The Comma's 2021 Magazine: Time by UTS Society of Communications

UTSoC acknowledges the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation, the Boorooberongal people of the Dharug Nation, the Bidiagal people, and the Gamaygal people upon whose ancestral lands our university stands. We would also like to pay our respects to the Elders past, present, and emerging, acknowledging them as the traditional custodians of these lands.

Contents Word from the Editor...................................................................................................................................................4 Presidential Welcome ................................................................................................................................................5 The Team ........................................................................................................................................................................6 2021 Executive Committee .....................................................................................................................................7 An Introduction to Time: Past. Present. Future. by Kurt Bush

@kp_bush....................................10

Past A Letter to the Chronically Nostalgic by Emilia Roux The Girl in the Tree by Alexandra Gollan (

@emiliaroux2...............................................15

@alex_rose02.......................................................................18

Historical Fashion Influences on Modern Film & TV by Thea Swinfield The Golden Age of Hollywood by Ashley Sullivan A Letter to my Memories by Czelene Villanueva If Walls Could Talk by Emilia Roux

@theaswinfield..........20

@ashleys.xo.......................................................23 @xzeeney................................................................25

@emiliaroux2..................................................................................29

Confessions of a Primary School Student by Gemma Billington

@gemmabillington_...........33

Photography by Julian Hamman

@julianhammanmedia...................................................................37

Halloween, ablaze by Jess Best

@jeeessssssssss..................................................................................38

Metamorphosis by Jibriel Perez

@jibrielperez .......................................................................................39

Wake Up Calls - Confronting the Ghosts of Our Past by Elektra Politis

@elektra_politis..........40

Bury the Past by Abby Clark ..................................................................................................................................42

Present Australian Women's Rights: The Key Figures by Olivia Mathis Time Flies by Wesley Tran

@oliviamathiss...........................49

@the5thdcomics............................................................................................51

Why I'm Not Surprised Afghan Women Have Been Abandoned by the West by Ruby Hartley....53 Beauty Behind the Madness by Jibriel Perez

@jibrielperez................................................................56

The Memories of Time Eternal by Victoria Bassett-Wilton Thank U, Pandemic...? by Chriselyn Salim

@vtylerbw..........................................57

@chriselyn_lim..................................................................61

Future I Want a Refund on my Youth by Elysia Cook Ruminating Reality by Ashley Sullivan

@elysiacook..............................................................65

@ashleys.xo.............................................................................68

Your Future Job May Not Be Created Yet by Laura Mazzitelli The Future of Journalism is Bright by David Shilovsky

@laura.mazzitelli........................70

David Shilovsky.....................................72

What You Should Do In Lockdown Based on Your Moon Sign by Thea Swinfield ...........................73 Your futuristic playlist, today...................................................................................................................................76

A Word from the Editor 2021 started out promising but was soon hit much harder by COVID-19 than the year prior. In a strange way, I appreciate that lockdown was the perfect opportunity to dedicate time to a platform that should be seen as a brilliant collaborative space for creative students: The Comma. As the year ends, I’m so relieved at the success that The Comma achieved. We published 50 incredible, insightful, and intriguing pieces that range across vast genres. For several months, we couldn’t physically meet people, and yet receiving and reading through written pieces provided a sense of closeness with contributors – many of whom are people I’ve never spoken to face-to-face. This magazine was chosen to centre on the topic of time because it’s a singular concept that can be interpreted and related to in an infinite number of ways. This will become apparent as you read through the magazine. I could rave on about how successful of a year The Comma had, but I’d rather deliver some numbers because I feel that the following figures will convey perfectly how celebrated The Comma is by students. The website received twenty-two thousand individual visitors, and thirty-three thousand views across 50 published articles! Additionally, we received more entries for the annual magazine than any year before, at thirty-five. Each piece was a pleasure to read, edit, and design for. Every contributor should be so proud of their ability to relate to the theme in their own unique way and express it for many to see. The production of this magazine could not have been achieved without the help of extremely talented and dedicated minds. On top of course work, my juniors, and the creatives’ team, have taken time out of their busy schedules to work on a project that has come together seamlessly. I hope that every person who applied themselves to these pages, whether it was through contributing, editing, or designing, views the magazine in awe of what can come of fantastic minds operating together.

- Olivia Mathis Director of Publications of UTSoC, 2021.

Presidential Welcome Like everyone, UTSoC spent the first months of 2021 recovering from 2020. We knew that last year didn’t give our community many opportunities to connect, leaving us scattered. This year, we used every moment on campus to rekindle the UTSoC spirit, and we took that mentality into our transition back to online. We’d like to say a big thank you to everyone who made UTSoC what it was this year; from the executive team and committee to every person who came along to events and participated in initiatives. Locked down or not, we made the most of what we had this year, and it wouldn’t have happened without you. Kicking things off with a bang, the Socials team blended the old with the new. We had a great time at our very first O’Day Drinks and reconnected with old faces at Welcome Back Drinks. The Education Portfolio made our first years feel welcome with their first event, Iconic Duos and Trios, and Socials carried that forward to First and Second Year Camp. Continuing with original takes on old favourites, our Careers team revamped our panels and career development opportunities with a fresh focus on double degrees and a commitment to all seven majors in the Communication degree. The Sports portfolio showed us how versatile they can be with events like Bike Together and Olympic Trivia, and we saw Social Justice champion initiatives like the Bare-Cure for Cancer and addressing global issues through our platforms. Publications upheld the success of The Comma, giving us topical reads all year round, and capped off the year with the best of the best in this magazine. Our First Year Representative supported and uplifted not only first years, but many in our community. And finally, the portfolios that are the backbone of UTSoC, Marketing, Creatives and Partnerships, delivered on every opportunity to create the best possible experience for everyone they reached. Our executive team and committee deserve to be recognised for their effort, commitment and resilience throughout 2021. To everyone who was a part of UTSoC this year, we hope you’ve enjoyed it. Thanks for contributing to such a memorable year!

- Abby Clark (UTSoC President) & Izzy Stackpool (UTSoC Vice President)

www.utsoc.com.au/thecomma

Editorial Team

Editor-in-chief

Creative Team

Gemma Billington Laura Mazzitelli Jibriel Perez Emilia Roux David Shilovsky Ashley Sullivan Thea Swinfeld

Olivia Mathis

Rodger Liang Renee Lim Wan Johan Razlan Jodi Shin Alexandra Trekiak Emma Ziegelmeir

Contributors Victoria Bassett-Wilton Jess Best Kurt Bush Abby Clark Elysia Cook Alexandra Gollan Julian Hamman Ruby Hartley Elektra Politis Chriselyn Salim Wesley Tran Czlene Villanueva

UTS Society of Communications

@utsoc

UTSoC's The Comma

@utsocthecomma

UTS Society of Communications

Thank you to ActivateUTS, UTSoC’s main sponsors for 2021. We appreciate your support immensely. The Comma’s 2021 Annual Edition is proudly published by the UTS Society of Communications, and printed by Fast Print Services. The content of The Comma does not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, printers, UTS, or ActivateUTS. While all care has been taken, UTSoC regrets that it cannot accept liabilities for errors or omissions contained in this publication, however caused. The Comma and its entire contents are protected by copyright. The Comma will retain to republish in any format. No material may be reproduced without the written consent of the copyright holders.

2021 Executive Committee Secretary - Isabella Rodgers

Being the UTSoC Secretary for 2021 has been a wonderful learning experience and I feel very lucky to have been part of such a fantastic team. While the year did not pan out in the way we hoped or anticipated, we did our best to adapt and still managed to pull off an impressive series of events and build up our little UTSoC community. A huge thanks and congratulations to our president Abby, VP Izzy, treasurer Tahlia and all the portfolio directors and their juniors for working so hard throughout the year to bring together a bigger and better community through UTSoC! Treasurer - Tahlia Morrissey

This year, in my role as treasurer, my main job has been supporting portfolios to achieve the events they have planned while ensuring the financial security of the society into 2022. I feel extremely privileged to be a part of such a hard-working team and I have enjoyed every moment. I have loved working with each and every member of our UTSOC team and I will miss this role very much but I am excited to see where UTSoC will go next year!

Careers Director - Ruby Hartley

This year Careers has tried to be bigger and better than ever with 5 junior executives for our second semester, 3 panels tackling careers for double degree students, an online campaign on ‘How to Make Yourself Employable’ and weekly careers posts. I have had so much fun as the careers director and really getting out of my comfort zone; from hosting panels to becoming more familiar with google docs, it’s always a challenge! To my juniors Victoria, Katelyn, Ben, Miranda and Gracie, thank you so much for all the hard work you’ve put in this year, I’ve learnt so much, and I hope you have too. Also a massive thank you to the rest of the UTSoC committee! I’ve gotten to make personal connections with people from Channel 10, Google, Fujitsu, a guy who had won a Pulitzer Prize, and more! Couldn’t be happier with all UTSoC Careers has achieved.

Creatives Director - Emily Moudanidis

Stepping into creatives at the beginning of this year was both a challenge and a reward, coming off the back of a year where many of the responsibilities of the creatives portfolio were put on the back burner due to the beginning of the pandemic. Because of this, creatives had an extremely hectic year between making content for just about every portfolio as well as ensuring every event had photos to last UTSoC’s lifetime. I am extremely proud of everything this portfolio has achieved, adapted to and all the issues we’ve overcome. I’d like to thank my incredible team of juniors Emma, Rodger, Jodi, Johan, Alex, Alexandra, Renee and Thushani for dealing with everything that was thrown at them with ease and perseverance. I had such an incredible year as director and am beyond overjoyed that I got the opportunity to lead creatives for 2021.

Education Director - Alyssya Warty

Being the education director has been rewarding and a great learning experience. The Big Orange Little Orange Program gained many members, and it was great to provide extra support for the first-year students. The main goal this year was to provide a balance between social and educational opportunities. The education portfolio started with the ‘Iconic duos and trios’ event, foreshadowing the friendships between mentors and mentees. Fortunately, as a portfolio, we prepared for the transition back into online uni, and the online events that we had were just as fun! It is safe to say that we stayed true to our goals, and we loved seeing our members grow over the year. A huge thank you to my juniors, Monica and Lara, for their support and hard work over the past year - we made a great little team!

Marketing Director - Monique Catubig

The Marketing portfolio has been a completely wild ride! Our team has been building our digital presence by focusing on the community. Throughout the year, we centred our content on having lively messaging and relatable references, reflective of UTSoC’s values. Our campaigns this year were incredibly dynamic; from event campaigning with Socials and Sports to weekly features for Publications and professional development with Careers. Our team also closely worked with the Creatives Portfolio, who made the most iconic media. Last but not least, a special shoutout to Alex, Ayesha, Lana and Linda! These women are passionate about their work and worked hard to ensure that each piece of content was high quality. After some battles with Mailchimp, Business suite malfunctions and a lockdown- our team has come out smiling. Being part of the Marketing portfolio, despite its challenges, was nothing but rewarding.

Socials Directors - Jordan Brooke and Jade Ng

As socials co-directors, we were really excited to kick start this year with more face to face events, and reinvigorate UTSoC’s sense of community after a year of online learning in 2020. Although we were back in lockdown for the second half of the year, this is a feat we have still achieved. In semester one, we welcomed our first and second years to UTSoC with an unforgettable camp, followed by one of the largest pub crawls and a few parties sprinkled in here and there! And in semester two we were able to establish a weekly online event format which saw many fun events like trivia, paint and sips and movie nights. We could not have done it without help from our amazing juniors Ange, Lilian, Ruby, Shivanti and Blaise with a special thanks to Elise and Sarah, who were the biggest help to us during semester one. Here’s to another year of amazing events!

Partnerships Director - Joseph Yu

Hey, it's Partnerships here. This year has been a bit of a coming-of-age story for our portfolio, as my junior Abbey and I try to find our place in UTSoC. You might recall names throughout the year such as Spice Alley, Pancakes on the Rocks and Bar Broadway - these were some fruitful partnerships. Aside from vouchers and merch, our portfolio also helped out with the internal operations and backend of UTSoC, finding better platforms to create and launch events (Humanitix), keep things organised and visible between portfolios (ClickUp) and communicating with our faculty. It has been a pleasure being a part of UTSoC's executive team in 2021, working alongside dedicated people who are passionate about what they do for this society. Thank you all <3

Social Justice Director - Jemima Taylor

II’ve really enjoyed working on the Social Justice portfolio this year – it’s been nice to have some in-person events too, finally! Highlights were the BarbeCure for Cancer where we collaborated with TD Connect and MedSoc, and the huge amount of interest in the Pen Pal letter writing for “R U OK Day”. Earlier in the year we collaborated with Respect.Now.Always to work on some consent materials for our first year camp and attended a wonderful panel for International Women’s Day. I’ve really enjoyed working with Monique to promote some more Social Justice awareness on our social media, and Emily and her team always come through with the best graphics. I’ve loved working with the UTSoC exec team – they are a great group of people who are all dedicated to UTSoC and making the Uni experience as fulfilling as possible against the odds. I’ve also loved getting to know my juniors Cindy, Nour and Isabel and have really valued their insights and work throughout the year. Thanks for making my 2021 Uni experience so much more fun and meaningful UTSoC!

Sports Director - Finn van herten

Sports this year has been quite the rollercoaster. The aim in 2021 was to roll through a suite of low-pressure but active social activities, which in moving online became the basis of a need to reconceptualise what the portfolio could encompass. And, naturally, we saw numerous events lost to the virus that shall not be named once more. Yet as the second semester and concurrent lockdown have drawn on, I’m also optimistic about UTSoC’s new Discord channels in achieving those social goals. The highlight this year was undoubtedly our annual camp. We were able to enjoy hikes, football, Frisbee golf, Ultimate Frisbee, dodgeball, and a mini-Olympics. My sincere thanks to my junior exec, Anna, for her support during the ups and notable downs of this year’s portfolio, much of this work having occurred in the background, and for her strong and ongoing adaptability.

Time: Past. Present. Future. By Kurt Bush How many of us left 2020 in the past and believed that 2021 would have to be a better year? I’ll admit that I raised my hand at this question as well, full of belief that what was in the past would stay there. As much as that was true, I was definitely on the naïve camp. 2021 saw everyone’s favourite term, ‘COVID’, stay, as we saw many lockdowns across Australia, and people feeling that time was being wasted. In reality, this came down to how we decided to approach the situation. We were given two choices either stay at home and continue to be frustrated with the world for the situation we have been placed in, or we could look at the situation as an opportunity to find new things to do and make the most of time away from what would normally be a busy life. This piece, as an example, was written during the extended part of the Winter lockdown!

Instead of writing some reflective piece about this idea of time and how it may have been spent differently if the world wasn’t going through the COVID-19 pandemic, I have taken a different approach. Hold your horses because this is not a piece about memes (sorry everyone) but instead, we are looking at some of those more famous quotes related to this concept of ‘time’.

“Time is money”- Benjamin Franklin

We begin with a quote I am sure many of you have either heard of or applied. When you research the life of Benjamin Franklin, you will see a wide list of accomplishments, including writer, scientist, diplomat and an inventor. No, he was never President of the United States, but he was one of the country’s founding fathers. This quote is a great one - so simple to understand. Time is like money in the sense that in order to maximise our usage and worth, we should not waste it! Are you someone who likes to throw money at things? Well, the same concept could also be applied to time! Make the most of opportunities when they present themselves! Go for that job, that promotion, that run in the morning or spend quality time with your family rather than being alone at home! At the end of the day, we have time, just like money, but of course, it all comes down to how we use it!

“Time is what we want the most, but what we use worst”- William Penn William Penn

was a British writer who was also known as the founder of the Province of Pennsylvania. Originally from London, he planned the city of Philadelphia, the state’s capital city to be organised and grid-like, unlike the city which he grew up in. This famous quote of his is all about the fact we never know how much time we have and despite having so much of, we easily waste it. Like many other famous quotes on the concept of time, they bring up the idea that time is a finite resource that we cannot get back, even though we always say ‘we have more time later’.

Given the circumstances humanity has been placed in during the COVID-19 pandemic, a lot of people, myself included, have undoubtedly ‘used’ time in poor ways but as we try to find ways to make ourselves less bored and more useful, we end up using it better!

“My favourite things in life don’t cost any money. It’s really clear that the most precious resource we have is time”- Steve Jobs Why not include a quote from one of the most influential individuals in the tech industry. Steve Jobs was the late co-founder of Apple. During his lifetime, he was famous for the introduction of devices such as the Apple One, iMac, iPod, iPhone and the iPad, among many others. This quote from Jobs is one we may have not heard before, but the ideas behind it are important. Sometimes, we need to value and appreciate in life the things that don’t cost us anything because time is finite. Those things include our families, our friends, health and happiness which, given the current pandemic, is always important. It is why we have seen during lockdowns we have been encouraged to not go and visit people for a certain period of time in order to get through outbreaks and then we can go back to our regular lifestyles again. Time with loved ones, time spent in good health and times where you are genuinely happy are very important in one’s life.

Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment”- Buddha We have all come across Buddha at some point in our lives. His messages were all focused on love and self-discipline, considered an extraordinary man but not a god. We often tell ourselves and others not to dwell in the past since there is no point having regrets over things that, to cut to the chase, cannot be fixed with a ‘CTRL + Z’ button. That is with negative moments in the past. As for happy ones? Well, it is great to celebrate and acknowledge past achievements, but there is time for new memories to be made! If we focus too much on the future, like with the past, then we leave ourselves vulnerable to wasting the present moment. To have a successful future, we need to build the foundations in the present! Focus on that and everything will fall into place!

“Better three hours too soon, than one minute too late”William Shakespeare Sometimes it is better to have experiences happen earlier than later. This is what the famous playwright William Shakespeare said about time! Now it is possible that this quote was perhaps said with that Shakespearean language we are used to seeing when reading his scripts in English class, but the message is a very clear one. One minute too late is still technically late. Now us students might consider this in the future when trying to meet those assessment deadlines, because it isn’t bad to have something done earlier than later. The same is true when it comes to waiting for things. Better to wait for something for three hours than it is to have it a minute later, especially if the thing you were waiting for was worthwhile anyway, irrespective of time. With three hours too soon, people have had opportunities to make changes and go down a different course, especially when solving problems. If you are a minute too late, then that time cannot be taken back, as we very well know. Think of all the instances when you have been early for something and been very grateful of the fact you weren’t late.

“Don’t spend time beating on a wall, hoping to transform it into a door” - Coco Chanel

most influential icons in the fashion Coco Chanel might be considered one of the industry, and she has had her fair share of famous quotes. This is one of the more ‘different’ quotes of hers and raises the question of whether we should spend more time than we need transforming something. This all comes down to attitude. If you have the right ‘tools’ to do that job, then it is worth the time, no matter how long the process is. If the transformation process is one that results in the wall ‘caving in’ then it probably isn’t, seeing as it is just being forced, and might not be a perfect fit. To be able to transform, sometimes the right support base is needed. At the end of the day, we must work out what our battles are. Perseverance is a great attribute to have, as it shows you are not a quitter, and someone who might look for ways to solve problems. Sometimes, we have to just realise when to give up the fight and cut our losses. If you are gambling at a casino and you are on a losing streak, you have to consider if you want to keep playing hoping for a winning streak, or just cut your losses and walk away. This quote definitely makes for great thinking.

“Don’t worry about the world coming to an end today. It is already tomorrow in Australia”- Charles M. Schulz Okay, I had to include this quote in here, it is

as funny as it is true! Charles M. Schulz was an American cartoonist, remembered best for creating the ‘Peanuts’ comic strip series! He was one of the most influential cartoonists of all time and this might be one of the most popular quotes of his… well maybe if you are an American. If you were living stateside, or even in another country in the Americas, you can be sure that the world didn’t end on the current day, especially when it is the next day Down Under. Thank time zones for that one as well, but I guess it is good to conclude this piece on a more humorous note.

So, there we have it - my collection of some famous quotes related to our understanding of this concept of ‘time’! Were there any here that you already heard of? Was there anything that maybe have you thinking about your own lived experiences? The most important thing we can remember is this: We still have plenty of time ahead in our lives to be the best people we can be! Don’t leave that to the last minute, no matter what is happening in the world around us!

A Letter to the Chronically Nostaglic By Emilia Roux For all those who have been captivated by 18th-century polite society and its salacious and sexually charged period dramas, this is for you. Whether you call it period dramas, bonnets, historical fiction or regency romance, the consistently racy content and minimal historical relevance of this genre has audiences enraptured. With a hefty portion of the plot dedicated to sex scenes, or the promise of them, in between cryptically worded yet overtly lusty dialogue, the romance between bitter jaded man and youthfully optimistic woman is almost enough to make you want to pretend you didn’t notice it’s deeply misogynistic undertones. It’s easy to romanticise a period that was filled with soliloquies, subtle seductions and professions of love beneath the pouring rain. But 18th-century romance wasn’t all carriage rides and passionate moments of intense eye contact. The very real possibility of death by pneumonia after a passionate kiss beneath the rain was enough to give literal meaning to ‘heart stopping’ romance. For those who yearn for this bygone don’t get your time machines out just yet.

Over-romanticising romance – A journey through the ages If you live for the hits like Bridgerton, Pride and Prejudice and all its reboots, so much so that it pains you to get up for work the next day when you should be gossiping over needlepoint with your petticoated sisters, this is your wakeup call.

The weaker sex

If you hated quarantine then abandon any aspirations of becoming an upper-class 18th century woman. The women we see in films like Pride and Prejudice were considered too ‘delicate and frail’ to be outside, so they stayed inside… a lot. This frailty would have been exacerbated by the fact that being housebound so often made them vitamin D deficient, depressed and bored out of their minds.

Feeling claustrophobic yet? Does the thought of being relegated to the drawing-room for the majority of your life make you feel like going insane? Well, guess what, now you’re a hysterical woman. So, get out the smelling salts and prepare to learn how to faint on cue because it’s probably the closest thing you’ll get to having your emotional needs met just short of a frontal lobotomy. The greatest irony is that the reason behind the popularity of this genre is the very thing that would render us social pariahs and likely result in our absolute ruin – sex.

The working class If you weren’t lucky enough to be an upper-class woman bored out of her brains getting high off smelling salts you would probably be part of the working class. Which means you would have either been mangled by industrial machinery, sold into child slavery or prostituting on the streets of London. In 1892 a man fixing a wheel at a paste factory was ironically ground to death. OH&S wasn’t a thing during this time period and accidents like this were pretty common.

Clothing Sure, when Lizzy Bennet engaged in leisure activities, she wore a lighter weight gown that allowed her to do her iconic garden frolicking and ‘complexion invigorating’ exercise. But when it came to ‘ball night’, the corsets and shapewear that can only be described as torture devices made spanks look like loungewear.

Death by … pretty much anything Here's a shortened list of things that killed you in the 18th century; - Water: contamination with cholera was a common epidemic - Smallpox - Tetanus - Being born: child and infant mortality rates were extremely high - Giving birth: women often died in childbirth from now preventable causes like blood loss and pre-eclampsia - Rabies - The common cold - Bronchitis - Pneumonia - Diarrhoea: back then a bad case of food poisoning would have been enough to send you to an early grave - Anything infected: Antibiotics didn’t come on the scene until the 20th century Needless to say, this was a period that was rife with the effects of poverty, colonialism and racism which continue to be felt today despite their obfuscation in films like Bridgerton and Pride and Prejudice. This period was plagued by the Napoleonic wars, protests, massacres, social inequality, gambling, murder and slavery just to name a few. That being said. At the end of the day, I will absolutely still be subscribing to the BBC just so that I can have access to their curated section dedicated to all thing’s historical soft porn. Because that paradoxical emotion of happy sadness, that addictive feeling of longing for something that no longer exists is a welcome escape from the world of zoom calls and COVID news updates.

The Girl in the Tree - Alexandra Gollan Underneath the tree, the leaves on the long, low-hanging branches sheltered me from the heat, a gentle breeze blowing in the shade. I stood there for a moment watching other sweating, tanning figures walking and running past, as if they could somehow avoid the sun if they moved fast enough. From above I heard a whisper, and slowly turning, I looked up and found a young woman in the tree, her back against the trunk and a book lying in her lap. “Hello there,” I said, and unable to help myself, asked her what she was reading. “Something you’re still a bit young for, but a good read. Jane Eyre,” She said. “I’ll have to remember to add it to the list,” I said. “Do you come here often, to read I mean?” “Every day, during my lunch break. It can be your spot too if you like,” she said with a wink. “Really?” I gasped. The girl nodded her head, and a great smile appeared on my face. “Thank you.” “Now get out of here, before you give our spot away,” she said. “Okay. I’ll let you get back to your book,” I giggled. I turned and walked away, trying to act casual before excitedly whispering to my mother, telling her what I had seen. ***

… Is how I wish the encounter had gone down. From time to time, I still remember when I saw this girl in the tree. Even though it was years ago, I remember walking through the Botanical Gardens with my mother, my sister, and my grandmother alongside me, gazing out over the sparkling blue water of Sydney harbour. We had stepped under one of the many tall, shaded trees to escape from the searing hot summer sun.

From above I heard rustling in the tree, and I looked up and found the young woman sitting up in the branch. Although I did not get a good look at her, I knew that she was older than me. She did have her back against the trunk and a book open, that part was true. With a small shush and pressing a finger to her lips, she swore me to guard her little secret, and was comforted by my smile that I would not give her away. I was more than impressed, simply in awe of her and wanting to be like her, even though my mother had told me that you were not supposed to climb the trees in the Botanical Gardens, but that only made me admire the girl more for being brave and daring enough. I thought that maybe one day I would be brave and daring enough to do the same, or at least that I would be lucky enough to find my perfect reading spot, just as she had. I thought about asking her what she was reading, but I was too shy and didn’t say anything. I knew myself that I did not enjoy such interruptions either when I was in the middle of reading a book, engrossed in an intense scene, and someone wanted to talk to me. On the other hand, however, I had a habit of letting my curiosity get the better of me, and an impulse to ask, to know. In my hesitation, I ended up letting the moment pass and kept moving along with my family. But I would still like to know now, or to at least have asked her what her name was. As we continued our walk through the Botanical Gardens, I wondered if she was somehow a kindred spirit of mine, this other lover of books with her perfect reading spot, where for the most part she was content and left alone, undisturbed. Someone who found a way to escape from the present through fictional worlds and characters. At times, I think of writing her story, or coming up with one for her to help fill in the blanks for myself, or putting her into the stories that I create, ones she may read about. Occasionally, I wonder if she still goes to there to read, up in the branches and sheltered by the leaves, a gentle breeze blowing to keep her cool, the sound of water lapping up onto the land for company. And maybe I would see her again and ask her what she is reading. Or maybe I would leave her alone just as I did before, only exchanging a smile or a knowing glance. I wonder how her life is unfolding before her, and if she is happy with the life she has made for herself, or if she is happier in the worlds she reads. Maybe I will never know or find out. But I guess that’s part of the fun, the unknown. It is strange, the ways that our lives can intertwine for a single moment in time and never cross again, and how a person can become a memory. That a stranger can leave just as strong an impact as a friend. I know that she has for me.

Historical Fashion Influences on Modern Film & TV

by Thea Swinfield

Blair Waldorf - Gossip Girl

Known for her polished, preppy style, Blair’s outfits often bring back classic 1940s and 50s silhouettes and patterns, but this silk shirt calls back way further in history. The neck ruff experienced its first major popularity boom in the Elizabethan era, from around 1580 to 1610, and was worn by both men and women. A symbol of wealth and status, the neck ruff tended to be made up of over 5 metres of fine fabric, and covered the neck entirely. The look was revived in the Regency era, reaching its height from 1810 to 1820. Again, the style was far more popular among the aristocratic class, and exemplified the Regency trend of looking into the past for fashion inspiration. Blair’s take on the neck ruff is completely modernised, but it definitely calls back to the Elizabethan and Regency eras.

Cher - Clueless

The “Clueless” yellow plaid skirt and jacket combination could be one of the most recreated costumes in all of film history, but the look wasn’t invented in 1995! When World War II broke out, women became the earners in thousands of households, taking to factories, farms, offices and occupations in higher numbers than ever before. The 1930s fashions, focusing on feminine silhouettes, long skirts, soft, silky fabrics and light shades were quickly replaced by practical styles often resembling the suits worn by men at the time, with sharp shoulders, straight lines, tailored jackets, and knee-length skirts, often in plaid. Cher’s iconic outfit, as well as Dionne’s red and black version, resemble these well-known styles - which were actually first revived in the 1980s (power suits and shoulder pads, anyone?).

Emily Cooper - Emily in Paris The fashion in the 2021 series Emily In Paris is overwhelmingly modern - and, according to costume designer Patricia Field “intentionally cliche” - but the outfit worn by titular character Emily to the opera is a direct nod to two of Audrey Hepburn’s most classic looks. The dress is strikingly similar to Hepburn’s black A-line dress worn in Sabrina (1954), featuring the same silhouette, length and sophisticated black shade. Emily’s hair is slicked back identically and topped with a diamond necklace worn as a tiara, a look copied almost directly from Hepburn’s hair and makeup in Funny Face (1957). Field said of the costume “If you look at Lily, she's a doppelgänger of Audrey Hepburn and I'm a major fan of Audrey Hepburn, so I was like, I'm gonna do an homage [to Hepburn in “Funny Face”].

w ood y l l o H f o Age n e d By Ashl l o G e Th ey Sul li

ivan

A golden age of glamour, the Golden Age of Hollywood stretches from the 1920s to the 1960s. As the deprivation of the Great Depression pushed the public towards escapism, the film industry found its calling as the most popular form of entertainment. With this marketability, the modern concept of glamour began to take shape in the 1920s, initially drawing upon exoticism with silent starlets like Clara Bow and Theda Bara. In the wake of silent film success, cosmetics, particularly lipstick, marked a new fashion trend attributed to the modern girl.

By the 1930s, the transgressive idea of glamour solidified as an implicit ideal of beauty. No longer reserved for Hollywood actresses, glamour was an allure available for the every-woman to appropriate. According to Willis-Tropea, the feminine features of Hollywood glamour encompassed ‘coloured lips, lustrous hair, lined and shadowed eyes with long, oftentimes false eyelashes, flawless skin, slender but curvaceous figures, bias-cut fashions, and an attitude of sexual self-confidence.' This image of glamour proliferated through American culture and became a defining feature of Western consciousness during the 20th century.

The screen goddesses of classic Hollywood codified glamour as the eternal vogue. Rita Hayworth. Elizabeth Taylor, Marilyn Monroe. Each one embodies features of desirability, a different version of female aspiration. An ideology of womanhood, glamour has defined an archetype of femininity. Paul Trent states that “‘glamour’ has so strongly characterized Hollywood movies…that the two have come to be regarded as virtually synonymous”.

Glamour reflected the attainment of the feminine ideal mixed with the allure of sensuality. As stars influenced popular fashion, the massproduced images of beauty in cinema were inextricably tied with the fashion and cosmetics industry. Glamour was an aesthetic that the average woman could aim towards with determined dedication. It was a full-time job involving the careful cultivation and coordination of your wardrobe, make-up, hairstyle, and, most importantly, your attitude. To perform glamour, there requires an expression of self that exudes confidence and self-assurance.

wood y l l o H f o Age n e d l o G e Th

...conti nu ed

Whereas glamour of the past illustrated enlightened modernity, the end of the 20th century hailed glamour as a product of the commercial world. Selling the perfectible self, glamour's revival in the 1980s is heavily tied with the rise of consumer culture. The continuing performance of sexual confidence and agency was embodied by the elevation of supermodels to celebrity status alongside the surge in popularity of haute couture and catwalks. In marketing the attainment of assertive womanhood, a concerning feature of this new wave of glamour was the defining rise of cosmetic surgeries. As the seductive appeal of a glamourous woman grew in artificiality, so did the feminist critiques of repressive models of femininity.

Arguing that glamour and consumerism generated a sense of inadequacy in women, Rosalind Coward contends that the gaze of 1980s new glamour models connoted sexual arousal and was essentially derived from pornography. Feminist philosopher Sandra Lee Bartky posits that many women actively embrace the narcissism of glamour, essentially likening an enjoyment of fashion and cosmetics as a form of oppression. But does indulging in the performance of glamour really stand in the way of our liberation? I think it's reasonable to assume that many women possess the ability to admire glamour without the entire reconstruction of their identity. As represented by the old-age philosophical debate between the Dionysian ecstasy of excess and the Apollonian beauty of restraint, I perceive the desire for beauty to be one that necessitates a balancing act of qualities to create a harmonious ideal. In the current day, glamour still retains its nostalgia. Fashion magazines produce endless style articles of how to replicate the classic glamour of old Hollywood stars, referencing its contemporary approval with celebrities sporting ‘Old Hollywood Curls', pearl jewellery and bold red lips. While cosmetic surgery is experiencing its most recent boom during the pandemic, the demand is more appropriately linked with the rise of self-image scrutiny through social media and Zoom meetings. As we once again enter the 20s, we can only wait and see if a new conception of glamour will emerge.

If Walls Could Talk by Emilia Roux Haunted houses and creepy buildings have been the subject matter of horror movies since the genre was invented. Whether it’s the spectre of a widowed wife, or the ghost of a murdered child there seems to be a real appetite for the theatrics of tragedy particularly when confined within four walls. My grandmother told me during a bout of night terrors as a child; “you should fear the living more than the dead” – from that moment on I moved on from my fear of ghosts to a fear of axe murderers and serial killers. Needless to say the night light remained on for the remainder of my childhood. While her words were less than comforting, I wondered why the ghosts of those who came before us insighted so much fear even years after their passing. So much so, that bad juju from a death in the house is enough to cause the value of real-estate to plummet. There are some buildings that carry the weight of their previous tenants more than others. Buildings that have housed some of history’s most harrowing and traumatic events will forever carry the stories of their inhabitants. While the atrocities of the past cannot be undone, how far into our present and our future will they linger? - can buildings reinvent themselves in the same way people can? This is the true story of how I came to be at one of Chile’s most notorious historical sites and how it came to reinvent itself from its horrific past….

The Hotel Villa Baviera walks that tenuous line between past and present, existing in that liminal space, too painful to remember, too horrific to forget.

When my family and I set out on a road trip through the south of Chile I never anticipated that an impromptu bathroom break, the product of the previous night’s bean casserole, would lead to an overnight stay at one of Chile's most horrific historical sites. We had been driving for 9 hours when we noticed, ensconced between an outcrop of dense forest and a dirt driveway sign that read ‘Villa Baviera’. In the hopes of finding a bathroom before driving another 2 hours to the nearest town we came across what appeared to be an old hotel.

We were met at the front desk by the hostile concierge, Greta, who interrogated us with a barrage of questions about our travels, where we were from and why we were there. Brochures of men and women dancing hand in hand dressed in traditional German costume and serving wenches with pints of beer were fanned out on the counter to promote the ‘ideal holiday destination’. Before we’d even had a chance to decide whether we would stay we were frantically rushing after Greta, who had disappeared down a long narrow corridor with our bags. The corridor lights were diffused by antique fringe tassel lamp shades that reflected shadows in the shape of gaudy flower patterns onto the cracked wallpaper. It was like art deco had an affair with the worst part of the 70's and the hotel was their bastard child. The fact that there was a German themed hotel in the middle of nowhere in the south of Chile was actually the least weird thing about this eerie building. The initial intrusion upon their bathroom facilities and Greta’s staunch hospitality meant that we were now obligated to stay at least one night. As it got darker and we couldn’t shake the feeling that we were about to walk into a scene from the shining.

The next morning, we realised we were the only guests staying at the hotel. It wasn’t until we decided to explore the property, that we realised where we really were. My Mum grew up in Chile and had been telling us since our arrival that the hotel seemed familiar. As a young girl her aunt told stories of a colony in the south of Chile that had been the location for a secret torture facility during Chiles military dictatorship.

A place called ‘la Colonia Dignidad’. The Colonia Dignidad is remembered by many as one of the forgotten tragedies of Chiles military dictatorship under the reign of general Augusto Pinochet. The dictatorship that lasted between 1973- 1990 was a dark period in the countries history, remembered for its role in bringing Chile to economic prosperity as well as the deaths, disappearances and torture of thousands. La Colonia Dignidad roughly translated to ‘colony of dignity’ began in 1961 as an isolated commune for Germans and Chileans established post World War 2. It’s founder, Paul Schaffer, was a German expat, later accused of multiple crimes including child sexual abuse. It was only after Pinochet’s demise that the colony and Schaffer were exposed for their crimes. Investigations revealed that underground tunnel facilities at the colony were used to carry out the torture and murder of government dissidents at the behest of Pinochet. In return, the government turned a blind eye to Schaffer’s perversions.

Like a Museum without an admission ticket

As we walked through the property, we came across what looked like an abandoned barn. There was no indication that the barn was anything other than one of the many dilapidated and neglected buildings littered around the property. We noticed an old-fashioned ambulance parked around the side, and a worn leather medical bag was open on the passenger seat, displaying an array of surgical instruments; forceps, scalpel, clamps, tweezers and knives.

It only got weirder when we went inside. We deduced that the barn must be functioning as a kind of museum for the old Colonia. Photos and artefacts to remember the families that lived at the colony were splayed around the room labelled with names and dates, all in German. There was no mention of the atrocities that we knew had taken place there, nothing about the torture, deaths or child sexual abuse that the Colonia was now well renowned for. The alarmingly blatant omissions, and carefully curated artefacts of the museum seemed designed to create a more palatable version of a dark history.

A strange graveyard

A winding trail took us deep into the pine forest behind the hotel which led us to a fenced cemetery. There were more than 3 dozen headstones, eerily uniform in appearance, each marked by a unique symbol that none of us recognised. Many of the headstones were for children, some as young as 6 months old, with both German and Spanish names. A rusted metal gate was the only thing that separated the cemetery from the vast acres of wheat field leading back to the hotel. Jose Patricio

That night we decided to have dinner at the hotel’s German restaurant. The only thing on the menu was schnitzel, sausages and an assortment of pickled garnishes. We began to debrief about the day’s events, speaking loudly about the Colonia Dignidad , its dark past and the strange museum. A man in his 60’s with olive skin and striking blue eyes turned around from the booth behind us. He politely corrected us by calling the hotel la Colonia Dignidad, reminding us that It was now the hotel Villa Baviera. He must have noticed our incredulous expressions because he pulled up a chair and sat down to explain that there was much more to the story than we realised. His name was Jose Patricio. Speaking in a mangled Spanish with a heavy German accent he told us his story.

He explained to us that many of those who lived at the colony suffered unimaginable traumas, closed off from the outside world, unable to escape Schaffer’s authoritarian rule. Jose Patricio was one of the few survivors of the Colonia Dignidad living on the premises today. Born into a poor Chilean family from one of the neighbouring villages his mother couldn’t afford to support both him and his siblings. When he was 7 years old, she placed him in the care of the Colonia dignidad with the promise of a better life, free from poverty and starvation. Back then he said, it was all very primitive, they were poor and the Colonia offered them access to facilities like hospitals and schools. Jose’s mother told him she would return the following year, once she was back on her feet. But the day she dropped him off was the last time he ever saw her. Jose grew up in the colonies, working in the fields from sunrise to sundown. They lived under strict rules which if disobeyed were met with violent punishment. Men and women were to be kept apart, speaking Spanish was forbidden and no one could get in or out of the colony without Schaffer’s approval. Eventually Jose’s Chilean identity would be erased as he took a German name and forgot about his life before the colony. Even today, Jose speaks mostly in German and sees Spanish as his second language.

Years later Jose found out what had really happened to his mother. She had returned for him only to be told that her son had died. The hospital at the Colony so benevolently offered to neighbouring villages was used to lure pregnant women looking for a safe place to deliver their children. When the women gave birth, doctors from the colony would take the babies away, telling the mothers that they had died. The babies were then raised as children of the colony in what was described later as ‘illegal adoptions’. When we asked Jose why he would choose to stay at the Colonia after all the traumas he had suffered, he explained to us that the Villa Baviera was the only home he knew. After years of criminal trials and interventions from the United Nations, the property was placed under the care of its remaining survivors. Together they decided to turn the property into a hotel, maintaining their German roots, and living modest lives in houses around the property. Trying not to let the past define their future. There are few who know what happened to the Colonia after it was shut down. The Villa Baviera appears on trip advisor pages, only as a quaint German getaway in the south of Chile, and for the most part, remains a mystery. Like so many atrocities, it was lost to the world, buried by history.

Confessions of a Primary School Student By Gemma Billington

Contrary to popular belief, I am in fact no longer in primary school. I gave it up. For 7 years I tried it out, realised it wasn’t for me and then went on to test out high school, which was, if truth be told, far worse. But that’s not what this is about. This is about those odd behaviours I used to display as a child. It’s a weird time! You’re suddenly thrusted into this world, no warning, and you’re expected to just exist? Don’t get me started on this. I have spent far too many evenings confused out of my mind as to why I exist, and that blade of grass doesn’t. I did nothing to earn this. Leave me alone! Nevertheless, over those 7 years, I learned a thing or two or five. I was a child. A small one in fact with ears and teeth and eyes. Name a facial feature and I probably had it, except for dimples, I didn’t really have them, though I did spend hours massaging holes into my face in the hopes of achieving them. I remember thinking primary school age wasn’t good enough. I wanted to be older or younger. I wasn’t cute enough to receive every moment of maternal affection, but I also wasn’t bold enough to go on armed arson rampages. Those privileges were reserved for my twelfth birthday. * In the pre and post 2010s, One Direction formed, and all was right in the world. Except, of course, for the Somali Civil War, Paraguay Insurency, BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, Iceland’s Eyjafjallajokull volcano eruption, the introduction of Apple’s iPad and the raging spread of Swine Flu. Thank God we got rid of all those yucky diseases, right guys? Right? Guys? If I were to categorise the thoughts and experiences I had as a primary school child, they’d naturally fall into 3 sub-sections: recreation, school and politics. Funnily enough, that’s what this one is all about! You wouldn’t read about it! The confessions of a primary school student written just 10 years after the fact. It’s a little like the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which was also written in retrospect, but did that ever stop anyone from believing everything it said? Probably. So, this doubles as your misinformation warning. Don’t believe everything you see on the internet unless it tells you to do so. In that case, believe it. Wake up you sheep. Now, stop distracting me.

Recreation Recreation is fun, right? Is it? I think it is. Having fun is what children like, right? Hello? Anyway. Like a certain decorated Afghanistan war veteran, I too revelled in burying little trinkets in the garden of my home. Luckily, and luck it was, Littlest Pet Shops never posed a huge threat to national security. Still, I’m excited for the day when the human race is wiped out by giant moths who pull the bright, bright sun down to earth. From the afterlife, I will watch the lepidoptera scurry about finding small plastic animals. It will bring joy to their furry faces, and I look forward to doing them such a great service. Amen. That was the first confession just in case you missed it. I would sometimes take toys from my friends and bury them in the ground. I guess with the assumption that I’d dig them out later once I woo the judge, avoid prosecution, and return to retrieve them 75 years older and 2 years wiser. I guess the possibility is still there. Also, this is most definitely not me admitting to these crimes. If you’re reading this, no you’re not. Look over there! Moving on. Consider this a segway to the next bit. As we get older and our hypercapitalist obsession gets all a bit silly, we tend to forget the smaller joys of life, like useless rubbers, furry pencil cases and tax evasion*. Since I’ve grown a bit long in the tooth (this is an expression I learned today and now will continue using it), my days seem consumed by work and long teeth. I’ve had less time to work on my inner child; less time for colouring, riding bikes, Smiggle theft, and all those other neat activities that mark the primary school experience. Smiggle reminded us that there were never enough things we didn’t need, which I think is important. The business strategy worked. I was hooked, like a fish on a dinner date with another fish who found the initial fish very attractive and wanted to do everything for it. It’s a long story, don’t pry. Anyway, I was grazing the aisles of Smiggle and decided that I was in need of another rubber and that I had earned it. I understood, after all, that money is just a social construct. If everyone else only tried to understand where I was coming from, maybe my snitch of a mother wouldn’t have ratted me out to the cashier the day after. Anyway, what I’m getting at is that yes, yes I was a criminal running from the law, but I’ve grown. I spent 65 years in a maximum-security prison and have come out better than ever. New year, new me.

Politics

A factor that has influenced my career as an assertive politician* has been my unrestrained desire for power and violence. It hasn’t been easy but my speech in Year 5 to become school captain encapsulated the imagery that I would utilise throughout my reign as King. I started off with quoting Michael Jackson. My obsession with the man lasted years before he decided to die and also before my parents warned me that he’s been accused of paedophilia, but that isn’t a story for another day. The shining faces of tiny children gazed up at me from the pews below. Can I call them pews even though it wasn’t a church? Hello? Someone? Their faces were bright as day as I riled them up for revolution. The revolution. I made it explicitly clear that if they didn’t have a smile, I would make them have one. Brute force if necessary. I couldn’t promise lemonade from the bubblers, but I could promise wealth redistribution and common land ownership. “The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win.”* I yelled across the great hall. Teachers shrivelled into prunes as they witnessed the power dynamic shifting. I became Vice Captain and my plea to change my title and honorific to Great Lord was crudely declined on the basis of “no”. I will blame corruption until the day I die. In the face of rejection, since second place is really just second loser* (this asterisk is for Karl Marx), I sustained pride and grit my teeth. I redirected my political energy into the Year 6 graduation book to the question, “What would you do if you were Prime Minister for the day?”. My answer, you ask? “Make everyone do gymnastics.” There would be no exceptions, no mercy. My manifesto which I hoped to include as the preface to the book was once again declined on the basis of “no”.

To show my sensitive political side, I’d also spend every night, without fail, crying in the bathtub because that’s how I imagined it would feel when Antarctica melts from all our darn fossil fuels and drowns us all. I actually recently returned from the Penguin G6 Summit where I posed the use of plastic ice while we held out for this whole electric car thing to get off the ground. Not that cars should be getting off the ground, obviously. That would be silly and the reason we have planes. Just think before you speak, will you?

School We have arrived at the final category. I enjoyed primary school. I didn’t mind the whole learning to read and write fiasco, I didn’t really think it at the time, but it’s actually come in farelie hahndie. Ha. That was one of those jokes, see? I won the computer award for 3 consecutive years until I was dethroned by Bill Gates’ son*. While I enjoyed the general premise of school, the whole waking-up-on-time-thing didn’t really suit me or my chauffeur mother for that matter. I’d arrive at the place 15 minutes late then spend another 15 minutes explaining to the administration staff that my mother accidentally slashed her own tires with a blunt knife rendering my arrival late so that they’d give me a late note. They seemed to be more sympathetic to happier reasons so each day I’d say it was my brother’s birthday and we had to celebrate. I’d get late notes much more easily and my brother turned 73. Win win.

Another retrospective pet peeve was the comments of my Year 1 teacher. I’d walk in slightly late, though I’d call it extra punctual, and she’d have the gall, the gall, to look me in the eyes and say, “good afternoon.” I wish I had understood the spite earlier, so I had more of a chance to cry. It’s no wonder that I also spent my Sunday evenings jotting down any potential illnesses and plagues in a notebook that I’d reference on the Monday morning as to avoid going to school. It would work very often, extremely well*. *This is in fact not true. *Karl Marx (Ha, you’ll never know which one’s which.)

By Julian Hamman

Halloween, ablaze by Jess Best Sometimes I look through the mausoleum, at the old poems and the faded obsessions for too long. I convince myself that these shaky hands are still, that love and fear both make my heart run the same race. I convince myself that it doesn’t matter why my chest is pounding the tang of obsession is enough to almost keep me warm. My first lover was nostalgia. My first lie was a girl with soft cheeks. Girlhood is about denial. Almost enough to keep me warm. But there are lips I can always feel on mine, hands that linger long after the hangover has faded. First kiss, on Halloween. Dark and windy and hushed at the sleepover. Her lips: the first secret I kept selfishly. I didn’t love her but that doesn’t matter. I still felt the stones sink into my stomach as we touched, ropes around my ankles and my fears were true and lurching inside me. A tapeworm a time bomb a forest fire a girl. I’m sorry. Girlhood is about shame. I cut my hair and dig a well to extinguish the flame in my neck. The flame was a candle for so long– a brightness that I just couldn’t get too close to– I was afraid of being burned by the church I loved or blown out by the family who feared me, even if they loved me. Words it took me years to utter out loud. And still, the mausoleum whispers to me at the dinner table and in every word I tucked under my tongue quietly waiting for the shame to fade. Craving redemption that I don’t need.

Metamorphosis By Jibriel Perez

The past remains to solidify the grounds of the present. Strengthening character from previous act and mistakes. Painful memories can be forgotten but lessons are instilled within the character. The current state of life blooms with new beginnings. Phases exist that transforms and sculps your nature. Don’t be harsh on yourself, Believe that you can, Trust the process in reaching your goals, Your present self is grateful with how you handled the past. Learn to let go of the slipups, There is no perfect route in life. Belief can guide you to peace, From both logic and intuition. Choose harmony with the battles you fight accordingly. What you feel, utter and do is imperative, Desire for the better, From what the heart covets and speaks, Words that equate to actions, Actions that speak louder than words. From a cocoon of thoughts, Shapes an identity that unwraps boundless of opportunities, You matter, Growth is inevitable, Even if you choose to flight for your peace of mind, You are not weak, But fierce and alive.

Wake-Up Calls - Confronting the Ghosts of Our Past By Elektra Politis "Don't need, I just need a wake-up call" - Lana Del Rey

Wake-up calls: they don’t come very often, but when they do, it can feel like the entire world has stopped and is watching you anxiously. I don’t mean physical wake-up calls like an alarm clock or a parent yelling at you because you overslept. I’m talking about the few moments where you have to look back at the past and figure out how to move forward in a different light. In Lana Del Rey’s case, among many other songwriters, this wakeup call is usually prompted by the sudden or possible absence of others. A lot of us have similarly experienced this due to the impending dread of lockdown. I would be lying if I said it hasn’t felt like an endless and quite pointless stream of events that start and end in the very same place, home. Being at home all the time has presented a number of challenges, especially boredom, but the thing I dread most is the fact that it’s given me time to think about past experiences. The good, the bad and the ugly. Over the course of a lifetime, scientists estimate that the modern human brain will hold up to 1 quadrillion pieces of information. Humans have an average of 70 000 thoughts a day. So how is it that some of our most important memories are gone forever, and the ones we would much rather forget still remain with us? I don’t even remember the first day of school but the vivid image of tripping in the mud on pyjama day still remains ingrained in my memory. There could have been a million different experiences that brought me joy during my childhood, yet with all of this free time I can only seem to revisit the very few negative ones.

Like many people, I’ve desperately tried to fill my days with activities to help stop my thoughts from wandering. I’ve even tried pulling out my once cherished Nintendo 3DS for the first time in years. Activities have helped for a certain amount of time, but they are yet to stop me from trying to answer the question we all constantly get asked during our youth: “who are you?”. To be completely honest with you, I still don’t know the answer to that question, but I know that confronting the many ghosts of my past will help me find it. When I say ghosts, I don’t mean anything too horrid or confronting. I’m talking about the places, people and experiences who have inevitably shaped us all. Like the first friend that you felt understood by or the first friend you had to leave behind. Perhaps your childhood stuffed toy or even your previous taste in music (I am beyond embarrassed by the amount of Pitbull and Flo Rida jams that I found on my Spotify Most Played Songs of 2016). Falling in the mud on pyjama day was a bad ghost but it was not nearly as worse as Year 9 camp when I fell head-first into a rock while hiking in the rain. All I remember was feeling incredibly numb and yelling FUCK as soon I fell. After a doctor’s appointment and several people giving me their careless advice about what they thought of my injury, I found out that it wasn’t broken, but only just. That moment was kind of my first real insecurity. I was always aware of the size and proximity of my nose as I was of Greek heritage, but the fact that there was now an extra bump and massive scar in the middle of it only made my awareness grow larger. It took years of confronting that exact ghost to realise that I should be comfortable with my nose, and the only person noticing it was me. Plus, I use scar cream and make-up now in order for it to heal. That doesn’t mean that my insecurity has completely disappeared, but it certainly has moved forward. The ghosts that we face and will probably have to for a long time don’t necessarily have to be the thing that eats away at us. As hard as I try, it’s inevitable to never reflect on the past. In terms of the big “who are you” question, I would say that I’m still trying to figure that out and that’s okay. Whether they be big or small, listen to your ghosts, you might just find that they can help you answer that question.

Bury the Past By Abby Clark The secret police of Serbia are watching my home.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I know the lengths Slobodan will go to better than anyone. The TV is on, blaring the usual six o’clock news. I’m jolted to see the scrolling headline has my name on it. Stambolic running for Prime Minister in the 2000 election? “After years of retirement, the reformist communist leader Ivan Stambolic is rumoured to be running for re-election against long-time foe, Slobodan Milosevic.” The woman stares at me out of the bright screen, eyes drilling directly into mine. “The two were more than friendly associates; Stambolic was best man at Milosevic’s wedding, then godfather to Milosevic’s children. Their friendship broke down after a surprise coup staged by Milosevic, forcing his purportedly closest friend and mentor into an early retirement. After thirteen years of seclusion, Stambolic may be staging a comeback.” She gestures to a screen behind her. I stare at the frozen picture of my face. I wince but can’t bring myself to turn it off. The image whirs to life, hatred flashing across my face. “The ex-Prime Minister made this statement while outside his Belgrade home.” “Most people are against him and they will get him,.” I insist on screen. “In the end, he must be destroyed.” The words had flown out of my mouth, and now there’s no way to take them back. Still, I can’t quite find it in me to regret it. I pull the remote from the table and switch off the television. The blaring of the telephone shatters the silence in the house until I hear my wife’s soft murmur cutting it off. I let my head sink into my hands. “Ivan?” Kaca stands in the doorway of the living room, her face tired and drawn. Guilt settles firmly in my throat knowing that I am the one who has sunk those lines into her features. “Geoffrey Brown from the United Nations wants to speak with you,” she says. “Thank you,” I say as I pass by her. She simply nods, moving to sit in one of the patterned armchairs by the television. In the kitchen, the pot on the stove bubbles and steam warms the room. I take a long breath in and let it out as I pick up the receiver and hold it to my ear. Brown is tense and unforgiving, with our infrequent meetings to plan the defeat of Milosevic usually ending poorly. “Hello?”

“Stambolic,” Brown growls. “What changed after we agreed to keep quiet about your campaign until it was absolutely necessary?” “Nothing changed.” “Is that why it’s all over the news?” “Look,” I say, attempting to be the voice of reason, “I never said anything about running specifically, just that Milosevic’s downfall was inevitable.” He sighs irritably, the heavy exhalation making its way harshly through the phone. “This sort of brash statement is exactly what we wanted to avoid. Do you recall the meetings where we said we wanted a campaign to which Milosevic couldn’t take offense? I’m sure you realise there are other opponents we can employ.” Panic envelopes me. “Of course I’m the right man for this. No one knows Milosevic better than I, and no one could be more determined to take him down.” I struggle to keep my words from tripping over one another, a lifetime of speaking under pressure the only thing keeping my sentences together. The surveillance from the Red Berets only proves him right. I can’t tell anyone about it, not without risking my position. Surveillance is only observation, after all. “Unfortunately, dinner is nearly ready and I must go, but thank you for your call and your concern, Geoffrey.” “Mr Stambolic, be careful,” he says. “I know the Red Berets are watching you.” “Goodbye, Mr Brown,” I say firmly, and set the receiver down with a quiet click. The United Nations cannot take this opportunity away from me. I need Milosevic to face me as I am now, unbeguiled by our bond, and watch me strip him of his dissolute power. I kick the bed sheets off -too hot. A few seconds later, the night air starts to nip at my exposed skin, so I pull them back. I close my eyes, and begin counting from one upwards again. It’s useless. My attention is focused on the Red Berets, probably camped across the street from my house at this very moment. I start counting in sevens. 7, 14, 21, 28… I wonder if Milosevic ever viewed me as anything more than a means to get what he wanted. From the second we met, he clung to me like a limpet. He would ask my advice on the smallest of things. He would look to me for guidance. I fell prey to his mendacity as so many others had and would.

I can’t keep my mind from poking at the old wound of our history. Bitterly, I think of all the times I set him up as my successor: as CEO at Tehnogas, in the Belgrade Communist Party as leader, and as Serbian party chief. I curse myself for not seeing his schemes during my term as Prime Minister, when he began replacing my party officials with his own supporters, starting with Dragisa Pavlovic. He staged a coup and removed me from power by fabricating documents and communications, claiming that I was abusing my office. The man I once considered my closest friend turned on me. I spent more time with him than my own brothers, and loved him more. I question now if his tragic childhood stole his conscience. If his parents had not committed suicide, could they have corrected the course set by his wrecked moral compass? He exploits Serbian mythology, the very heart of the country, to justify ethnic cleansing and gain territory. He controls the media, using them to promote his own propaganda, and orders assassinations. I can’t help but shudder as I think of the massacre of Srebrenica that slaughtered eight and a half thousand Muslim men and boys; there’s no doubt in my mind that Milosevic played a role, however masked. I watch as the sky slips from an impenetrable black to an expectant grey, then a watery blue. I watch as the neon numbers on my clock flick determinedly onwards, and as time moves forward, so must I. I push a hand into my stomach in an attempt to still its roiling as I consider my day: nothing until a meeting over dinner in a nearby town, where UN representative Brown intends to run over final details before we launch my election campaign. I tap my fingers as the kettle boils, then shrieks, every sound of the morning jarring me from my imaginings of possible outcomes of the election. The hiss of the iron. Thump as the newspaper hits our doorstep. I sip my tea and the searing water burns my tongue. My eyes are smarting painfully as Kaca declares, “That’s it.” Exasperation leaks from her voice and she brushes her dark hair out of her face. “Go for a run or something. You’re acting like a child, lost in your own head.” She spreads kajmak onto a slice of toast. “When you get back, you’ll need to be composed and ready to deal with Mr Brown tonight. From what I heard, he’s not in the mood to put up with any more delay.” Passing the toast to me, she walks under the archway and into the living room. “I’ll get you something more substantial to eat when you get back.” I nod and try to lift the corners of my lips, hoping my expression suggests something other than worry. The pounding of my feet hitting the pavement and burning lungs are all that occupy my mind as I run through the familiar streets of Belgrade. Light gusts twist through the leaves of the sycamore trees and set the water of the Danube River dancing. I squint as the rays reflect off the water and directly into my eyes while looking for the closest bench. I spy one just around the bend of the walkway. My muscles complain as I ease into a brisk walk and pull my T-shirt away from my body in hopes of the wind cooling me down a little. The dull roar of motor vehicles on the adjacent road combined with quiet hums of mid-morning life allows my tension to drain away.

Collapsing onto the park bench, I shade my eyes and watch a family of three idle by with their cameras, speaking what sounds like German. They laugh and pose for photos against the shimmering backdrop of the river and marvel at the Shoes on the Danube Bank, the sixty iron shoes that commemorate the deaths from a war long ago. Their faces drop as they read the plaque; even from a distance I can make out the downturned mouth of the little boy. They move on after a few minutes, leaving the shoes standing, lonely A dark red tugboat puffs by, pulling a reluctant ship, followed by a dazzling turquoise cruise ship no doubt carrying tourists. Soon, a cheery parade of colourful vessels has passed, once again leaving this section of Belgrade a bubble away from the sounds of a city waking up. I sigh and glance at my watch. The hands point determinedly upwards, indicating it is time for me to leave. I wish, with a longing that surprises me, that I could stay in this capsule of tranquillity that shields me from the troubles of power play that have dominated my thoughts. I begin to walk backwards, my eyes fixed on the water. Something hard juts against the back of my head. I shift aside, assuming I’ve bumped into an unyielding branch hanging from one of the sycamores. “Don’t move, or I will shoot you,” a man’s voice snarls from behind me. Clarity comes to me, abrupt and unwelcome. I freeze, moving only my eyes to scan wildly, hoping to see a passer-by, a tourist, anyone who might be able to help me. Seeing nobody, I swing around violently, my fingers already clenched in a fist. I find my attacker and aim for his face. My swinging arm hits nothing and the momentum throws me off balance, stumbling clumsily. Something blunt knocks my head and I nearly fall, only flinging my arm out to catch the trunk of a tree. The pounding hurt overwhelms me, and for a moment darkness gathers at the edges of my vision. My palm stings from scraping it against the bark of the tree and as I stand hunched over, I can hear rough breathing rattling from my chest. In,” the man commands. He shoves me towards a white van, blinding in the bright sun. I stagger ineptly towards the car, still hoping hysterically for a saviour. But there is no one. My head throbs painfully as I attempt to navigate the step up into the back. I nearly fall backwards, only to be pressed onwards, tipping onto a damp floor. I flinch as the door closes behind me with a resounding thump that makes my ears ring. I’m blinded in the sudden darkness and the rumble of the engine drowns out any whisper of faith I had left. Slowly, my eyes adjust. Fear forces my heart to pump and sets the contents of my stomach steadily swirling. I grit my teeth, determined to stay alert.

The back door. A small, blacked out window. A wooden board separating the boot from the front. The floor is damp and the space has the smell of stale air and cigarettes. A hushed argument drifts back from the front of the vehicle. There is only one word I catch, and the name is as familiar to me as my own breath. Milosevic. Of course. Of course. He was content with destroying my career, my social standing and my respect for myself. But now that I pose a threat to his power, he can no longer dismiss me as he once did. New hatred boils inside me, bubbling and noxious. I know what it is to loathe someone as much as you once loved them. But this is different. I am no longer hurt. I don’t feel the slightest stab of pain when Milosevic and his betrayal occupy my mind. Now, it is unadulterated rage. What does he plan to do with me? Force me to step down? Torture me for information? I grit my teeth and steel myself against the thought. I remind myself that I am no longer a puppet he can toy with as he pleases. A shift in the van’s direction draws me out of my thoughts. Someone slams on the brakes and I am thrown against the back seat, arm braced to protect my already pounding head. I groan and pull myself backwards as I hear the crunch of shoes on a rocky surface outside. Light washes out my vision, once again blinded. Anger propels me to struggle to my feet, but I weave as my head pounds. I fight hands that wrap around my shoulders in an iron grip. My strength dwindles and I am left gasping on the ground. Unpleasant-smelling breath streams past my nose as I try to hold my own. My check presses uncomfortably into stones as I am forced to the ground. The sound of a gun being cocked rouses the incredulity that turns my thoughts soft and insubstantial. Two shots ring out and I gasp as pain shatters any semblance of awareness. Time, which seemed to be carrying me in its inexorable current only the night before, drags as I feel consciousness slipping away, slithering further and further from my grasp with every minute that passes. The agony hammers against my chest, increasing as something presses against my torso. A ringing in my ears is followed by someone yelling in a way that is faintly familiar. “Brown?” I manage to rasp.

“I need you to stay alert,” he replies, his voice urgent. “I’m on the phone to emergency services now.” I open my eyes to see Brown, with a phone in one hand and the other planted firmly on my chest, holding in place a bundled piece of dark material. Dark spots swing in front of my eyes. “What happened?” “Milosevic… ordered them to kill me.” The simple words exhaust me as I struggle through them with lengthy pauses. Brown is unforgiving. “How do you know?” “I heard them.” I gather my energy. “They… they were talking about it.” I muddle through the events of the day, trying to get them out. I know, with certainty, that this will be my last chance to prove what Milosevic is capable of doing. “He murders. He orders the deaths of people who were once closer than family, a maddened fool who turns on trusted comrades.” A shallow breath is all I can manage in an effort to calm myself down. “He does not have a conscience. He does not have feelings, but he has a country with which to do as he pleases, and he will obliterate it if you let him.” I close my eyes. “Don’t let him.” Geoffrey Brown looks from the witness stand at the crowd of journalists and court artists, all recording the statement he makes. He recognises a few, all from various newspapers across the world who travelled to The Hague especially for this hearing. He shakes his head. Six years later and the story still brings worldwide attention. Trying to block out the clamour of the courtroom, he finishes his testimony. “Mr Stambolic was then shot twice in the chest and left in a ditch on the side of the road on the orders of Slobodan Milosevic. I found him a short while later, still conscious enough to pass on what had happened that day. Before emergency services arrived, he died.” “You may now stand down from the witness box.” Brown silently makes his way to the back of the courtroom, sitting on the hard wooden bench. With his last testimony, Stambolic’s had been told, and Milosevic would be gaoled soon enough. And with that last testimony, all those that Milosevic killed would finally have retribution. If only they were here to see it.

Australian Women's Rights: The Key Figures By Olivia Mathis

For every action and decision that Australian women make today, whether it be as ordinary as being served in a bar, or as impressive as being elected to public office, there is a woman who paved the way for future generations. Here, we look at 6 iconic women in Australian history, who are the reason that we can often take for granted the freedom we have to orchestrate our own lives. Bella Guerin

Bella Guerin was the first Australian women to graduate University. At the University of Melbourne, she was awarded a Bachelor of Arts in 1883, followed by a Master of Arts in 1885. She worked as a schoolteacher across Australia’s east coast, only pausing her career temporarily to she raise her son. Her son would describe his mother as “the kindest and most gentle of women”, and she was recognised among her colleagues as “witty, cogent and instructive”. Ahead of her time on many contemporary issues, she was an advocate for the rights of illegitimate children, the indistinction between the sexes, and women suffrage.

Henrietta Dugdale

Henrietta Dugdale initiated the first society dedicated to the advocation women suffrage, beginning the long process of allowing Australian women the right to vote. Named the Victorian Women’s Suffrage Society, it was established in 1884 – 18 years before women were legally eligible to vote. She is remembered for being outspoken against ideas that were commonly accepted to be the norm. In her newspaper column, she discussed how Victorian courts were unequipped in dealing with violent crimes against women, whereby justice was rarely served. She is recognised as a pioneer for women’s voting rights and was inducted into the Victorian Honour Roll of Women in 2001. Gladys Elphick

Gladys Elphick was an Indigenous Australian woman who founded the Council of Aboriginal Women of South Australia, which actively campaigned in the 1967 referendum. The referendum is most notable for being the first that allowed Indigenous Australians to vote at a federal level. She established a woman’s shelter in South Australia, while actively helping Indigenous women learn the English language – a skill she believed would enable women to have better opportunities in society. She was awarded the MBE medal in 1971, and was honoured as the South Australian Aborigine of the Year in 1984.

Merle Thornton

Merle Thornton is an Australian feminist and activist whose legacy is most remembered as being one of two women, along with Rosalie Bogner, to protest Queensland’s bar serving laws. Before 1965, Queensland bars could not serve women alcohol, and Thornton protested by chaining herself to the bar rail. She established the University of Queensland’s first Women Studies course in 1973, where she would contribute her own feminist works.

Caroline Jones

Nova Peris

Caroline Jones is Australia’s first female news reporter. She achieved the role in 1969 – only over 50 years ago. She set a precedent for a female presence in an industry that was primarily male, and she is arguably the reason that so many female communications students can dream of working as a news anchor on Australian television. She is the recipient of many admirable accolades, including a Logie in 1972, and an Order of Australia medal in 1988. In her career spanning almost 60 years, she has presented for Four Corners and Australian Story.

Nova Peris was the first Indigenous Australian women to win a gold medal at the Olympics. She won her medal in 1996 and competed in the Commonwealth Games in 1998 and 2000. In 2013, Peris was elected to the Senate, becoming Australia's first female Indigenous federal parliamentarian.

By Wesley Tran

Why I’m not surprised Afghan women have been abandoned by the West By Ruby Hartley The West having abandoned Afghanistan after 20 years of war is an international shame. They have not been able to eradicate the Taliban, and so their efforts have been unsuccessful – they should give up apparently. I understand that the toll on soldiers has been horrible and traumatising, but that deserves its own article. Regardless of the reasons for leaving Afghanistan, the reasons to stay in my opinion far out-weigh the financial costs and even the cost of lives of the West. The Afghanistan that the US, UK and Australia have now allowed to be controlled by the Taliban (the capital Kabul was taken over in a single day) is not the Afghanistan we have known for the last 20 years. The accounts of life under the Taliban from 1996 to 2001 are horrendous, specifically for women, although every person under the Taliban rule was subject to their inhumane methods of punishment (stoning, dismemberment, execution) and control. Under the Taliban’s rule, women in Afghanistan will be not much more than sex slaves. After two decades of progress in education, employment and political representation, it was all for nothing if other countries do not step in.

This picture is of shop fronts being painted over in Kabul so as not to incite the Taliban.

I want to drive home how desperate people are to escape the Taliban rule. The Taliban is not considered a terrorist organisation by the US, yet many people have died attempting to flee their take-over. Afghans in Kabul, particularly Afghan women, have lived in relative freedom for the last 20 years. There have been thousands swarming Kabul airport, with accounts of people throwing themselves in front of planes, trying to hold onto planes as they take off. This is an image of 640 people who boarded a US Air Force transport plane to escape Kabul, the pilots made the decision to leave without their cargo rather than force these people off.

The UK, US and Australia have been removing their citizens and personnel for weeks, evacuating their consulates and embassies, and leaving Afghanis who helped them to be executed by the Taliban. Joe Biden said that although the footage of people desperately hanging onto airplanes as they took off from Kabul Airport before plunging to their deaths was ‘gut-wrenching’ it was ‘no longer in the US’s interest’ to be in Afghanistan. For the sake of preventing war crimes such as forced marriage, rape and enforced sexual servitude of women and girls, surely it is the interest of every western country that values women’s rights at all? Women of colour are disproportionately the victims of violence compared to white women, and in cases like this, I find that people have the same attitude that Scott Morrison had to the Women 4 Justice movement earlier this year surrounding Brittany Higgins. ‘They are not my women, they are not the women I know or love, they are not my problem’. The fact that our government and the governments of the US and UK have abandoned at least half of the population of Afghanistan to suffer unimaginable cruelty simply provides more evidence that women’s issues, and particularly women of colour issues, do not matter to three old white men, nor their governments. Although the Taliban has spoken of peace negotiations and ‘upholding women’s rights’, as recently as July they issued orders to local religious leaders in the areas they had taken control. The order was for the leaders to provide the Taliban with a list of all girls over the age of 15 and women under the age of 45 who were unmarried. This list would be used to give them to Taliban fighters for ‘marriage’, a tactic used last time the Taliban were in power to encourage militants to join them. I really urge readers to think about this. Which girls do you know who are 16? A little sister perhaps? A cousin? Which older women do you know who are unmarried by choice? An older sister, an aunt? Not to mention those who are LGBT+. Under Article 27 of the Geneva Convention, ‘Women must be especially protected against any attack on their honour, in particular against rape, enforced prostitution, or any other form of indecent assault’. Additionally, in 2008, the UN Security Council adopted Resolution 1820 declaring that ‘rape and other forms of sexual violence can constitute war crimes’. Unbelievably, in Australian law at least, being a woman or suffering gender violence/discrimination is not considered grounds for refugee status.

As well as these horrible crimes that the Taliban were guilty of committing last time they were in power (I would encourage those interested in the topic to read A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini and other novels by Afghan writers), they also subjected women to ‘persistent human rights violations’. They have indicated that they will again deny women employment and education over the age of 12 years old. They will also not allow women to wear anything less than a burqa (a garment which covers the body from head to toe including the face) in public, and to always be accompanied by a male ‘guardian’. I know that to suddenly be required by law to ask my 15 year old brother if he would accompany me to the shops would be humiliating, especially after the freedom I am afforded now in Australia as a 20 year old woman, who lives out of home with two other young women. Afghan women are not that different from the women you and I know. There are Afghan women who, like me, are 20, and have spent their entire lives getting an education that under the Taliban rule, will become pointless. There are women who have spent the last 20 years developing a career with all the natural sacrifices that come with it, all for nothing. There are thousands of women who do not wear the burqa by choice that will now be forced to. It all comes down to women not having a choice, women not having a voice, and women not being prioritised by the international community or in their own country. The Taliban believes in an extreme and distorted interpretation of Islam under which women are oppressed and subjected to inhumane treatment. They also do not have respect for other religions or beliefs, destroying ancient cultural sites like the Bamiyan Buddhas last time they were in power. I think about the future of the women of Afghanistan if other countries do not step in, and it brings me to genuine tears. I am not Muslim, I am not Afghani, I have not experienced extreme sexual violence, I do not know Afghan people or women. But the pain they will face and the pain some will face again is something that hurts me at my core. It is the least we can do in Western countries to be educated, and so I encourage readers to check out all the references I have given, they are all news articles and in one case a TedxTalk. There is so much I haven’t covered so please do your own research as well. Unfortunately, I don’t have a happy ending or something to offer for people to do in an activism sense as Australia generally follows the US and UK’s lead. I can’t see Scott Morrison calling for anyone to act for women, let alone from another country. It breaks my heart.

BEAUTY BEHIND THE MADNESS BY JIBRIEL PEREZ

Animosity drives a division. To disrupt a fabricated narrative built for destruction. Ambiguity used to conceal a guilty plea, To be free from the mess of reality. Embolden your guts, Be firm and ready for confrontation, There’s beauty behind the madness. Stance brings importance in an issue. Amplified voices stir curiosity and bring solidarity, What else needs to suffice in order to achieve justice?

Let’s stir away from fear, Learn from what we all see and hear. Grasp a weapon that constructs the mind to derive what is right. To fight and see the light in every situation. Avoid the mess, Strategise like in chess It’s easier to say but harder to execute Stand resolute against the beast What else can overcome a tragedy? A rebel with a heart.

Ambivalence and neutrality, Is a sign of a lack of clarity. A force to be reckoned with, Is what should be embodied. Have the courage to be brave, Have the confidence, Break the silence.

Ignorance is not bliss.

Conquering justice is the genesis.

The Memories of Time Eternal a poetry suite by Victoria Bassett-Wilton The Self Once upon a time, I lived in a dream. I thought all the world was good, and the people clean, Made of pure kindness and love. I thought everyone had the best intentions. I thought there wasn’t really such a thing as cruelty . . . what’s that but a made up word from a place unknown? I lived in a world of light, Where rivers ran blue, And fairy-dust covered the lenses I wore. I thought trust was innate, that my friends were creatures of sweetness and beauty. I thought their hearts beat to the same rhythm as mine. I thought I could trust people based on the memories of my childhood. I lived in a world not real but for the canvas of my mind. Until one day, a person called best friend poured oil into my rivers and dug my heart from my chest with their hands. Even now, I shiver to recall. I cried and I cried and I cried. But the tears didn’t fall. I should have known it was my mind coming to ruin, War. Numb, canvas stretched thin Red paint thrown, seeping through cracks.

Yet still, somehow I remained naïve I still belonged to this world not real, hoping it was a world of light. I set sail on my journey of discovery, My gut ringing with the notion of something, telling me something was going to happen. I thought I was healing. But no, that was only the deep depths of denial singing their sultry lies. Confusion, A dagger in the core of this already crumbling dreamworld, forged from the light of my inner child’s innocence. Promises I had clung to so desperately, were nought by words floating and fading. I had lived in a world of beauty, tainted by bitter betrayal and shattered by false promises. I had lived in an ideal that would never be. My canvas aches, water has been spilt, and damage done. How do you repair a canvas? How do you make new from the material of the old? Once upon a distant time, I was a thing unjaded, I thought all was good, and I believed that everyone just wanted to be seen.

The Fury Anger coursing through me. Pure rage. Adrenaline. I just want someone to listen to me, but I don’t think anyone will. My mind is hot, burning with vehemence Inflamed. Livid. I want to bare my teeth and cry. I want to weep on a shoulder familiar. I’m so furious, and this fuel is running through my veins, threatening to burn me alive.

Everything Trust shattered. A million pieces scattered all around, just as it had been within my grasp. Foundation on sand. This nail through my soul. Yet still, complete; whole. The more I cling, The more it slips through my fingers. It. It; being everything. So hope weaved through my body and soul, Hands unfold. Let go. Release. And everything shines brighter. Everything becomes clear.

Love Incarnate

The world loves me. Energy dances around me . . . sometimes she is stagnant, building up; a ballerina pirouetting on the precipice of belief, or the quiet before the storm. It will be a storm of beauty, bringing rain for life. Energy taps my shoulder, and love swarms in my heart. Both remind me that I want a love that consumes me. I hug the earth and feel her heartbeat pressed against my cheek. My back is warm from the sun, And I burn with love, I buzz with energy. I feel everything; inside and out. I can hear the earth’s breath, and see into the eye of God. I feel at one with it all. I feel infinite connections, Without end. I am love. I am love and nothing more.

Heart My heart feels broken, I don’t know how it still beats when it’s in a thousand pieces scattered on the floor To be trodden on, Trampled. I try to collect the pieces, scrambling to gather them in my hands. Ba-boom, Ba-boom. How is my heart beating? How can it beat when it’s beyond bleeding? My heart is aching. My heart aches, but it is not broken. Sometimes it trembles with the terror of loneliness, but somewhere along my journey of pain and bleeding and betrayal,

of ruined canvas, and damaged dreams . . . My soul has awoken. She has seen the truth of herself; all the cracks and splinters, all the broken glass, and blooming flowers too. The vivid dreams on outstretched wings, and the sunset-soaked shores, And She has realised the greatness She holds within her. Her value and inherent worth. She has realised that to be alone is to relinquish the ropes and accept what cannot be changed. To be alone is to stitch together the wounds others tore into your skin, And set your heart on its flight of freedom.

Thank u, Pandemic...? by Chriselyn Salim “Don’t grow up, it’s a trap”, says the iconic Peter Pan quote. Do you ever make it your Instagram caption, thinking, “Now, I know why?” Or do you low-key feel so relatable to Taylor Swift’s song “22” – We are happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time? Well, welcome to the young adult club, the actual reality. It feels like yesterday; we went to the bathroom with the gang, went to the canteen when the bell rang, sang karaoke in class, or loved ‘shipping’ others. And suddenly, the world demands us to be prepared as if we need to quickly figure out what we will do for the rest of our lives. Not to mention how easy it is to look around and see how people are progressing, and maybe we are not. There is something important that goes unprepared—our mentality and mental health. It is the mentality that decides whether or not growing up is a trap. Because the thing is, it all starts within us. None of us are the same apple to be compared to another apple. You could be the moistest avocado, and someone will hate avocado. Undeniably, we live in a judgemental world, where the externalities often take over the ownership of the internalities. And now, as I believe I am stepping into the phase of growing up, I see the world as a picture – or, we can say, a messy puzzle. My point is, a puzzle is still solvable, regardless. This pandemic has turned the tables around, and here we are, struggling to be sane all the time, questioning our future life. Let us take a stance of constantly reminding ourselves to be grateful and the importance of communication. Honestly, our characters and mentality are primarily shaped by what and who we expose ourselves to. In screen time rather than real-time, authentic connections are slowly replaced. This culture has caused much more anxiety to millennials - the people in an age full of vulnerabilities and the mentally labile. Lack of communication within a family or close friends leads to a lack of self-belief, self-love, and increases self-doubt and insecurities. I have watched the bitter truths where people who are hanging out, taking selfies, or dancing for TikTok trends are solely friends for the “Instagram Story”. Why is that? A majority of people would say to be recognized, be seen, be liked, or whatever. How far have we gone to try to fit in society, when in reality, no one cares? When we do not have faith in ourselves, when we do not recognize our beauty and uniqueness, when we get drunk off jealousy seeing others win, and when we have given total control to outsiders to dictate who we are - that is when we are not we.

Communicate. That is the only way to know how others really think, talk, and react. We love to assume, and most of the time, we assume negatively, which results in ourselves reacting negatively. “I think she does not want to talk to me..”, or, “I guess I am boring, that is why…”, or “Why am I the only one reaching out to people?”, and so on and so forth. Do we ever consider if one “hi” may start a long-lasting friendship? Consider how many times asking, “can we talk? I feel like ..” could eliminate many misunderstandings. It’s simple and impactful. When I mentioned communication, I also mean internal communication. Most of us would think communication is synonymous with talking. Communication is much deeper than that – it implies understanding. There is nothing more powerful than understanding who we are and what we need and want. One thing I recognize is that the jars of happiness, love, freedom, peace, and trust, are built from within, where everybody seeks it withOUT. But hey - hang on? I am happy when I hang out with friends, and eat my favorite food. Yes, we all are. However, they are just adding happiness into our Built Jar of Happiness. Throughout this pandemic, I have come to the realisation of the importance of communication and gratitude. I realize these powers are so impactful towards our mindset and how we see life. I learn a lot by applying these powers. I communicate much more with my grandmothers, parents, brother, and the people around me. I recognize how caring they are, how they see life, why they react the way they do, and the implicit lessons. Not to mention, internal communication has pushed me forward; to be grateful, to see the beauty in everything, to understand emotions, and live a better, meaningful life. Self-mastery is key. What you think will be who you are. Thus, this links to how millennials act in specific ways to draw unnecessary attention, eventually allowing themselves to be the victims of unnecessary suffering. When we truly love ourselves, we share the love with others. When we are happy by ourselves, we love to share the happiness. We can not pour from an empty cup.

Now, after all of this, does growing up still feel like a trap? It is more like our mind is trapped, not necessarily life itself. It is more like we feel not loved when our friends are leaving us. It is more like we feel not enough when we see what others posted on Instagram about their productivity. It is more like the habit of comparing ourselves to others. Everything in life that happens does not necessarily define you. Losing friends does not define us as “bad.” Failing does not mean we are a failure. It is a general truth that people are only posting their best, so it is wise for us to know that we go through different journeys. Be compassionate, take nothing personally, and admire other’s beauty without questioning our own. It is the era of collaboration, not competition. It is a rollercoaster journey, full of bumpy roads and desperate moments. We are all in this game together, those who adapt well, live well. I witness countless tears, loss, and life-changing moments, something I thought would only occur in the movies; and I, definitely, like all of the population in the world, am furious and desperate about this uncertain situation. But thanks to my parents, who remind me to be grateful, to have faith, and that things will work out eventually. The power lies in communication and gratitude to keep me sane. Thus, no doubt, I would scream out loud...

"Thank you, pandemic, next!"

I I W WA AN NT T A A R RE EF FU UN ND D O ON N M MY Y Y YO OU UT TH H :: C CO OV VI ID D -- 1 19 9 A AN ND D W WH HA AT T A AR RE E M ME EA AN NT T T TO O B BE E T TH HE E B BE ES ST T Y YE EA AR RS S O OF F O OU UR R L LI IV VE ES S '' By Elysia Cook

Fast approaching my twentieth birthday, my best friend said something so completely resonant that it shattered the 6.2 kilometres of phone line between us. “I want a refund on my youth.” His words stayed with me in the ensuing days of my isolation period (special shoutout to my close contact at Coles!). The four walls of my house presented an incessant reminder of the thought, a constant in the crevices of mind. So here I am, about to enter the decade I have been so anticipating, a decade jampacked with what are meant to be the sweetest memories, moments, experiences and times of my life. And yet, so far my eighteenth and nineteenth years have consisted of deplorable and severely concerning screen time reports as well as completing my uni work whole days early; a shocking rarity that has resulted simply from a lack of anything else to do. Before you read any further, I’d like to flag that this is not a piece championing antilockdown rhetoric. Nor is this a piece that ignores the grievances that other generations of Australians and people all over the world are currently facing. Of course, there is so much suffering beyond the pandemic that must be recognized; people have lost loved ones, lost jobs, lost livelihoods, lost houses. Lost hope. I am privileged enough not to have lost any of these things and for that I am thankful. But, to negate the hardships of young people simply because there are more pressing and profound issues elsewhere is backwards. Acknowledging the problems of one generation does not mean that the problems of another should be shelved. This frame of mind needs to be interrogated and put to bed. COVID-19 does not discriminate in who it takes time from. The last eighteen months have slipped through everyone's fingers. Time is a priceless commodity. It doesn’t offer refunds or exchanges. For young people, our twenties are a goldmine of formative experiences, we just haven’t had the chance to dig them up yet.

In early February of 2020, I began what was to be my short-lived interstate experience studying at Melbourne University. I say short-lived because the three years I was meant to spend on campus soon deteriorated into a fleeting six-week vacation. These six weeks were some of the best of my life; rewarding, exhilarating and just downright fun. Brimming with O-week parties, breakfasts at 1pm consisting of Crust pizza and minimal uni work. These six weeks teased me with a taste of the seminal university experience. Moving back to Sydney was hard to come to terms with. It was difficult to grasp the idea that things had changed irreversibly. Sliding Doors ponderings plagued my everyday decisions. Thoughts of ‘what if?’ were ceaseless. Overthinking is rife when you have as much time as we do on our hands. In a situation that has stripped away our agency and control, helplessness can be suffocating. Indecision becomes paralysing. I grew obsessed with how every moment of today saturated tomorrow. Mapping out the future grew torturous and my present, uninhabited. But imagining what could have been instead of the cancelled festivals, summers spent choking on smoke, lonely Christmas Days and empty New Year Eves is a pointless exercise. What has happened has happened. As banal as it sounds, all that matters now is exactly that; the now. Dwelling is dangerous and all-consuming. I’ll let Dolly Alderton sum this up in fewer and more eloquent words than I have. ““ ‘‘ Y K T L YO OU U KN NO OW W ,, TH HA AT T LI IF FE E E EL LS SE EW WH HE ER RE E ,, ’’ I I S SA AI ID D .. ‘‘ I IT T A AN NO OT TH HE ER R R RE EA AL LM M ..

I H IS SN N ’’ T T HA AP PP PE EN NI IN NG G D DO OE ES SN N ’’ T T E EX XI IS ST T I IN N

Y YO OU UR R L LI IF FE E I IS S H HE ER RE E ,, N NO OW W .. Y YO OU U ’’ R RE E N NO OT T A AB BO OU UT T T TO O L LI IV VE E A A T TR RA AC CI IN NG G -- P PA AP PE ER R C CO OP PY Y O OF F I IT T .. ’’ ‘‘ Y YE EA AH H ,, I I S SU UP PP PO OS SE E I IT T ’’ S S B BE ET TT TE ER R T TO O N NO OT T D DW WE EL LL L O ON N W WH HA AT T C CO OU UL LD D H HA AV VE E B BE EE EN N .. ’’ ””

Although this article may read as a cluster of floundering and frustrated thoughts, what I’m ultimately saying is our lost generation can harness an appreciation for ‘normal’ life that has arisen out of its very prevention. Perhaps no generation will learn to appreciate ‘the little things’ better than we do. The generations before us may have whittled away their youth without even knowing it. Our youth was taken by force. So maybe we will cling onto it all the more tightly. And so we should. Unfortunately, there will be no refund. But we can still reclaim the pandemic years. Eschew the wasting of time. Have no regrets over the things that we can control.

Cherishing slices of normality felt fresh for me in June last year, as I’m sure it did for many people. Recall how time made that feeling fade, as the tribulations of lockdown got further and further away. Don’t forget the two years that you have lost, remind yourself every day. Being conscious of the privilege of living is a transient sensation. As we look to re-opening, some are predicting a second ‘Roaring Twenties’. Pent up teens will flock to dance floors they never got the chance to frequent, glittering promises of summer will be realised and no party will be turned down. Missed opportunities, friends’ birthdays and nights out will be channelled into living extravagantly. The time for living tentatively has come and gone. I want to dance at festivals, stick my head out car windows, grip my friends tightly and feel the roar of 80,000 people in my toes. You know there’s something wrong when you miss the feeling of drinking one too many martinis and dealing with the ramifications over a toilet boil – or bush, depending on your preference. They say your twenties are for making mistakes and everything new; places, countries, experiences, people. But mistakes are difficult to make when you’re confined to the comforts of your home. I can’t wait to get back to living. And I know young people will surface from this mess as tough as nuts and ready to make the most of absolutely everything, to squeeze the most out of every moment they can get their hands on. Bring on the Roaring Twenties. And in the meantime, make sure to read up on your Gatsby.

The past dwells in the back of my mind, and the future fills my focus. The present is passing before me without a second thought. Time is merely a measure of progress that marks the milestones of a well-lived life. It’s a vessel that holds the memories of past, present and future dreams. Our world is in a state of chaos, and the future is shrouded with apprehension. A devastating pandemic. The climate crisis. Political unrest. Economic recession. My eyes are wide open, but nothing lies ahead. There is a certain tiredness attached to the future. Loud thoughts pulsing with potential possibilities that slip out of reach before I can grasp them. Endless pathways lay before me, each one embodying a different version of myself. Different decisions that determine the direction of my future self. I’m imprisoned by the freedom of my thoughts. Sleep often seems like a simpler solution. Silencing the rumination by retreating under mountains of blankets that shield me from the impending movement of life. Under here, I can believe that the world has stood still on its axis, granting me the time to regain control. All I can do is wait, the mundane tasks passing ever so steadily. Waiting for something to happen that will unfreeze this moment. Everything is the same as the days that have come before. There must be a moment that sets everything in motion. But what? My mind refuses to focus on the present. It’s never now. It’s tomorrow, a week, a month, a year. A whole lifetime away. The future me has their life together. The future me is confident and calm, and content. The future me is no longer waiting, long gone from that uncertain state of limbo. I’m not sure when I will reach that future me. Everything about it is unclear, yet its presence remains sharp in my mind. It feels so far away, stretching before me in an impossible expanse of space. Will we ever meet each other?

Without my prospective self, I am indistinguishable. Unidentifiable. Neither present at this moment or in this thought. I think too far ahead or too far behind. The present feels like a temporary setback from the future, a transitionary stage before entering my real life. My real life is one where everything has fallen into its proper place. At only 19, so much lies ahead, yet I already feel like I’m running out of time. Maybe it's from consuming too many coming-of-age films. Perhaps it’s the pressure of fulfilling familial expectations. Possibly Pinterest is the driving force in fuelling this cultivation of an idealised lifestyle. Whatever it is, I can't help but feel that there is something that I'm lacking. Something that needs to be made up in time. Social media has pervaded our minds with expectations of success. The milestones of others have become reflections of our own inadequacies. Their achievements are a reminder of our shortcomings. Even when you try and fight it, there is always that looming sense that you should be doing more. That you should be more. There is always another step that you can take to elevate yourself. How many opportunities will life grant me to reach my future self? Has it already passed by? I want my future to be an extension of today. I want my future to follow in my direction. I want sole control as the arbiter of my destiny. I'm looking for a way to live right here, right now.

YOUR FUTURE JOB MAY NOT BE CREATED YET BY LAURA MAZZITELLI

Not sure where your career will take you? Well, your future job may not even exist yet. While some people enter Uni knowing exactly what kind of job they want, there are also students that have zero idea of what their future careers will look like. Others may have a fair idea, but don’t know which role they’re actually going to land once they finish. They may have decided to study a degree that offers a broad range of options, with the hope they will find their feet along the way. Some might change their degrees altogether, because they suddenly realise their passion lies somewhere else. No matter what stage you’re at, or even if you do know the type of career you want, there are numerous job opportunities that can align with that path, and it can be an overwhelming thought that there are so many different types of roles out there that meet your qualifications and skillset. Nevertheless, not having a clear idea of exactly where your future career is going to take you is okay; after all, none of us truly know what our futures hold. We may have an idea of where we want to work, but reality is, for the most part we aren’t guaranteed that certainty until we get there (and even then, the trajectory of our career may change overtime). If you aren’t completely sure which direction your future career path will take, then you may find some solace in the fact your future job may not even exist (not yet, anyway). In the Budget 2018-19, Stronger growth to create more jobs, over 1, 000 new jobs were reported to have been created daily in 2017. In 2019, Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison proposed we would see 1.25 million new jobs within five years (a time period which is the same length as many double degrees).

As we’ve seen throughout the unexpected Covid-19 pandemic, new jobs have been created, introduced, or expanded to meet with the demands of the time. In a CNBC article titled: ‘Without the coronavirus pandemic, these jobs probably wouldn’t have existed’, economist Julia Pollak listed jobs like Covid-19 testers, Covid-19 caregivers, contact tracers, temperature screeners, and face-mask makers as likely to rise in popularity.

Over the past year or two, job certainty has not been a reality for everyone, and a pre Covid workplace looked a lot different for many Australians than it does right now. But, it seems one thing we can expect in a post Covid workplace is a whole bunch of new jobs.

While we don’t have a crystal ball to tell us what’s to come, what these reports suggest is that we can expect further job growth. Monster, a global leader helping connect people and jobs, reported a number of jobs that may exist and flourish in the future. These included drone manager, self-driving car mechanic, medical mentor, autonomous transportation specialist, human-technology integration specialist, wholeness mentor, and end-of-life coach.

Careers with STEM have some ideas of what jobs might look like in 2050, listing jobs like AI ethicist, telesurgeon, robot recruiter, 3D-printed chef, coding ethicist, and financial wellness coaches as jobs that may be to come. So, if you’re one of the many yet to decide where your career will take you, here is your reminder to enjoy your time studying while it lasts, be patient with yourself while you actively work towards your goals, and use your time to plan for your future and strengthen your transferable skills. After all, it might even be you who fills one of the (thousands) of jobs that don’t even exist yet.

The Future of Journalism is

BRIGHT By David Shilovsky Growing up, I’ll admit that I was a bit idealistic. Whenever I watched the 6pm news on TV, the politicians and journalists on the screen seemed so immaculately presented that I felt they must be important. The anchors, presenters and correspondents seemed so noble and moral – almost superhuman. Of course, when you grow up, you tend to realise the world isn’t as perfect as you thought it was. Journalists lie – a lot. They make up stories, hound victims of awful crimes and just generally behave poorly. Here at The Comma, we probably do a lot more subediting and factchecking than they do over at The Daily Mail, with their 65-word headlines. I love watching the excellent Media Watch on the ABC – it’s a great show. But the fact they always have so much material to work with is a stunning indictment on an industry that relies so heavily on its reputation. So, bearing that in mind, is it still possible to hold up journalism as virtuous and valuable to society? I think, despite all the bullshit, the answer is unequivocally yes. I believe the excellent work of the good journalists, who strive to put truth and facts first, outweighs the effect of gossip, the rumour mill and other assorted tabloid nonsense. Every industry has its warts – perhaps the media has more than its fair share – but it’s the overall picture that is the most important. Going back to childhood memories, I felt inspired when I was old enough to properly comprehend what was being broadcast in those news bulletins. Journalists who were much too brave for their own good and lacked any kind of self-preservation would go into warzones, go toe to toe with some of the world’s shrewdest politicians and powerbrokers and even drive into bushfires. When I saw the work of female journalists in Afghanistan in recent weeks on Media Watch, I was inspired once again. We know that it would be tough work being a journo of any gender in Afghanistan at the very best of times, let alone during the overthrowing of the sitting government by a terrifying, oppressive militia. But to be a female journalist in this environment is a different kind of bravery. It’s going back to where I mentioned a lack of self-preservation – but on steroids. What is it like to never compromise your principles? I have no idea, because I do it all the time. These women at the coalface of one of the biggest political stories of the last decade, if not longer, are heroes. I put them right up there with doctors and other medical professionals. To still be doing your job to such a high standard, to be absolutely fearless in the face of unimaginable terror, is truly heroic. It is these journalists, and all the journalists out there who strive to truly act in the interest of the public, that make me believe the future is bright. Maybe I’m naïve. Maybe in a few years’ time all that will be left of this industry will be Daily Mail articles on nip slips and celebrity gossip. But I really believe there is so much more to look forward to.

What you should do in lockdown based on your moon sign by Thea Swinfield Aries - Exercise As an Aries moon, one of the biggest challenges you will face during lockdown is the inability to let off steam when you get stressed. Without a social life or exciting new adventures, you might find yourself getting stressed and anxious, and especially unable to focus your energy. Try mixing up the daily walk with a sprint, a high-speed bike ride, or maybe just taking the stairs two at a time. The endorphins might help to clear your head!

Taurus - Uber Eats & Houseplants Taurus is a sign ruled by Venus, goddess of not only love but also beauty, and Taureans love all things material. When you’re looking to truly be comforted, you might turn to the finer things in life; good food, beautiful clothes and soft blankets! But now is also the perfect time to get yourself a houseplant. Providing not only beauty and greenery but also companionship and just a little responsibility, houseplants improve any space by at least 200%. Of course, Uber Eats is just as important.

Gemini - Social Connection & Variety Those with a Gemini moon are likely to struggle with boredom even in normal life - and during a lockdown, this becomes a real problem. Zoom is a mediocre replacement for real social interaction, and Gemini moons thrive off connection with their friends. Your priority should be to stave off boredom - switch up your walking route, go somewhere within 5 kilometres that you’ve never been, maybe even spontaneously cut your hair! Or...maybe don’t. Call a friend out of the blue, have an unscheduled gossip sesh, slide into someone’s DMs - variety is key!

Cancer - Talk To Friends The sign of home, comfort and family, the moon is at home in Cancer. Lucky you! Those with their moon in Cancer often find comfort in connecting emotionally, so be sure to be talking to your friends about how you’re feeling, whether it’s over call or online. The tendency to retreat into your protective crab shell might be strong at a time like this, but it’s important to make sure your mental health and that of the people you love is taking priority.

Leo - Create Those with their moon in Leo are often creative, generous and passionate - but how can you show all this off with no face to face social interaction? You might find comfort and relaxation in creating, and this can take any form! Painting, sketching, writing, making genius playlists, and even trying a new makeup look can appeal to your creative side. If you’re looking for a new activity to try on Zoom, paint n’ sip nights might be up your alley!

Virgo - Organise Your Space

Virgos aren’t always the neat freaks they’re portrayed as, but those with their moon in Virgo will often find comfort and stability in order. Organising your online space can be just as important as organising your home, especially when your screen time is up during lockdown - try clearing out old files that take up space on your phone, opening messages you’ve been procrastinating responding to, and making sure your online calendar is up to date. For real life organisation, try clearing out the old clothes you haven’t worn in years, consolidating your book collection, and even just putting a little extra effort into keeping on top of normal cleaning routines!

Libra - Look For Beauty Libra moons have an exceptional eye for beauty, and can find that having pretty things to look at can be the bottom tier of their own personal hierarchy of needs. If you need another online space to get into, I cannot recommend Pinterest enough - you might think it’s just an app for millennial mum bloggers to share recipes, but there’s something surprisingly calming about sorting cottagecore pictures into neat little boards. If that doesn’t sound like your thing, Libra moons are often able to appreciate the beauty in nature due to their Venusian influence - if you’re lucky enough to have a park within walking distance, take some time to admire the trees, the sky, the flowers, and maybe even the people next time you’re there.

Scorpio - Mood Swings If you’re a Scorpio moon, you’ve been told a million times that you’re prone to extreme mood swings. Your emotions never feel mild, and being isolated for months can make it a lot worse. If your emotions have been swinging from one extreme to the other a hundred times a day, it’s important to remind yourself that you’re not crazy - there’s no right way to respond to a situation like this, and all you can do is get through it. Talking out your emotions with friends is always helpful, as well as remembering to get out of your room when you can. If you have a garden, sitting in the sun has been proven to increase the brain’s release of the hormone serotonin, which can stabilise your emotions and help you feel calm and centred.

Sagittarius - Don’t Avoid Negative Feelings This doesn’t necessarily just apply in lockdown - those with their moon in Sagittarius have a reputation for being a flight risk, and this doesn’t just mean they love to travel. It can be hard for Sagittarius moons to be introspective, with many preferring to ignore their negative emotions by making themselves busy, trying new things, and especially making their feelings into jokes. It’s important that you remember your emotions won’t go away just because you want them to - sometimes, your mental health relies on you addressing them. Lockdown is an especially difficult time for Sagittarius moons, who tend to value freedom above anything else, but deflecting conversations about your negative feelings won’t fix them.

Capricorn - Ask for Help Having your moon in Capricorn is known for being stressful; these people are often forced to grow up early, take on responsibilities at a young age, and have a particularly hard time sharing the load. You might find yourself taking on other people’s problems more than your own during lockdown while you keep all your issues to yourself, but a problem shared is a problem halved. Take advantage of whatever support system you have - talk to your friends, family, or basically anyone who can sit and listen. Even if they can’t solve everything, it can be a relief just to get it out.

Aquarius - Podcasts & Stargazing Known for seeking comfort in the unconventional, people with their moon in the air sign of Aquarius often find they need to be stimulated at all times or their mind becomes overcrowded and overwhelming. Podcasts can help Aquarius moons feel energised through the discussion of niche topics, something the sign of Aquarius enjoys. If you’re feeling trapped in your home (or your local government area) turning your eyes skyward can help ground you - try to find the constellation of your sun sign in the stars!

Pisces - Rain Sounds & Music

Pisces is the sign of dreamers, and those with their moon in Pisces often feel most comfortable with their head in the clouds. Escapism and daydreaming are the favourite pastimes of Pisces moons, and listening to music can help transport you out of reality, whether you’re trying something new or hitting repeat on your favourite songs. Another tool Pisces moons can use to relax and focus is calming audios such as guided meditation, white noise or rain sounds.

YOUR FUTURISTIC PLAYLIST, TODAY. Work - BarbWalters

Right on Time - Vantage

Darkseid - Grimes

Hot Chance - Skule Toyama

Emotions - Desired

Lost - TaylorX

Sometime - LO'99 ft. Owl Eyes

Pineapple Crush - Lone

Mine - Slayyyter

Break it off - PinkPantheress