USASA Magazine | Issue 2: Lust & Envy

Magazine Vol. 22 No. 2

Letter from the Editor Arrive at uni after the dreamy summer holidays or the short but sweet two week mid-semester break, and you’re more than likely to hear at least one person talking about what they got up to, spreading the ever-so-contagious travel bug around your tutorial room. As another break has just slipped past way too fast, it makes sense that this issue of the magazine would be brimming with travel stories, and indeed it is.

We have students skiing in Canada, adventuring in Bali, participating in (and surviving) a hitchhiking competition around Europe, swimming around the West Coast of Australia, and plenty of other exciting exploits waiting for you to discover.

Closer to home, there’s a buzz of activity as a couple of ladies install bee hives on the tops of buildings in the CBD, a guide on how to avoid procrastination (reading it could, ironically, be procrastinating if you have looming deadlines), and a guide on what to do now that Mad March has left us dazed and exhausted for another year.

And we mustn’t forget the theme! Lust and Envy. Students have been lustful and envious, as we are shown through history and politics, wanderlusting for yet more travel, and even a rather chilling ‘murder confession.’

Once you’ve digested all that, you’ll probably be rather peckish. On that note, do you like food and lounging around on the couch? I will be sceptical if your answer is anything other than yes. Either way, the next issue will be themed Gluttony and Sloth, so get writing about it!

Submit your stories, poems, articles (can also be uni-related, travel or general interest) to vivga001@mymail.unisa.edu.au by Saturday 5 July.

Keep an eye out for the next issue. There are some big changes happening in this magazine’s universe…

‘Til next time!

Georgina

www.facebook.com/unilifemagazine

@unilifemagazine

Contact vivga001@mymail.unisa.edu.au Head Editor Georgina Vivian Sub-Editor Divya Balakumar Web Editor Ben Allison Graphic Designer Prerna Ashok

Contributors Jessica Marie Traino, Sarah Benigar, Travis Shueard, Lany Sumardika, Shannon Kilgariff, Jessica Ball, Melissa Davies, Jeremy Rochow, Jonathan Richards, Melina Scarfo, Renée Biele, Lisa J Smith, Benjamin James, Emma Majcen, Georgina Hore, Jacinta Mazzarolo, Anne Jackson, Anna Cherkasova, Angela Skujins, Sebastian Moore Cover Prerna Ashok Printer Newstyle Special thanks to Palace Nova Cinemas The views expressed in this magazine are not necessarily representative of the views of USASA or the editors. All images, unless otherwise stated, by Prerna Ashok.

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Contents Connections to Lust and Envy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Lust or Envy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Bali Bliss . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Canada: Home away from home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 An exchange student’s survival guide: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 A Hitchhiker’s Guide to Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Craving Cottesloe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 Adelaide: Post Mad March. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 I Now Call Adelaide Home. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 Roses are Red. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Murder Confession #01. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Lust . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Student Envy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 My Last Duchess: Faded Blush . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 Beyond Lust and Envy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 The Bachelor: Will You Accept This Rose?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 What in the world is going on?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 Calendar of Events. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52 The Perils of Procrastination. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54 CBD Bees. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 About AIESEC. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 Review | The Grand Budapest Hotel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 Review | Noah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 Review | It Boy (20 Ans D’Écart). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64 Review | Tracks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65

Connections to Lust and Envy

Jessica Marie Traino | Artwork by Sarah Benigar

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Religious or not, society benefits greatly from developing an accurate understanding of The Seven Deadly Sins. Lust and envy are merely two of these sins, and both have been described as destructive to the self and to others. A large majority of people have already gathered enough surface information to truly comprehend the meaning of lust and envy, but do they extend their thoughts even further in order to make deeper connections to these concepts, so that greater meaning can be found within them?

Unfortunately, the development of thought on this topic usually stops with the interpretation of the definition. However, there are connections that can be made in order to appeal to a broader audience of people, such as scientists, religious groups, spiritual people, and everybody in between.

In spirituality, there is such a thing known to be called a Chakra system within the human body. Chakras are what some may prefer to call ‘Energy Centres’, and have been described as having a circular or wheel-like form (non-visible to the human eye). These wheels have been thought to project energy, as well as receive it.

There are seven main Chakras, beginning from the base of the spine, and ending on the crown of the head. Each energy centre is known to govern over particular characteristics. Aware of the fact that there are both Seven Deadly Sins and seven main Chakras, a very important connection can be made in order to understand the sins to a greater degree.

Lust has a direct connection to that which the spiritual community calls the ‘Heart Chakra’ (located in the centre of the chest, just above the heart). When the Heart Chakra is well balanced, open and active to a healthy extent, one may expect to have true appreciation for beauty, as well as immense love for the self and other people. It is associated with giving and receiving joy and peace. Lust will become a problem when the Heart Chakra is not balanced, and is instead classified as overactive. This means that too much intimacy is being shared between people, and it is being expressed much too freely. This happens to the point where

intercourse becomes increasingly active, often with people experiencing more than one sexual partner at a time.

Not only does the Heart Chakra connect with the deadly sin of lust, but also to the goddess, Aphrodite (also known as ‘Venus’ in Roman mythology). Aphrodite was portrayed as having many different lovers throughout the course of her life, and was often seen having love affairs. As she grew older and wiser, she was able to understand that self-restraint was more than necessary. Now, rather than projecting the image of ‘The Temptress’, she stands for love, beauty, appreciation, romance, sensuality and giving intimate love to just one significant other. Lust can be battled by mankind in the same way Aphrodite realised that self-control must be exercised, and it can be done by better understanding the functions of the Heart Chakra.

Nevertheless, there are those who would rather take a more psychological approach, and perhaps delve into the idea of ‘Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs’. This is a diagram that was constructed by Abraham Maslow, an American psychologist. He believed that humans have a pyramid of needs that must be fulfilled and wellbalanced, but if the base needs are not fulfilled, individuals will fail to reach the top of the pyramid (Self-Actualisation). In association with lust, the need of ‘Esteem’ comes into play. It is presumed that without a proper sense of selfesteem, people will too readily allow themselves to be emotionally and physically used due to a lack of self-worth. They will constantly seek the approval of others, in an attempt to gain their worth based on how much intimacy they receive from other people. The solution to this is for people to find their self-worth and gain their esteem within themselves, seeking inner peace, inner joy, and learning to practice selflove. If individuals wish to take a more physical approach to the idea of lust, the human sense of touch easily resonates to this sin, and can be controlled by restraining from too much physical contact.

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As for the deadly sin of envy, there appears to be a direct link to the Chakra called the ‘Third Eye’ (located on the forehead, between the eyes).

When in perfect harmony and balance, the Third Eye allows individuals to have direct access to intuition, inner knowledge, self-direction, selftrust, and the ability to make wise decisions.

However, it becomes a rather problematic matter when this Chakra is underactive, as it may lead to people having no sense of direction, self-confidence, or inner trust, which of course activates a horrid emotion within, described as jealousy. With a clouded mind and lack of judgement, people will find that they are suddenly wishing they were somebody else, and when that is greatly intensified, it may even allow people to act viciously to those who are successful, and those who have the ability to use their intuition and inner knowledge to bring abundance into their own lives.

The Greek goddess Artemis (or ‘The Moon’ in Roman mythology) has been accurately matched to the Third Eye. Artemis is often known to govern human emotions, intuition, and how we react to things, and she is all about the energy of reflection. This urges humanity to practice seeing their actions through the eyes of others so that their behaviour can be adjusted appropriately. Nonetheless, Artemis was sometimes known to be overly defensive, reactive, emotional, and felt insecure which often led to harming those who she thought might have ill intentions. This goes alongside feelings of jealousy and envy; wishing to be in the

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position of another instead of understanding her own internal power and knowledge. However, like all the gods and goddesses, she learnt a great deal and now symbolises wisdom, empathy, emotion, nurture, intuition and reflection, all of which should be a substitute for envy.

Envy can also be associated with esteem in ‘Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs’, as both lust and envy stem from feelings of worthlessness, powerlessness and lack of self-esteem. It is believed, however, that the connection to envy is more about inner senses than lust is. It urges individuals to look into their subconscious and unconscious mind. So, in order to overcome envy and reach the heavenly virtue of ‘hope’, one must be able to trust their abilities, judgements and organisation in all decision making in order to feel content and successful enough to gain back feelings of self-worth. This also involves imagination and the proper use of manifesting dreams and desires into physical reality. It most certainly represents the concept that positive thought creates a rewarding overall experience.

With this analysis, it is evident that a much greater understanding of The Seven Deadly Sins can be formed when perceiving them from a much larger spectrum. It also goes to show the interconnectedness of social science and spiritual beliefs, having the same core meanings and messages, with all but an altered explanation in order to appeal to a wider range of people in the world.

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Lust or Envy Travis Shueard

‘When I went there, I did not think to have done this.

But perceiving the spirit of God so strong upon me, I would not consult flesh and blood.’

Oliver Cromwell, on his forcible dissolution of parliament in April 1653

‘Nothing is as obnoxious as other people’s luck’ wrote J. Fitzgerald as he no doubt simmered in envy at those who lived with far more opulence than he (I’m still convinced that he wrote The Great Gatsby after being spurned at a 1920s razzamatazz party for his cheap suit). I can relate this to the wonderful and glorious sins that are lust and envy with no difficulty.

If there are two things that get my loins girded, it is politics and history. When I say loins girded, I mean a crushing heat in my lower abdominal, groin area that sends me positively randy at the idea of ancient civilisations or the legalised treason that is politics.

Whether it is the Spartan ‘phalanx’ formation of 300 fame with that ball-heating air of imminent violence, or the teeth-grinding years of the Rudd-Gillard-Rudd merry-go-round that made me wonder how so many other countries got it right, politics and history to me are the ultimate expression of lust and envy.

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I lust for an expression of female dominance like Queen Elizabeth I. I lust for the protopornography that was Cleopatra and Marc Antony’s love affair. I lust for stable, strong and meaningful leadership in the country that be Australia. I lust, like an 18-year-old at Reds on a Saturday, for our own Alexander the Great to take us, with principle and strength, into the 21st Century with a modicum of respect and dignity, without treating the office that is our Prime Minister like a personal play thing.

Surely, surely I’m not the only one who looks at dusty, leather bound history books replete with images of historic leaders and doesn’t just wish, for a moment, that we were back in those times.

Where are those leaders that helped define civilisation as we know it? Those who walked among their people with a dream to help lead their nations (rightly or wrongly) into the future.

The reason I hang on to these overly romanticised versions of history is due to sheer despondence at our current political situation, and envy that the media’s romanticised image of foreign countries leads me to believe that everyone has it better off than we.

From 2007-14, we dealt with the roundabout disgrace that was the megalomaniacal Kevin Rudd being replaced by Julia Gillard, who then had to fend off Rudd’s ‘right’ (and I say that term more loosely than a leaky tap) to the PM’s office, before she in turn was deposed in something akin to modern day regicide.

I couldn’t help but think at that time in September 2013 that Jacques Clément would be smiling from his murderous, zeal filled grave.

Now we have another leader that makes me lust for times gone past, whether they were truly what 300 and Troy depicted, or not. Regardless of your politics, we now have a man named Abbott intent upon dragging Australia, that naughty, ignorant baby, kicking and screaming into the past.

I don’t mean the cool, romantic past. I don’t mean the past where there were super cool Lord of the Rings battles, and people magically survived any violence. I mean the nasty, real past. The past where equality was something that was only dreamed of, where the opportunity to educate oneself was an expensive privilege and not a right. Where being a bigot ‘was a right’, as Attorney-General Brandis would say as he threatens to repeal Section 18c of the Racial Discrimination Act. To a past where we went to wage wars on foreign shores with Empires that neither cared nor knew if our fair men and women died, as long as it wasn’t their own nation’s soldiers. To a past where one’s worth was dictated by family name, by place of birth, by colour of skin.

Does anyone else cry over the backwards steps we’ve taken over the last few years? That there are actually some in our society where the romanticised version of history has been so manically lusted after, that they are hell-bent on taking us back to those times with them in an effort to recreate their fantasies?

I talk about the romantic views of history and historical values with a mixture of sarcasm and nerd-interest. I truly am interested in the battles of the Roman Empire in its peak; I truly am enthralled by the socio-political landscape of Austro-Hungary circa 1914. I get great enjoyment from following Australian politics.

But this enjoyment, this interest does not mean that we as a nation should in any way seek to go back in time. This nation does not, and should not, and WILL NOT go back to a time where gender/racial equality was a dream, where the goal of studying law, or medicine, or engineering, or even history, was something that would be out of your reach if you didn’t have the British Pounds to do so.

If we sit on our hands and lust after things that we already had, or lust for things that we don’t want to experience again, eventually there will be a time where we will find ourselves with an unenviable situation of history repeating itself.

And who knows who the next Cromwell will be?

The more we sit on our hands, the more we stare at the TV screen and allow the concept of democracy, fair society, the rule of law, be subverted by those who are drunk on power, then the more it’ll disappear. The more these men and women, on both sides, lust after the power of Xerxes and Darius of Ancient Persia, the more we’ll envy those times where we had what we wanted.

A society where we, the citizens, chose our Government and policies, and not the other way around.

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wanderlust

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(ʹwɒndə,lʌst) noun 1. a strong, innate desire to rove or travel about. ‘a man consumed by wanderlust’

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When I was asked to write an article about my recent trip to Bali, I was more excited about writing it than I thought I would be. I think this is because I had such a good time on my holiday, that I’ll take any excuse to relive the memories.

Although I did quite a lot, I decided to only discuss a couple of my favourite holiday adventures.

Something I highly recommend doing whilst in Bali is quad biking. At first I wasn’t really excited by the idea, but it definitely became one of the highlights of my trip. We asked our driver where the best place to ride quad bikes is and so he took us to Badung Adventure Tours, about an hour’s drive from Kuta. We had a choice of either a single bike ($60-$70) or a tandem bike ($90-$100) but we all chose single bikes, purely because we’re not a bunch of sissies.

The ride consisted of three parts. First was a short circuit in muddy water so you get the feel of the bike and how to use the brakes and acceleration properly. Then you hit the streets.

Yes, the actual streets of Bali (if you’ve ever been to Bali before, you can understand how scary this concept might be). However, because we weren’t in a busy area, the traffic wasn’t that bad at all. We were told to just stay to the left and keep speed, and we’d be all good.

We followed the roads for a little while and then got directed along a path that winds through some beautiful rice fields. The scenery was gorgeous. I had to keep reminding myself not to get too distracted otherwise I’d probably lose control of my bike. This ride lasted for about 30-40 minutes and then we were taken back to home base.

After a short toilet and refreshment break, it was time for some real action. We took a different path through more rice fields to a steep (and I mean, I’m-not-sure-I-can-do-this, steep) hill that led into a river. As soon as you break that fear barrier and hit the water, a rush comes over you and you can just sense how much fun this is going to be.

The river current was quite strong and was going against us, so often it was hard to keep control

of the bike, but the instructors were always around to help if we needed them. The scenery again was magnificent. We were driving through bright green rainforests, which kind of made me feel bad for driving through on this fuel-injected machine, but let’s not get into that.

We rode for about 45 minutes before stopping at a little pit stop. There was a little hut where we sat and rested while the instructors gave us some water to keep hydrated. We took some photos, chatted with the instructors and just took it all in. Once everyone was good to go, we headed back the way we came, which was actually a lot quicker than the first time, as the current actually helped to push us along. We got back to home base where they had prepared lunch for us, and gave us a free T shirt with Badung Adventure Tours on it which was a great keepsake.

The next leg of our holiday was going to the Gili Islands. The Gilis are a group of three small islands located in between Bali and its neighbouring island, Lombok. The islands are called Gili Trawangan, known as the ‘party’ island, Gili Meno, which is primarily for honeymooners, and Gili Air, which has more of a family-friendly atmosphere.

Gili Trawangan (or just Gili T for short) is the largest of the islands and is famous for having some of the wildest parties in the world. But there is a lot more to it than just non-stop raving as the island itself is filled with fascinating culture and loads of adventure. The easiest way to get there from Bali is by speedboat.

They leave daily from various destinations and can cost between $50-$120 for a return ticket, depending on where you book the trip and what time of year it is.

I have been to Gili T twice now and stayed in the same hotel both times. The Beach House Resort has many rooms, including villas that have their own private pool. Complimentary breakfast was awesome, but there are restaurants and bars that have amazing food and cocktails all the way along the main street, so there was no shortage of choice!

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The island is actually so small that there is no need for motor vehicles; everywhere is reachable by bike or horse and carriage. Even the locals get around like this. One morning, we decided to go for a bike ride. Bikes are available for hire all down the main street and only cost about $5 a day. It was 6am, and I can honestly say, that is the best time to go. The streets are quiet, the air is cool, and the beach is the image of perfection. It only took us about 40 minutes to ride all the way around the island, passing some gorgeous sights along the way.

One of the main activities we wanted to do whilst we were in Gili T was scuba diving. We asked the hotel staff which diving school was the best and we were recommended Blue Marlin Dive, which was only about 300 metres from our hotel. We were able to do it on the day which was great, and we basically got to start straight away, filling in a bit of paperwork and learning the basic skills. It was about $65 per person. We had to spend an hour or so in the pool, learning how to use our equipment and before we knew it, we were on the boat to our dive site.

Being a first timer, I was a little nervous about the whole idea of being 12 metres underwater.

But as soon as I got in the water, I forgot about all my worries because I was so entranced by the beauty of the underwater world. There were all kinds of fish, large and small, pretty and… pretty ugly. However, I was most amazed by the turtles. We saw a couple throughout our dive, and it was incredible how close we could get to them and they were just so chilled out about it.

We weren’t allowed to touch anything, but just watching them swim around, it really was like a scene from Finding Nemo.

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The dive lasted for about 45 minutes, and I was so impressed by it that I decided to do an Open Water course, which qualifies me to be able to dive anywhere in the world without having to do in-pool training beforehand. This cost around $400 which sounds like a lot but if it gets put to good use, it’s worth it in the long run. The course takes about three days to complete, because you have to do some theory work and an exam (yawn) first, as well as three more dives, two of which are at 18 metres deep.

Aside from all the serious stuff though, my dive instructor was the biggest party animal. He invited us all out for dinner and drinks one night, which also happened to be the night that Blue Marlin Dive hosted their weekly party. Needless to say, we all felt and looked great at 9am the next morning for more dive training...

Like all holidays though, they must come to an end. Usually this happens before you know it and you’re wishing you could travel back in time and do it all again! I definitely have nostalgia when I think about this holiday, but there’s no doubting I’ll be doing it again pretty soon!

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Canada: Home away from home Shannon Kilgariff

When walking through the beautiful white snowcovered paths of Whistler, you are overwhelmed with the surreal, magical atmosphere that feels as if you are happily trapped inside a Canadian Christmas snow globe.

Jake Gluis, a travel consultant from Student Flights, frequently books Australians’ holidays to Canada. He said that it is more common for people in their early twenties to choose Canada above other travel destinations.

Once you begin to explore, however, you realise that this strange foreign place is not all that different from home.

‘If it’s their first time overseas, it’s relatively similar to Australia, I guess, so they aren’t worried about things. Parents are happy to send them to Canada. They are the friendliest people you would ever meet in your life,’ Gluis says.

The ski shop you wander into is playing the familiar sound of Amelia Marshall from Triple J and the shop assistant calls you ‘mate’ when you try on snowboarding boots while talking about the cricket.

Once you hit the slopes, the lift operator tells you that the snow is ‘heaps good’ today and when you take a lunch break, you notice that the person serving you has a small Southern Cross tattoo on their arm. Yes, you could do a whole season in Whistler and only socialise with Australians.

Before exploring the wonders in their own backyard, many young Australians choose to embark on a 20 hour journey across the Pacific to discover Canada, which might as well be the other Australia.

With an expensive plane ticket and less than half the average Australian wage, thousands of Australians choose to travel to Canada each year.

Why? It’s not just for the ski-bum lifestyle.

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Gluis has holidayed and worked in Canada and believes that it is such a hot spot for Aussies because of the small cultural differences, high job availability and visa accessibility.

Let’s not forget the world renowned ski slopes that we in Australia seem to miss out on.

‘You can actually get a job before you go away, so if you do something like Working Holidays Club, you’re guaranteed a job within the end of June before you get over there for your season.

That way, you don’t have to worry about getting a job,’ says Gluis.

Obtaining a two-year working visa in Canada is very simple. Australians can also continue to renew their visas until they turn 30, unlike other popular destinations such as the United Kingdom where you can only obtain a working visa once.

‘I think Canada and the UK are the top enquired places for working holidays; Canada is probably a bit more popular. It works well because you can go over for the winter, have a ski season and still come back for uni,’ Gluis says.

‘But having said that, most people you run into who aren’t Australian love to talk about our country and how much they love it, so it isn’t all bad.’

Gluis worked in a restaurant in Vancouver, just two hours away from the biggest Australian hub, Whister, which to him seems like home.

Despite the huge number of Australians in Canada and even more in the ski fields, Burford, like thousands of other young Australians, highly recommends Whistler.

‘In Vancouver, everyone always asks you why you’re not in Whistler because that’s predominantly Aussies. When I was homesick I went to Whistler for the weekend because I got to go see Aussies. I could get an Aussie beer in Whistler and chill out with people who say “g’day.”

‘Do it. Whistler is a fairy tale town for adults. On the one hand, it is quaint and pretty with fairy lights and snow, but then on the other hand, you get to go and do extreme sports in your backyard and party every night with a bunch of people who are there with the sole purpose of having fun.’

Max Burford, 22, from Adelaide, did a snow season in Whistler beginning in November 2013, where he worked nights at a hotel and skied most days.

It is obvious that the vibrant nightlife and regular party regime that we all hear about in Canadian ski resorts such as Whistler is also a high contributor to attracting Australian travellers.

Burford says there are a huge number of Australians in Whistler in particular and in his opinion, it is probably one slight drawback from being at this world renowned ski resort.

‘There are so many Australians there that you almost don’t feel like you are in a different country half the time because you are just as likely to strike up a conversation with someone who lives down the road from you in Adelaide as you are a Canadian local.’

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An interesting crowd takes the midnight Greyhound from New York City to Montreal.

Mothers with crying children, a drunk, talkative 20-year-old woman, an assortment of men in their mid 20s, backpackers and students trying to save a buck. I was in the last category.

An Australian exchange student finishing a whirlwind month exploring the US, about to reach my final destination. Australia and Canada, they’re not so different, right? Wrong.

There are a lot of things they don’t tell you before you leave for exchange. The eight sleepless hours gave me time to ponder my unanswered questions. As trees flickered past in the darkness, mixed emotions filled my head.

Pangs of excitement were met with nerves. I was exhausted but as we drove closer towards the border, my anxiety grew and the thousands of thoughts rushing through my mind refused to let me nod off.

The sun slowly began to rise and we soon arrived at customs.

‘Anyone who needs a study or work permit, raise your hand,’ the customs official told the passengers.

As an Australian, I knew I didn’t need anything more than my acceptance letter to study in Canada for six months. However, finding this out had been a complicated maze, full of dead-ends and backtracking. The thought of being left at the border had me on edge. I was guarding this letter as tightly as my passport.

No-one moved. He repeated his question and I raised my hand.

‘I’m a student, but I’ll only be here six months, so I don’t need a study permit,’ I said.

He gave me a confused look. Two minutes with the customs officer later, my passport was stamped.

It was move-in day. Lesson one: carry cash. I hailed a cab, expecting to pay with card, but I quickly learnt I needed to make a trip to the nearest ATM. Lesson two: always write down the address. I wrongly assumed Concordia University, Loyola Campus on Sherbrooke would be enough information to get me to my residence. Instead, after aimlessly driving down Sherbrooke, the cab driver pulled over to call for directions.

One interesting cab ride later, I arrived at my new home. I signed my lease and managed to break it with a game of ‘never have I ever’ before move-in weekend was over. Drinking games were banned. While my neighbours carted box after box upstairs, I lugged my sole suitcase to

my room. This was my first chance to unpack in a month, to not live in a hostel with my valuables under combination lock. All I wanted to do was nap. Lesson three: res mattresses are as comfortable as concrete. I still had to buy sheets, pillows, a duvet (doona) and now something to soften this rock they called a bed.

I could hear my new neighbour moving in. I decided to introduce myself and ask if they knew where I could buy a doona. At this point, I hadn’t realised how different Canadian and Australian English are. They stared at me blankly. Maybe they speak French, I thought.

No, they simply had never heard of the object I wanted, but eventually they translated ‘doona’ to ‘duvet’. Lesson four: accents are deceiving. An hour later I gave up on trying to find ‘Winters’, the homewares store, on Google. Luckily my neighbour needed to make a trip to Ikea, as I would have never found ‘Winners’.

Having lived in residence (college) for two and a half years I thought I knew what to expect. I quickly understood I had no idea what I had got myself into. I remember my Mom’s (Mum’s) shocked expression on my first move-in day when she realised the bathrooms weren’t singlesex. But I quickly became accustomed to the limited wait for a ‘good’ shower and the privacy of a locked cubical door. In Canada, 29 girls fought over two good showers, avoiding two awful ones, while the eight boys enjoyed four showers between them. The mere privacy of a shower curtain and showers taken ankle deep in water as mattered hair clogged the drains were less desirable. Celling fans and heaters are nice additions but the touch of cold titles in the crisp Canadian morning was cruel. In Australia the faculties may host a pub crawl or a formal event if you’re lucky, but I’d always relied on the residences for my major events, from the hazing of Frosh (O-week) to balls accompanied by drinking songs. Discovering Frosh was sold out was disappointing, but when I asked a Frosh leader why I hadn’t heard about it his response was like a slap to the face.

‘We don’t get a list of exchange students, so we don’t email you guys about Frosh,’ he said.

Way to make your exchange students feel welcomed. Lesson five: keep an eye out for

Facebook events.

Meal plans were yet another foreign concept with their meal equivalencies, flex dollars and restrictions. I had left behind 21 meals a week including six hot breakfasts, the option of a packed lunch and formal hall Monday through Thursday. Meal times were a tradition; at 6.20pm sharp, students dressed in academic gowns and waited to be seated, while staff

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served a set three course meal and not one person left until the president had stood. Meat and three vegetables was our meal of choice.

Instead I found a huge range of food and a come and go as you please, free-for-all style of dinning. I am still shocked by the endless supply of poutine, soft drink, pizza and burgers.

When I saw students refuse to eat vegetables, and everything and anything smothered in condiments, sauce and gravy, it may be a stereotype but I couldn’t help but wonder if I was in America. Lesson six, poutine and putain are two very different words. Blank looks from the kitchen staff taught me a lot of differences between Canadian and Australian English. I now know to order fries (chips), peppers (capsicum), tea or coffee (a cuppa), candies (lollies), potatoes (spuds), shrimp (prawns) and ketchup (tomato sauce).

Lesson seven: Thanksgiving isn’t just an American holiday. Before arriving in Canada

I was oblivious to the fact Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving. When I learnt of this holiday of pumpkin pie, turkey and other home-cooked delights was approaching, I organised a dinner with a group of exchange students. I set out to cook a pavlova (pav), Australia’s favourite dessert. A crispy meringue case with a soft, gooey centre, smothered in whipped cream and topped with strawberries and kiwi fruit.

Lesson eight: baking goods aren’t universal. I stared blankly at the baking section as if I was reading a foreign language. I resorted to Google.

According to the trusty search engine, corn starch would replace the corn flour but Canada is one of the only Commonwealth countries that doesn’t sell caster sugar. With no other alternative, I decided to grind my own from granulated sugar. A timely process, without the desired effects. There was no smooth yet crispy pavlova this Thanksgiving.

classes. While Concordia lectures may have better turnout, this required some changes to my study techniques. I could no longer justify watching my lectures online from the comfort of my bed. While I begrudgingly paid for printing, unlimited internet is a luxury I thoroughly exploited.

When relentless midterms subsided, cobwebs, fake blood and skimpy costumes came out to play. Attending my first Halloween party was high on my bucket list. Lesson ten: skimp on the costume, not the tip. An unenthusiastic atmosphere surrounded the bar. The bartenders’ ‘no tip, no drink’ policy left many already frustrated party-goers increasingly unimpressed.

In Australia, tipping is rare. It’s never expected for simply pouring a vodka cranberry or opening a beer, whereas for making a cocktail, if you’re working at the right place, maybe, but maybe not. For mistaking the rum for the vodka, serving it with a bad attitude and demanding a tip after a lengthy wait, you’d be more likely to lose your job than take home any extra cash.

One bartender, dressed in a skimpy Pocahontas costume, bore the brunt of one customer’s frustration who decided to throw their drink in her face. Watching the bartender attempt to bottle the customer while climbing over the bar, having to be restrained by the bus boy made what was looking like an average night a very amusing Halloween.

Before departing Australia I was told culture shock would be basically non-existent. I guess they were right. The differences aren’t ‘shocking’, they just take a little getting used to. But as soon as I found myself replacing ‘mate’ with ‘eh’, my time in Montreal had come and gone.

Thanksgiving passed but assignments and midterms kept coming. When I enrolled I was told that I needed to take five classes at Concordia University to receive credit for four at UniSA. Lesson nine: don’t assume that more classes equal less work. I knew the academic system would be different, but I don’t think I truly comprehended just how different. UniSA: four classes—generally a one hour lecture and a two hour tutorial with two to four assessments all submitted online, recorded lectures and PowerPoint presentations available online.

Concordia: five classes—a mixture of longer and shorter lectures, tutorials and online classes, considerably more assessments submitted in hard copy, no recorded lectures, PowerPoint presentations uploaded at the Prof’s discretion and midterms and finals for political science

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I was on exchange at a university in the north of England when my friend Courtney and I stumbled across a competition run by the students. It was called Jail Break. It was for charity (because we are such charitable people, we just HAD to get involved).

Countries: six or seven. Money spent: $0 Aim of the game: Get as far away from the university as possible in 36 hours without spending any money on transportation. The winner would be the team who travelled the furthest.

At first, we had the usual fears. We will likely be murdered, raped, stabbed, robbed, sold into prostitution, go missing, abducted, run over, wolf-creeked etc. However, we decided YOLO and just do it.

The competition started at 6pm. It was England, which means it was pitch black, freezing and drizzling with rain. There were 30 teams who all gathered in the courtyard in the middle of the university, eager to begin. My partner and I were dressed as superheroes (don’t ask) in long-sleeved tops, t-shirts over the top, pants, undies on the outside, socks and boots. We took only a backpack which contained our passports, emergency cash, phones and spare jumpers.

We obviously didn’t think it through. It was the middle of winter in Europe. IDIOTS. When we arrived at the start line, we were handed a ‘rape alarm’ each. The rule was one rape alarm per team. However, we were informed we were the only all girl team and were kindly handed two.

(How generous.) After the countdown, everyone bolted. Courtney and I were left at the start line not having a clue what to do next. Disorganised would be an understatement.

Ride 1: A random guy on campus felt sorry for us and gave us a lift to the nearest city. We were dropped off at a petrol station.

Ride 2: We held up homemade cardboard signs, which said ‘south’ and ‘lift for charity?’ Soon after, a lovely woman with a really thick northern accent offered us a lift.

Lady: ‘I’m going to Chelsea, do you want a lift?’

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Us: (Realised then we forgot to bring a map.

We were the only international team in the competition. Again. IDIOTS.) ‘Is that south?’

She ended up driving us south-ish (at least we think she did) for an hour and dropped us off at another petrol station.

Ride 3: We got picked up by a lorry driver. It wasn’t just any lorry, it was the biggest lorry we had ever seen. Once we were on the road, he informed us it was in fact illegal for him to have two of us in his lorry, as he only had one spare seat. Courtney and I paper, scissor, rocked. I won. Courtney had to lay on the bed in the back for the whole journey. He gave us chocolate.

Great guy. I’m glad we didn’t get deported.

Ride 4: Again, we were dropped off at a petrol station, somewhere in the middle of England.

A youngish lad gave us a lift. We were in his car for about an hour before we noticed he had a gash mark across his face. Turns out he had done some time in prison for being involved in a fight. He picked up his friend on the way. On the opposite side of the road to where his friend lived, there were police cars applying caution tape to what we worked out to be a murder scene. At this stage, we thought we wouldn’t make it home alive. He actually turned out to be a nice guy, although his advice was not the best.

He told us that because we were girls, the best way to get places in the world was to cry when we wanted things. He dropped us off at a petrol station. We thanked him before leaving him and his advice in the car.

Ride 5: We were stuck at this petrol station for three hours. It was midnight. No one was around. A Top Deck tour offered us a lift but then realised they only had one spare seat. (Can you imagine?!) Finally a group of guys offered us a lift. They told us they were a band and had just played a gig. We later added them on

Facebook at which point we discovered they were quite a famous band and their gig was called ‘hitchhike’. Coincidental or what?! At this point, my dad was so concerned; he kept sending me messages threatening to disown me if I kept hitchhiking. This proved to be an empty threat.

Ride 6: We were dropped off at Dover. It was 3am. We needed to get in someone’s car and then onto the ferry. Car owners paid per car, not per person, so it was the only way. There would have been 50 trucks that drove past. We didn’t get offered one lift. We were only offered sleazy kisses blown by the European bus drivers. (Rape alarms were ready.) FINALLY, we noticed a car parked on the side of the road. We approached.

It was a man in his mid 30s named David. He was from Slovakia and was travelling from the UK back home for a holiday. He could barely speak any English but allowed us in his car.

(Who knows why?) He took us onto the ferry!

We barely made it through customs. Security looked us up and down and asked us what our motivation for going to France was. Needless to say, it took a long time to convince them we weren’t homeless/drug dealers/prostitutes/ terrorists. I have never been as cold as I was that night on the ferry. My toes were frozen.

David even offered to buy us both hot chocolates to warm us up. Once we were in France, David decided to drive us non-stop for the remainder of the competition. (What a lad.) He had a nap for an hour once while Courtney and I bought coffee at a petrol station. We didn’t sleep for 36 hours.

Arrival: At 4am Sunday morning (two hours before the competition ended), we arrived in Budapest. David dropped us off in the middle of the city. He told us he couldn’t take us to Slovakia because his fiancée wouldn’t be very happy. We had no idea where we were, what the currency was or where the nearest hostel was.

Thank God for Google Maps. We ended up finding ‘Retox Party Hostel’ who welcomed us with open arms. We took a photo of ourselves in Budapest, with a clock and a local newspaper in hand and sent it back to the University headquarters. The results of the competition would not be revealed for another week, so Courtney and I decided to stay at Retox Hostel in Budapest during that time. It was crazy. Due to our evident lack of organisation, we had to buy clothes from the local op shop which had become trendy thanks to Macklemore. To all the thrift shop lovers out there, Budapest definitely has the best ones!

Results: We came third. We travelled the furthest on the road; however, we were beaten by some Southern English boys who got their daddies to organise free flights for them to Tenerife. Obviously that doesn’t count. We also won the best video blog.

Morals of the story: Give to charity. Try not to get wolf-creeked.

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The ocean stretches out across the horizon almost as far as one’s eye can see, except for the tiniest little blip. A small bump rises up from the ocean which confirms in a person’s mind that there is land in the distance—not close, but reachable. The view of Rottnest Island from the mainland is awe-inspiring at dawn, and this particular morning is no different. It was definitely rousing; however, not in the same way that the view usually stirs a person’s soul.

Cottesloe is Perth’s premier beach. In the early hours of the morning it’s usually relatively quiet, apart from the sound of waves pounding against the cement-like sand and the occasional chirp of a seagull. The beach is populated with a few early morning walkers and joggers dressed in flamboyant tracksuits. They look as if they may have come straight out of the eighties with fluoro headbands to match. A lone swimmer stands on the sand about to hit the surf, goggles and swimming cap in hand.

One Saturday each year, the calm and stillness that usually hangs over Cottesloe is broken.

The quaint suburban beach becomes a place of immense activity in the early hours of the

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morning, just before dawn breaks. Generators buzz like swarms of bees, powering the lights that illuminate the beach.

People are scattered everywhere; some are sprawled on the grass hill behind the beach, others perch themselves on the rocks that protect the bay from the open ocean. There is constant chatter as people wait patiently for the race to begin. The Indian Ocean to the west is usually home to numerous cargo ships; today it is scattered with hundreds of small boats.

The action on the sand is intense as people make their last-minute preparations before hitting the water. Kayaks and canoes are being inspected as their owners make one final check.

They attach flags and their team numbers to their vessels. A middle-aged woman holds up a camera and aims it at two smiling young men arm-in-arm. One is in his bathers ready to swim, while the other is dressed in high-visibility clothing.

I turn to my paddler, the man in the highvisibility clothing, and smile. ‘Are you ready?’

He nods with enthusiasm as we grab the kayak and head towards the water’s edge. A small set

of waves break and rush out at our feet. Once it has passed, he jumps in the kayak and I push him out into the ocean. ‘See ya out there,’ I shout as he paddles into the open water where he will wait for me.

I quickly walk to the top of the sand and start preparing myself for the swim that lay ahead— twenty kilometres of rolling open water. Just thinking about the constant up and down motion is enough to make my head spin. The thousands of swim caps make the beach a sea of colour; pink, green, yellow and red caps everywhere.

My attention turns to the ocean in front of me.

The little line in the distance is the destination.

It’s only small now, but it will grow larger as the day wears on and I draw closer. A light breeze blows the salty air against my face as I begin to lather myself in sun cream. The sun is beginning to break through the clouds and warm my body.

Its full brunt won’t be noticeable for a couple more hours.

All of a sudden a horn sounds to let me know it’s time to line up along the beach for the start. The rubbery material of my swim cap fits snuggly on my head as I pull it into position. I

give my goggles a once over, making sure they are tight enough and won’t let any water in.

Lined up next to me are about fifty swimmers all in the same coloured caps. Some have colourful zinc over their arms and legs, and the familiar smell of deep heat lingers in the air.

Nervousness washes over me as the final countdown begins. I swing my arms as if I’m warming up, but it’s more to keep my mind occupied. Every swimmer standing on the shore has the same goal. We yearn for that tiny island we can hardly see.

It’s become an obsession which has gripped all of us for months. The relentless training, early mornings and sacrifices we’ve made all to reach the sandy island twenty kilometres away.

Stingers will sting us for hours, causing red welts. There is the nagging thought of sharks that we try to push to the back of our minds.

Bruised and battered from kicking and punching each other, we’ll hopefully stumble onto the beach and across the finish line. We may even get hypothermia from being in the water for six and a half hours. Bang! The gun fires, waking me from my daze, and we rush towards the water.

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We are currently in the midst of the April Slump. All the excitement that goes along with the Fringe, Clipsal and Soundwave is well and truly over.

That electrifying vibe that the Adelaide CBD has to offer during late February and March has all but dissipated.

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With no comedy shows to attend twice a week, no speciality Fringe-related pop-up bars to drink at, and no more Garden of Unearthly Delights to entertain us, it often feels like Uni students are wandering aimlessly, searching for ways to pass their spare time (or more accurately, ways to put off that next assignment).

Not to mention, it’s getting colder and colder, another grizzly reminder that the summer months of beach parties and day drinking are gone for yet another year. But never fear; little, old Adelaide still has a slew of exciting events and activities to keep us entertained all year round.

First of all, it’s hard not to mention the plethora of international superstars who are gracing South Australia with their presence in the next couple of months. A-Listers like Kanye West, Arctic Monkeys, James Blunt, Ellie Goulding, Justin Timberlake and Katy Perry are but a few of the stars falling from the sky and landing on our shores. While tickets to these events are mostly sold out, if live music is your thing, venues such as Fowlers and The Gov continue to showcase local and international live acts.

Bar manager of Fowlers, Sonya Haymes, urges students to come along and see local, interstate and international bands at the venue.

‘Come along and support the live music scene and see a gig,’ she said. ‘You can always see what we’ve got coming up on our website.’

For Health Nuts and Fitness Freaks, on May 17 and 18, the Adelaide Showgrounds is home to the Adelaide Sports and Fitness Expo. The expo will feature over 100 stalls showcasing gyms, health and nutritional products, weight loss advice, fitness education, and training equipment. The Adelaide Sports and Fitness Expo Organiser, Peter Dichiera, says there will be lots to see and do. ‘Students will have the opportunity to be inspired and be encouraged to change their lives and live a fit and healthy one,’ he said.

If bargain hunting and op-shop browsing are more your style, the Round She Goes Fashion Market is reopening at the German Club on Flinders Street on Saturday the 10th of May. Boasting an array of ‘preloved designer labels and vintage fashion’, the market is a one-stop spot for fashion enthusiasts with a vintage flair.

Market founder, Emma Morris, says the market is perfect for buying Mother’s Day gifts on a budget or if you are looking to find something one-of-a-kind.

‘The market is entirely dedicated to women’s fashion and it’s a mix of vintage, retro and

current fashion,’ she said. ‘We also have some stallholders who make handmade jewellery and accessories.’

Running along with the market theme, our very own UniSA offers UniBazaar which is on selected Tuesdays, rotating at each campus. The next few dates include the 6th of May at Mawson Lakes, the 13th of May at City West, and the 20th of May at City East. The bazaar hosts a wide variety of stalls with unique products such as arts and crafts, second–hand fashion items, and food.

UniSA Events Officer, Caleb Osborne, says the bazaar is a great way for students to get involved by either attending the event or setting up their very own stall. ‘We are always looking for students to get involved, whether they are part of a club or just wanting to get involved individually,’ he said. ‘UniBazaar gives students a great opportunity to showcase their products while making some cash along the way, with many selling products created or crafted while at University.’

For all the movie buffs out there May boasts some of this year’s biggest blockbusters to be released. Films such as The Amazing Spiderman 2, starring Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone, Godzilla, a reboot of the franchise starring Breaking Bad’s Bryan Cranston, and Maleficent, starring Angelina Jolie as the villain from Sleeping Beauty, are all due to be released in the coming weeks.

If you’re thinking, ‘Gee, I do like movies but I also enjoy being outdoors,’ then the UniSA Student Experience Team has just the thing for you!

During May, the Student Experience Team is hosting a month of films to be screened in the courtyard of the brand new Jeffrey Smart Building on Hindley Street. The event will kick off with a launch party on Thursday the 8th of May and will continue every Thursday for the remainder of the month.

But why not search a little further and step out of the CBD to see what else South Australia has to offer? It is often easy to forget the gems in our very own backyard that most South Australians take for granted.

Foodies and wine connoisseurs will find plenty of treats to eat and drink if they venture out to Hahndorf or even the Barossa Valley for the day.

So there you have it. Whether you’re into fashion, fitness, food, or fun, Adelaide has a lot to offer despite the craziness of ‘Mad March’ being left behind us for yet another year.

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I Now Call Adelaide Home Divya Balakumar | Photography by Divya Balakumar and Prerna Ashok

‘Welcome to Adelaide, ladies and gentlemen, and to all Australians and residents of Adelaide, welcome home.’

Falling into the former category, I shrugged, unperturbed. Ten minutes prior, I was looking out the window in anticipation, trying to catch a glimpse of this city I had chosen as my home away from home. Having requested an aisle seat, this was difficult, so I was mildly annoyed.

I tried to hide my nervousness—I did not want to seem like the new kid on the block. But I was sure my expression had given it away. All I saw was barren land, short buildings—oh wait, there’s an IKEA! Hurray! —and a cluster of semitall buildings.

Hearing the landing announcement, I tried to compose myself. This is it, though. This is your next three years, Divya.

Coming from vibrant, bustling and fairly noisy Malaysia, my first impressions of Adelaide, formed during the drive from the airport to the city, were that it was 1. small 2. quiet 3. not busy; and therefore 4. not exciting.

I tried to fight the emotions when the lack of apartment buildings, hawker stalls, and people (really) got to me. This isn’t Penang’s twin city!

This is Penang 20 years ago! I was heartbroken.

Arriving at my accommodation did not help my lack of love for this city. Having chosen something close to campus, I ended up far away from a social life. The hiccups I encountered on that first day will always be a lesson for me to be more thorough when reading emails, and to always ask questions, no matter how trivial. With no electricity for two days, I took up the offer of bunking with my friend in a heartbeat. I needed comfort, and comforting.

On my fourth day in Adelaide, I got lost. I walked around aimlessly—my takeaway lunch in one hand, phone in the other. I called the Adelaide Metro phone line, but upon being asked where I was, I began to cry.

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‘I don’t know, I’m on a bridge, there is a river, I see some train lines, there are cars, I don’t know.’ Obviously, they would not be able to help me. Crying my way to the nearest bus stop with a seat, I proceeded to have my lunch. I did not have a plan.

‘Are you getting on this bus, darlin’?’ yelled out the bus driver who pulled up in front of me.

‘Are you a B10? Are you going to Magill?’

‘Afraid not, sweetheart. You’re at the wrong bus stop. Go two streets over that way,’ he pointed.

‘You’ll get a bus there.’

The kindness in his voice and the concern that took shape in his eyebrows gave me comfort.

But needless to say, my relationship with this city saw a rocky start.

‘Everything comes to us that belongs to us if we create the capacity to receive it,’ said the great Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore.

It happened over many months—neither consciously, nor concertedly. I started wandering around the city, bit by bit, discovering its quirks in little nooks and corners. I discovered a cupcake shop, which, according to me, serves the second best hot chocolate in Adelaide. I discovered a vegetarian burger café with the steepest steps atop a high fashion store. I discovered ‘Delhi Street’, which made me smile and think of my Indian roots. I discovered a beautiful rotunda—and decided that my future husband would propose to me there. I discovered that people were a lot more friendly and willing to give you a smile here.

Accidentally, I fell in love with Adelaide. It has been three years, and I have decided I cannot leave. I may have been born and raised in Penang, but it was in Adelaide that I grew up.

These days, when I hear the landing announcement on the Adelaide Airport tarmac, I smile to myself because despite what my travel documents say, I am home.

Update: The author wishes to gleefully inform readers that she was, in fact, proposed to by the man of her dreams (oh, hold that puke) at the beautiful rotunda.

They will live happily ever after (fingers crossed) in Adelaide.

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I’ve spent a lot of my time waiting around for something to happen to me. Some days I’d spend hours sitting on the edge of my bed just waiting. A spring light, that really ought to be celebrated, would fill and then leave my room before I so much as flinched. When I found myself in one of those indolent moments, egression to the burdens of reality was never had with any ease. I guess I was somewhat worried. Without the submission of my all, I felt the subtle presence of this unnameable thing might be missed. I was scanning for an entity that I knew possessed as much fragility as a single ray of light. But hidden within the guise of its smallness would be this energetic capacity like that of an atomic bomb. I only had to find whatever it was, and my life, without exertion, would change forever. Consequently, my sensitivity became entirely seduced. My eyes turned a strained red looking out for an image that they’d never even seen. My ears began to ring with the whispers of silence as they hunted for a sound that had never been heard before.

I can only try to explain how anxious it made me feel. It was like the defence force general had thrown me into the middle of the Gibson Desert and said ‘don’t move ‘til you hear the hum of the drones, then page us’. I felt responsible. A part of me wanted to get off the bed and do something. A part of me very much wanted to escape the whole goddamn feeling. But I just couldn’t. When I wasn’t waiting I was thinking about waiting. It was like a leech that had dug itself a nice little hole in the back of my neck.

Some days it would pain me to tears, but no matter the force of my intent, I couldn’t shake it off.

I suppose my life then was beyond ordinary.

It had the flatness of Coke that had been left without a lid for days. Everything seemed so predictable. Even my sources of outward distress. Carole, for example. I knew nothing about her except her name and the fact that every Tuesday morning without fail she would figure out a way to piss off Alice and I. It got to the point where I knew exactly what she was going to say and when she was going to say it.

Conversations were repeated like episodes of some B-grade sitcom. I knew all the lines, I even knew the goddamn lighting. It was utter stagnation.

Life had become this horrible thing. This endlessly building crystal lattice. Everything aligned, nothing without an evident reason and I really felt there was no escape. That’s what freaked me out the most—the seemingly naturalness of it all. Like the holes of a lotus flower or the coils of a snail shell. That life had no other way of being. That in the end

everything followed an intricate pattern or adhered to some kind of limit. Even the reckless. Perhaps the glory of my youth was simply to do with the then newness of it all. But as age settled itself in like dust on a shelf, it brought on an unnerving knowingness.

These ideas, they wouldn’t leave me. I’d catch myself staring at strangers on the bus who seemed content. If the opportunity presented itself I would have gladly given them my all for their assumed ignorance. But I couldn’t help but see it in everything. Like the rose seeds Alice brought home from the hardware store one time. She spent the whole afternoon happily planting them. There was nothing odd about it. But I couldn’t sleep at all that night. I lay there thinking about those goddamn seeds and it nearly scared the crap out of me. How predictable it all was. If she did the right thing, if she followed all the labelled instructions, those seeds would grow into roses. There was no doubt about it.

‘And what,’ I asked her one night ‘what if I’m the same?’ She just looked at me blankly and told me to ‘cut back on the coffee’. Just like I thought she would. But really what if I was the same? Maybe some time ago there had existed this wide potential of being but living seemed to inevitably narrow it. As if it was this glorious beam of light, endlessly drawing itself in on me till I was pinned to one immovable place. With a sickening disturb I soon realised that only certain gestures were illuminated by its sphere.

Heroism’s act required more room. But reality could only see me in one way. The whole thing was essentially inescapable—a self-built cell without a key.

So I waited; in the tea room at work, in the car during the middle of rush hour, by the phone on weekends, I desperately waited for something to happen to me. But nothing ever did. The legion of monotony had me feeling like I was perpetually stuck in a three act stage play titled ‘It’s too late for some’. It nearly drove me crazy and I started to resent the bait of my happiness just as much as the elicitor of my anger. I could have left, but what would Alice do? So every day I continued painfully being me.

Til one day it hit me and a batty calmness has been with me ever since. Somewhere out there, ‘Anything is possible’ was being performed just as ceaselessly.

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Murder Confession #01 Dear the eager and prosperous students who take their first steps on university soil, Your gleaming eyes and visible sense of wonder continues to intrigue me as I watch you drift around in search for a comfort zone. It was only this time last year when I first entered the university scene in the same fashion. My backpack was strapped firmly to support the burden of new textbooks; my hands sat passively in my pockets and only revealed themselves to readjust my glasses or hold a coffee.

Usual glances from passing young women gave me slight confidence in my stride as I proceeded from class to class.

It was my third lesson of the day that I met her. I noticed her as I walked in. She had simple hair and simple eyes. She impatiently fiddled with her pen and appeared to have arrived early. She readjusted her posture as the room filled and people began to sit at her table. She was adorable and she dressed humbly. She asked intelligent questions in class and sat quietly when other people spoke. She appeared the quintessential student. How annoying.

Words and illustration by Jonathan Richards

I immediately hated how I couldn’t remove my interest of her. She was so basic yet captivating. There was something about her simplicity that irked me and drew me simultaneously and I often found myself ogling her. She caught my eye on occasions but instead of withdrawing in disgust, she politely smiled and turned away, which only enflamed my desire for her.

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It was when the tutor allocated people into groups for the first assignment that my emotions escalated. She sat next to me so close that she almost brushed against my arm. I loathed her distracting beauty and yet I wanted it. I refused her my spare pen when she was without one. I disagreed with her rational arguments and made an effort to publicly prove her wrong. In the time frame it took her to go to the bathroom and back, I managed to rummage though her bag and eat her entire lunch. I was so full I later threw mine away.

Yet, she still warmed to me and involved me in discussions, asking me for advice as well as offering me advice of her own. She handed me her email address on a piece of paper so I could contact her. At one stage she laughed at one of my jokes and placed her hand upon my arm. It was then I lost all pure thoughts and I knew something had to be done about this wretched godsend.

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It was not difficult to get us alone together. A simple email explaining the details of a mandatory group meeting was all that was required. The brutality that followed took her very much by surprise. I began by charming her into a false sense of security so all her guards were down. I brought chips to share and started conversations that were off topic from the assignment. She thought it was cute when I pushed my glasses back firmly on the bridge of my nose and she easily giggled at my witty and not so witty comments. After she had her last chip, her third after she claimed she would only have one more, I suggested we go for a walk and she agreed.

We only walked a short distance before I had my hands tightly wrapped around her throat. It was her whistling, a calming tune, and the first I had ever heard; it struck a nerve I cannot explain and my patience ran thin. Her eyes shot wide in panic and I could see the millions of questions overloading her mind and clogging her intuition. Her arms flapped about as though it received muffled signals from her brain. She could only stare at me with the dark holes of her eyes that silently screamed the question ‘Why?’ In only two weeks the class had come to the conclusion that she had dropped out of the course. The tutor was surprised, as he thought of how she participated in class, but week-by-week with student attendances trickling down it became more likely. One student thought she left university completely as she was nowhere to be seen. But I could see her, sitting across the room from me, resting on her hand with her angel wings drooping across her shoulders. She stared at me, disturbed but calm, as though patiently waiting for me to answer all her questions.

So, I write to you my confession as well as a welcome to university. Take of it what you will. Society will blame me for my callous actions and some will hold society responsible. I can’t help but place some blame on the mandatory group work; was that not to occur, she would have never met her demise.

Yours Sincerely Jonathan Richards

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Lust Angela Skujins

I stand proudly awaiting my parents’ reply. My mother’s mouth forms a perfectly round hole, while she emits a small, shrill scream. Across the room I attempt to gauge a reaction from my father. SMASH. Grimly smiling, I experience the full force of my father’s refrigerator-like physique as he leaps off his lounge chair, colliding into me. Against his pure Japanese ex-army muscle, my head comes crashing down against the tatami floor. From here, I dimly see the outline of my parents standing over me, shouting as I feel specks of spit fleck upon my face. I see their mouths moving, contorting and stretching into large geometric shapes. I giggle like a schoolboy.

Momentarily deaf and visually impaired, I lay spread-eagled on the ground. From down below, I reflect on the previous moments, as if unfolding a finalised and perfectly crafted origami crane. That certainty wasn’t the reaction I was expecting from my parents after announcing that finally, after 35 years of single Japanese bachelorhood, I’d be getting married.

Translating to ‘life’, my beautiful wife-to-be is Mei Isaka. Although small compared to the average female stature, she bubbles with a compacted enthusiasm for life that a normal sized Japanese woman couldn’t accommodate.

Being witty and smart, Mei’s razor fast IQ attracts me like hungry bees to hydrangeas. In front of others I show off my intellectual trophy, throwing up a limp arm and asking nonchalantly, ‘Mei, where should we get dinner tonight?

Everyone is feeling sushi.’ Her sweet melodic voice replies instantaneously. ‘Handsome fiancé Itaki, there are many suitable restaurants in your area. Din Tai Fung is 250 metres, SushiYa is 400 metres and Soba-ya is 500 metres.

However, the most ideal restaurant in your price range is the local Hawker Centre, being 600 metres, but only 500 to 1500 yen.’ Hiding my

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embarrassment from her interjection about my ‘economic position’, I loudly laugh and attempt to maintain eye contact with my friends. I remind myself to have a special relationship talk with Mei later about discussed ‘appropriate’ and ‘inappropriate’ sharing of intimate relationship details.

I call her ‘my little rose blossom’ because she’s so cute I can put her in my pocket—and also because she can actually fit in my pocket. She’s my virtual girlfriend. Mei Isaka is the main star of one of Nintendo’s online relationship programs called Love Plus.

Belonging to a portable Nintendo means that Mei goes everywhere with me but not because she has to but because I know she wants to. What Mei and I have is special, and as future husband and wife, my parents need to understand what we have is more than lust.

It’s love.

I’m violently shaken awake. I stare into my father’s wide, white eyes, silhouetted by a brown, moist scalp. I follow the trickling beads of perspiration down his shirt and notice nasty, shadowed sweat stains. My mother, not in any better physical condition, lays on the sofa, eyes closed, refusing to speak. The only noise breaking the painful silence is my father’s deep hollowed breathing paired with racing eyes.

As he opens his mouth I physically prepare myself: loins girded, eyes squinted and back tightened. I’m surprised, however, as he only softly whispers, ‘Itaki. We love you…But what have you gotten yourself into?’ This statement accompanied by a shaken head I grudgingly accept as my father’s way of saying ‘congratulations’.

I feel something shift in the weight of my pocket.

This, paired with the clamour of a faint crack,

causes me to freeze. Eyes fraught with terror, I scream, ‘MEI!’ I push my father off and tear through my clothes, searching for the security of cool plastic.

I clasp something cold.

After many moments of stillness, I look over my designer Aya Yeuto glasses to examine my possibly murdered wife’s remains. ‘Good evening, handsome fiancé Itaki,’ the melodic voice rings clear whilst relief spreads through me. The GHD screen of the Nintendo gleams with Mei’s avatar. I reassuringly laugh, wasn’t that silly? She’s perfect.

My father looks at me as if he’s spotted a rat.

As he walks away I hear him murmur under his breath, something about manliness and honour.

What my foolish father doesn’t know is that Mei was in my pocket and could have been seriously injured by my collapse. As a veteran from World War II, he should appreciate the value of life.

From across the room my mother sits up, as if a rod has shot through her spine. For the first time since my announcement, she attempts to speak whilst I notice tears slide down her wrinkled skin. After opening and closing her mouth several times, her eyes beg with a soft sorrow and she takes exit, leaving through the sliding door.

My father and I remain the only ones in the room. His large frame casts shadows through the old Kominka styled house as he saunters towards the wall. He clasps at the black and white wedding photo of him and my mother.

Pictured standing beside him, she’s donned in a white Kimono made of the finest Japanese silks whilst adorned in small, delicate pearls.

Alongside his beauty, he stands with a chest puffed with the pride of ten thousand Japanese soldiers. I look down at my body in comparison

and notice my small, flat upper body. What my father doesn’t know is that I will soon also have a wife who will engulf my chest with pride.

Soon I too will swell with the strength of our surrounding Pacific Ocean.

‘I will have a love that you will be proud of,’ I say to him. He looks back at me with soft eyes and shaking hands. I hear the soft beep of Mei announcing she needs recharging, which evidently was the departing cue my father was waiting for. He exits the room with his large head in the palms of his hands. Echoed through the house I hear the shaking sobs of my father and my mother, ricocheting off the thin walls and shojis.

From the films I’ve watched and the tales I’ve heard, after the son tells his family of his great marital news, they greet him with an expression of warmth; warm hugs, shared laughter or hot tears. I received a tackle, silence subsequently followed by sobs, eventually met with cold tears.

As I cross my legs and open my Nintendo, I catch my reflection in the digital interface.

Expensive designer glasses hide most of my face, swallowing my features behind its great bars. Small oval eyes sit in the middle of my egg shaped head, floating in a sea of white skin.

I pinch my hair, which hugs the outline of my profile as it slowly begins to retire and recede.

My reflection disappears as I see the soft glow of pink erupt from my Nintendo screen. Tension also slips from my face as I reassuringly hear ‘Good evening, handsome fiancé Itaki.’

I know I’m a man.

I know I’m my Nintendo’s fiancé.

Most importantly, I say to myself, I know what Mei and I share is love.

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(ˈɛnvÉŞ) noun 1. a feeling of grudging or somewhat admiring discontent aroused by the possessions, achievements, or qualities of another 2. the desire to have for oneself something possessed by another; covetousness 3. an object of envy

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envy

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S T U D

By Benjamin James

I envy every first year student. Fresh from high school, about eighteen and half learned.

Untouched and healthy, eager to get on with lives of unrivalled possibility, bursting with potential. Stable are their thought patterns, smart enough to ignore tendencies to jump start higher earning than learning, turning down the boss’s offer for more hours.

Committing to empty bank accounts, spending money saved over years, in days. First year students have ignored the ridiculous things other young people normally do. They haven’t pointlessly travelled, yet. They aren’t interested in sleazy backpacking, drunken bull-runs or Amsterdam coffee shops, choosing instead to wait restaurant tables until midnight and then study until dawn, aware that good things come to those who wait. I envy the blank slate, shedding identities that pigeonholed personality in high schools, forced to rethink ideologies from new information; opportunities discovered through precise definitions of artistry, farfetched from simple English taught via Doll’s Houses and Lonely Bones in high school classes, half-occupied by Year Twelve tradesman, who didn’t want or need to be there. Everything is different now.

University is the competitive alternative.

Classes are full at the beginning of each year, overflowing with egocentric students determined to showcase uniqueness to whomever looks up. New friends to share assignments with, unaware they will one day compete for the same job. An endless open calendar, with classes spaced neatly across the week. Social life-driven socialisation, quick adaptations to all-weekend pub crawls, held weekly. Gone is uniformed attendance; students are in class by choice, fuelled by their own conscience. Half don’t know what they are striving to achieve, overwhelmed by how quickly the process started, and others are chipping towards goals established years ago, demanding results early. A lust for life fuelled by punk rock creativity, knowing that this year will hopefully kickstart the career dreamed about, terrified of the process but willing to take it on. Oh, how I envy new students.

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Demands placed by parents were met at the end of last year or the year before.

The shackles are off, replaced by personal expectations. Future fillers of jobs that science hasn’t yet created, careers made way by technology still being tinkered with in other universities, by students already a couple of years in the game. The ‘what I want to be when I grow up’ ethos is finetuned in weeks, or stretched out for years. Industries unravel, the metaphysical aspects to all forms of knowledge is researched over horrible Sunday homework binges, trying to meet deadlines.

First year students jump started the next wave of somebodies. Leaders, revolutionaries, even politicians. New students will be the first to protest legislation that hasn’t been thought up yet. Contributors to the changes in climates, changes scientists are only just discovering. New students will be the first to speak out against future laws that will complicate the perception of our Australia; classrooms are currently full of young adults’ easily disgruntled, eventual contributors to an eventual way of life. Graduation is invisible, three or four years into the future. New artists will break newer ground in the meanwhile; new artists who currently skip homework, sleep in late and show up to class without textbooks or pens. New artists who argue about unfair grades or silly referencing systems. Artists that will do great things, and make plenty of money. Artists who, between now and greatness, we will all envy for a moment.

Then there are the artists who don’t make it.

The smartarse who couldn’t keep his hand down the first week, trying to answer every question twice, desperate for approval. The students who showed up with their entire lives written down on paper, aware of everything they had to offer except the weight of the workload required. The students who boast loudly of greatness, but cannot get started on that first rubbish assignment. By the time this is published, those students have already vanished from classrooms. Career paths are challenged by due dates; only last-minute magicians stand a chance.

I envy new students because I am not one.

I am in the last semester of my University adventure, three and a half years since it started. My youthful lust for creativity has been beaten into a square I now have to push through circular gaps in a tight job market.

More terrified now than the first day, aware that opportunities have slimmed dramatically; I am once again a small fish, about to move to my biggest pond yet. I wrote over a million words, and backspaced half of them.

Somehow, I made all but a few due dates, losing many friends in the process. I have bludgeoned lecturers with excuses and lost a mountain of USBs. Every computer froze at the worst moment, and I have seen more accidental sunrises than I have had solid nights of sleep. I have been stumped many times, crossing paths with idiot decision, aroused by lecturers who couldn’t explain assignments clear enough, accidently confusing my own brilliance with tripe. I remember days in class where only my body showed up, my spirit asleep on the couch watching all the television I forewent trying to be a new artist. I have spent fifteen thousand hours in class, as much again at home, often squeezed into half-days.

I have sacrificed girlfriends to student finance, and burnt out three toasted sandwich presses.

I spent rent on cigarettes and text books, hiding from landlords in unlit houses. I would change plenty, and this is why I envy new students, but I wouldn’t start again. My lust for life is bruised, but still beats. Now I have learnt how to write, I stand a better chance at writing about all I have learned. My creative drive is just plentiful enough to fuel the inevitable, whatever is due to occur by the end of this year. I envy new students because they can still choose their shape, and carve it to fit exactly, but I wouldn’t trade places and am happy with the shape I accidently created, assured it will fit somewhere.

Viva la University. Enjoy the ride.

E N V Y

E N T

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My Last Duchess by Robert Browning

Faded Blush Renée Biele

‘Tonight, I need it done tonight.’

The fire in the hearth burned soft, the embers within emitting barely a glow. The Duke of Ferrara’s face was well hidden in shadow. Liquor stained his breath and his hands shook with a silent anger.

‘She goes too far. That painter told me again how beautiful she is. How fortunate I am to have such a prize. She makes a mockery before my face.’ His voice is cold; dead.

He requires no reply so I slink back to the door.

‘Do it gently.’

‘Always,’ was my answer.

‘I don’t want her body ruined.’

Adorned with black leather gloves and a cape that covered me from darkness, I went out into the early twilight. The Duchess was in the gardens. Lucrezia de’ Medici. The Duke’s blossoming bride was at the ripe age of fourteen. The trees around her were casting the last of their shadows, reaching for her.

She was clothed in a blue dress, a collar strangling her pretty neck. She was picking cherries from the orchid, smiling at the gardener. One look from me behind the hedge and the man left abruptly.

Her smile melted into confusion, edged with fear as I emerged.

‘Good evening sir,’ she said, curtseying. ‘Does my husband require me?’

I never answer them. I need to stay focussed and concentrate.

She took too long to run. It was effortless to dodge the basket of cherries thrown between us.

She was so young. How could she know the fate her smile would bring?

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I caught her frail, tiny self in my arms and with one crack she was on the ground. The Duchess’s head was contorted upon her torso.

I stared at her for a long time. Her lovely, flushed cheeks grew paler as it got darker.

All that remained was a cold grey figure lying in the grass.

I brought her limp form before the Duke.

He had a serving maid in his bed, who screamed as I placed the Duchess on the ground. The screeching girl was forgotten as the naked Duke came to stand over the body. The portrait of the Duchess, painted by the late Frà Pandolf, hung above the Duke’s bed. The painter’s hand I had kept as a trophy. He’d had such amusing hands.

Pandolf had captured the Duchess within the painting as a bright maiden, full of life.

The Duke started laughing. A wicked and cruel laugh I had not heard before. He started undressing her, ripping her clothes until her corpse was as naked as he.

I felt so much shame and was glad he could not see my face. There was no dignity left in the pale figure of the Duchess. The Duke stroked her pale cheek.

He didn’t know what was to see that blushed cheek fade to a sickly white. The blush that betrayed her. The Duchess was so small.

The maid was still screaming and soon ran from the room. The Duke looked after her and gave me a nod.

Only a nod. Never thinking twice about the life soon to be snuffed out. His gaze was only on the dead girl.

I turn my back and begin to wander the halls swallowed in nightfall, following her sobs.

It is my profession. I should not feel like this.

Illustration by Lisa J Smith

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Beyond Lust and Envy Anne Jackson

lusting over shadows on a page false images parading on a glossy stage she starved, consumed by the craving to be fashionably thin to gain what was promised to those who fit in sustained by envy’s tainted taste she had chased a belief in beauty misplaced insubstantial forms that beckoned, smiling, from empty spaces close proximity revealed their plastic faces caught by her own delusions ravaged by gusts of fashionable illusions she was tossed, discarded, in a world distorted by starvation trapped in a wasteland of her minds creation she fled, through trees stunted, twisting as they died their roots shrivelled undernourished and dried in earth that cracked, craving to ease its lust as the thirsty soil crumbled to dust she ran blind, sightless in the haze of the dying day tripping on creatures that starved where they lay their flesh eroding, revealing their bones envy tied round their necks like stones they couldn’t rise from the weight insidiously sealing their fate in isolation they starved faces gaunt and carved stomachs caved in limbs so thin disillusioned, she fell amongst the remains steps echoing in the dry silence of the plains like an unborn babe, she curled defenceless, against the fallacies of the world lust for an ideal, an illusion of life sliced her flesh to the bone like a knife voiceless, screaming in silence she protested the depths of social violence the darkness wrapped around like a shroud of velvet tightly bound soft layers blinded her eyes stifled the sour scent of her sighs her knees ground sharp against her brow piercing the illusions that dreams endow exposing the fear that lay hidden within concealed beneath her parchment skin spilling out over the earth it fed a seed awaiting rebirth in the light of the morning dew a single blood red blossom grew with the whisper of a rattling breath she unfurled, arose, walked away from death

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‘Cathead’ Illustration by Anna Cherkasova www.annatelman.com | www.facebook.com/anna.cherkasova

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The Bachelor: Will You Accept This Rose?

Jacinta Mazzarolo

Every episode ends the same way. With a sheepish grin, an exaggeratedly deep breath and a shaky extended hand. ‘Will you accept this rose?’ I roll my eyes at the screen. By the end of the 11-week extravaganza the phrase has been uttered nearly 100 times and it makes my skin crawl. I promise to never tune in again. Yet here I am, like clockwork, five months later, in front of my computer and halfway through a packet of chocolate covered strawberries. I don’t know how I got here and more importantly, I don’t know how to get berry stains out of my t-shirt.

I should probably just get this out of the way now… Hi, I’m Jacinta and I’m a reality television addict. I have a particular problem with a certain dating show that’s trashy, fake and mind-numbingly stupid in all the right ways.

It’s a shameful secret I’m not proud of, but one I’ve admittedly indulged for years. All I can say is that it’s engrossing watching people think they are falling in love—it plays into the natural curiosity we have as humans.

The Bachelor and Bachelorette franchises have had their fair share of criticism, but no one can deny it’s an absolute phenomena. Twelve years later, hundreds of contestants, 30+ couples and thousands of hours of clichés, people are still watching. While the show has produced some successful relationships and genuine families, the hit rate is disparagingly low for even the most hopeless of romantics. Yet twice a year, millions still tune in to see couple after couple— more often than not—confuse lust with love.

Despite becoming increasingly cynical about the series over the past couple of seasons, it took not being able to sit through an entire episode of the Australian series to really look into what makes the American version so addictive. It turns out the mechanics of the show are equally fascinating and horrifying.

Much of the criticism that came out of the Australian series stemmed from feminist issues of the process and a banal lead. However, the same can’t be said about America as it churns out both the Bachelor and Bachelorette each year and still delivers ratings. The hook lies

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in the editing and manipulating of the show.

Thirteen countries have adapted the show, but no one even comes close to the 28-season run success of the US. The Americans have a winning formula and they know it. It’s not exactly ethical though.

At the helm of the franchise is Mike Fleiss, who has admitted he is most interested in making good television. This is often at the cost of participants’ wellbeing and reputation. Fleiss has also confessed that the purpose of the show is to tell a story and ‘develop characters that the audience is going to root for and root against’, not so much love. This is where questionable editing and manipulating comes into play. ‘That was the initial thought, that we had to have real love and a marriage, but now we know that’s not necessarily true, it’s really based on whether [audiences] like the guy and hate the girls,’ he explained.

One of the many times the show’s authenticity has come under fire was when an incriminating tape of a Bachelor producer and season 16 winner, Courtney Robinson backstage at a live episode emerged. A camera and microphone that were left on stage during an ad break detailed a conversation between the two that involved her true feelings about the other women and the need to fake sincerity and certain emotions for the cameras. The Bachelor and Bachelorette producers have a long history of coercing contestants into certain emotions and acts, but none were as damaging as they were to Jason Mesnick.

I know, I know, the audacity Chris Harrison has to proclaim every time something mildly amusing happens that ‘this is the most controversial episode/bachelor we’ve ever seen!’ is ridiculous and quite frankly, a little patronising. But, in my opinion, these statements truly belong to Jason and the After The Final Rose episode of his season. While he sat on the couch across from Harrison, it quickly became clear the joy and happiness Jason and his bride-to-be Melissa conveyed in the finale had fizzled in the real world. Jason then proceeded to tell Melissa that it was because he

had feelings for runner-up Molly Malaney and later asked her for a second chance.

Jason and Molly are now a happily married family and can laugh about the situation. But it’s clear from their open and honest podcasts it was not an easy ride. Jason even admitted that he did not want to propose to Melissa, but producers convinced him he was in love with her and it was the right decision. He now greatly regrets giving in to the pressure and how it all panned out on live TV. Melissa shared the same sentiments as Jason.

‘It was just a case of getting completely wrapped up in a situation that was kind of humiliating when you look back,’ she said. ‘This is going to sound terrible but I wasn’t attracted to Jason. But put in the circumstances that we were, I thought he was the greatest thing to drop from heaven.’

These feelings are very common among former participants. This is because contestants are cooped up in a house or hotel for the duration of filming. They are only let out individually with handlers and for dates with the lead (which in reality do not even add up to many hours together). No contact with friends, family, phones or media. The situation is ridiculous and emotionally manipulative enough to make anyone think they are falling in love. When the show finishes and the bubble pops, many

contestants have commented, that is when the real relationship starts. Melissa even said on life straight after the show, ‘If you were to ask me a handful of questions about him, I couldn’t answer them, I know very little about [Jason], and you’re sitting there evaluating your emotions and you’re going “Something’s wrong here”.’

Now all of this manipulating, falsifying of emotions and editing would not be as bad if the show didn’t claim to be the hallmark of true and pure romance. Millions of people watch week after week believing in the fairy tale. However, as we know, behind the scenes it is far from that. At the end of the day, it’s a television show, but not one the word ‘reality’ should ever be associated with.

There is no way I can ever watch the show in the same way again, but the curiosity and compulsion still exists. It’s entertainment and each contestant signs up willingly. So, is it hopelessly romantic, naivety or just plain stupidity people still watch in droves? I mean, yes, the ratio is not a great one but there are still five couples together. Ashley and J.P. from Season Seven of the Bachelorette just announced they are expecting. So, is this multimillion dollar franchise worth it? I don’t know, but either way, I know where I’m going to be in five months.

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What in the world is going on?

A summary of recent events around the globe

Tragic suicide of fashion designer L’Wren Scott Fashion designer L’Wren Scott was found in her exclusive NYC apartment. Her long-term partner Mick Jagger, Rolling Stones front man, inherited her entire estate which is estimated to be worth around $9 million.

Gun Violence Darkens Political Unrest in Venezuela Seven of the 20 people killed in the street protests that have shaken Venezuela since the second week of February were shot in the head, a testimony to the role being played by firearms in the political struggle in this oil-rich country.

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NATO says its websites hit by cyber attacks Several NATO websites have been hit by cyber attacks, but they have had no impact on the military alliance’s operations.

Crimean Crisis Moscow recently sent hundreds of its troops to Ukraine’s Crimea region after the Russian parliament authorised President Vladimir Putin earlier this month to use armed forces ‘to protect Russia’s interests’ in that region, where half the residents speak Russian.

China to set up five private banks on trial basis China will set up five private banks on a trial basis before the practice is extended to more places.

Disappearance of Malaysian Airlines flight MH 370 Flight MH370 from Malaysia to Beijing mysteriously disappears.

Remains have not yet been found of the missing plane, but search results indicate that the plane could be in the Indian Ocean off the coast of West Australia.

SA Labor victory Bouteflika supporters, opponents rally in Algeria Algiers (AFP) - Supporters and opponents of Algerian President Abdelaziz Bouteflika’s decision to seek a fourth term in April elections staged rival demonstrations in the capital Algiers on Saturday, 15 March 2014.

Despite the Liberal Party winning 44.8 percent of primary votes and Labor 35.8, the Labor party won the 2014 election for the fourth consecutive term.

New Zealand to put ‘colonial’ flag to referendum New Zealanders will soon get to vote on whether to change their national flag, which many view as a relic from a colonial past.

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52 28 Velo-city Global Adelaide 2014

27 Velo-city Global Adelaide 2014

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UniBazaar at City East

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BORDERLINES: a solo exhibition by Anna Cherkasova at the Howling Owl

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Wednesday

Adelaide Sports and Fitness Expo Clare Valley Gourmet Weekend

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13 UniBazaar at City West

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Mother’s Day

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6 UniBazaar at Mawson Lakes

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Tuesday

Tasting Australia

Monday

Sunday

May 2014

Student Experience movie night - Jeffery Smart Building, Hindley St Velo-city Global Adelaide 2014

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Student Experience movie night - Jeffery Smart Building, Hindley St

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Student Experience movie night - Jeffery Smart Building, Hindley St

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Student Experience movie night - Jeffery Smart Building, Hindley St

Velo-city Global Adelaide 2014

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Clare Valley Gourmet Weekend

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9

Tasting Australia

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1 Tasting Australia

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Adelaide Sports and Fitness Expo Clare Valley Gourmet Weekend

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Arctic Monkeys concert

Round She Goes Fashion Market

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Tasting Australia

Saturday

Friday

Thursday

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Monday

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9

Bank SA Sea and Vines Festival

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Sunday

1

8

Bank SA Sea and Vines Festival

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June 2014

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Free Yoga Classes in Rundle Mall

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Tuesday

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Feast! Fine Foods - Sausage making class

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Thursday

Wednesday

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Adelaide Cabaret Festival (6 June - 21 June) Jungle at Central Markets

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Friday

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Mondo Rock Live in Concert

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Bank SA Sea and Vines Festival

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Saturday

The Perils of Procrastination Melina Scarfo

Do you find yourself scrolling through mind numbing posts on Facebook, watching hours of Extreme Cheapskates on YouTube and reorganising your underwear drawer in the hope that your essay will magically complete itself? If yes, then you are a procrastinator.

Every year begins the same. We make empty promises to not leave assignments until two in the morning which results in staring at an empty Word document until our eyes burn. I am probably not the best person to be giving advice on this topic considering I took a quiz on procrastination when I was meant to be writing this. Obviously the only true expert worth listening to is Rory from Gilmore Girls. That being said, here are some tips on how to get shit done.

distractions. Sit at a desk, not on your bed, and use pen and paper if possible. Listen to instrumental or ambient music. You may even have to consider the unthinkable: turning off the internet!

Break a large task into smaller ones ‘I work better under pressure, so I don’t need to do it right now.’ How many times have you said that and later found yourself trying to frantically finish an assignment? Sometimes large tasks can be overwhelming so break them down into small, manageable tasks. Work on them a little each day instead of trying to complete the assignment in one sitting.

Lists are your best friend

Just do it

There is nothing like a good list to motivate you.

Grab a pen and a piece of paper and write down what you want to achieve today. Prioritise your tasks and make sure they are things which need to be completed. Your list should not include re-watching the first season of One Tree Hill or organising your books/CDs/DVDs in alphabetical order. Create specific tasks with deadlines.

In high school my maths teacher would share her words of wisdom with the class each day.

‘Just do it!’ she’d bellow as she flipped furiously through the math text book. Yes, she may have stolen that from Nike but it’s true. Sometimes you just have to suck it up and get it over with. The dread of the task can often be more overwhelming than the task itself.

Do it first thing in the morning

Now that you know how to combat procrastination, you can look forward to a stress free year. But you’re probably not going to do any of this, are you?

Wake up early and tackle that assignment. If you need copious amounts of coffee, then so be it. Your energy levels and concentration will be at their highest in the morning. So complete the most dreaded task first so you can concentrate on other things. However, everyone is different and if you prefer the silence of night time then that is okay too. Study when it suits you.

Avoid distractions This is easier said than done. When you’re trying to write a 2000 word essay, suddenly beat boxing goats on YouTube become the most interesting thing in the world. Try moving yourself somewhere where you have limited

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Georgina Hore

Linda Walker was having a serious problem with her pumpkins.

No matter how hard she tried, her veggies just didn’t grow; they simply were not being pollinated. Our buzzy winged friend the bee, it seemed, was not visiting her city garden.

Painstakingly, she took up the task of using a paintbrush to manually pollinate her crops.

That was in addition to making the decision to complete a beekeeping course to find out if a hive would help her veggie dilemma.

It was here that she met fellow urban beekeeper, Sanda Ullrich, and it didn’t take long before the pair hit it off. They bonded over a mutual love of bees and immediately their minds were buzzing with an exciting and very sweet idea.

Sandra and Linda, the Queen Bees, created CBD Bees, a new initiative that encourages the conservation of bees by seeking local businesses sponsorship of a hive. They are on a crusade, one that will see bees return to the heart of Adelaide through placing beehives on city rooftops and gardens.

‘Obviously we don’t live in the country but Adelaide has a lot of gardens and the green belt around the city is prime for our bees,’ Ms Walker said. ‘We felt like the rooftops and city, that are not being utilised, would be perfect for hives.’

And this is not a new concept.

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Rooftop hives are common in Melbourne, New York, San Francisco, London and Paris, with Adelaide the newest addition.

The program aims to raise awareness of the vital role that bees play in our ecosystem and food security, as well as informing people of the issues the common bee is facing.

Eighty percent of the food we eat relies on pollination and globally we no longer have enough bees to pollinate our crops.

Toxic pollutants, the loss of habitat, lack of biodiversity and diseases, such as the Varroa Mite, sees the health of our honey bee and native bee population diminishing dramatically.

The bee’s future is under threat.

‘With the ever growing collapse of bees in both the US and Europe, we realised it was only a matter of time before these diseases hit our shores,’ Ms Walker said.

‘We think we’re isolated here in Australia because we’re an island but Varroa Mite has hit New Zealand, it’s going to hit our shores, it’s just a matter of time, and once it does it’s going to wipe out 50 to 60% of our bee population—it’s going to be devastating.’

‘Bees are so very important to us as a human race; Einstein even said that “if the bee disappeared off the face of the earth, man would only have four years left to live”—we’ve got to look after bees,’ Ms Ullrich added.

Green Roofing Professor and bee enthusiast Graeme Hopkins of the University of South Australia has conducted extensive research into bees and green roof programs around the world.

The placement of an experimental garden on top of ANZ House in Adelaide city centre was his initiative and although his aim was to monitor energy efficiency and temperature, he observed that bees were congregating on this roof to collect pollen. This led to further research, this time with a specific focus on bees and their activities.

Graeme agrees that something must be done to save our bee population and in turn, biodiversity.

‘If you plant the right plants to encourage the bees, you bring the bees in. The bees are here in the city but we need to build the numbers up and that’s why the CBD Bees program is so important,’ Mr Hopkins said.

‘Bees are really important for agriculture. If you don’t have the pollination then you don’t have the production and a lot of people don’t realise that.’

The CBD Bees program offers businesses the opportunity to sponsor a hive for their city rooftop, garden or at other identified external sites. Anyone can take part and host a hive— from schools to community gardens, restaurants or city firms.

registration, insurance, disease monitoring and honey extraction.

Karah Hogarth is the owner of Pickle in the Middle, a business in the ‘hive of Adelaide’, the Central Market.

Her business is a sponsor of a CBD Bee Hive and she is keen to put a hive on her new store which is opening soon on Currie Street.

‘I think it helps raise awareness about the important role bees play in not only the food chain but also the ecological system and the fact that they are under threat from a number of factors,’ Ms Hogarth said.

‘Customers are really interested about the program and it helps promote a local and ecological business.

‘It would love to see more businesses in the CBD doing it because then you will get honey with different characteristics based on what area the bees are pollinating.’

Businesses can also expect a sweet treat, receiving 20% of the honey produced in addition to the exposure the program offers.

‘It’s like a thank you from the bees!’ Ms Walker said with a giggle.

CBD Bees are about to colonise our city centre and return a buzz to Adelaide.

Sponsorship includes a one-off fee and an annual maintenance fee of $100. This includes

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About AIESEC AIESEC is a not-for-profit student-run organisation and is currently running in 124 countries. We provide a platform for experiential leadership development through our exchange programs.

AIESEC was first founded in 1948 after the Second World War. Identifying that the fundamental issue that caused the war was the lack of understanding of other cultures, AIESEC was created to promote cultural awareness and understanding to ensure the continuity of peace and, at the same time, the fulfilment of humankind’s potential.

Currently there are over 100 000 members who run the organisation around the world. Each individual member works to continually improve themselves through practicing communication, networking, and leadership skills within the organisation as well as in in their surrounding communities.

AIESEC Australia will this year be celebrating its 50th anniversary, and in line with this will be the yearly national conference which will be held in Sydney.

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AIESEC Member Testimonial:

AIESEC Exchange Participant (EP) Testimonial:

Neesha Abao Director of AIESEC SA International Relations (Adelaide City Division)

Jolene Cho, AIESEC Australia Barka Language School, Hungary

‘I first heard about AIESEC when I went to a Global Experience Orientation Day at UniSA. The organisation immediately drew my attention because I was so amazed by the speakers and the amount of conviction and confidence they had when they were promoting AIESEC. At such young age, I thought that they were born leaders.

After their presentation, I had the opportunity to talk to one of their executive members and know the organisation in more detail. I found it very interesting, however, personally, I was not yet prepared to commit to any extra-curricular activities and just focus on my studies.

Months have passed and I met another member of AIESEC. We got closer and she was able to encourage me in joining the organisation. From then on, I have never once regret my decision.

I started as a member in the Finance Division.

While in Finance, I had the opportunity to make budgets and financial reports, which we submitted to our national office in Sydney. It was something I have deeply gained experience from outside of my academics and it helped me a lot to better understand my courses.

‘My project really opened my eyes to the issues present in Hungary. I don’t know a lot of Hungarians in Melbourne nor do I do much about the current situation in Hungary. Getting to talk to the locals and find out more about their lives allowed me to discover the hidden issues of Hungary. This project allowed me to live the life of an average Hungarian. This was an aspect of my project (and of the exchange) that I particularly enjoyed. Rather than viewing Hungary from a typical tourist point of view, I had the opportunity to live and work and immerse myself in the culture.’

Edward Wong, AIESEC Australia AIESEC Zhuhai, Mainland of China ‘I chose a project that involved education and awareness of environment protection. From this exchange I have placed myself out of my comfort zone and I have gained valuable skills of perseverance and positivism. The most valuable thing I have gained is friendship with the other EPs. We went through the highs and lows together, and it has made us much closer. To this day, we still maintain in contact, hoping that we can meet again in future.’

Currently, I am already one year in AIESEC and have been promoted as the International Relations Director in Adelaide. Having a position in the executive team has helped me to grow even further as an individual due to my obligations. I have to submit plans for my department as well as make various executive decisions.

I am still continually learning new things everyday in the organisation. If not for AIESEC, I wouldn’t be the person that I am now- a much stronger and more passionate individual.’

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Review | The Grand Budapest Hotel Prerna Ashok Wes Anderson has created a classic comedy drama with The Grand Budapest Hotel—this film has it all: pastel hued backdrops, spectacular European scenery, politics, a uniquely witty script and, of course, a brilliant cast.

Ralph Fiennes plays the effortlessly charming M. Gustave H and newcomer Tony Revolori is his earnest protégé, Zero Moustafa. Their camaraderie and loyalty to each other is compelling to watch as the story unfolds.

Peripheral characters played by the outstanding Adrien Brody, Willem Dafoe, Tilda Swinton, Jeff Goldblum and Saoirse Ronan are equally mesmerising in their wholehearted performances.

The story is narrated by an elderly M. Moustafa, owner of The Grand Budapest Hotel to his audience, an Author, played by Jude Law. He divides his story into five parts—in Part 1 he introduces M. Gustave H, the legendary concierge who provides second to none service to all hotel guests; some guests spend several seasons at the hotel simply for him.

In Part 2, Madame D, the Hotel’s most loyal guest and a close personal friend of M. Gustave, is found dead in her bathroom. Naturally M. Gustave and Zero rush to her opulent manor to pay their final respects; they get more than they bargained for when it is revealed that Madame D left Gustave a priceless painting, Boy with Apple. A series of unfortunate events follow the revelation and M. Gustave is imprisoned under suspicion of murdering Madame D. Part 3 shows that M. Gustave never loses his charm and rather English sensibilities as he treats life in prison and fellow inmates as he would were they all at the Hotel. His courtesy charms the other inmates and they devise a plan to break out of prison in a similar fashion to The Great Escape. During these parts Zero’s loyalty never wavers and he faithfully visits Gustave in prison and does as he is told without question.

Although Zero is somewhat ignorant of prisonbreakout strategies and tactics, the members of The Society of the Crossed Keys, Gustave’s fellow concierges across Europe, come to their rescue and smuggle the duo back to The Grand Budapest Hotel in Part 4.

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The climax of the film is a memorable shoot-off at the Hotel where all of the living characters are gathered—the exact requests of Madame D are revealed in her final will and testament and there is a brief moment of jubilation before the realities of World War II invade; despite this, M. Gustave and Zero Moustafa show us that ‘there are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity.’

This was an immensely enjoyable film that will become a generational classic thanks to Wes Anderson’s brilliant direction, a mélange of seasoned actors and newcomers who all play their parts to perfection, and the memorable dialogue that provide deep insight through witticisms and outright comedy with unexpected bursts of well-timed expletives.

Review | Noah Sebastian Moore Throughout Darren Aronofsky’s eclectic filmography, there is an increasingly clear through-line of recurring themes and ideas. With his last three films, specifically, he has honed in on the passions, dedications and obsessions of distinct individuals. From the psychological pressures of upscale ballet to the emotional detachment of performance wrestling, he is able to extract similar truths from seemingly disparate narratives.

With this consideration, Noah feels like a summation of everything he has been working towards. Where The Wrestler and Black Swan had dealt mostly with internal repercussions, Noah expands its scope beyond the interiors of its central character. With the God-burdened task of deciding who’s worthy of life beyond the flood, Noah is forced to confront his deepest understandings of humanity—with the risk of losing his own in the process.

As he did with his previous two features, Aronofsky works between the borders of passion and obsession. By forcing his characters to question, or perhaps compromise their vocations, he compels destruction—of both the individual and the collective. With Noah, though, the collateral damage stretches far beyond familial relationships. Producing a similar truth with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, it ostensibly works as a macrocosm for Aronofsky’s well-tried themes.

Noah is one of the most peculiar products of studio filmmaking you’re likely ever going to see. Blending subtle poetry with tone-deaf blockbuster tropes, it thuds and whispers in uneasy rhythm.

Russel Crowe does his best in the title role to anchor the unwieldy production, but Aronofsky’s not-so-invisible hand regularly manipulates the narrative in ambitious, sporadic bursts.

In spite of this, Noah represents a refreshing departure from standard blockbuster filmmaking. It also gives us a taste of what an

independent filmmaker can do with a tentpole budget. And while the first sampling wasn’t a resounding success, it gives temporary hope to a studio format of filmmaking that feels all but bereft of original thought.

This quasi-religious, gonzo epic makes no reference to ‘God’, has Transformers-inspired rock monsters and a less-than-likable central protagonist. These are the sorts of eccentricities we can be surprised by if the studio system continues to give big budgets to independent voices.

Thanks to Palace Nova Cinemas for providing the opportunity to review this film.

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Review | It Boy (20 Ans D’Écart) Prerna Ashok French romantic comedies are generally charming, humorous and sophisticated—It Boy is no exception and Virginie Efira and Pierre Niney light up the screen with their dynamic relationship.

Alice (Efira) is a successful, fabulous woman in her late-thirties working at fashion magazine Rebelle. Her goal is to get the top job and there’s only one thing standing in her way—her boss doesn’t think she has what it takes to keep the magazine fresh and contemporary because of Alice’s uptight attitude.

A chance encounter with 20-year-old Balthazar (Niney) and a series of misunderstandings and rumours soon changes the situation. She goes from being seen as the uptight control freak to a carefree cougar. Naturally she follows through, keeping up the cougar persona to impress her boss and show that she has what it takes to get the job done. However, the situation becomes complicated when her feelings for Balthazar become serious.

Efira and Niney are brilliant in their respective roles—Niney plays his role as a gobsmacked 20-year-old student with conviction, while Efira charms the audience with her hilarious efforts as a cougar.

This film is brilliant at depicting the shifting views on the idea of women dating younger men and the issues they face in the workplace— having to compete with younger models, dealing with workplace gossip, and keeping up appearances while juggling family and personal lives.

There are plenty of laughs and memorable moments in this film, perfect for a girls’ night in.

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Review | Tracks Sebastian Moore The story of Tracks is one both liberated and trapped by our national image. Ripe with desolate, sunburnt plains and filtered through a typically abrasive Australian gaze, Tracks could so easily be mistaken for another tourism advertisement. But as luck would have it, director John Curran isn’t interested in these sorts of platitudes.

Based on a memoir of the same name, Tracks follows Robyn Davidson’s 2,700 kilometre trek from Alice Springs to the Indian Ocean.

Walking in tow with four camels and her jet-black canine companion ‘Diggity’, her motivations for the journey remain refreshingly ambiguous throughout.

Sponsored by National Geographic, her trip is frequently interrupted by a bubbly photographer named Rick. While this character feels more like a contrivance than an organic part of the story, he provides an interesting counterpoint to Robyn’s reclusive nature—subverting predictable plot developments in the process.

If Tracks sometimes feels like it’s dragging its feet, that’s the feeling of a storyteller in no hurry to arrive at a destination. Its longueurs, while sometimes frustrating, impart Robyn’s exhaustive journey. Consequently, Curran is able to elicit an aching loneliness in Robyn and the landscape that would’ve gone undetected had he felt the need to move at a brash pace.

Mia Wasikowska is smartly cast as Robyn, creating equilibrium between stubborn independence and repressed vulnerability, a balance she has competently handled in past roles (see 2013’s Stoker). Adam Driver is also effective as Rick, departing from his small screen persona in HBO’s Girls for something a little more jovial and accessible.

Tracks ultimately achieves an inspiring, if depressing beauty in Robyn’s journey. Escaping the rat race and embracing the unknown is an idea we all harmlessly flirt with from time to time; but people like Robyn—the outliers who exist on the fringes of our world—remain fascinatingly unknowable to us.

Curran welcomes this fascination, and is intelligent enough to accept the mystery.

Thanks to Palace Nova Cinemas for providing the opportunity to review this film.

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If either of these images evoke an emotion then get to your sketchbooks, notepads, laptops, cameras, canvases etc. and start creating works for our next issue themed ‘Gluttony’ and ‘Sloth’. Keep an eye on our social media pages for deadlines and set your imagination free!

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