SEPTEMBER 2024
From The Editor
Harley Lorenzo Wood
8 billion people experienced the world in their own different way today. Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in your own thoughts, in feeling self-conscious, and comparing everything to the picture-perfect lives of others. But I think it’s important to remember that there are 8 billion people on earth right now. That’s 8 billion different perspectives. Mine, yours, theirs and ours.
Everyone has their own perspective, their own point-of-view, beliefs, experiences and ways of thinking. We’re all different, and even if Instagram makes it look like it - nobody’s perfect, and no one has it all figured out.
As a magazine that’s entirely written, designed and published by young people - for young people, we are proud to be able to bring you our own perspectives and hope that you find something relatable, refreshing or even challenging in this edition of Universal.
They say the grass always looks greener on the other side, but remember there are 8 billion patches of grass, and yours will always be green if you water it.
Until next time,
The Universal Team
Interested in joining the team? Or looking to submit some work?
Please contact Kingston Youth Services on P: 1300 369 436
E: youth.services@kingston.vic.gov.au
Info: kingstonyouth.org.au/universal
Read previous editions: Available for your reading pleasure at any time! Read online at: issuu.com/universal_kingston
The City of Kingston proudly acknowledges the Bunurong People of the Kulin Nation as the Traditional Owners and Custodians of this land, and we pay our respect to their Elders, past and present and emerging.
Council acknowledges the Bunurong’s continuing relationship to the land and waterways and respects that their connection and spiritual identity is maintained through ancient ceremonies, songlines, dance, art and living culture.
Council pays tribute to the invaluable contributions of the Bunurong and other Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island elders who have guided and continue to guide the work we do.
Cover Design by Phoebe Gallagher
The views and opinions expressed in these articles are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect or represent the views, values and official position of the City of Kingston or any of its officials, representatives or employees
Kingston Youth Services and the Universal team acknowledge the support of the Victorian Government
Words
How was your day?
It was raining today.
-Miserable and wet and your shoes were getting muddy. You did that little awkward shuffle run, hugged your books to your chest on your way to class.
You arrived late to class made a fist and tilted your head back, because you forgot you had homework.
-Mumbled ‘sorry’ and found a seat, you hate that you don’t know anyone in this class.
-The teacher spieled and your gaze drifted to your left. The vast oval had flooded a little. Then, you relaxed your eyes and watched the droplets drip drop fall down the glass window.
Later in the corridor you sneezed once, then again and there was a distant ‘bless you’. You looked up and swivelled your head but you were swept away with the crowd and lost them.
In the meeting they said your presentation wasn’t great, you seemed like you weren’t prepared.
-It was fine.
Someone interjected and mentioned you were only notified yesterday.
++
You checked your emails and your teacher from last period had emailed you saying congrats for winning that thing you did.
++
How kind of them, to reach out, you thought.
You found out what you had on tonight was cancelled.
So you decided to go to the library to catch up on that homework you forgot about.
++ It didn’t even take long.
You made it home and the door opened to a swirling aromatic scent instantly discerned to be a warm homey comfort meal.
++
Thank you mum.
You sunk into bed snug under covers dozing away to the soft patter of rain.
++
No actually, it was good, thanks.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
Words by Anne Liu
Design by Harley Lorenzo Wood
Because I Could Not Stop For Death
May her spirit be greeted in the lands of the Heavens. Resting in peace for all eternityin the Lord’s name, Amen.
The windows to my soul remained shut, as if I was waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting for anything to happen - like a little boat, docked at the port, lingering for a final destination - pausing for an inevitable journey. I had lived to die - until - I heard a voice.
“Well, this ending has come to a close,” the tired voice sighs, “It’s time to wake up, now.”
As if on command, my eyelids snap open, staring at the ceiling. I had never really noticed the flowery cornices that Father had installed. He always liked the vintage manner of cornices. I stare at the ceiling for a heartbeat.
Oh wait, I haven’t one, Not Anymore at least -
As I continue to stare at the ceiling, the beautiful whitewashed ceiling and its fine decorations; a brown coloured hand with strong fingers, stretches out, positioning it right over my face - inches - away from my eyes,
“It’s time to get up.”
I take the stranger’s calloused hand - a sign of years of intensive labours. As I take the
hand, I notice the strength of the ironclad grip around my wrist. I would not win a battle with this stranger. The stranger pulled me up from the soft cushions I had laid on and out of a box. The stranger; a man - a man of sophistication, with poise and a foreboding manner. He is a man of tall stature and donned in a Vantablack, three piece suit with a mahogany cravat - the black absorbing the light from the windows. His face - a marvel to witnesswith his soft brown skin, his sharp jawline and full lips - accompanied by his jet black hair, seasoned with the salt and pepper of age, is set in place - dressed for business. I stand there on the wood floor, still entangled with his hand. I take in the gloomy room - once a place, of light and colour; instead, the room only contains a podium - displaying a coffin - with dark blue cushioning and bright white lilies - in my coffin - My Coffin. I stare at the endMy Ending.
The Ending that is inevitableWe all need to live - to dieA cycle with an unknown endingThat we all travel towards -
“Well, my dear,”
I turn back to the handsome devil.
“You had a mournful funeral. I have to say - it’s the saddest one I have attended in a while.”
The stranger bows at his hip - still holding my hand. A gentleman.
words by Ann Moir, design by Phoebe Gallagher
“I am Death - I have come for you”
I point to my chest, “For me - why?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders.
“That’s life my dear; it’s my career.”
He sighs, fumbling for a silver pocket watch.
“And we have no time to waste - we are late already.”
He takes my hands and starts to move me out of the room. But I remain still, unfazed. He squeezes my hands in his cold clasp staring intensely into my eyes and with a gentle, solemn manner, he turns to me, “We are attending your funeral reception.”
And then, I involuntarily walk - with Death.
couch. I turn to Death in silent request. He nods and slackens his grip around my waist - still drinking from Mother’s teacup. I waddle over to Father. He has been crying - he has been wrung dry - his head in his hands - looking at his shoes. I sit down next to him, My Father, a person I can’t return to. I touch his arm, “Father, Father… look at me. I’m fine.” He doesn’t respond. He still has his head in his hands.
“Father...” No response.
“Father...” Nothing.
“Father...” He can’t hear me.
He can’t see me. I’m gone.
I look at his tortured face - he has aged since last I saw him. I try to shake him, but I pass right through. A ghost, a memory of the past. I gently, well tried, to place my hand on his cheek.
With tears rolling down my face, I sob, “Goodbye, Father. I’m so sorry.”
We stand together - as an odd pair in the corner. Death, next to me drinking tea from Mother’s china.
“Well, my dear, at least people came to your funeral.”
He’s right, my entire family had come to mourn the loss of my life, mourning a world I wouldn’t return to. The living room was a stretch of black dresses and suits; broken by damp white tissues. I take in the sea of untamed grief and desperation, trying to find a beacon, to stabilise this vulnerable vessel.
I spot Father, alone, sitting on the grey
I stand up and walk away from the Inevitable.
The inevitability of separation
Swept away from the true world
Left alone in the abyss
I turn my heel, walking away from My Father - striding to my pale Mother. She sat with my Brother at the dining table. They are looking upon the laid-out food: scones with cream, cheese and jam, cut up pears and apples, as well as three teapots that are surrounded by armies of teacups and milk. My Brother had three scones on his plate and is serving My Mother - Our
Mother. I sat across from him, Mother at the head of the table.
He gave her a plate, piled with scones, cheese, and jam.
“Mother, please eat. You have not eaten in three days.”
I could see it too. She is grief-strickenworse than Father.
I can see to see that my Brother was holding them together.
“Please eat” he pleaded, then sighed. “I’ll fetch you some tea.”
He stalked off leaving My Mother. She instantly broke down in a sob, clutching her chest. Begging the King above for salvation from the sorrow. Tears rolling down our shared faces, adding more havoc to this vulnerable boat I sail.
As the tears continue to fall from my eyes, I feel a heavy presence, looming behind. Death placed a hand on my shoulder, nudging me up from my seat. His ironclad grip burns into my shoulder.
“I am truly sorry for you,” gentleness in his voice. “However,” he continues, “You need to leave”.
I spin around, staring at him, his beautiful smile and eyes, turning to a sincere gaze, layered in gentle ease. He straightens and looks down at his silver pocket watch.
“It’s time to leave,” he says formally, gripping my shoulders to steer me away.
Away from my previous life -
Away to an afterlifeto unknown Eternity
I dig my heels into the floor, scuffing the wood. “No,” I say, “I will not leave my family.”
I turn to face - to stare down Death and his unknown actions.
“I do not understand. Where are you taking us? Where are we going?”
I stand my ground. My feet digging an inch into the floor. Death, with a thin line plastered on his face - does not answer my question, but rather says, “This is my duty. You will have to respect my duty.” He tugs at my wrists with a soft yet strong grip.
I pull against his grip on my wrists, staggering backwards as I succeed - I turn to run. But he lunges forward grabbing the gossamer, tulle skirts of my black dress. He pulls on the layers, making me fall forward. He drags me to the end wall, where once a tall looking glass stood, now stood a black space, a void.
The Breath, My Breath, the breath that Fear took from meleft me paralysed, unmoving for the unknown Immortality -
The small boat of my wielding thrashes against the waves of Fear. I do not want to go, I do not want to be left - Alone - in the Unknown.
Death continues to pull at my skirtsand then -
Death throws me into a void.
I’ve never experienced falling, but this was more than falling - I felt as if I had been plunged deep into the Earth - unable to return. My body rushes through the darkness - and then - I land, roughly, flat on my back. With the air completely knocked out of my lungs, I stare up into the sky, the Dark Sky. I sit up with an ache running down my spine - and stand up. As I stand, I look around, looking for Death, The Gentleman that had brought me here. I spin around in desperation, looking for this man. My Gentleman
There is no one.
And, I stand in a dead field in the dark. I circle around again - looking for anyone.
There is no soul to wander. There is no leisure of the Human realm here.
“Death” I whisper - the air in my lungs evaporating, “I thought We were on this journey Together” I clutch at my face and throat, trying to scrape out my existence, to scrape away this horrid Afterlife. I sink to the dead ground in a sob, clutching the hollow cavity that is my chest. The realisation sinking in my stomach. Like a stone dropping to the seabed.
There is no soul here. The little I wield has sunk, to the bottom -
Nothing will be foundNobody is foundNot in this Extremity
I look up at the Sky - the Dark Sky. This is
my Afterlife; My Immortality - in a field of Nothingness where the grass can’t grow with the Sun - stark with the Moon over it. Denying life in a wasteland.
In a world of Centuries - and yet Shorter than the Day
A land of Eternity - where I have Nothing But Something.
The End
Author Statement: I am aware that this is a strange piece of writing. However, this piece was influenced by the wellknown American poet, Emily Dickinson. Her poem Because I could not stop for Death influenced my writing. The poem explores the transition from death to the afterlife - expressing Dickinson’s fear of the unknown liminal space. I utilised this and incorporated my own perspective on the afterlife - directly influenced by the poet’s values. I encourage you as a reader to explore her work with awe and appreciation.
ON LOVE
What is there to life but love and death?
The yearning, intrinsic to us all, to love and to be loved.
The brutality of our human condition –the inescapable death.
But what is love? What is death? Do we spend our lives scouring this earth for one touch of love, or does the futility of our lives permeate our every breath? Love conquers all, love conquers death, or does love placate it?
Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised by the existentialism in John Green’s ‘The Fault in Our Stars’.
‘Before Sunrise’ (dir. Richard Linklater) and other romances.
Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. They are young and beautiful, intelligent but reckless enough to fall in love at first sight. And of course, they are somewhere in Europe.
‘Before Sunrise’ perfects the timeless beats of romance. It endorses the enduring legacy of Romanticism, the 18th century movement that characterised love as a divine connection. It is a fire hidden in the pits of our souls, waiting to be ignited by the One.
Perhaps the Ancient Greeks should be credited with such an inception of love. As the tale goes, humans were once whole until Zeus severed us in half. Plato declares that we are now destined, or doomed, in our short time on earth, to find our other halves.
Love viewed in this way is delegated to the realm of romance. It defines love as a pursuit of human perfection and emotional heights. It is the orchestrated beauty of a movie scene, the moment when two lovers first kiss.
When asked about his fears, the handsome cancer survivor Augustus Waters says without a moment’s pause, “Oblivion… I fear it like the proverbial blind man who’s afraid of the dark.”
How poetic. No, really. In his witty oneliner, Augustus spotlights the faulty logic in his fear of death whilst taking a jab at his nearly-blind friend. Like his pal fearing the inescapability of darkness, why should we fear the inevitability of death?
Looking around, the philosopher Epicurus thought much the same. He saw his fellow humans debilitated by the fear of death and said, for what?
The way Epicurus saw things, the time before you are born and the time after you die are the same. In both cases, you have no sensations, no memories, and no consciousness. We do not lament the time lost before our life began, so why do we fear the nothingness that comes after? They are symmetrical.
From these meditations, Epicurus concluded that “The art of living well and the art of dying well are one.” If death has no consequences, then it is foolish to live your life worried about it. Augustus thought much the same as he spent his final breaths loving Hazel.
words by Shauna Leung, design by Phoebe Gallagher
Is it really love? Thoughts on ‘The Notebook’ (dir. Nick Cassavetes).
If Noah and Allie are your favourite on-screen couple, you’re not alone. But there was something about their romance I could never get behind. In between the verbal rows, coercion, and borderline physical violence, I found myself wondering, is this really love? Do people just love in different ways? What is love, and what is it not?
Bell Hooks takes her shot at defining the undefinable. In her book, ‘All About Love’, she argues most simply that love is action. It is knowing the other person, showing care and respect, and being committed to this pursuit. Inversely, love cannot exist where there is fear, abuse, and manipulation. It is an ethical standard. Love is patient, love is kind.
But why should we love? Unlike most philosophers of our age who shy away from their roots in faith, Bell preaches on the power of love as spiritual transformation. Love grows your soul and heals your wounds. It does not rely on the constant affirmation of nostalgia – the good old days when he wrote a hundred letters, and she ran away from the altar.
Love evolves over time. Love changes you.
And if you think about a petty situation, like some aunt who stole your money, that’s where you’ll be stuck – in purgatory, forever and ever, until you settle your debts. That’s why ghosts exist.”
At 18 years old, I thought I had thought of everything. With intrigue, I probed her further.
“So, where do you think you’ll go?”
“I’ll be reincarnated,” she said definitively. “We have seven life cycles, one for every life lesson. By the end of our cycles, our souls will be so transformed, we’ll be ready to move on.”
“Move on to where?”
She pondered for a while. “I don’t know yet.”
Source: My friend Riyana.
“What do you think happens after we die?”
My friend Riyana and I are sitting in the front seat of my hand-me-down car. I’ve just turned 18, got my P’s, and dropped my friends home – the first of many trips I’d make.
“It’s funny,” she starts. “There aren’t many things I’d say I know for certain, but for some reason, I really believe that people go to their last thought. Like, if you believe in heaven, that’s where you go. If you believe
& DEATH
REDISCOVERING REALITY OFFLINE
The attention span of a goldfish is 9 seconds. A person’s attention span is 12 seconds.
Or at least, it used to be. If you’re a pretty average person, you probably read at a rate of around 150-200 words per minute. That means that by the time you’re reading this, it’s probably been about 15 seconds – meaning that you’ve beaten your brain!
Studies show that the human attention span has been almost entirely rewired in the past 20 years. Since the emergence of social media, the average human attention span has dropped from 12 seconds to 8. That means that as a species we have officially beaten goldfish in the competition for most fried brain.
Judging by the fact that you’re still here, you’ve officially outlasted your brain’s craving for the quick dopamine fixes that social media has been designed to deliver. With an endless scroll of posts perfectly curated just for you, social media provides a perfect trap, which is frighteningly easy to fall into. Our entire perspective on life is built upon how we perceive things. Our thoughts, decisions and behaviors are all shaped by our outlook on the world.
Being constantly online, we often find ourselves comparing our lives to what seem to be the glamorous, perfect lives of others. But the truth is, no one is on vacation all the time. The reason we see so many different people travelling is that everyone eventually returns home, unpacks their bags, and goes back to their everyday routines. What we’re really seeing online are just the highlights of other people’s lives, and comparing that to the behind-the-scenes of our own lives isn’t realistic.
Everyone has their routine, their mundane moments, and their own life to get back to. Your life is your own, with its own ups and downs, and it’s normal for it to not look like everyone else’s highlight reel. Don’t let social media shift your views on your own life.
words by Aly Chu, design by Phoebe Gallagher
HISTORY MAKERS: PEOPLE WHO CHANGED THE PERSPECTIVE
words by Ella Keele, design by Phoebe Gallagher
Throughout history, there have been many incredible people who dared to think a little differently, and encouraged others to do the same. Here are a few of them!
Susan B. Anthony
From her childhood, Susan B. Anthony strongly believed that everybody was equal, and fought for this her whole life. After teaching for many years, she met two of her father’s friends - both abolitionists. This inspired her to become an activist and give many speeches in public against slavery. Her doing this (as a woman) was considered very inappropriate.
Anthony met Elizabeth Cady Stanton in 1851, a future close friend of hers and the person she would work with for more than 50 years. Together they travelled around the U.S., and she gave speeches fighting for women’s rights, specifically to vote. They later founded the American Equal Rights Association and became the editors of its newspaper, The Revolution
In 1865, Congress passed the 14th and 15th amendments, allowing African American men to vote. Stanton and Anthony were angry, as this didn’t include women, and did not support the legislation, causing them to separate from other suffragists. They founded the National Woman Suffrage Association in 1869. Overall, Susan B. Anthony was a very important figure in the women’s suffrage movement and, thanks to her and many other incredible people, women have the right to vote in many countries today.
Charles Darwin
Born in 1809, Charles Darwin was a British naturalist who paved the way for future studies in evolution. This began with his journey on the HMS Beagle around South America, which lasted almost five years. On this trip he observed the animals of the islands and other areas he visited. In 1836, when he finally landed, he had a diary of 770 pages recounting his travels and 1750 pages of notes. He later began putting this all into a book entitled On the Origin of Species This was published in 1859, and was met with much controversy.
The concept of evolution went against what most of the religious Victorian society believed in. Many people did not appreciate the idea of humans being descended from apes, and believed Darwin was “denying mankind’s immortality.” The idea was finally accepted in 1866 and eventually led the way for modern science and things that we are taught in school today.
Rosa Parks
In 1955, on the 1st of December, Rosa Parks famously refused to give up her seat on a bus for a white person. She wasn’t the first to do this, but she already had power and publicity, as she was the secretary of her local NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People). This act sparked the beginning of the Montgomery bus boycott. The boycott continued for 381 days, starting on December 5th, 1955. It finally ended on the 20th of December 1956, when a court order was served to integrate the buses.
The role Parks played led to her being considered the mother of the civil rights movement. When she passed away in 2005, her body lay in state in the rotunda of the U.S. Capitol as a thanks for her service to her country. She was the first woman and second Black person to be given the honour.
William Shakespeare
Shakespeare had an enormous influence over the English language and modern literature. He invented many words throughout his life. Some words he created include “dewdrop”, “radiance”, and, a personal favourite of mine, “blanket”. He also created plenty of phrases, such as “wild goose chase,” “break the ice,” and “in a pickle.”
His works have also heavily influenced the media, with various films and books being based on his plays, such as West Side Story (Romeo and Juliet), The Lion King (Hamlet), and Moby Dick (Macbeth and King Lear). Similar storylines to Shakespeare’s works are still around today. His effects on the world still linger in our lives, and the world would have never been the same without his contributions to literature and language.
Sources:
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Charles-Darwin
https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/susan-b-anthony
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Rosa-Parks
https://online.maryville.edu/blog/william-shakespeare-influence/
THE SOCIOLOGICAL IMAGINATION
words by Grace O’Shea, design by Phoebe Gallagher
An exploration of critical thinking, through the eyes of a distinguished sociologist.
Charles Wright Mills (1916-1962)
C. Wright Mills was an American sociologist and socialconflict theorist, known for his critical and comprehensive approach in advocating for social reform. His key contributions to the field include the Power Elite Theory, Sociological Imagination and Critique of Bureaucracy. He authored many books, including The Sociological Imagination in 1959 wherein he first coined the concept.
The sociological imagination is a form of critical thinking that examines the social world from multiple points of view, free from subjective judgement.
It can be visualised as ‘taking off your glasses’ to see things from a zoomed-out perspective, in order to develop an awareness of the relationship between personal experience and wider society.
Reflecting on aspects such as the era and environment in which an individual lives, their culture, and social class, provides insight into the relative contribution of each component in shaping an individuals’ mindset.
It is imperative that sociologists dissociate themselves from learned paradigms while conducting their research for it to be unbiased.
When the sociological imagination is underdeveloped, or absent in large groups of individuals for various reasons, Mills believed that fundamental social issues resulted.
In his theory, he styled the personal problems experienced by individuals as ‘troubles’ and the occurrence of problems in society as ‘issues’. Troubles experienced in private become public issues when they are experienced by a substantial proportion of society. Mills teaches us that, instead of perpetuating the misconceptions between ‘them’ and ‘us’, we can trace the private struggles back to the roots of societal issues by harnessing the social imagination standpoint.
In the context of homelessness, a complex interplay of factors including a shortfall in affordable housing, domestic violence, systematic inequalities (especially towards Indigenous Australians), disability, mental illness and substance abuse/addiction contribute to this persistent social issue. However, instead of viewing these factors in isolation, through the sociological lens it becomes evident that a lack of structural support lies beneath. Among the cracks: limited access to mental health and addiction services, inadequate social safety nets and welfare support, under-resourced networks, as well as a lack of coordination and integration between government agencies and services. These deficiencies exacerbate the complex factors leading to homelessness. Individuals and families become trapped in a precarious cycle from which it becomes increasingly difficult to break free. Societal issues exist outside of the individual’s control, and therefore require social change as proclaimed by Mills.
Neither the life of an individual nor the history of a society can be understood without understanding both.
- C. W. Mills
Conclusion
If there is to be one thing you take with you from this assembly of words: be kind to those around you. And when the innate attitudes – an imprint from having been socialised – begin to stir inside of you, remember that we are each all but a cog in the machine.
her.
words by Anne Liu design by Harley Lorenzo Wood
she seems like the type of person who fake smiles in front of others then rolls her eyes when they turn their back.
she seems like someone who mumbles bad things under her breath after she gifts compliments so casually.
she seems like the type of person i don’t want to associate with.
one day we’re assigned to the same group. she flashes that bedazzled smile and introduces herself before asking how we should allocate the work.
she makes sure everyone can express their opinion and she makes sure the rest are listening. she laughs and keeps the discussion calm and collected and she does it so effortlessly. she looks at you as if she actually cares what you’re saying. how terrifying -ly real her pretence is.
time tumbles by and i glance more glimpses into her character.
somehow she still hasn’t cracked this facade somehow she’s still smiley happy calm perfect. i’m waiting for her to crack but i’m getting worn down by her gentle caring, i’ve been bewitched by herspell.
we become friends and i’m still waiting for her to stop but she doesn’t? every day all the time she’s positive and kind even on those ‘off days’ she never says anything utterly regrettable like i do!?
she seems like a thing of perfection pure and unscarred, so subconsciously kind and consistently wonderoushow i hate her.
then
one morning i see her walking in she’s looking at the ground in front of her she fiddles with her fingers and massages that place between your thumb and pointer. she tilts her head slightly and i catch a glimpse of a tragically weary expression. her dimples are gone and there’s a small crease between her brows the corners of her lips slip down instead of up?
her feet have lost the little hop, so they drag across the field and her eyes are foggy in deepworry.
she seems tired.
my heart squeezes a little i don’t know why it hurts to see herlike this.
i don’t know why i pictured her eating sleeping working always with joyous smiles and giggles. i don’t know why i never considered that she was just a human too.
then she bumps into someone she seems to know. they are anxiously looking down at their phone with furrowed brows. she says ‘good morning!’ which causes them to look up relax the phone in their hand and smile at her with a tilt of the head ‘good morning,’ they reply. how are you, good thanks, that’s good the usual exchange. they’ve turned off their phone as they walk by and smile up at the sun that’s peeking out of the clouds. she walks by and her smile drops back to that monotonous drained face.
my heart clenches a little more because she seems so very tired.
she seems like the type of person who will put on a stranger’s oxygen mask first she seems like someone who will congratulate you for your success then go back and cry about her mistakes.
she seems like someone who sometimes forgets they’re human too.
she seems like someone i want to wrap in a huge hug if only i could ease her pain or take all the worries away just to see her real smile again. i hope she can cry in front of me and i hope i can hold her then.
i hope she is alright.
Mind’s Eye
Artwork by Caleb Chu
GAME OF PERSPECTIVES
Words and design by
Shauna Leung
Have you ever found yourself in an awkward situation?
Merged Friendship Group (A) with Friendship Group (B)?
Forced to hangout with your weird cousins from America?
Mandatory work ‘socialising’?
Break the silence with this super awesome Game of Perspectives!
What do you need?
» a group of people
» your words and thoughts
What type of questions should I ask?
Ask your friends questions where they rate some topic out of 10. The more specific they are to the person, the easier it’ll be for you to see their perspective. Let’s run through some examples:
Q. What celebrity couple would this number be?
A. Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith.
Q. What superhero movie would you rate this number?
A. Suicide Squad.
Q. Music artist?
A. Drake.
Think you know the number? If you guessed 1, you would be correct. Congrats!
How do you win?
As the guesser, your job is to deduce the right number by questioning your fellow (or soon to be) friends.
How do you play?
1. Pick one person to be the guesser for that round.
2. Guesser – close your eyes.
3. Everyone else, collectively pick a number out of 10. Use your hands to communicate.
4. Guesser – go around the circle and ask each person a question. It can be the same question for everyone.
5. Once everyone’s had a go, guesser, take your guess!
Perspective (In Art)
Words by Caitlin Keele, design by Phoebe Gallagher
I stare blankly at the word “perspective” written and aggressively underlined on the art room’s whiteboard, and I think, from my perspective, this class makes zero sense.
It’s not that I don’t like art, it’s mostly the teacher, actually. Oh, look, here he goes again.
“Perspective,” says Mr White, drawing out the word. “What does this mean for us budding artists?” he asks.
Mr White is overdramatic. I have nothing against drama, either, so that’s saying something. I still don’t want to get on the wrong side of him, though, so I decide not to risk opening my laptop for a quick google of “perspective in art”.
The first hand to go up belongs to Bernie Flint, who’s a bit of a know-it-all, but his art is actually good. When Mr White responds, “Yes, Bernie?”, his answer is to tell us all about one- and two-point perspectives, which I’m pretty sure are just techniques (meaning: not the answer Mr White wants).
Sure enough, it isn’t right. I wonder if perspective (in art) means, perhaps, where you are when you create it, the perspective you’re seeing the subject from, but I don’t risk replying with that. Instead, I watch as Rose Allister raises her hand, and explains to Mr White and the rest of our class, that “perspective is when you portray three dimensions in two-dimensional art; it’s creating the illusion of depth.”
I admire Rose a lot. She’s great at art - she does well in all the subjects, actuallyand her explanation just then was perfect, it always is. Meanwhile, I’m stuck with teachers telling me in every report to “contribute” more in class. Or pay attention, sometimes.
My mind wanders back to my idea of perspective. Where the picture’s captured from - like bird’s-eye view. I imagine soaring above my classmates, rather than being stuck sitting by myself near the end of this table. Just like that, I find myself sketching away at a bird’s-eye view of the room.
I only return my attention to our teacher when he tells the class that “time’s up” on whatever we were supposed to be doing, so I hope it wasn’t anything too important. Mr White surveys the room, and I feel immensely fortunate that his eyes don’t land on the page in front of me, proof I have not been following instructions. Instead, he addresses all of us: “for the next few lessons, we’re going to discover the technique of perspective, because it will help us a lot in our art. Now that you have some ideas, you’re going to choose a project to develop in our lessons to which you will apply your newfound skills.”
That seemed like all I need to know, so I zone out, unable to pay attention to Mr White going on and on. I didn’t write down any ideas for the project, so I’d better come up with some before our next lesson. I don’t think the bird’s-eye view of our class is of much use to me, but at least it proves I can come up with things to draw quickly. If only they were related to the topic…
The class comes to an end, and Mr White dismisses us. I gather up my things, rip the bird’s-eye view sketch from my art book, and hope that I have a good idea before my next art class in a few days’ time.
I walk into my second lesson on perspective to find something extremely unexpected.
My usual spot in the art classroom is taken.
The thing is, I have the misfortune of being in an art class with none of my friends in it. I have no one to talk to or sit with, so I sit on my own, far from any of my classmates. We don’t actually have assigned seating, but it feels as though everyone’s claimed their own spot, and I keep away from the others because trying to socialise with them isn’t worth risking embarrassment.
Today, however, the status quo has been challenged, and I’m incredibly confused. Rose Allister, possibly the best artist and student in this class, is in my distant, lonely seat.
I thought no one would want this seat besides myself, and of all people, her?! Actually, I’ve dwelled on it enough. I’ll just assume she’s planning something intelligent and unique and thus using that spot for inspiration for her art.
Lost for words, I take the seat across from her. At least it will make class a little more interesting, to sit somewhere different, near another person.
Mr White starts off the class with a video about the use of perspective that makes me think maybe even Rose sitting in my spot couldn’t make class interesting. Then I notice that Rose isn’t watching, she’s sketching - but she always pays attention in class. I guess she must be really invested in this project.
I want to draw, too, but I can’t think of anything. Eventually the video finishes and Mr White tells us, “I want you to find your own examples of perspective. Write a sentence or so about how the technique is used in these artworks,” and I feel like I probably should do this since I haven’t written down ideas like we were told to last time. Also, I still don’t have any ideas. So, I search for “paintings that use perspective” and wait for the browser to load.
I get bored of waiting and look up, and inevitably, I see Rose; she is directly in front of me, after all. She’s on her laptop too, presumably looking up images, and beside the laptop is her sketchbook, open to some kind of grid thing I can’t really make sense of. I think it’s her planning, more sophisticated than anything I would’ve tried.
I look away quickly so that she doesn’t realise I’ve seen her work - I didn’t mean to, and I couldn’t understand it anyway. My search has loaded, so instead I prepare for the tiresome work of selecting images.
Before I really get started, Rose says, “I’m sorry for taking your spot,” and I look up, surprised. Still, I welcome the distraction.
“That’s okay,” I reply, “I don’t mind sitting over here.”
“Why do you always sit over here, if it’s alright to ask?”
Wow. That was a brave question to ask me, though perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised after Rose has already been bold enough to sit in my seat. I look at Rose, staring at me from over her laptop, and I answer honestly.
“I don’t know anyone in this class well,” I say, “and I’m not good at talking to people.”
“You’re talking to me,” she reminds me with a smile, which makes me awkwardly grin back.
“I guess it’s just easier not to, most of the time. Not necessarily worth it, though,” I correct, embarrassed about coming across as too antisocial. I want to stop talking, not be so open with Rose, but that wouldn’t be polite. I tentatively click an image on my screen to distract myself as I wait for her to respond.
She’s writing something down, or sketching, I think. I stare at the interior of some cathedral that someone’s painted. Not using that one, I think.
“You don’t need to worry about talking to people, Dawn,” Rose finally replies. “You’re interesting.”
I pause, temporarily abandoning the boring paintings I’m supposed to be picking
from. I stare blankly at Rose, because I can’t believe she thinks I’m interesting based on what I just said.
“Thanks?” I reply hesitantly, because on one hand I really value her opinion and I’m flattered that she thinks my words were meaningful, but on the other hand I can’t believe how wrong she is because no one thinks something like that about me. I’m not interesting, I’m weird and introverted and unremarkable and average and altogether easily ignored.
Then I remember that we are learning about perspective - maybe not point-of-view perspective, but that’s still what I think of. I consider Rose’s perspective, and I start to draw myself how she must see me. Interesting, I guess, and unique and undiscovered, everything different about me seen as valuable rather than undesirable.
I don’t know if this is really what’s going through Rose’s head. The drawing is optimistic, though, so I figure it’s important and I keep it. I don’t realise that I still have no idea what I’m doing for my project.
In our next class we learn one- and two-point perspectives, and my practice drawings are kind of sloppy because I don’t have the energy to correct them. I stare at them now, annoyed at the imperfections in the lines. However, I can’t dwell on them. We have time to work on our projects so I need to get on to mine.
I managed to throw together a piece after our last art lesson, taking inspiration from my sketch of myself from a different perspective to draw my seat in the same way, showing that it offers a unique perspective on the world (well, art classroom). I was going to draw it while I could actually see the seats in the art classroom today, but I’d probably better do it in one- or two-point perspective because we’re meant to be “applying what we learn”.
At the moment, I’m keenly aware that Rose, who is in my spot again, can see me, sitting across from her again, staring at my drawings pointlessly. She seems to be focused and working hard on her sketches, adding lines as guides.
I stop watching and start marking my own lines. I start to wonder how converting this drawing to one point perspective is actually going to work, when I catch Rose looking at my depiction of the seat.
“I still don’t mind that you’re sitting there, it’s just…art, it doesn’t have to be personal, I think?” I explain, not wanting her to get the wrong idea about the piece.
“It’s a good drawing,” Rose says, smiling.
“Thanks, but…it is just a chair.”
“Art can be anything,” she says, and while it does sound like the words of Mr White, I agree with her because she’s not wrong.
Maybe I just don’t take art - or anything - seriously enough.
I resolve to work hard at redoing my piece in one point perspective and while it ends up looking a bit strange, I know I can just try again. One of my favourite parts of art is doing it again and again until it’s good enough. This picture isn’t quite there yet, but maybe it will be.
Rose sees the new drawing before we all leave class. “Good job,” she says, and the encouragement stays with me. I think it will be there every time I work on this piece.
“Uh, you too,” I remember to reply, even though Rose is clearly being very secretive about her work. At least I know she was definitely very focused.
As I leave the art room I resolve to do my best on this project, putting my feelings about art class aside. I want to prove myself as something more than average. I want my ideas, and my art, to shine.
The next few art classes I try to be as productive as I can be, and I end up with a slightly more polished version of the original piece based around my seat in the art room, and a number of drawings I got sidetracked with along the way, some of them slightly crumpled, some of them hard to understand, and all of them really my most authentic work.
I don’t feel like an artist when I am creating things for art class that I was told to make, or when I have to write about other artists’ work. I feel like an artist and more like myself when I’m expressing ideas through various media, putting feelings into colours and bringing my imagination to life. Those pieces make me feel like I am special, more than a photocopy of a bored teenager.
Still, it’s the last lesson of our unit on perspective, and I know I have to submit the work that we were told to do: my drawing of my seat in the art room.
It isn’t that I don’t like that piece, it does involve point of view perspective and art technique perspective, plus Mr White really liked it, so it would be graded well enough. It’s just that as I look over everything I’ve created over the last lessons I want to use it all.
Well, those pieces may have their time one day, I concede. I’ll always have created them, too, regardless of what I submit.
Mr White tells us all to get out our final artworks, and I clear my spot of all the extra pictures. Rose has moved back to her usual spot today, surrounded by her friends. I don’t mind that much, since I’m more worried about my art today.
“Alright, artists, you are now going to look around the room at your peers’ finished projects,” says Mr White, “and I expect everyone to be respectful of others’ work.” I wonder what has happened previously to prompt him to warn us, and tentatively walk away from my drawing. Immediately, I gravitate towards Rose’s piece, curious about what it could possibly be. It is nothing like what I expected.
In front of me, carefully depicted in watercolour, is the art classroom. Not just the art classroom - the art classroom as it can be seen from the exact spot where I’ve chosen to sit almost since the start of the year. Featureless figures represent my classmates, a large section of the table left unoccupied as it is in reality. I look on in shock, because the painting is…bold. I’m so stunned, I hardly even realise how it (unintentionally?) matches mine.
I drift around the classroom in a state of surprise, only perking up a little when I hear, “Dawn’s a good artist. Look at how they did those lines…” from one of my classmates. I end up coming back to Rose’s when I’ve seen everything, but I find her sitting there.
“Do you like it?” she asks - hopefully, I think?
“Yes…” I begin, “it’s very…surprising.”
“You’re not mad, are you? I would’ve asked but I sort of wanted to keep it secret.”
“I’m not,” I reply quickly, “I…Thanks.” I mean it. No one’s thought of me like that before.
“You’re welcome,” Rose says with a warm, radiant smile. “Like I said, you’re interesting.”
And I felt like I was, for once. Especially when Rose’s friends come over and congratulate me on my work, even offering me the spare seat next to Rose.
words & design by Harley Lorenzo Wood
Knowing that nothing is the end of the world, that you’ll continue to grow and change at every stage of life, and that literally no one has it all figured out, even after 25.
References & further reading on this topic: spinalcord.com/frontal-lobe slate.com/technology/2022/11/brain-development-25-year-old-mature-myth.html dazeddigital.com/life-culture/article/57931/1/why-are-gen-z-obsessed-with-frontal-lobe
If your Instagram or TikTok algorithm is anything like mine, you’ve probably seen a lot of people posting their experiences of turning 25. These videos often explain how turning 25 has changed their perspective on life and details the mental clarity that comes with their experience of having a fully developed frontal lobe.
As we quickly approach the years of our mid-twenties, my friends and I repeatedly reference this phenomenon too. Whenever one of us does something we think is responsible and adult we like to say “that’s your frontal lobe kicking in”. We laugh about it as a joke, but what if there’s some truth to it?
What does my frontal lobe actually do?
The frontal lobe is one of five lobes in your brain, located at the very front as its name states. It’s responsible for a lot of important tasks that keep us not only alive, but also functional in our modern society.
Your frontal lobe looks after a range of complex cognitive functions. These include:
• Reasoning and decision-making.
• Assessing the future consequences of actions.
• Attention span and reward management.
• Language skills.
• Expressing and regulating emotions.
• Long-term memory.
• Voluntary muscle movement e.g walking.
• Social understanding.
So what happens when it fully develops?
A mature frontal lobe should allow you to think more long-term when making decisions as it plays a key role in how we assess the pros and cons of our actions.
This could translate to any manner of practical examples, like making more informed decisions about your time, life and relationships.
It might mean that you don’t say something deeply hurtful to someone you love, because you have the social understanding to know
that it would hurt them, the impulse control to hold your tongue, and the emotional skills to regulate your own feelings in that moment.
It might also look like leaving a job or environment that you know is not working for you, because your mature brain can assess the consequences of staying and knows that it’d be better in the long run to seek out something else.
When will my frontal lobe reach maturity?
Many neuroscientists have come to the consensus that our frontal lobes continue to develop past the teenage years and well into our twenties. In the past 10 years, popular culture has interpreted that to mean that the frontal lobe matures at the age of 25.
Then it’ll all start clicking when I turn 25, right?
It might. It might also not No one can say for sure how your individual brain will develop. No two brains are exactly the same after all, that’s what makes us unique.
In many studies, maturity is defined as a point at which changes in the brain reach
a plateau. This plateau could realistically happen at any age, even before or after 25.
Just as people stop growing taller at different ages, some studies have shown that brain maturation varies too. One found some 8-year-olds with a greater brain maturity index than that of some 25-year-olds. So maybe 25 isn’t really that important.
This maturation is also definitely not something that happens overnight. While I 100% have better decision-making skills now than I did at 16, there wasn’t ever a random switch that flipped to make that happen. I gained skills gradually as I experienced more, and I’ll probably continue to do so for the rest of my life.
As much as I’d love to believe that the day of my 25th birthday will see me suddenly evolve into a person with everything figured out, I just don’t think that’ll happen.
Will that stop me from joking with my friends about it? Absolutely not! If there’s one thing I know about life, it’s that you have to have a bit of fun. And maybe my frontal lobe will actually kick in at 25. Who really knows?
cultural differences
illustrations
Culture is a cherished, celebrated aspect of our lives that is unique to each and every single person. Cultural differences however, can be quite messy and awkward to deal with at times. As much as it is eye-opening and exhilarating to experience someplace else's unique culture, it can lead to situations such as a few weeks ago, when my school's sister school in Nakamura, Japan, came over to Melbourne. At an assembly, the schools decided to exchange gifts that they figured best represented their culture. The Nakamura school gifted us an expensive-looking traditional Japanese folding clock with beautiful hand painted flowers. In return, our school proudly presented them three Australian books that they agreed truly represented our culture; one about our national parks, one about the history of Melbourne, and the crowd favourite, a Bluey picture book.
Sofia
Gift Giving
Both schools graciously accepted each other's well-meaning gifts, but it seemed that our views on what represents our culture and what should be given as a present are very different to that of Japan's, and it really got me thinking. What do we perceive as an appropriate gift for such an occasion? What do countries and cultures unlike Australia do and see that is completely different to what is normal here? Turns out, there’s many. Like for instance;
• Japan: Extravagant or expensive gifts are preferred. It's important to wrap the gift well – the presentation is an art in itself.
• Australia: We care more about the cultural significance of a gift, its sentimental value and the thought behind it. Expensive gifts are actually inappropriate!
• China: It’s common to refuse a gift 2-3 times out of modesty. However, the gift gets accepted eventually and is very much appreciated.
• Russia: Gifts shouldn't be expensive, so as not to seem like a bribe. Also NEVER gift a bouquet with an even number of flowers. This has funeral implications.
• Turkey: It’s traditional to offer Turkish coffee as a gift – the coffee grounds are later used for fortune-telling!
words and
by
Nikitina, design by Phoebe Gallagher
Dining Etiquette
• India: Don’t eat with your left hand – it’s considered unclean (sorry lefties).
• General Asia: Slurping noises when having noodles shows appreciation and enjoyment!
• Brazil: Pizza is commonly eaten with a knife and fork, even in casual settings.
• Italy: NEVER cut pasta – it’s sacrilegious and untraditional (and will make Italians cry).
• England: Contrary to common belief, DO NOT stick your pinky out when drinking tea! It makes you appear elitist and rude.
• China & Japan: Don’t stick your chopsticks into your rice. It’s reminiscent of Buddhist and Shinto funeral ceremonies.
Greetings
Japan & Korea: It’s customary to bow when meeting someone, depth and length indicate respect.
• France: It’s polite to kiss each other on the cheeks twice upon greeting.
• USA & Canada: Handshakes are the norm when meeting someone – so is a first-name basis!
• New Zealand: Hongi is a common tradition among Māori people, which involves pressing noses and foreheads together when meeting someone.
• Tibet: Sticking out your tongue! This shows you come in peace, and also proves that you aren’t a reincarnation of the tyrannical King Lang Darma, infamous for having a black tongue.
Mannerisms
• Japan: Non-verbal communication is common, such as avoiding eye contact and staying silent in a conversation. This is actually seen as respectful.
• USA & the West: Punctuality is very important, and being late is considered quite rude and careless.
• Greece: Showing the palm of your hand is extremely disrespectful. It’s best to wave/ signal with your palm facing in (if that’s even possible).
• India: While a head shake or bobble may seem disapproving to us, it actually means you understand or agree with someone.
• Venezuela: At any social gathering, being late is polite, and actually expected of you!
Mourning
• Mexico: Día de los Muertos is a well-known festivity that both mourns and celebrates the dead, often being light-hearted, cheerful and even humorous!
• China: Unlike the West, where black clothing is appropriate, it’s customary to wear white when mourning, as it’s symbolic of death.
• South Korea: They turn cremated ashes of the deceased into colourful beads, which can then be put into a jar or vase for elegant decoration.
• Philippines: The Cavite people entomb the deceased vertically in a hollowed-out tree trunk of the person's choice.
• Ireland: Irish wakes are an occasion for intense mourning and grief, but also a cheerful celebration of life with music, alcohol and food!
Did you know any of these? If not, which surprised you the most? Every culture in the world has something unique to bring to the table, and we should always welcome these things with open arms. After all, life would be boring if everything were the same, no?
