany, one is planning to head to Canada and another will be in France. This is an incredible opportunity for them. They’re going to have so many experiences that I will never be able to understand, have friends I will most likely never meet and basically have some of the best memories of their lives.

I am staying behind, having chosen not to go on exchange. This is for a number of reasons. I just don’t have the money. I chose to take on the role of editor for the magazine. My course is only three years long. I just don’t think I’m emotionally ready to be away from everyone I care about.

I’ve decided once I complete my degree, which hopefully will be at the conclusion of this year, I will go on my own adventure.

Hopefully.

A lot of my friends will still be here, but there will be something missing. We plan to have Skype parties on birthdays and we have our Facebook group where we can keep in contact.

However, we won’t be able to have our annual Christmas dinner because there will be missing participants. We won’t be able to meet for quick coffee dates to de-stress and forget about the ever-growing list of things we have to do.

Being the one left behind means that I will probably be a little lonely thisv year. With my immediate friendship group almost halving in size, there will be less hustle and bustle.

However, it does mean that I do have a little more time to focus on myself. As someone who hates even going to lunch alone on breaks at uni, this will force me to go to events by myself and be a little more independent, which will eventually help me when I go on my own travels across the world.

It’s an opportunity for me to pursue my future career, to undertake internships, make new friends and explore parts of Sydney that have been hidden to me thanks to my fear of going places without my girlies.

Being left behind is going to suck.

However, it doesn’t have to be the end of my social life.

/ 33

TRAVEL FEATURE

EUROPEAN CONTIKI SURVIVAL GUIDE 101 WORDS / Blake Stanbridge @blakestanbridge

You’ve stepped off the plane at Heathrow Airport, London, just a bewildered face in a flood of people. This is it - congratulations! You have successfully made it to the other side of the world and now it finally hits you. How are you going to survive a month long European Contiki? Well don’t fear with these few tips you will have the time of your life in your new summer playground, Europe!

Rule number one: Be outgoing! You have just landed in one of the oldest cities in the world. Do not give in to the temptation of resting your pretty little head on that warm and comfy bed. Jet lag is a bitch. Stay strong and awake. Get out in the city and meet people. Say hello and talk! Keep an ear open for that familiar Australian accent. It is an unwritten law that when in Europe, meeting a fellow Australian seems like meeting a long lost friend!

Staying awake is key to adapting to your new time zone.

Be prepared to share. You may be sitting at the back of the bus thinking what the hell have I done. I will never become friends with half of these people but give it two days and you will be having ‘deep and meaningfuls’, and sharing secrets that not even your closest friends know back home.

These people become your family whilst abroad.

Free pour in Europe can be your best friend and worst enemy. The European bar tenders have yet to discover the use of a shot glass and instead just pour straight spirits into your cup, not taking care to measure or consider how strong they may be making your cocktail. Think of this as your number one ‘frenemy’. Sure, it is all fun and games when you’re having a drink or two with your new friends and yes, you are saving money as the drinks have more alcoholic content - just keep your wits about you. One minute you’re having a quite Sunday afternoon session in Paris, the next you are stumbling through the dark streets at 4:30am carrying what remains in your wallet and dignity, ready to welcome on a three-day hangover.

Have a night off! Your body is adapting to a new climate, new foods and new drinking habits! There is absolutely nothing wrong in having an early night because when it comes time for you to fight the dreaded Contiki cough, my friend, you will need all the strength you can muster.

CONTIKI COUGH IS REAL. The virus will work its way slowly around the bus and one by one, you’re Contiki mates will fall. Don’t think you can avoid it.

One day you will be sunning in the French Riviera and there will be a little tickle in your throat. You will sip on your strawberry daiquiri and ignore it. That night however, the beast will raise its ugly head and you will be dragged into the fiery pits of hell. What will follow that week will be a series of unsuccessful attempts at communication to foreign pharmacists for drugs and cries of mercy for the end to be near. Forget your new friends, the only friendships you need in your life right now comes in the form of Panadol and throat soothers.

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Then finally a miracle occurs. You have survived the Contiki Cough and most likely passed it on to the person you’ve been hooking up with. Oops. But hey, you’re healthy and ready to get back out there and live it up in Europe!

Hostels in Europe are great, but try not to spend too much time in your room! You’re now in Venice for God’s sakes, go and have a drink or two with your friends! Go down to the local bars and talk to the locals. Try your best Italian accent and convince them that you’re on a visit from Rome. Warning: the more drinks you have, the less appealing and realistic your accent will become. You didn’t just have a drink or two, did you, as you realise looking at the lack of Euros in your wallet. Don’t worry. Today is a bus day and you get to sleep for a solid six hours.

Learn to love bus days. These are the days where you can find out the most recent gossip, learn about your new friends and become familiar with some local lingo, ready to slip into your everyday conversations as you enter a new country.

With all this being said, just remember to have fun and appreciate your time overseas! The world has so many beautiful things to offer you, from seeing the sunset over the Eiffel Tower to a small Italian lady offering you a free piece of home made pizza. Relish your time on the tour and I can promise you that if you follow these points you will have the time of your life and will most definitely look back in years to come with the fondest memories and the largest smiles Life is short and the world is wide. #noregrets

TRAVEL FEATURE

As more and more young people spread their wings and venture into the wide wild world, a common style of travelling has emerged amongst many young, solo backpackers. And it involves drinking.

Compared to prices in Australia, alcohol can be found cheaply almost anywhere in the world. One such country that has boomed in terms of young tourists in recent years is Vietnam. Vietnam has a lot of alcohol on offer, and, being cheap, tourists aren’t too worried about the financial cost of having two, three or four drinks too many.

I’ve spent a lot of time in Vietnam, and have experienced a great variety of its nightlife; from drinking beer on tiny plastic chairs on the side of the road, to ear-drum popping music belting out of a nightclub at 10pm on a Tuesday night. I’ve drunk many local beers and vodka that probably contained metho - even a sip or two of snake wine. However, my drinking has never interfered with my ability to wake up the next day and explore the place I’m in.

The question is: when does travelling abroad, just turn into drinking abroad?

On a recent trip to Vietnam, my travel partner, Lisa was having a break from drinking. After spending a whole summer working for Contiki in Rome, she knew it was time to give her body a break. Although it would have been nice to be able to share a drink or two with her over dinner, I wasn’t really up for partying every night anyway, so it didn’t bother me too much. Besides, we had a lot to see in a short amount of time and didn’t have time for ‘sick days’.

One night, in the middle of our trip, we’d just boarded an overnight sleeper bus from Hoi An to Nha Trang. We’d just spent three days in Hoi An, lounging on the beach, having clothes tailor made, exploring the sites of the old quarter and trying some of the local specialty dishes. On the bus, we met a solo traveller from England who had also just spent the last few days in Hoi An. We began discussing how we’d spent our time and soon came to realise that this guy had spent all his time at bars. Hoi An does have a growing nightlife and the cheapest fresh beer in all of Vietnam; 3000 Vietnam Dong.

A HOLIDAY LONG HANGOVER

Which, is the equivalent of about 15 cents Australian. So, when they’re pretty much giving beer away, it’s pretty impossible to resist. Hoi An is also the second highest ranking tourist destination in Vietnam. I doubt it’s because of the abundance of scummy bars that advertise they stay open ‘until the last one passes out’.

This guy seemed shocked that we hadn’t gone out drinking, but rather spent our time, you know, actually seeing the town. I mentioned a few of the major attractions in Hoi An, such as the Japanese Covered Bridge and the lantern market, and he didn’t seem to have a clue what I was talking about. I don’t think he even got to the beach, where a lot of hung-over tourists spend the sunlight hours. It was obvious that both parties thought that the other had missed out on the best parts of Hoi An. And maybe we did miss a few chances to meet new people, to buy cocktails when we could actually afford them and stay out as late as we wanted. However, I know that being drunk in Vietnam is not that different to being drunk in Australia.

There is, however, a big difference between being hung-over in Vietnam and being hung-over in Australia. At home, I have the comfort of my own bed that I can spend all day in, fresh food and coffee within the confines of my house and I don’t have to see anyone if I don’t want to. In Vietnam, the sound of the traffic will wake you up about three hours before you planned.

The humidity will make you sweat more than you thought possible, and as soon as you step outside, people are hassling you to buy their product on every street corner. You will most likely spend the day trying to find the coolest spot in the hotel and before you know it, it’s dark again and you haven’t seen anything other than the tiled floor of your bedroom.

Trying new drinks and experiencing new drinking traditions is definitely a fun way of learning about a culture. Though, when the affects of drinking continues to prevent you from experiencing what that culture is like during the day, maybe you’re better off saving your money for the local pub.

WORDS / Amy Fairall @AmyEloiseF

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TRAVEL FEATURE

“IM ON HOLIDAYS, AND I’M MORE DEPRESSED THAN I’VE BEEN IN A LONG TIME.” WORDS / Zoe Simmons @ItBeginsWithZ

Picture this: you’re on holidays.

On the beautiful Coral Coast of Fiji, to be precise. You’re staying at a 5-star resort on its own island. The weather is absolutely beautiful, and the scenery stunning. You have delicious food. You have some of your favourite people around you. You’re doing all sorts of really cool, unique and relaxing things—things you may never experience again. And yet . . . something is missing.

You feel empty.

Every day, at least six Australians will take their own lives, and at least 30 others will attempt to. Suicide is the leading cause of death for Australians aged 15-24. We’re more likely to die from suicide than we are from skin cancer. Almost half of all Australians will experience some form of mental illness within their lives, with 65% not being able to access adequate treatment. Despite all we know about depression, anxiety and other disorders, there’s still an incredible stigma attached.

Depression is a truly horrible feeling. It’s not just being sad (though that is a really big part of it). It’s feeling guilty for feeling sad, it’s feeling anxious, it’s feeling desolate, it’s feeling overwhelmed, it’s feeling lonely, it’s feeling like no one understands, it’s feeling like things that once did or should bring you joy simply don’t, it’s feeling like you’re worthless. It’s hating yourself.

It’s hating everyone else too, sometimes. The worst part of it is all these emotions are locked up inside of yourself. You don’t want to tell anyone, because you don’t want to bring them down, or you’re afraid they’ll judge you. You’re afraid they’ll simply say “cheer up”, like it were that simple. Or worse, that they’ll say you’re seeking attention. Things become both less and more important. You don’t want to feel like this.

You know it’s illogical – but you can’t help it, and people who haven’t experienced it simply don’t understand that.

You try to go out. You try to do normal things.

You try to be okay. But you’re not–and that’s okay. Emotions are fleeting. Let yourself feel your emotions. Process them, validate them, and let them go.

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I’m sitting in my hotel room right now. Outside, the sun is shining. The palm trees are swaying pleasantly in the wind, and I can see little birds singing happily. There are beautiful flowers in the trees, and scattered on the grass. A carpet of frangipanis and other bright red flowers I don’t know the name of. The air is warm, whispering alluring secrets of happiness, and I can hear the sound of people laughing and children shrieking with joy. My family and friends are among them.

Nothing bad has happened. In fact, it’s been quite a wonderful holiday.

I’ve explored caves, been immersed within Fijian culture, been treated to massages and manicures, snorkelled and seen beautiful fish, and been able to spend my days lounging around the beach. It sounds great, right? And I know it’s great. I know I should feel happy.

I know I should feel lucky, and privileged, and just relax. But it’s not that simple. I’m sad, and everyone else around me is happy. They’re saying it’s the best holiday of their lives, and here I am, not exactly caring if I were to not wake up.

Maybe it’s just a spout of weakness, and maybe I’ll go outside, and all of this will be a bad dream.

Maybe I’ll be able to shut it out. Focus on the small things. The good things. The sun is warm.

I don’t have assignments due. The geckos are adorable. I bought a shell turtle wearing a hat and glasses. Those things are cool. Those things are good. Those are the things you have to focus on in order to not lose your mind.

Depression doesn’t go on holidays just because you do. It’s important to remember that it’s okay to feel sad, and you shouldn’t feel guilty for that. Talk to your loved ones—don’t bottle it up. Remember to ground yourself, take deep breaths and do small things you like and enjoy.

If you think one of your loved ones is depressed, do not judge them. Do not criticise them. Do not get frustrated at their sadness, and do not tell them to “cheer up”; just be there for them.

Be with them. Don’t give up on them. While they may not show it, I assure you, they’ll love you for it. Don’t become another statistic.

If you need help, contact Lifeline on 13 11 14, or dial 000 if you are in immediate danger.

You can get through this. You are loved.

You are strong. You will destroy those feelings with success. I believe in you.

TRAVEL FEATURE

BEWARE THE LONE RAIL TRAVELLER WORDS / Claudia Poposki @claudiapop13

I don’t have a licence, so it means I spend a hell of a lot of time on public transport.

This is fine, most of the time, but when you live an hour to an hour and a half away via public transport (which has such an inconvenient timetable, by the way) from where you attend university, making the trip three or four times a week can be draining.

You learn to live with it. I’m lucky to have a few friends who are in the same boat as me, and when our timetables all line up, we have some great laughs. However, more often than not, I am left alone to endure my thoughts – which can become dull after the third day in a row of doing so. On most other journeys, this wouldn’t be an issue. I have my phone, which translates into texting and social media, but the Illawarra and South Coast train line has way too many black spots for the internet to be a viable option.

So, here are some tips on how to survive long train trips with no internet:

1.

Use this time to catch up and get a head start on class work.

No, I’m not joking. Seriously, do it. Most days after I get home for the day, I’m exhausted. Doing work on the train whilst I’m still in academic mode is useful, even if it is just to plan how you’re going to structure that essay you’ve been putting off.

2. Read.

I know it seems obvious, but reading really helps pass the time. Particularly when it is raining and it seems the train line falls a part and cannot function because the delays are ridiculous.

3. Look out the window.

Go on, do it. The Illawarra and South Coast Line has stellar views; cliffs, and oceans and a donkey.

No, I am not kidding about the donkey. It’s in a backyard just past Otford Station. It lives with a goat and I like to imagine that they’re best friends. The duo isn’t always there, depending on the time of day and the weather, but they sure are a trip highlight.

I don’t advise people watching. There are some strange people on the public transport system and it isn’t worth the potential trouble it could cause. I have heard some interesting conversations before, like once I listened to a woman relay her “thong”ing experience, which apparently means someone slapped her with a pair of thongs. It made for an amusing trip, but again, I wouldn’t advise eavesdropping either.

The best trips are the ones where you’re not alone, in my opinion. When our timetables coordinate, my friends and I share food and stories about the weekends we didn’t get to catch up. We talk about our classes and get into discussions (although admittedly, these can sometimes be silly).

Either way, whether you catch the train alone or with friends, there are ways to make it interesting, or at the very least help pass the time.

“I don’t advise people watching. There are some strange people on the public transport system”

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DREAMING OF A WHITE C HRISTMAS WORDS / Caitlin Morahan

As Australians, we’ve grown up with a rather bipolar view of Christmas – one minute we are watching Macaulay Caulkin drinking hot cocoa and making snow angels at home alone, next Mum is bulk-buying the prawns and picking up extra SPF-50 for the annual Boxing Day beach cricket match.

We’ve always been the odd hemisphere out when it comes to the holiday, with our six white boomers and Santa in boardies. However, as much as I love my prawns and pavlova, there’s something inexplicably pleasing about the fresh cold air and the possibility of snow on Christmas day. Inspired by this Christmas - now that my siblings and I are older, my mother declared she finally wanted her white Christmas in the Italian Alps (spoiler: it didn’t snow) - I have complied five awe-inspiring places to spend a winter Christmas in Europe, straying away from the well-beaten France/Germany path.

I’ve included Scandinavia as a whole, because it’s far enough north you’re practically guaranteed to get some winter lovin’. Which country you choose really depends on what you’re after and, more importantly, your budget.

Christmas is their biggest celebration of the year, so wherever you go, you’re bound to have an authentic experience. Denmark is the most backpacker friendly of the Nordic countries. Copenhagen is renowned for its charming Christmas markets and gingerbread specialties - and of course while you’re there, you may as well have a cheeky look at Christiania, the self-proclaimed autonomous community just outside the city borders, which is full of art galleries, craft workshops, and, you know, hash dealers. Norway is by far the country most likely to beat your wallet into a non-existent pulp, but if you’re looking for something to tick off the bucket list, it’s one of your best chances to see the northern lights. The northern city of Tromso is located 350 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle, with a season that lasts September through March. However, be warned, there is roughly only four hours between sunrise and sunset in the winter months.

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Finland – if you have them dollar bills to spend, I give you one word; Lapland. It’s the closest thing to your childhood fantasy of the North Pole you will ever get. Think real reindeer, husky sleigh rides and ice sculptures. A photo with Santa will set you back $28, you can visit a themed amusement park called ‘Santaland’ and sleep in an igloo. Maybe save this one for when you marry well. Sweden‘s capital Stockholm has notorious nightlife with even more notorious drink prices; be careful your drunk self doesn’t get too generous with the rounds or you’ll find yourself sleeping on the street and living on canned tuna for the rest of your visit. Apparently, the festive season in Sweden – while appearing cosy and twinkly – can be a raucous affair. They even have traditional drinking games on Christmas day itself; signaling the start of aquavit shots, endless wine and a Viking feast of heroic proportions.

Tallinn, Estonia – If you’re feeling super adventurous and willing to get off the beaten track, give this eccentric Baltic- cross-Nordic gem a try. It’s a lot easier on the purse strings than Scandinavia but equal in picturesque architecture and Baltic culture. With its narrow, cobblestone streets, snowflaked timber houses and quaint Christmas markets, Tallinn resembles the front of a Christmas card, and it usually snows on Christmas more years than not. A UNESCO World Heritage site and one of the best-preserved medieval town centres in the world, Tallinn is allegedly home to the world’s first Christmas tree, erected in 1441. It’s now the stunning centerpiece in the Market Square. Tallinn’s Christmas markets run from the end of November to the beginning of January, and boast skating rinks, outdoor jazz concerts, snow sculpting competitions and probably the cheapest mulled wine in all of Europe. Estonia is a great country to hire a car in, and easy to explore the picturesque forests and lakes.

Italy – Am I slightly biased because I spent this Christmas there? Why yes, yes I am, and for perfectly valid reasons. Despite it being uncharacteristically sunny, a balmy 4 degrees, and not even the slightest possibility of snow

TRAVEL FEATURE

“However, as much as I love my prawns and pavlova, there’s something inexplicably pleasing about the fresh cold air and the possibility of snow on Christmas day.”

(damn us Australians and our tendency to bring the warm weather wherever we go) there is something somewhat more authentic about the harder-toreach villages nestled in the Dolomite mountains, and home to the best skifields and man-made snow, should the real stuff disappoint. Italy also takes the whole nativity story very seriously, so expect some hardcore decorations and beautifully decked-out churches. Even if you are not religiously inclined, Midnight Mass in the village church is a beautiful, Christmas experience. Also, they often serve free mulled wine afterwards (which, lets face it, is why it’s on my list).

Austria – This country is home to everything good that starts with ‘S’.

Schnitzel. Strudel. Schnapps. Sound of Music. Does it get any better?

Oh, the Alps are pretty impressive too, I guess (even if they don’t start with ‘S’). For such a small country, Austria packs a hearty punch in the scenery department. The Austrian Alps aren’t as famous as the French or Swiss, but they’re not far behind with some excellent slopes and are usually a lower price. A day lift pass will set you back around $35 dollars. I admit, I had a slight animosity towards the country after explaining to confused fellow exchange students I was from AUSTRALIA, not AUSTRIA, after several onesided German conversations. However, after exploring the glistening town of Innsbruck, nestled in the Alps, it’s difficult not to want to pack up shop in the ‘gong and move there to open a schnapps-tasting store. Aim away from Vienna and towards the smaller Austrian towns, such as Innsbruck and Tyrol, where the snow is plentiful and the prices friendlier.

Edinburgh – Anywhere that sells haggis-flavoured potato chips is a must-do in my book. A nice deviation from the typical London street scene, Edinburgh’s Christmas markets are complete with Ferris wheel, ice-skating rinks, carnival games and every type of pulled meat you could ask for. It’s a more relaxed atmosphere with every pub, club and bar in the festive spirit, however most places are closed Christmas Day.

For the ultimate Scottish experience, hang around an extra couple of days for Edinburgh’s famous Hogmanay street festival on New Year’s Eve. The event attracts thousands of people from all over the globe, and the party spills onto the streets to watch the fireworks over the famed Edinburgh Castle at midnight.

Photos: VisitEstonia / 39

TRAVEL FEATURE

To be completely honest, the whole holiday was out of the blue. Mum called me when I was at work and said, ‘We’re going to New Zealand. Tell Callum he’s invited.’ Two weeks later, after printing passport portraits and buying tiny suitcases at the last minute, we’re at Sydney airport waiting an hour for our delayed plane. It was surreal having both my family and boyfriend travelling together – I had no idea what to expect so here’s what I learned.

“FINAL CALL FOR THE CASANOVAS ...

AND A MR. HANLEY?” WORDS / Sofia Casanova

Travelling can be an incredible experience or a complete disaster.

You might miss your flight, forget your passport, be over the carry on weight limit – all these things generally put me off going away somewhere and ironically, these things all happened on my latest holiday to New Zealand with my family and… my boyfriend.

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No. 1: It is exhausting to travel with my family. Meet any of them and you’ll not want to sit next to them on a plane. We have had our good trips, especially when my sister decides not to take over the itinerary; but when the company included my boyfriend it was interesting to figure out the dynamics. Sharing a bathroom, eating meals together every day, chilling in one car for hours –I must say that having six people with different music tastes could have resulted in World War III but New Zealand had bad reception most of the time.

No. 2: Family photos are ambiguous. My boyfriend took most of our family photos for us, but he was also included in some of them when we had a third party take them. ‘Am I allowed in the photo,’ was usually the first thing he asked and Mum would reassure him he is indeed a part of our family.

But photos are photos and I took as many photos as I could, no matter how stupid or breathtaking they were because I’ll never have that same experience twice.

No. 3: This isn’t so much what I learned but what I struggled with and that was: how much time do I spend with both parties? I’ve never been good at maths and solving this equation felt impossible as it was more about how much I should spend with them? I recall after we’d seen the glow worms of Waitomo caves – which are, according to our tour guide, maggots with glowing poo – I’d wanted to walk down a scenic route with just Callum while everyone else sat down and relaxed. As we started to head out, Mum puts her cup of tea down and says, ‘Okay, we’re going for a walk!’ It hurt to tell her we wanted to go alone and I realised there’s still that unspoken barrier between family time and couple time that my parents can’t seem to see just yet.

I’m sure this won’t be the last of holidays with both my family and boyfriend, but travelling is all about compromise. Whether it’s choosing a radio station or the right road to take, it’s no fun if you’re having a good time and the people around you are miserable. Seeing the world is exhilarating, but it kind of sucks if you have no-one to see it with.

Safe travels!

TRAVEL FEATURE

INNOVATION BY RESTRICTION WORDS / Larissa Jaffe & Sally Krajacic In search for a euphoric view, hanging from the cliffs of Monkey Temple, our urge to get there by sunset clouded our logical thinking -­-- but with that came a lesson of teamwork. At first the 3km bike ride wasn’t such a strenuous task, however, that was over turned by foreign landscapes, a lack of bearings, and the fact that half of us hadn’t been on a pushbike since we were twelve.

India is no smooth surface, it’s no stroll down Bondi Beach, and there are certainly no footpaths. We were up against dirt roads, rocky edges, and eventually dubbed ourselves BMX riders. Entry level riders of course, as Sally proved this by running off the road and falling into a ditch breaking her shoe in the process. To be fair, a lot of our beatings to the ground were from trying to dodge oncoming trucks along the narrow roads, swallowed by sounds of horns signalling us to move.

With dead legs, over five hundred stairs to climb and just ten minutes till the sun passed below them, we succeeded. Our means to keep going was simply the elderly, the young and even the injured making their way up beside us. The sight was mind blowing, however with the successful assent came the realisation of us making it home in the dark.

As candles lit the path down, our exhausted lungs, wobbly limbs and worried minds began to talk tactics about the journey home. With nine bikes only four had baskets -­-- the torches on our phones placed in the baskets gave us light and a formation of one line on the left side at all times ensured our safety. We rang our bells every time we heard and saw vehicles behind or in front. It sounded like our convoy had it together, although we are in India… nothing is planned.

What pushed the boundaries of tolerance was keeping up with everyone’s speed and coordination. A hill meant that some had to come off and walk their bike, leaving those in front riding too far ahead leaving no light. We yelled out and let our frustration upon each other, but it was for the safety of everyone. It was a necessity that was accepted and was not taken personally.

We are not sure what made us so confident in our cycling abilities. Perhaps we all accepted that we had no choice but to ride home in the dark, maybe it was the comfort of having a group together? At the end of the terrifying ride came a sensation of great achievement by working together, challenging our skills and getting the bikes back to the man without a late fee. Thus was the start of a new bike squad and we felt so proud to have survived those crazy Indian roads.

The writers of this piece were participants in the December 2015 40K media team. / 41

TRAVEL FEATURE

TUNES TO HELP PASS THE TIME WORDS / Claudia Poposki @ claudiapop13

Music is present in every moment of life – whether it be the beeping of the crossing lights, the sound of rain or your earphones blasting in your ears. Every road trip, every plane ride and every journey has to have some kind of musical accompaniment, at least in my experience.

Getting the right music flow is essential. It has to be a balance between fast-paced, slow, upbeat and heartbreaking. The beginning of the playlist has to get you pumped, the second half has to be a little more calming to keep you steady and then the music has to become fast-paced again.

Here is my musical playlist from my recent trip away:

First Date – Blink 182 It’s energetic – you have to throw your whole body into it when you sing it.

Everyone also knows the words to this song, so everybody can join in and sing.

Make Me Proud – Drake ft. Nicki Minaj This is my get-up-and-go song. It makes me feel as though I am invincible and can do anything, which is similar to that holiday feeling where the normal rules don’t apply.

Blank Space – Taylor Swift Could I really make this list without some kind of Swifty presence?

Partition – Beyoncé The tune to this song just makes you want to groove!

Weightless – All Time Low A song about how about things may suck now, but they’ll eventually get better? Hell yeah!

Tenerife Sea – Ed Sheeran The smooth vocals of Ed to help slow things down a tad. Need I say more?

All My Lovin – The Beatles For when you’re 8 hours into a long drive and just want to sleep to pass the time, this is the song to fall asleep to. This is the song my Mum used to sing to me before bed when I was little.

Fade Into You – Clare Bowen and Sam Palladio It’s sweet and sexy – this song never fails to make me smile.

42 /

TRAVEL FEATURE

“Justin Bieber.

Shut up.

Apparently, it’s okay to like his music now.”

The Quiet Things that No One Ever Knows – Brand New It’s moody, it’s angry and it is great to scream at the top of your lungs.

Toyko (Vampires and Wolves) – The Wombats To me, this is the ultimate party song. It’s time to wake up and start getting pumped again!

Love Yourself – Justin Bieber Shut up. Apparently, it’s okay to like his music now.

Take Me to Church – Hozier Anyone who says they don’t sing this song with dramatic hand movements and faces is a liar. It’s a blast to try and out do one another in silliness Smoke Break – Carrie Underwood A song about needing a time out – which is what holidays are for, right?

Say My Name – Destiny’s Child An old school throwback never fails to get people pumped for what is ahead.

Uptown Funk – Bruno Mars It’s similar in fashion to “First Date”. It’s a song you can’t help but dance to. / 43

C HAI HOSPITALIT Y WORDS / Sally Krajacic & Benjamin Read

When you come to India you expect to be stared at, you’re white after all, but you don’t expect the generous hospitality from your neighbours in the village who have probably only seen a pale complexion maybe once or twice in their life. The thought of going into a rural village to take photos, talk to locals, and tell a story of complete strangers isn’t something I’d take lightlyto if it happened on my street.

What does hospitality mean to us?

In India, within the villages, it is simply inviting us in for chai; coming to our house with a cricket bat and a ball waiting to play and leading us to a feast with the whole village. We initially thought this lunch was at the temple but it turned out to be a babies first birthday party. In that time, Ben got out after hitting the ball for a six, which landed on one of the roofs.

Three balls made their way onto a roof, inside a villagers house, she was not impressed- and one in the temple, to which the school aged boys tied two sticks to a cricket bat and got it out, #engineers. If a person from a foreign country did what was said above, would you accept? Would you take part and immerse yourself in their culture?

It’s not easy, trust us. The language barriers are well and true. A half hour visit for chai is not filled with dialogue, rather many hand and body gestures, with more than likely a head wobble indicating a mutual understanding that you don’t in fact understand each other at all. But it prompts you to ask the next question, and with time their stories will come.

It’s early days and we are still receiving skeptical looks but we’ve come to learn the significance of good hospitality. Food, tea and sport. Can you think of a better way to connect people from different sides of the world than through the doors of homes as colourful as the saris? A place usually deemed private, yet here we are, waved off the street, sat down on a pillow or someone’s bed in the living room and offered a new spice that Sally’s taste buds are slowly adjusting too.

The locals here are fond of our visit, already asking us how long we are here for, and by asking we mean pointing to a calendar as a woman named Gita did. Already different forms of communication are succeeding. As a foreigner, we need to think outside the box, but it’s comforting to know the treatment of our stay through generous hospitality is a sign of acceptance, no matter how many conversations are not understood, at least it is never silent.

The writers of this piece were participants in the December 2015 40K media team.

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c r t i wr i n

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CREATIVE WRITING

THE FRAGMENTS WORDS / Meg Powell @megpowellsays

I have been standing in front of my Grandparent’s house for so long that the hot pavement is burning through my shoes. Briefly, I wonder how long it will be until my soles melt to the pavement and I’m stuck. I begin counting the beads of sweat dripping down my spine, figuring by the time I get to 1000 I will either be dead from dehydration or desperate enough to knock on the door.

It’s funny, but I used to love visiting this house.

As my dad always said, ‘It was a place where the past and the future could sit down together and have a cuppa’. As children, my sister Eve and I would spend hours and hours exploring every nook and cranny of the place, searching for what Grandpa called ‘the fragments’. He said they were everywhere, little bits of time, glimmering and glittering in corners like broken glass. You could find them, but you had to be quick, had to be ready, because they could appear and disappear faster than a thought.

After Mum passed away 8 years ago we never really went back. I’m not sure of the details, and frankly I don’t care. All I know is that Dad, Eve and I did absolutely brilliantly on our own. Brilliantly.

I breathe deep and push my head aside.

Sometimes I think too much. Make it quick, I tell myself, quick as a fragment. This is no pleasure visit, no fuzzy reunion. To be honest, the only reason I’m here is because I need money. Fast.

I’m young and bored. A pretty legit reason to go travel the world and see some pyramids and stuff I reckon. That and I don’t think I could spend another minute at home without murdering someone… All the old anger is resurfacing. I hate this, but I need the cash. Bloody hell. Slowly, I tread down the cracked old driveway.

Even the house gives me the shits. It sits there, right smack bang in the middle of Sydney, an old weatherboard box desperately clinging to another time, smugly refusing to follow in the footsteps of its fickle neighbours.

I hesitate at the door, my knuckles ready and waiting. It’s been so long since I’ve even talked to my Grandparents, but those long hours serving crap to fat kids at Maccas just didn’t quite cut it.

I really need the extra money if I’m going to be sipping Arabic coffee next to a pyramid and having a fabulous time. I need to get away.

I tighten my grip on the handle of my suitcase; check the forms are still in my pocket and then rap 46 /

sharply on the rusty screen door. I hear a shuffling sound and a gravelly voice unfolds from within.

“Be with you in a jiffy, love.” Suddenly the door swings open and I’m greeted by a wrinkled pair of spectacles. The old bugger looks exactly the same.

“Hello Grandpa.” I say with an ironed flat voice. “So basically I’m desperately short of cash and I would really appreciate it if I could use the money from my trust fund. I know I’m underage but if you’d just sign thi-“ My planned spiel is cut short by an exclamation.

“Molly? Is that really you?” His wrinkled blue eyes fill with water and his face crumples with joy. He pulls me into the hallway and gathers me into an awkward, bony bear hug. The ancient clock with its lopsided permanent-marker smile (courtesy of a naughty grandchild) chimes and I roll my eyes. He smells musty. My Gran hobbles out, takes one look at me then rushes to put the kettle on, a sure sign that she is excited. Their reactions are frustratingly touching, but then that anger comes up again and I remind myself that I am here strictly on business. I clear my throat, “Grandpa, I really need you to sign this so I can collect my money and get out of here.” He frowns and waves his hand dismissively, eagerly babbling something about needing to ‘catch up’ first. I don’t think he’s heard me. He bounces over to the back door to sit on the veranda and I quickly grab a pen and follow.

My Grandfather sits silently for a while, watching the sun set over the sea of rooftops with a pair of wise, weary eyes. My impatience starts to gnaw at my insides.

“You know, it didn’t always look like this.” He says without moving his head. I fidget and study the pen in my hand. “When we, your Gran and I, first moved here 57 years ago, all these houses were just little fibro cottages. They’ve all been sold off now, demolished and replaced by these multistorey I-don’t-know-whats.”

“Good riddance.” I mumble out the side of my mouth. His face looks sad and I critically study his profile. There seems to be a lot more wrinkles than when I last saw him. His mouth looks like it’s permanently turned down, and I am mildly surprised his skin hasn’t completely sagged off his bones. It sort of occurs to me that my Grandfather has been getting old without me. I quickly shake off this unwelcome feeling.

“That’s what will happen with ours you know,”

he continues. “It’ll end up like every other house on the street. We’re the only ones left now. 70 houses full of complete strangers! Imagine that!”

Indeed. Imagine that. Strangers. Suppose it hasn’t occurred to him that that is pretty much exactly what we have become. Strangers.

“Tell me more about the old days, Gramps.” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. Of course, it’s lost on him. He’s in story-telling mode now. He leans further back in his chair and his papery forehead frowns in concentration as he recalls memories that have become dusty and forgotten over the years.

“It used to be quieter, much quieter. There were only a few shops, none of these new-fangled complexes you have now. We had three small chemists, two hardware shops, two butchers, a drycleaner and of course a haberdashery.”

This sparks my interest momentarily and I look up from flicking my nails. “What’s a haberdashery?” I ask. He looks at me strangely.

“Well they had everything you need- needles, wool, cotton, stockings and everything. Your Gran practically lived there!” His hands begin to trace the scenes in the air and his words colour them in as he recalls.

“I remember the walls covered with balls of wool and old Mr Solomon would come out. He was about my height- maybe a bit fatter and he was very Jewish. With a name like Solomon, he wouldn’t be Lebanese would he?!” At this he slaps his knee and roars with laughter. I’m not exactly sure what the joke is but I try for an amused chuckle, meanwhile strategically pushing the pen closer and closer to his hand.

“He knew everybody by name and always found the time to ask after your family. He was a very nice old man. Nothing wrong with him! Now of course shopkeepers couldn’t care less who you are.” His face is sad again. I inwardly roll my eyes.

He continues on with stories from his past; chatting with neighbours over fences, kids wondering in and out of backyards, Tony across the road and his huge white gums, houses slowly growing, traffic filling up the roads, shops disappearing. As I half listen, bit by bit I forget my annoyance and the pen and forms lying on the table. I watch him with growing fascination as the

CREATIVE WRITING

rays of sunlight gently stroke his snowy white hair.

I can almost see them, the glittering fragments he told us about.

The shadows have grown longer, and Grandpa’s enthusiasm wilts. I am jerked back into reality. We are both silent for a moment.

“Why is it that you can remember all that and yet you missed my birthday every year?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. He freezes.

“It’s hard to say, love. Things have been…difficult between your father and me, ever since…you know, your mum.”

I leap up; ready to lash out with my words and suddenly my feelings are tumble drying inside me. All around me, it’s like the bedraggled old garden is coming to life. Maybe it’s the lighting or something, but I finally see the fragments. They are everywhere, tumbling over each other, colliding in the afternoon sun, hurting my eyes. The garden explodes with beautiful native plants, the ghosts of my younger sister and me run through the sprinkler in saggy swimmer bottoms. A rush of technology, ugly wires, and modern apartments push in from all sides. But this place hasn’t changed in over 60 years. Once again I look at Grandpa. His face seems to melt into the sky and his tired old body disappears into the place he has called home for nearly 60 years.

I’m confused. My resentment for him is at war with this newfound look into his life. Everyone he knew has died or moved on. Old Mr Solomon from the haberdashery. Tony and his beautiful white gum trees. He and Gran are the only ones left. A remnant, a glittering fragment. And yet I still don’t understand. He turns to me and pierces me with his wrinkled eyes.

With shocking clarity I recognise something in his eyes. He is just as angry as me. But not at me.

“I killed her.” He says, matter-of-fact, like he’s telling me the weather. “Your Father asked me to watch her. She was not in a good place. I only went out for a bit, just to get milk. Stupid bastard. I should have known better.”

His face falls apart and he begins to cry. I have never seen a grown man cry. Not even my Dad. It’s horrific.

And then I’m crying with him. Uncontrollable, gut-wrenching sobs. I don’t bother wiping away the saliva and snot running down my face.

The injustice of it all is what really gets me. “Why did you leave us? Why did you never answer my letters? Why didn’t anyone tell me what was happening?” I attack him with my pent up confusion.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! Your Father blames me too, I just did what I thought was best!” He cries and I immediately regret cornering him like that.

“And all for a f***ing bottle of milk! I hate milk. Your Dad will have nothing to do with me.”

We sit together, our anger and broken hearts falling out of our eyes. It’s so ugly. We both fade into exhaustion, the tears dry and leave salt trails on our cheeks.

Suddenly, I catch a flash in the corner of my eye.

I look up and my heart jumps into my mouth. A bony hand clutches my wrist.

“I see her too.” Grandpa whispers. Right in the corner of the yard, underneath the mulberry tree, my Mum laughs and waves to me, glorious and radiant in the soft afternoon. Grandpa and I are frozen in place, afraid to even breathe too loudly.

She turns and disappears and I can’t look away. My heart is stabbing me with a weird mixture of relief and loss. Grandpa releases his vice-like grip on my wrist and looks at me, a sad smile pulling faintly at his mouth.

Eventually, he starts back up again with his storytelling, as though nothing has happened.

“We’re just a fragment now, this little house. People are so busy now, Everything needs to be done yesterday. And unfortunately you can’t go back to yesterday, as much as you’d like to.”

He sits in a brooding silence, eyes glued to the spot under the tree and I remember the reason I came.

That bright future, filled with Egyptian sun and exotic camel rides. Maybe even a fling or two with a fellow traveller. It almost seems pale in comparison now. Silly.

“Now what was it you wanted me to do, dearie?”

Grandpa breaks the silence, turning to face me again. I scrutinise his face, the thoughts in my head spinning round and round. I reach for a decision and catch it. “Nothing important.” I reply as I tear the forms in half.

I scrunch up the pieces then reach over and nervously take my Grandpa’s frail hand in mine.

remember bits and pieces. I want to know who I missed out on.” He smiles gently, and begins the story of a little girl who used to sneak into his garden to steal mulberries. As he speaks, the garden wraps around us with a sigh of relief, finally resting these long-silenced memories. Together we sit and watch the last ray of sun fall from the sky.

“Tell me about Mum?” I ask shakily. “I can only

The last glittering fragment. / 47

CREATIVE WRITING

PINE FARMS WORDS / Jake Cupitt @jakecupitt

They say it takes three minutes to get used to a bad smell, at least to the point where you don’t notice it anymore. That’s bullshit! I’ve been in this piece of shit for 13 minutes – god knows I’ve been counting – and I can still catch a waft of the indefinable stench of the teenage occupant.

Hanging from the rear-view mirror is a strawberry scented cardboard pine tree, which along with its smell, is faded from the sun. Like the strawberry pine tree, many more exotic items can be discovered in all places of the car; various black cotton white print heavy metal band T-shirts, a medicine ball, a milk crate full of papers that probably at one point or possibly still have some importance. I can see at least three chap sticks from here. I think I’m sitting in a pool of what seems to be at least half the contents of a few people’s wardrobes, a combination of old clothes, sweaty gym shoes, skateboards, stale popcorn and Logan berry deodorant.

You can tell they live out of this broken down thing.

Despite the recent year model, it’s been thrashed and beaten to shreds.

And as we roll down Highway 53 going 55, the overpass lights creep up from the distance slowly, and then all at once, pass in a flash of orange and concrete and wire mesh.

We eat up the road and drive over the starry horizon. With the line markings streaming past and cat eyes dotted every ten meters, we fall into a trance, like hypnosis our minds travel to far off dreams in one moment, and in the next, snap back to reality.

The only thing that reminds us we are actually in motion is the ever changing silhouetted landscape of mindless and logically planted pine farms.

48 /

PART ONE WORDS / Anonymous

Therapy sucks.

Rude.

Actually no, love sucks. Or is it just heartbreak?

Either way, it sucks. Today, Doc Carroll insisted we have an extra session, as it was our anniversary. I don’t know why though, I barely talk during regular sessions.

“How’re you feeling?”

“I think you were insecure, and someone finally deemed you worthy enough, and you didn’t really care about anything else. There was just Will. And then, because you’re a good man, Simon, your conscience kicked in. You panicked. But it was too late. You were already caught in the storm.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. Is she fucking kidding?

Does she think she’s going to ask that, I’m going to spill and then be happy as a clam and on my merry way? Not fucking likely.

I swallow hard, sitting back in my seat. I feel like a kid that just got told off by his mother. The look of disappointment strong, burning holes in my heart.

She was right, of course.

As stubborn as ever.

William Thwaites came into my life as a storm. He was the boss of Frontier, the journalism company I worked for. He was my idol. He had charisma and he chose me to go with him to London to interview the highest profile serial killer in our lifetime. He kissed me after we celebrated. Three months later, we started an affair. Two years later, he almost overdosed in my bed because he couldn’t handle how his life had been shaken up.

I sigh. It has been eight months and still can hear him in my head. I used to think when he said that it was a compliment.

“I think he was drawn to me because he could see me in himself. He knew there were parts of me I wish I could change, just like he did.”

What? Why am I speaking? Simon, what are you doing? Have you lost your mind?

“He was good to me, you know? I know I mostly talk about how awful he sometimes was, but he was good as well.”

in to initiate that first kiss, it wasn’t my fault. That somehow I escaped any guilt or blame.

That was my rationalisation, that was how I was able to sleep at night with him beside me knowing all the while his wife and kids were alone in that cold, dull home.

I know now that it isn’t true. Just because he had wandering eyes and adventurous hands didn’t mean that I had to participate in his exploration of sex. I mean, sure he would have found someone else eventually, but it didn’t have to be me. I should have walked away. I shouldn’t have dived head first with a married man. I shouldn’t have let him pull me a part with his tongue, his mouth and his hands.

I did though.

“Like what?”

That’s what we do, Simon. We get blackout drunk and hurt everybody around us. How could you have been fine with it a year ago, but not now? Not today?

I tilt my head in contemplation, humming to make it look realistic.

“Doc, you’ve heard my story. What do you think of me?

“Except for the fact he had a wife and three kids,” she shoots back.

“Someone’s in the mood to play devil’s advocate today.”

She shrugs, “You wanted me to be real with you.

Will was the Perfect Unattainable Guy – married and broadcasting as straight.”

You’re just a homewrecking whore and if you don’t leave this hospital at once, I’m calling security.

People have different ways of rationalising the bad things they do. Terrorists blame governments or religion, murderers blame the victim or some mental issue they supposedly have. Vigilantes argue they do what they do for justice.

“It isn’t my job to pass judgment.”

He kissed me.

“Aw, c’mon. We’re all friends here.”

I used to think that was the most important distinction in all of this - this mess. That because I didn’t make the first move, because I didn’t lean

How could I not? How could I turn away when the man I’ve admired for years, the man who made me realise ‘hell yeah this is what I want to be doing for the rest of my life’, shot me a grin and told me how I blew him away out there? How could I when all he saw was the good in me when all I did was doubt myself?

That is how I rationalised having an affair with my boss.

“You should go back to Chicago, Simon. I bet your family misses you,” Doc Carroll says, breaking my train of thought.

“I’m not someone they deserve yet.”

“Why not?”

She rolls her eyes.

It’s because you’re pretty sure you still in love with me, isn’t it? / 49

contributors EDITORS

CONTRIBUTORS

Jake Cupitt

Paige Braunstein

Claudia Poposki

Sofia Casanova Kayla Chapman Jake Cupitt

GRAPHIC DESIGNER Ally Griffith

Simona Ermilova Amy Fairall Ben Kohler Sally Krajacic

SUB-EDITORS

Elise Manning

Sofia Casanova

Brenton Mills

Kurtis Hughes

Caitlin Morahan

Zoe Simmons

Meg Powell Claudia Poposki Kristina Prentoska

PRINTER Print & Mail

Zoe Simmons Blake Stanbridge Benjamin Read

PUBLISHER

Larissa Jaffe

Wollongong Undergraduate Student Association

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