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 respect to the Elders both past and present, acknowledging them as the traditional custodians of knowledge for these lands.
CONTENTS
CONTENTS 07 08 11 12 15 18 20 23 26 28 31 40 42 45 48 52 54 56 58 59 60 62 64 66 71
cover art:
Presidents’ Welcome Cordelia Hsu & Isabelle Stackpool Committee Address
Engage with UTS Careers
A Letter To Those Who Won’t Stop Growing Grace Joseph Independently Ever After Tara Wesson
Ten internships in ten months: what I learnt Alex Turner-Cohen And the crown for ‘most popular’ goes to… Fatima Olumee To unpathed waters, undreamed shores… Olivia Locascio Economic Growth and Climate Change Gianluca Dragone The Anti-Social World of Social Media Laura Mazzitelli Showcase: Photography
Unlock Your Potential Kurt Bush In Bloom Grace Collison
The Pearls Andrea Kovacic
Fruit of the Tree Travis Radford Imagine If Alex Turner-Cohen
The Family Business Esther Hannan-Moon Fragmentation Emma Walls
Verdant Freckles Allyson Shaw The Lost Garden Sidney B
A Gunslinger’s Tale Georgio Platias
“You say I turned out fine. I think I’m still turning out.” Rachelle Tacadena Growing as a Writer Travis Radford Horoscopes Keeley McAlinden Read more
@therealanniewalker
welcome to country art:
@genevieve_antoinette
EDS’ LETTER
A WORD FROM THE EDITOR “The first draft of anything is shit.” Ernest Hemingway Welcome to The UTS Society of Communications’ (UTSoC) 2019 Annual Edition of The Comma. The theme of this issue, in its second year, is ‘grow’. It’s been a big year for the Publications Portfolio, so grow is a fitting word to encompass the work of our contributors, both in this physical version, but also its online big sister. I am so proud of every piece in these pages. Grace Joseph writes a heartfelt ode to those who grow in the face of a harsh world, and on the flipside, Fatima Olumee delves into why leaders like Trump have become so powerful. Grace Collison chronicles her journey through self love and plant parenthood, with Allyson Shaw also conjuring a beautifully imagined story of a boy growing into a plant. Speaking of imaginings, Alex Turner-Cohen treats us to her final chapter of Imagine If, asking ‘what if we never grew old?’ with humour and eloquence. These are just some of the pieces I was so proud to curate, all in one compendium of all kinds of growth. It’s been a major learning curve, being Publications Director for 2019. I’ve learned how to juggle spinning plates and look after myself, all at once. Of course there have been times when I’ve needed looking after, too; so I’d like to thank my family, my friends and my partner for catching me when I’ve fallen. To Cordelia, Izzy, Gabby, Ainsley, and Tash: thank you for your hard work on this magazine. And Aaron, you’re incredible. You and your team have stuck with me on this from day one, and we’ve created something to be proud of. To the whole executive team: whether you’ve helped produce this baby or even just made me smile and been a part of my life this year… I appreciate you. And last but certainly not least, my juniors. I couldn’t have pulled this together without your support. You are all so hardworking, kind, and talented. I hope you grew because of our little family as much as I did this year. Every little thing you did this year, however small and seemingly trivial, brought this magazine to life. The Comma well and truly set off last year, trail-blazed by the work of the brilliant Bronte Gossling. Bronte took me on as her junior last year, and I wouldn’t be writing this editor’s letter if it wasn’t for the belief she had in me. I hope you grow through this beautiful magazine as much as I did. Tara Wesson Publications Director Instagram: @tarywess
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THE TEAM
utsoc.com.au/thecomma Editor-in-Chief Tara Wesson Editorial Team Grace Joseph Alex Turner-Cohen Olivia Locascio Travis Radford Keeley McAlinden
Partnerships Team Tarana Fernando Ella Cyreszko Partners ActivateUTS UTS Careers UTS Jumbunna
Head Designer Aaron Liu Design Team Renuka Chalk Maddison Gibbs Andrew Mai Natasha Opt-Land Alex Shute Nima Sotoudeh Head of Partnerships Natasha Spencer
Connect with us UTS Society of Communications @UTSoC @UTSoC @UTSoC UTS Society of Communications
Contributors Fatima Olumee Gianluca Dragone Laura Mazzitelli Rosalie Wesson Nick Gregson Hebah Ali Lilly May Isabelle Laker Cordelia Hsu Bobi Perdulovski Kurt Bush Grace Collison Andrea Kovacic Esther Hannan-Moon Emma Walls Allyson Shaw Sidney B Georgio Platias Rachelle Tacadena
Thank you to ActivateUTS, UTSoC’s main sponsors for 2019. We appreciate your support immensely. The Comma’s 2019 Annual Edition is proudly published by UTS Society of Communications, and printed by Fast Print Services. The content of The Comma does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the editors, printers, UTS, or ActivateUTS. While all care has been taken, UTSoC regrets it cannot accept liabilities from errors or omissions contained in this publication, however caused. The Comma and its entire contents are protected by copyright. The Comma will retain the right to republish in any format. No material may be reproduced without the prior written consent of the copyright holders.
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PRESIDENTS' WELCOME
WELCOME
It has been an honour serving as the president and vice president of UTSoC this year. We’ve had so much fun and are really proud of everything that our team has achieved. This year we set out to provide a more holistic and well rounded experience for our members and peers, and we feel overjoyed that this has been achieved. This meant not only focusing on events, parties and fun but also ensuring we provided opportunities to further personal growth as well as support surrounding mental health. There have been so many key experiences this year it is hard to narrow them down. One highlight is always First Year Camp, where we give the new (and old) communications cohort at UTS the chance to meet and mingle. Camp is an important experience for bonding and integrating into university life, as well as the chance to properly meet the UTSoC team. Our #smashthestigma Campaign was founded this year and has received some outstanding traction. The opportunity for people to share their mental health stories fits very closely with our vision and goals for this year, in addition to being an issue that is very close to our hearts. It is so important to raise awareness surrounding mental health and the attached stigma, showing that our experiences can all be very different or similar but are valid just the same. This has allowed people from both our team and UTS cohort to share their stories, and has been incredibly moving and eye opening. Additionally, we have provided some awesome career opportunities. In the form of various workshops and panels, our members have been assisted in furthering their personal and professional development, in line with our goal to provide a well rounded uni experience. As always we have had so many stellar UTSoC events, everything from welcome back drinks to charity trivia nights and the annual ball. Whether you want to dance or work out, UTSoC has something for everyone. We are so proud of each and every individual on the committee for the effort and commitment they have put into this year. You really do get out what you put in, and UTSoC has been in some great hands. More than just partying and fun UTSoC has provided the opportunity to create real change, friendships, memories and an enhancement to your overall university lifestyle.
Cordelia Hsu President
@cordeliahsu
Isabelle Stackpool Vice President
@izzystackpool
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COMMITTEE
executive committee Gabrielle Oehlmann Treasurer
@_gabriellesusan
This year I’ve had the honour of being the Treasurer for UTSoC. I am so grateful for this experience, it has been so rewarding and helped me expand my horizons both professionally and personally. I’ve gained valuable experience with managing budgets, grants and accounting for expenditure. Through the nature of my role as treasurer I have been able to work behind the scenes in all portfolios and watch all their amazing projects blossom from the early planning stages. I’m so proud to be a part of such a hardworking society and I am so thankful to the amazing UTSoC committee for making this experience as amazing as it has been. I would like to especially thank Cordelia, Izzy and Ainsley for being incredible leaders and my awesome treasurer junior Harry for stepping up and being an incredible help. I am so excited to see what UTSoC does next!
Ainsley Jones Secretary
@_ainsleyjones_
Being a part of the UTSoC team in 2019 has meant that I’ve been surrounded by the most compassionate people. Every single day I’m amazed and inspired by the team, whether it be by their drive to support communication students, their ideas or how they manage to juggle so many things at once. As the UTSoC Secretary and a part of the leadership team, it has meant that I have had the opportunity to work with each portfolio and help them produce their initiatives. This has included organising meetings, taking minutes at meetings, emails, all things admin and being there as a helping hand to all the portfolios. We’ve also worked on CUTeSoC communication through our group pages, chats and our catch ups, which have been such a fun way for everyone to get to know each other. Thanks to the UTSoC 2019 legends. I! Love! UTSoC
Anna Lei & Calvin Lu Socials
@_annalei
Calvin Lu
For the first time, the socials portfolio was led by two directors. To us, it was a surreal experience that put us through challenges and setbacks, but ultimately it saw us grow as people and we are incredibly privileged to have been given this opportunity. The numerous events that we organised and hosted, such as First Year Camp, The Hunt and the Annual Ball, saw us continuing traditions and enriching student connections. Our End of Semester Party was in collaboration with Reverb UTS, MuscUTS and Backstage, and the relationships established are as valuable as ever. It is so rewarding to see all the hard work, dedication and big ideas come to life and have students benefit from this. We’d like to thank our juniors for their hard work: Cynthia Nguyen, Annie Pham, Tarana Fernando and Cassie Parker.
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Rachelle Tacadena Marketing
@rachelletaco
The marketing portfolio has been a rollercoaster in 2019, building our social media presence and keeping our community connected with each event, opportunity and initiative launched. We have worked alongside every portfolio and collaborated with multiple UTS clubs and societies to promote their ideas and bring them to life. A big shout-out to the Social Justice team and their #smashthestigma campaign with batyr which has been the most engaging (and equally inspiring) online campaign of this year. Two colourful (yet dense) spreadsheets, some challenging event pushes and hundreds of posts and Instagram stories later, UTSoC has been an extremely rewarding experience for the marketing portfolio, and we have all grown immensely. Alisha, Jacinta and Abby, my juniors, have worked so, so hard.
Kaung Aung Education
@kaung_ng
The education portfolio surely has been on a wild ride this entire year, with the Big Orange Little Orange programme the main focus for the year. We had events that included ice skating, Vivid, Timezone and cherry blossoms, just to name a few, and giving first-year students a chance to strengthen bonds with older students that will last all throughout university. More recently the education portfolio was involved with YOU Week, which found great success in terms of raising awareness for mental health and the #smashthestigma campaign alongside the social justice portfolio.
Brendon Song Sports
Brendon Song
Being the sports director has been a wonderful learning experience. The goal has been to hold a variety of events that offer fun new opportunities for members to meet each other. We focus on health and fitness in our weekly workouts, “Let’s Get Physical” and Colour Run but have alternate events such as Laser Tag and a FIFA tournament, a collaboration with Football Appreciation Society and Gamers Guild. I’d like to express my gratitude to my juniors for the hard work they have put into the sports portfolio this year. Thanks to Sam for being a great ambassador for “Let’s Get Physical”. Thanks to Envera for her creative input in discussions. And thanks to Olivia for her passion for all things UTSoC.
Aaron Liu Creatives
@aaronliiuu
It has been one hectic year for the creative portfolio! It was hard work ensuring UTSoC has the highest quality and aesthetic content that also aligns with UTSoC’s vision and message. This year, we wanted to incorporate the work of Music and Sound Design students, to broaden our creative horizons and provide opportunities for professional experience. This year we also tried to be a bit different, our first ever ‘Let’s Get Physical’ video had a reach of 1k views, and our first comedic Ball promotional video had a total reach of 2.1k views. Abbey, Annie, Dylan, Georgia, Tash, Oliver and Pia, y’all have all been absolute mad dogs with creating content from videos, to taking photos, creating graphics and composing music, and I could not have survived this year without these homies. UTSoC 2019, y’all have been heeectic!!
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Melanie Wong Social Justice
@m_wong182
Being the social justice director for UTSoC has taught me so much this year. A lot of the time, seeing society and people experiencing the worst can lead me to find the best in others. First semester focussed on refugee rights by fundraising money in a film screening of the documentary ‘The Staging Post’ for the Cisarua Refugee Learning Centre in Indonesia. In Semester 2, the social justice portfolio redirected our focus to mental health awareness with a series of online initiatives and events. The photo-series #smashthestigma has seen high levels of engagement on social media, as well as being reposted and shared by UTS Engage. We also collaborated with The Big Lift to host the Charity Trivia event, raising money for headspace. We finished the semester’s activities with a stall at the UTS Timeout Week Mental Health Fair, giving out baked goods in exchange for an uplifting message or doodle. This year has been so, so rewarding and allowed me to collaborate with so many passionate individuals, for which I’ll always be thankful.
Shantelle O’Riordan Careers
Shantelle O’Riordan
Being careers director has been a rewarding and eventful experience. Our goal for this year was more than just raising UTSoC’s profile in the industry but ensuring our members receive true insight and guidance into navigating their career. We ran three successful panels and a Careers Masterclass, collaborating with other societies and thus building relationships with industry experts. Being a part of UTSoC has also been invaluable to my university experience as I have two great jobs in the industry and made lifelong friends.
Natasha Spencer Partnerships
Natasha Spencer
This year, a new direction was clarified for partnerships, aimed at solidifying UTSoC’s reputation as a bridge between students and industry. Alongside normal duties of supporting UTSoC’s other portfolios via aiding with reachout and leveraging sponsorships, three new focuses have been in development throughout the year. The first of these has been the creation of relationships with peak industry bodies such as PRIA, the IAA and more. The second is the increase of benefits for Communications students by constructing a bank of UTSoC-exclusive discounts on products, services and industry events. The third is the development of a new website to make a digital space more functional for both students and potential partners.
Sunny Adcock
First Year Representative @sunny_adcock
Being First Year Representative has been such a rewarding experience. Going to First Year Camp with my fellow first years and UTSoC members was an experience I’ll never forget. Without that camp, I wouldn’t have forged many of the bonds which have become so important to me now. It made the transition from high school to university far less daunting. Coming back from camp and attending various fun UTSOC events, only to see that that same comradery from camp was still there, was so welcoming and reassuring. Having a community I could go to for guidance made such a huge difference, and helped me build my leadership skills, uniting the first year cohort in the process. I’m really glad to have been First Year Rep in 2019 and can’t wait to see what 2020 brings for UTSOC.
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Engage with UTS Careers
At UTS Careers we help to equip Communication students with the employability skills, confidence and advice to achieve their career goals. Working closely with graduate recruiters, the faculty, and industry leaders, we also offer a variety of services and resources to help Communication students bridge the gap between university and taking that next step towards a successful career. From events and workshops, to digital resources, inperson career consultations and more – we’ve got your back!
Events & Workshops •
• • • •
Workshops - Interview Skills - Job Search - Resume & Cover Letter Writing - LinkedIn Lab Careers Fairs Networking Orientation Sessions And more!
For the full list of activities, visit careerhub.uts.edu.au
Online Resources UTS CareerHub An online portal for jobs, resources, and upcoming events. careerhub.uts.edu.au
Rate My Resume
Visit Us Drop-in for a free 15 minute career conversation with a Recruitment Advisor. We can provide advice on a range of career related topics including career direction, job search and application writing.
Have your resume reviewed instantly and processed in real time – any day, any time. uts.ac/ratemyresume
UTS Building 2, Level 4, Room 221.
Professional Mentoring Platform
10am-12pm (no appointment necessary)
Connect with industry professionals, UTS alumni and staff, at the click of a button on the UTS Professional Mentoring Platform. uts.ac/PMP
Monday-Friday
1:30pm-4:30pm (appointments are bookable via careerhub.uts.edu.au) Check our Facebook page for the most up-to-date opening hours.
Contact Careers careers.uts.edu.au careers@uts.edu.au 9514 1471 @utscareers
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art: @alexshute_
MATURITY
A LETTER TO THOSE WHO WON’T STOP GROWING Grace Joseph Grace McManus Joseph grow (verb): to spring up and develop to maturity.
To those who won’t stop growing, Today’s world is, for want of a better word, messed up. You know this better than anyone. There’;s an orange-skinned quasidictator putting kids in cages. There are powerful heatwaves ripping across Europe – proper, 37-degree Celsius heatwaves, not the 24-degree ‘summer’ days that Australians often laugh at. Aboriginal andTorres Strait Islander peoples continued to be imprisoned at rates far too high for a group that only makes up 2% of the nation. Prominent rugby players are spurting antiLGBTQIA+ drivel, and Australia recorded its warmest January-March this year. As if all this wasn’t enough, one in every four young people are currently experiencing a mental health condition (you don’t have to be a genius to connect these dots). The state of the world is enough to make me sigh, enough to make me cry – and most significantly, it sometimes feels like enough to defeat me. Why, you ask, am I telling you all this? We know! My god, how could we not know? It’s everywhere, all the time, a world that is often so awful and upsetting and horrifying that there isn’t a literary technique worth deploying to describe it. Not to be crude, but there’s little point in dressing it up – it’s just shit.
I’m telling you this because you confuse me. Or maybe because you inspire me. I see you, the people who are always grinding, always working, always dreaming, and I wonder how you do it. How do you keep on growing in spite of it all? How do you continue to work for the future when there are so many obstacles in the present, and indeed, often a few in the past as well? How do you wake up, day after day after day, and continue to study or work or protest – it’s especially impressive when you manage all three – with reality weighing on your shoulders and constricting your lungs? How do you keep fighting, keep thriving, even keep surviving when everything seems to be getting worse? Perhaps a more apt question is this – why do you do it? Is it ignorance? Not to go all boomer on you, but maybe the only way young people keep going is by wrapping ourselves up in cotton wool and burying our heads in the sand. The ability to grow might be a byproduct of privilege. After all, everything is a little bit easier when you have a roof over your head, some money in the bank, and the odds stacked against you by society are minimal.
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MATURITY So yes, maybe a little bit of willful ignorance is required to keep growing. But it’s a fine balance between ignorance and zoning out for the sake of your mental health, and the more mature you are, the better you are at finding it. Don’t stop growing, but make sure you’re growing mindfully. If it’s not solely ignorance that’s allowing you to grow, then is it helplessness? Look at the seemingly impossible challenges faced by the human race. Then look at the complete lack of action, empathy and common sense wielded by world leaders. How could you not feel helpless in the face of that? Maybe you, the people who continue to grow, feel you don’t have another option. What else can you do but work and improve and keep yourself busy?
loved ones and role models who refuse to give up despite it all, could never be described as selfish, and I can’t help thinking that this extends to all of you who continue to grow. Maybe you work purely for the sake of others. Maybe you’ve come so far and gone through so much that it would be an injustice to stop now. Maybe you could actually, ironically, do with being a little more selfish – remember, you have to fit your own mask before helping others. So with all this in mind, there’s only one possible reason left for how (and why) you people refuse to let the chaotic world get in the way of your growth. You’re hopeful.
Hopeful that this chaos Really, I wouldn’t be surprised if will soon fade, and within every young adult who’s ever optimistic that your been described as put-together and work, your growth, will mature, there’s a raging play some role in that. t You’re positive that ocean of ‘oh-god-what-am-I-doing’ complete with undercurrents of ‘oh- we’re not going to be the last generation god-what-are-
We’re all just trying to keep our heads above that water.
Perhaps this is the secret to continued selfimprovement and maturity – it’s a mask to hide behind. It’s a method of distraction. Helplessness feeds ignorance, it would appear. But surely it can’t just be ignorance and helplessness... right? We’re not all wandering through this life, defeated by a looming, apparently-inevitable fate. So I have to consider this next option – maybe you people who continue to grow just really don’t care. You see the world all but crumbling around you, and you shrug it off. Isn’t it inevitably selfish to continue to study, make money, get promoted, create your future when so many others can’t? What kind of future will that be? But I can’t really believe this is true. You don’t need selfishness in order to grow. So many of the people I am impressed by, my 14
to see snow, and,
equally, that we’re going to be the last generation to see disproportionate levels of queer homelessness. You see the rising temperatures and the raging racists of twenty-first century Earth, and you know that you have to grow not in spite of them, but because of them. If we weren’t hopeful, even a little bit hopeful, then we wouldn’t keep growing. We could hardly even keep going. I think it’s about time that I let you in on a little hint. This is a letter to those who won’t stop growing – in other words, this is a letter to everyone. If you’re refusing to let the world get you down, this is a letter to you. If you’re owning your mistakes and fixing those of the generations before you, this is a letter to you. If you’re waking up and continuing onwards every day, this is a letter for you. Because while it may not seem like you’re growing, let me tell you this – just surviving another day in this broken world is often an act of growth on its own. So, to those who refuse to stop growing. I see you. I am one of you. And, damn – we are impressive.
SELF-LOVE
INDEPENDENTLY EVER AFTER Tara Wesson @tarywess The dating world is rife with barbs and broken hearts. Tara Wesson tells how to make gold from it, and put the most important thing first: you.
That young girls are taught to rely on their ‘prince’ from an early age is nothing new. The damsel in distress tale is woven into our infantile brains, with Disney and romcoms, which, once you’re old enough to date, simply turn into the disillusionment of a real ‘need’ for that special someone. This was me. At twenty one, I’d never had a boyfriend, let alone a requited love. In its place I had a mangled history of emotions and rejections, violations and fledgling broken hearts, leaving me with a pit in my stomach and lump in my throat
whenever I thought about my dating life. By this age I’d strongly solidified a base of feminist values and girlpower vibes, which I knew to be true.. but however proudly I flew my burning bra, the cultural conditioning of codependency ran deep. art: nimasotoudeh.com
I remember the vapid rush of serotonin I’d get, whenever a guy would send a heart emoji or an ‘x’. I hated to admit it, but I was absolutely desperate for the slightest glimmer of codependency. I was an aching desert of feelings, too exhausted from the dating scene to be upset, yet clinging too hard to my last sliver of hope to be completely hopeless. I was sick of having nobody as a daily sounding board. Nobody who cared enough to ask about my day and its tiny, trivial details. Anyone single and silently yearning for a relationship will tell you the same thing; your heart holds out, but somewhere along the line, it hurts too much to admit to yourself out loud that you want what you want. I was, frankly, feeling sorry for myself, which I’m sure is how this now reads, but it is difficult to detach myself from the heaviness of that period. I was starting to wonder whether 15
SELF-LOVE maybe it was me. Maybe I was fundamentally unlovable. It was December 2018 that this all changed. I was fresh off another ‘I’m not looking for anything serious’ conversation. Going to a music festival over New Year’s, I was ready to dance and sweat and drink away the sluggishness of my dating life, opting for a ‘fuck it’ approach to the whole thing, focusing on myself instead. I shed my tired skin and was ready to birth the new year year with, you guessed it, a new me. It was at this festival that I met the love of my life. And a new me in fact did begin to emerge. He was easy to talk to. He radiated his signature pure, sparking energy; bright and warm and sharp all at once. From the beginning, my guard was down completely with him. For once, I wasn’t thinking about romance, or how I was coming across… I was simply enjoying every little world that opened up with each conversation. We drew closer and closer with each one, slowly but surely. He’d later tell me he thought I was shy, that I couldn’t hold my own. I like to think he was drawn to my internal fire with no pretences, without the smoke and mirrors I was so used to throwing up. We connected instantly. It started with us walking a few paces ahead of the group, engrossed in our own talks. Over the course of the festival, I grew to quietly wish he’d come with me everywhere. We explored and napped in the sun by day, and we danced together by night. I remember the first time, on the second night of the festival, when he placed his hand on the small of my back. He kissed me the following night, when I was dancing in the mosh with a shimmering cape, sweaty and sprayed with water. I was surprised. A love story straight from the
movies soon followed. I swear, you could have written a film script about the two of us. We were supercharged by the heat of the summer and fell quickly, me first, those three words falling from my mouth when I’d had one too many drinks to hold them in any longer. Over sea cliffs and with a bottle of champagne weeks later, he said it back. One year on from our first meeting, my relationship continues to be the one I’ve always dreamed of. He is everything I’ve ever wanted; the sum total of all my dreams and yearnings and fantasies. He is everything I told myself I didn’t want, just to make the loneliness hurt less. I used to think I wanted codependency. In my heart of hearts, I thought I wanted someone to make me ‘whole’. I wanted to be rescued, fixed, my life made sense of with the addition of another person. And I can now say that my relationship is everything but codependent. He does not complete me, and he has not rescued me. He has healed me, yes, and he helps me make sense of myself and the world around me at times, but we are not codependent. That is what I love most about our relationship. I try on his way of seeing things, testing out his thoughts and opinions, adopting some and discarding others. He, and every other person in my life, is a lens through which I can look at the world. We are two people, bettering ourselves alongside one another day by day. I do not need the love of my life. I want him and love him. Immensely. And it’s this utter lack of codependency and need that makes my love the exact opposite of, and the exact thing, I’ve been dreaming of all this time. the crux of the matter is this: whether I’ve been single and bitter or happy and in love, it’s always been me. Just like it’s always been you. 16
Rosalie Wesson @rosalie_art_
TEN INTERNSHIPS IN TEN MONTHS: WHAT I LEARNT Alex Turner-Cohen Alex Turner-Cohen Alex Turner-Cohen, self-confessed workaholic, completed ten internships in ten months. Not only did she live to tell the tale… she emerged with some sage words of wisdom, from one comms kid to another.
One of my life’s mantras is “I’d rather be too busy than not busy enough.” So perhaps it’s not surprising to hear that in only ten months, I completed ten internships for my Bachelor of Communications (Journalism) degree from May 2018 to March 2019. Sitting in the first ever lecture of journalism, I took the lecturer’s words to heart: “Intern, intern, intern.” As everyone in the Communications field knows, getting that piece of paper with the word ‘degree’ on it does not guarantee you a job. Not by a long shot. During that period of time, university only took two to three days a week out of my schedule. I also had a high-paying job as an English tutor, which meant I could afford to get some unpaid internships on the side. Unpaid internships aren’t accessible to everyone — I consider myself lucky. Galvanised into action, I embarked on a quest that would land me not one, but ten internships. I attended rallies, went to parliament, and interviewed all kinds of people, including whistle-blowers, feminists, even bog experts 18
(You never know where Journalism will take you). At the end of ten months I had contacts, Published works and a whole lot of experience. There were definitely some memorable moments. Arriving at an internship at 4.30am — only to be forgotten about and left waiting for an hour at the lobby (definitely a low). Joking with an ex-Sydney Morning Herald journo that he was old (hmm, maybe I should have phrased that better?). Going on four coffee runs in one day. Getting stuck in an offlimit part of the building, with no keycard to swipe me out. Attending a $1000 event for free (thank goodness for that media pass!). Being mistaken as a graduate journalist when I was only a little first year (that was definitely a high!) To get to these internships, I travelled anywhere from zero minutes (if I worked from home) to an hour and a half (commuting to the Central Coast). I interned at various mainstream publications (including news. com.au, Channel Nine and the ABC) as well as media organisations well off the beaten track (think 2SER). Some placements only went for a week full-time but others went on for a year (I’m still doing some now art: @natashar0se
technically that would be slave labour?!). Serious talk though, not all internships are ethical. Make sure you know your rights. Check out what the Fair Work Ombudsman has to say about unpaid internships. If you find yourself in a situation where you’re doing actual work for the company, then you’re not at intern, you’re an employee. And you deserve to be paid as such. How did I get so many placements in so short a time? It was a combination of luck, FOMO and a little bit of nagging. I scoured UTS Career Hub and the UTSoC Careers group, checked my uni emails regularly for opportunities, and one time simply got hold of an email address on a single scrap of paper and shot off a message. Some internships fell into my lap, others I had to fight for. So here are the ten things I learned, at ten internships, in ten months: 1. Don’t be afraid to put yourself out there. Apply for something even if you feel underqualified. 2. Toot your own horn in applications — no-one else is going to do it for you. 3. Be excited about the internship. Send emails reminding them that you’re coming. 4. Introduce yourself to your co-workers at the beginning, no matter how awkward. 5. Fake it till you make it. Act confident and professional even if you feel like the complete opposite. (Hence why someone thought I was a recent journo graduate). 6. Ask for more work. Be ambitious, try to leave an impression. Pitch ideas, chase stories. 7. Add your colleagues on LinkedIn and Twitter. (Don’t have a LinkedIn or Twitter? Well, you seriously need to get one. I’ve had job offers on these platforms). 8. Enjoy your time there! You fought hard for that internship, and now you’re finally doing what you love. 9. Don’t give up the intern life after one internship — there’s always more to learn. 10. Most importantly, ask if there are any jobs available. Get the contact details of the person in charge of hiring newbies. Make it clear that you want to stay on. Next time a junior role pops up at the ABC — you never know! — they might think of you. And voila, you never need to intern again! Honestly, if I had the choice, I would do it all again. But maybe that’s just me; I like keeping busy. It’s up to you whether you want to follow in my footsteps. Over and out.
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POLITICS
And the crown for ‘most popular’ goes to... Fatima Olumee @fatimaolumee Their words are electric. Their passion for change is overwhelmingly apparent. And they are one of us. Or are they? Since when does personality matter more than policies? That is the question on Fatima Olumee’s lips.
Picture this: it is June 2015. Real-estate tycoon and reality television celebrity, Donald Trump announces his bid in the United States presidential race. Transport yourself back to the initial thought that ran through, let’s face it, all of our heads after this head scratcher of an announcement. What in hell…?
Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, after his predecessor Theresa May’s Brexit fiasco. When people think of Boris Johnson, they see his overwhelming popularity as the mayor of London, his penchant for not thinking twice before opening his mouth, and a conservative that has the power to save Britain by making his nation great once more. Sound familiar?
Over four years on, countless Twitter wars and fake tans later, we’ve grown pretty numb to the incessant enigma that is Donald Trump. His assaults against the press are preempted. His glib remarks and bold persona are considered normal. What’s more worrying is how his clear stance against illegal immigrants, women and people of colour has now become old news. Since when did we grow so accustomed to the idea of having an eccentric caricature as a US President? It’s only when we turn back time and reflect that we can truly see how we got here.
What do Boris Johnson and Donald Trump have in common? The two are by no means the same kind of leaders, however they do have their parallels in the way they relate to their constituents. For one, they both rose to power within a backdrop of feverish nationalist populism, harnessing strong rhetoric designed to resonate with the people. Prior to being elected, their followers viewed them as authoritative and straightforward leaders who weren’t going to beat about the bush like regular politicians.
In the weeks leading up to the US Presidential Election in 2016, we all had the assumption of who would snag the top job. Most thought Clinton had it in the bag, not foreseeing the drama with the electoral colleges. Over time, it’s now become easy to forget the bombshell that was Trump becoming President, when he only continues to outdo himself shockwise. But unlike Clinton, Trump had a band of followers who were hungry for a leader who spoke their language. A leader who would make them feel understood.
Which brings us to the crux of the real issue. Has the world grown tired of traditional and stuffy politicians with their carefully constructed, often boring yet confusing rhetoric? What is the difference between a leader like Scott Morrison and one like Anthony Albanese anyway? Sometimes a polarising figure like Trump or Johnson makes it easier for voters to rally behind or against a national leader. Picking a side becomes simpler in the absence of ambivalence.
Fast forward to July 2019, where former London mayor, Boris Johnson has just made
More importantly, these figures are never boring. They are clear in the message they
art:
@natashar0se
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POLITICS want to send to the people and can speak their lingo. The public are weary of politicians like Morrison who have mastered the art of avoiding public persecution through cleverly worded platitudes that have voters tying their heads in knots. People like Trump and Johnson say things that regular politicians won’t say. They are human. They make mistakes... sometimes dire ones. Whether he’s downplaying China’s cultural influence or comparing the European Union to a project of Adolf Hitler, gaffe-prone Boris Johnson is no stranger to embarrassingly public verbal blunders. In the documentary, Boris Johnson The Irresistible Rise (2013), Private Eye editor captures Johnson perfectly in claiming that “he’s a character from an oldfashioned cartoon strip.” A character. One who almost seems harmless in the face of the image of the other snivelling, back-door dealing political snakes we have in our heads. But is this obsession with rallying behind populist leaders a new phenomena? Haven’t we always wanted presidents who spoke to us and not at us? Take the late legendary exAustralian Prime Minister Bob Hawke for instance. He was the third-longest-serving Prime Minister of Australia by total time in office and garnered the highest popularity rating of any PM, which just goes to show how much the nation adored him. Throughout his reign in the eighties, Hawkie certainly didn’t lack his own distinct public image. He was the everyday man’s man. One of the blokes. No Australian Prime Minister that preceded or succeeded him could ever down a beer like he could. And he could be all that while pushing for his egalitarian policies on education, healthcare and industrial relations. Who better to speak for the Australian people than someone who was truly one of the people? In fact, our current PM seems to be ripping a page out of Hawkie’s #relatable book with a catchy pet name like ‘ScoMo’.
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Then there are the less rosy examples of populist leaders. Adolf Hitler. Reeling from the instability of the post-war Weimar democratic government, Germany was jonesing for an authoritative god-like figure to “save the nation”. And there’s that phrase once more. Save the nation. The public tends to latch onto leaders with a specific image or hook or rhetoric when in need of the nation’s ‘survival’ from chaos. Whether it’s a failed Brexit or a country “overrun by immigrants”, or in Weimar Germany’s case, a First World War hangover, this instability often drives the need for leaders with a certain panache. A leader that is for the people. Like it or not, Adolf Hitler was just that. He was the Führer and he could do no wrong. His grand plans for an extravagant Germany and powerful speeches lulled the bulk of Germans into thinking that any government wrongdoing was beyond the Fuhrer and merely the fault of the Nazis below him. So what does it take to be a populist leader? Charisma? A colourful personality? Powerful rhetoric? Try all of the above. It’s easy to convince yourself the next time you’re at a polling booth that your choice is based off of careful consideration of a candidate’s policies rather than your perception of their personality. So maybe the success of the likes of Trump and Johnson aren’t so much of a head scratcher after all. Maybe it’s a sign that the world is falling back into old habits of trusting leaders with a knack for making voters feel understood.
TRAVEL
To unpathed waters, undreamed shores…
Every time Olivia Locascio saw someone she knew studying abroad, she knew there was no way she wasn’t going to do it too. What could possibly go wrong?
Olivia Locascio Olivia Locascio
You get to travel the world, you get to meet people from all over the world, you get to try new foods that you wouldn’t otherwise try if you’re at home; the list goes on. For me as well, I could take a break from studying Law. I signed up to do a semester abroad for subjects that counted towards my Communication degree. The process was all seemingly smooth sailing from the beginning. Get the right marks. Write a personal statement. Choose five options of places you’d want to stay. I landed on my third option; Venice, Italy. The first two being Milan and Madrid, and the last two being Pamplona and Paris. I wanted to stretch my comfort zone so far as only going to non-English speaking countries. There was no doubt about that. I come from an Italian background, so I wanted to be able to immerse myself completely in the Italian culture and learn how to speak to my family on the other side of the world. Plus, I had never been to Venice before. I was fortunate enough that my dad was able to organise for him and my brother to take me to Italy and spend the first two weeks with me discovering our roots in Sicily and Turin. I had plenty of friends from high school who were either also conducting a semester abroad or were already living in various places in Europe. There was safety and security almost everywhere. So why were the weeks leading up to me leaving the worst weeks I’ve ever endured in my entire life? It was two months before I was to set onto my four to six month adventure. New beginnings. New adventures. Too much newness for my liking. A new form of anxiety had kicked in, like I’d never felt before. I had felt moments of anxiousness before; whether it was the days leading up to exams or after submitting an assignment. That was all controlled. This wasn’t. It got to the point where every time I left the house and get in my car, my heart would start racing and my hands would instantly get clammy. I could’ve been in class, I could’ve been getting lunch with a friend, or even at work, but somehow everything I did, I didn’t want to look up. I didn’t want to face the world around that was causing my body to feel like it was breaking from the inside out. I sought therapy in the weeks leading up to my departure. It was mostly helpful in pinpointing where my anxiety was stemming from and discussing various methods I could use to weaken the symptoms. But with anything, you have to find what’s right for you. And that takes a long time.
The plane ride over was torture. Turns out, I’m an anxious flyer. This was also new to me. art: nimasotoudeh.com
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TRAVEL The first two weeks with my dad and brother were torture. The fact that I was going to be away from home for such a long time had me not ever wanting to leave where I was staying. I wanted to see the world through the comfort of my bed. I know, that makes no sense, but nothing was making sense to me at the time. My dad and brother left, and I spent a few days with my mum. The same things were happening. At least, at this point, I was able to try and whip out a fake smile. But once she left too, it was all on me. It was very easy to make friends. I had a few people I knew already from my home university. Venice is a European cultural melting point. The majority of the people that lived there were Italian, but every other nationality wasn’t far behind. Honestly, the semester was like three months of O-Week. I was twentytwo years old at this point and was in my fifth year at university. I think I was done with O-Week after my first year. I had always and still do pride myself on my ability to make friends and talk to anyone, but when your mental space feels like it’s been pierced with thorns, it’s too hard to remember what you were like before. I chose subjects that were based around the history of Venice, Italian language and culture, and the arts of Venice and the Veneto region. I was fortunate enough that I had made a friend that was in pretty much all of my classes. I can’t thank her enough for her friendship and company during this time. Another friend I made like this is also still with me at my home university, which I’m incredibly thankful for too. I had made some other really great friends that I connected with in terms of interests and passions, rather than trying to be friends with whoever for the sake of being friends. I was able to travel to Madrid, Munich for Oktoberfest, Slovenia, London, Poland, and even some of Venice’s neighbouring cities like Treviso and Bologna. Some of these trips were with friends from home. Some of them were solo; apparently, I really wanted to test the limits of my anxiety. But I had to do it in order to discover that I don’t actually like to travel alone. The beautiful moments that our lives and the world can offer us are, to me, only worthwhile when you have someone there with you to share in the joy. My cousin also came and met me in Venice, and we were able to experience the Venetian life together and travel to Padua for a day. This was a very special time for us both. My semester abroad was no doubt the most challenging thing I’ve ever done in my life. I not only learnt certain things about myself, but I accepted many things about myself that I perhaps once tried to block. I eventually did open myself up to the opportunities that were around me. Still don’t believe me that this trip for me was worthwhile? Well, as soon as I started to give the adventure a proper go, but most importantly give myself a go, the semester abroad had me complimenting myself for the first time, and I actually meant it. Fast forward to six months later. I thought I’d really test myself in all the new knowledge I had gained of myself and the world around me. I decided to undertake an international legal internship, which gave me credit towards a Law elective. After my European journey, I wanted to undertake new territory and travel back to the USA. I’m fortunate that I have family that live on Long Island, New York, so there was always a place to stay there and enjoy the city. I used my resources and was able to land an international legal internship with an attorney in Connecticut. Naturally, all the same thoughts and worries came flooding in when the internship was all organised. Is the flight going to feel like hell again? Am I going to feel the same sort of 24
isolation with no immediate family members around? Will I want to spend the whole experience just lying around in my bedroom again? Or will I decide that I actually deserve to have a fulfilling time, and understand how immense my part is in having that happen? I booked my flights. I was proud of myself that I did that. It’s important to toot your own horn every now and then, even with the small things. But of course, that doesn’t ever completely hinder all the negative thoughts from occurring. I had a discussion with my mum about what would happen if I was to potentially cancel the trip due to my fear. I wasn’t planning on eventually giving into the fear, but it helped to know what would happen if I did, and how much I would lose. I knew I needed that reassurance that it would be perfectly okay if I did ultimately cancel the trip. I didn’t feel ashamed in getting that information. I knew that I was the kind of person that needed to be aware of all the possible scenarios that could occur, and that taking any avenue you desire is completely okay. I guess my newfound knowledge of myself from exchange came in handy. What ultimately got me to do the trip was weighing up all the good and bad points of the international internship. I would get credit for a subject. I would escape the terrible July winter. I was going to an English-speaking country. I had members of my extended family there that could actually speak English. I’d get to travel to New York City. I would prove to myself that I didn’t need someone I was close with around me to undertake new and scary adventures, and that I could ultimately rely on myself. The internship was probably the best experience I’ve had in my life so far. Despite working in the grim area of child protection law, I was able to hold myself when it came to conversations with fellow attorneys, judges and other interns. I had no problem in getting myself from A to B, as every weekend I was travelling either via ferry or train from Connecticut to Long Island, and Manhattan. In opening myself up to these experiences completely, I learnt that Americans are incredibly kind people. In any circumstance I was in, if I looked a little lost, or if I was limping (I sprained my ankle in my third week) whilst dragging my suitcase around the train station, there was always someone that was willing to help. Maybe I never gave anyone whilst I was on exchange, or anyone while I was in Sydney struggling with my anxiety, the chance to show how helpful people generally are. I had a wonderful time getting to know my extended family members; I got to know them and what they’ve done in their lives, and the cultural values that they espouse. I looked at my time there as a blessing, and nothing less. I was then able to look at my life back home as a blessing. I’m so fortunate that I’ve had a nurturing upbringing, and a terrific education that has offered me countless opportunities to take on new experiences. But I also looked at my struggle on exchange as a blessing too. Because without that experience, I would never have been able to have the experience I had while doing the international internship. I would never have learnt, and accepted, things about myself that I didn’t know, or perhaps tried to ignore. Every person has a different way of thinking and has had different experiences happen to them in their life. There’s no way I have the answer now on what to do when you’re struggling considerably mentally, nor have I found the answers completely for myself. What I do know is that once you start giving your life around you a proper go, you get to experience the most important things of all. Connections. Family. Friendship. Love. Love for everyone around you, and ultimately, love for yourself. Thinking about doing a semester abroad, going on exchange or doing an international internship? Check out UTS Global Exchange https://www.uts.edu.au for more information.
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CRISIS
ECONOMIC GROWTH AND CLIMATE CHANGE
Gianluca Dragone @GianlucaDragone Continuous economic growth is viewed by politicians as a beneficial and unquestionable aspect of our economy, yet this growth is leading us on a path of environmental destruction that exposes the links between capitalism and the climate crisis.
The world is being taken on a path of environmental jeopardy, with the impending crisis of climate change becoming more visible every day. Fundamentally, we understand why climate change is happening; greenhouse gases in the atmosphere trapping excess heat and ignorant politicians denying well-established science. Yet, there’s little consideration of the processes that allowed climate change to occur in the first place and it’s often portrayed as though it was inevitable. Economic growth is one of these processes, and understanding how it relates to climate change is integral to creating effective climate action.
with growth isn’t completely irrationational however; growth is necessary for nations to fund new infrastructure, provide public programs like universal healthcare, and keep the economy from falling into a recession. Stable growth is so integral to Australia’s economy that during the 2008 Global Financial Crisis, the government spent $42 billion on stimulating the economy which was at risk of recession. Why then might this fundamental feature of economies around the globe be setting us on a path of destruction? Because despite the supposed benefits of an economy that can seemingly produce more every year, there is often little consideration of what is fuelling the economic machinery that produces growth.
Economic growth describes increases in the amount of goods and services a nation produces, as well as the size of a nation’s economic output. It is treated as sacrosanct by the world’s major political parties, and it is what has driven political decision making since the dawn of the industrialised, global economy. In contemporary climate action plans there lies an implicit consideration that growth will continue as normal. Whether it is renewable energy subsidies, investment in ‘green’ companies, or financial marketplaces to trade carbon, growth can’t be hindered. This obsession
If our economies are to produce more then they must consume more, and with every year of growth our planet’s resources grow closer to depletion. On a world with finite resources, continuous growth can be nothing more than an impossibility. Our clean air, water, minerals, biodiversity, and stable climate are being treated as though they are a neverending pool to draw from. The reality of economic growth is that it requires constant transformation of the natural world into marketable products that generate profit. Even ‘socially conscious’ or ‘green’
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@lucaphotographs
corporations must produce more (and consume policy through donations and lobbying to parties who more) every year to satiate investors. If they don’t, support continued fossil fuel reliance. they’ll only be outdone by even more unscrupulous In 1994 the philosopher Slavoj Žižek declared in his corporations. introduction to ‘Mapping Ideology’ that “it seems How then in a globalised system tied to constant easier to imagine ‘the end end of the world’ than a far economic growth can there be any hope for effective more modest change in the mode of production”. He action on climate change? In his 2009 book ‘Capitalist may very well be right and yet our future relies on him Realism’ The late cultural theorist Mark Fisher describes to be wrong. To take genuine action against climate this conundrum as dreamwork, a “confabulated change we must envision a future beyond capitalism, consistency which covers over anomalies”. This beyond a system whose existence requires that our encapsulates contemporary attitudes towards shared environment be destroyed so that wealth can climate action, where the inconsistency of continued be created for its own sake. Economic growth is a economic growth and a stable climate is ignored. fundamental aspect of capitalist economies and the This societal dissonance arises not because of any two are inseparable. If we want to end the destruction malicious intent however, but simply because people that growth is causing, capitalism can’t survive. have resigned themselves to the idea that there is no Instead, we must look towards creating democratic alternative… But, that’s not quite true. Our economy economies and a society based on fulfilling the was built on an order of subjugation and intimidation needs of our communities without sacrificing our of anyone who opposed it. Whether is be workers, environment. indigenous peoples, or anyone standing up against Imagining a brighter future is daunting, but it is entrenched power. This system is not inevitable, necessary if we’re going to free ourselves from and at every stage of its development people have an economy that is forcing us into environmental destruction. In a system where the control and fought against it. exploitation of fossil fuels is central to economic and political power, climate change was always inevitable. This system has a name: Capitalism. In coming years climate activists will have to Capitalism and climate change are inextricably recognise the need to sever capitalism from climate linked, because capitalism is a system that action, discarding the need for constant growth and necessitates constant growth, and economic growth preventing an irreversible climate catastrophe. is the result of environmental destruction. Capitalism itself grew out of the fossil fuel revolution, as fossil fuels provided dense forms of energy that were easy to manipulate and control. Coal (in the process of producing steam) was vital to establishing the power of a new capitalist class, as it unlocked the ability to concentrate wealth in the hands of a minority who owned the complex machinery needed to utilise it. This was a drastic change from when power took the form of wind, running water, wood, and the sun. Common resources that could not be controlled by industrialists. Coal created the conditions for the contemporary capitalist economy and thus a system that had an insatiable hunger for fuel in order to grow, or otherwise collapse. As time went on coal was succeeded by oil as the dominant fuel of the industrialised world, an even denser and more malleable form of energy that could be controlled by international corporations. In recent decades the necessity for plentiful oil reserves to allow growth has seen imperialist interventions in oil-rich nations and widespread destruction of the natural environment. The immense power that fossil fuel granted corporations is recognised through their influence over politics, able to dictate national
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SOCIAL MEDIA
The Anti-Social World of Social Media Laura Mazzitelli @lmmazzitelli
The online world: a virtual place where most millenials reside daily. Many of us know it all too well. We wake up, we check our phone. We refresh, we scroll. Then soon enough, we do it all over again. Bored at 2pm? Why not check Instagram? Stuck in a class that’s boring you? Time to check your messages. Eating food from a local café? Take a Snapchat and send it to everyone, because if you didn’t snap it, it didn’t happen, right? If we don’t do it, we’ve done it. And if we haven’t done it, we know someone who has. This is the online world we live in, and as time passes and new apps are invented, updated and popularised, the online world filters down to become our reality. According to We Are Social and Hootsuite’s latest collection of Global Digital 2019 reports, one million new users are joining the internet every day, and a total of 3.5 billion people now engage with at least one online social media platform. With this continual increase in social media use, it is easy to withdraw ourselves from the present and delve into the apps on our phones. We now text rather than call, post online instead of sharing moments in person, and yes, some spend that extra fifteen minutes in the morning stressing over a photo-worthy outfit in case their friend whips out their phone to post and tag you in their story. Perhaps you have been in a situation where 28
you are mid conversation with your friend, and as you are about to take a bite of your lunch, they cry: ‘STOP! PHOTO!’. You, hungry and confused, must put down your knife and fork so your food remains in its original, pristine condition. They then take an Instagram boomerang, where you, caught off guard, tilt your head to the side in an attempt to strike a somewhat natural and ‘unplanned’ pose, and, if you both agree it has good lighting, they upload it to their social media account to show their 700 followers what they ate for lunch, and who they were with. These are the often unspoken behaviours of many social media users, and such behaviour can take us away from the actual moment of sharing a meal, to be replaced with a subconscious awareness of how many people will view it. It sounds kind of silly when we think of it like this doesn’t it? But we often don’t. Most of all, we don’t tend to talk about how superficial and meaningless it may be when our primary purpose for sharing things is to prove our self-worth. Sure, there are times when we want to share amazing experiences, locations, quotes and inspiring stories with our friends and peers, and that is a great benefit of social media sharing. But, there is a fine line between these special moments and messages, and seeking social validation by comparing ourselves to others. What we can also sometimes fail to see is that people’s lives may not be as glamorous as they seem online, and behind the pixels may lie a sense of deep insecurity and craving for approval.
SOCIAL MEDIA Think about it like this. Prior to social media use, did your grandparents feel the need to take a picture of their every meal? Chances are they wouldn’t have, and most of them probably didn’t even have a digital camera, nor possess the mentality to take a photo of it in the first place. In fact, if they did own a camera, the most likely reason for it would be to capture the moment and save it for their own private viewing. How times have changed… Upon conducting a survey involving a group of over thirty millennial social media users ranging from thirteen to twenty-one, it became apparent that in many cases, this behaviour and mentality comes from a desire to present the best version of ourselves and our situations for others to validate. When asked if users seek social validation online, respondents unanimously said yes. Most respondents elaborated on this question by saying how ‘likes’ and comments are perceived as a measure of popularity, one respondent saying there is a ‘constant comparison and hunger for likes’. These confessions from millennials show us how easy it is to be swept up in the crazes and phases of social media.
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Of course, the level of social media use and the mentality behind it will vary from person to person, but those who find themselves becoming absorbed by the happenings of others and their endeavours can sometimes make us feel insecure or undervalued if we aren’t constantly updating our own platforms. Imagine a modern world where we could be at our happiest point in our life, and are so in tune with the physical world around us and the people that care for us, that we forget to take out our phones and share it with the internet. These private moments may be the most special of all, and you’d know this because you wouldn’t feel the need to share it with everyone. So, perhaps we need to start asking ourselves if being ever-present online is the right way to live, or if we should find a balance and come back to reality and live in the moments that shape us into our true, authentic selves; unburdened by our online image.
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Lilly May
@lillymayillustrations
Hebah Ali @hebah.a
Eliza Spencer @elizajanepond
Bobi Perdulovski @bobiperdulovski
Cordelia Hsu @cordeliahsu
Carolina De Martino @gasolinacarolina
Daniel Snell @__snelly
LEARNING
UNLOCK YOUR POTENTIAL
Kurt Bush @kp_bush We as humans have the ability to change, yet we absolutely resist trying to do so when the opportunity arises. We’re all guilty of a simple ‘can’t be bothered’ or ‘I don’t know what to do’, Kurt Bush writes.
I’m sitting in the sun, at a picnic table, eating lunch and reading an opinion news piece. I overhear a group of students discussing the exact same topic. I think about going over to them and giving my twocents... but that’s something immature me would have done. I have always made jokes about doing the wrong degree, insisting I should have done psychology instead of communications. I love understanding how our minds work. Why is it that some people say, think and act a certain way? To this day, I still try to find answers. Approaching this question from a place of genuine curiosity, I am able to learn about how the people around me might treat other people, or certain situations. Like a poker game, you tend to make stronger decisions when you can get a read on someone.
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To develop as an individual, I believe we must understand who we are. Start with your interests, your goals, and who your closest friends are. Work out what motivates you and what brings you down. Development only occurs when you know what to improve. If you can admit that you have strengths and weaknesses, you are already recognising the harshest truth of all: you are not perfect. They say honesty is the best policy. As much as optimism may provide a sense of hope, being realistic ensures you are on the right track, and makes it easy to right the ship when you veer off course. But balance is key: you have to be able to enjoy the life you’re living. It’s like riding a rollercoaster. You won’t have fun if you are too focused on not falling off! Being open-minded is something that people might struggle with at times, especially if you are only focused on what is happening
in your world, or if you have a pessimistic outlook. Life is way too short to be close-minded. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it limits your potential. Do things out of your comfort zone, no matter what that is. Don’t live in fear! One suggestion I have for this is to try challenging your thinking. Note the word ‘challenging’, as opposed to ‘changing’. Spend a few minutes listening to someone else share an idea that you disagree with. Engage with that point and have a rational discussion. Try, for example, discussing an issue with your family at the dinner table a simple “what are your thoughts on x?” can start an interesting discussion that wouldn’t have otherwise happened, had you not gone out of your way. That little bit of extra effort can open up conversational shoots and spurts, that everyone involved can grow from. The best thing about the world we live in is that it is a creative world, open to exploring new ideas. Everyone wants not just themselves, but everyone else to succeed. Do this with good intentions, and you will go places. There is no formulaic way to run the race. You choose the course and develop by learning what you feel is important to you. If there is one thing we may not realise, it is this: we are constantly developing and evolving with each day. There may have not been a major achievement, or any groundbreaking activity (maybe you stayed in bed watching Netflix all day), but even so, each day is different from the last. Even when #adulting is super hard, and you don’t even feel like you’re making progress in the world, the negatives teach you just as much as the positives. We will always experience something that makes us better people. So what are you waiting for? Go out there and be prepared to develop as a human being. The world is your oyster. With a bit of self awareness and an open mind, you will be able to learn and understand anything!
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SELF-LOVE
In Bloom Grace Collison @grace.colsn I can confidently say that I do not have a green thumb.
In the years since I moved out of my parents’ home to the city, acquiring my own living space and having the freedom to decorate it however I wished, I’ve seen many plants of all varieties come and go, smuggled into my room in cardboard boxes full of fresh green leaves and hope. Sadly, they all met their fate a few weeks or months later, taken out most unceremoniously with the rubbish. At the time I put it down to the lack of light in my apartment - they just can’t grow in here! I would tell any friends who happened to come across an empty terracotta pot, or glass terrarium that now only held dirt and pebbles. I grew a little more disheartened each time I brought home a new experiment only to watch it wither and die before my eyes. Briefly, I had some luck with a mint plant from Bunnings that I planted in a mug in the absence of a pot. It grew a small spindly trail before it, too, upon coming home from a twoweek visit at my parents’ house, shrivelled up - much like my confidence in being able to sustain any kind of plant life in my little room. I thought myself quite stupid in light of this failure - everyone else can do it! I thought. How many times a day do you see #bedroomgoals on Instagram filled with succulents and leafy greens scattered on every flat surface and climbing every which way? It’s not hard! You just suck! ‘You’ and ‘suck’ are two individually inoffensive words that come up all too often art:
@_makip
in my daily inner monologue, or variations of them. And I’m sure I’m not alone. Mental health seems to be the buzz phrase of the moment; almost daily we’re reminded about how we need to be starting the conversation, opening up dialogue, asking each other if we’re okay. Countless times my Mum has told me over the phone (and over the sounds of my blubbering), ‘you just need to love yourself a bit more.’ She’s right, of course, but when you want to write down every tiny thing you’ve ever done wrong and scrunch them all up and drop kick them into the stratosphere, and you’re feeling like that list is as about as long as there are stars in the sky, what sounds like a simple, easily applicable solution can seem insurmountable. ‘Loving yourself’ seems to be another idea that the media loves to chuck around. It’s not a bad concept, by any means, of course it’s not - in an ideal world every single person would grow up seeing their immense worth, seeing their strengths and flaws in balance with each other, and act with the confidence and assurance that they’re just as deserving of this life as anybody else. But for some people, the idea of self-love can seem daunting, and huge; a chore. On top of that, there are so many environmental and societal factors that go into a person’s ability or even interest in practicing self-love - with that in mind, I do want to acknowledge that I’m coming at this topic from a place of privilege.
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In some cases, the very same things that influence us to believe that we are lesser are the same things that in the same breath remind us to ‘love yourself! Love yourself’ in our jeans that only go up to a size 12! ‘Love yourself’ when you try our skinny tea, promoted by all your favourite celebrities! ‘Love yourself’ but only with our particular brand of facemask! And it doesn’t end there. An environment like university only exacerbates a culture that already exists at this stage of life of competition and feeling like everyone around you is succeeding, while you fall behind. That everyone else is not only coping, they’re winning - they’re collected, intelligent, they have plans, goals, jobs, talents, friends. And if you find yourself not being able to tick off these same qualities, you’re failing. All of this mess combined can mean that loving yourself - truly, and not the kind of self-love that Dove wants you to have so you’ll rush out to buy their new moisturizer - seems like a concept so obscure and unattainable that it seems easier to give up. I understand, and that’s where I am. But I want to introduce a concept to you - a compromise. It’s naive and indeed somewhat insulting to suggest that self-love is a magical cure to the vast range of mental health disorders we (rightly) recognise these days. But what I want to do is encourage you, as someone who has struggled for many years with believing that loving myself is selfish, wrong and too hard, to take a leap of faith and like yourself. Liking things isn’t so hard, right? If you can look in the mirror and pick out even one thing that you like about yourself, I want you to count that as a win. And it doesn’t have to be a body part, it can be as simple as - ‘I liked that I was kind to the person who asked me for directions today.’ Self-like can mean picking out a nice outfit for the day that makes you feel confident, it can be running 44
yourself a bath, it can be congratulating yourself when you make someone’s day easier, it can be feeling confident with a new haircut. I’m pretty rubbish at taking my own advice, but if I could - I would tell myself to take the pressure off, just a little bit. That goes for you, too. If all you can do is like yourself today, that’s a win, and I’m proud of you. It’s been a couple of years now since I started on my plant-mum endeavour. Perhaps I was a little too ambitious then, or maybe I just neglected to read the care details on the back of the little card that tells you what plant you’ve just bought. Either way, I can laugh about it now. My lack of plant raising expertise is only one small part of me, but nevertheless, it’s a part that I don’t hate anymore. And that’s a start.
THE PEARLS Andrew Kovacic Andrew Kovacic
She cut dandelion heads and left them on the doorsteps of her friends’ houses. They found the flowers waiting for them at dawn. It was as if they were left there by some wandering spirit, granting children a magical wake-up call; a full-bloom morning glory. I think about that girl, who was once my friend. Her dandelion has withered at the bottom of my tea-cup vase. I think about her. I think and know that I wish that I was that kind of girl so long ago. Living in Tingstova is living in a clam shell. A clam shell where the inside is dark, and cold, and the outside is a body of water so deep that the light is way up there in the distance. Stay inside and you suffocate. Go outside and you drown. Sanctuary and prison. That’s what Tingstova is like. A long way off you can hear the whales; a long, long way off from here. From here, sometimes I walk wide and far and wide. I take the trails up the slopes that surround the town. Along the way, I walk past all the artefacts that have been dumped on the side of the trail. Over there is someone’s junky roulette table, over here is a rust-eaten fridge missing a door, over the hill is about a dozen more. They’ve become great, sunken altars over the years. Kids often leave shells and odd rocks piled around them. They are odd things to worship. The relics of Tingstova are things that have been thrown away. Passing each one feels like passing through some unseen wall, like there are innumerable barriers set up to keep you from straying too far from the town’s centre. Either that or it’s the altitude. The top of the small mount has been worn into a natural ledge. I sit on it and look down over my clam town. Buildings are the colour of muddy snow. All of the trees left leafless from the harsh scrub of salty winds; shaping this cove into a clay-world tundra. Those winds pulse in from the nearby sea in sharp, billowy drafts. You see, Tingstova is on the lip of the ocean. But it isn’t a beautiful blue, the water is the same dirty grey as the buildings. The horizon is the same unending cloud that stretches out above my head. On my walk back home, I think about her. She lived in the house beside mine. It is the same squat home as all the rest but somehow her one always seemed nicer, seemed beautiful even. At night, I would see her dancing on her front porch with all the lights on in her house. Lit up like a bonfire in snow. Her parents weren’t home, they never were, and in fact I’m not sure that I ever even saw them. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was living alone, without anyone and without need for anyone. She was ferociously wild. You wouldn’t know it from looking at her. She looked like any average kid, plain and mild. Sure, she was popular, everyone in town was her friend. But no one could actually pinpoint why she was so devastatingly attractive. It wasn’t her looks, they’d say. It wasn’t her humour. But I knew all along what made that girl the brightest pearl Tingstova had ever had and lost. She was born in bloom. She was born with eyes that looked ever onwards. Onwards she looked and onwards she went. It wasn’t surprising to me that she left that day. There was never any other thing that could have happened. She had already left long ago. My morning routine is an hour of gutting fish. My Pa owned this letterbox fish deli for years before he finally handed the keys over to me. Well, I should add: it wasn’t like my hand was open and waiting for the keys to the fishy business. My hand was pried open, it has been since birth. Now, I spend my mornings gutting fish. This job used to make me squirm, but now it just makes me tired. Sometimes I look into the dull, jelly eyes of a trout and see myself reflected within them. I look like I’m melting in those eyes. Melting into deep, deep, deepening waters. If I could spread my fins, be brave enough to wade into the inkiness, perhaps I’d feel something close to what that girl felt on the day she left us behind.
At night, I spend my hours scrubbing the counters until they foam pink foam. I peel scales from underneath my fingernails. And I rinse gills from my hair. It’s sort of unbecoming. It’s an allnighter. Pa isn’t around anymore. And I can’t afford an extra hand. This is my kingdom of brine. It’s just me and the fishes tonight. I lock up the store without haste; contrary to most people, I find going home the worst part of the day. It’s just a block over. And every night it rises before me like some weathered, unwanted tomb. And every night I see her vacancy beside it. In all the years she’s been gone, nobody has come to claim her house. It sits hollow as a deadened willow in mid-winter. At my front door, I wrangle out my keys from the back pocket of my jeans and I I hear something. I turn my ear to the street. There’s nothing but the hum of the old street lamps, and the blitz of dying bugs against a thousand electric suns. But I don’t turn away. I wait. Because faintly, oh so very far in the distance, there is something making noise. Beyond the blue burbs. Beyond the dumpster mountains. Beyond Tingstova. There it is again. That sound. Like a slowly drawn keening. Echoing like tinnitus. I can hear the whales. And with my head still turned to the side, looking towards her empty house, I see something. Something rushed across her upstairs window. Something white, the kind of glow white that only appears in amongst pitch blackness. I think I hear my keys drop. I think I feel them hit the doorstep. I’m not too sure because I’m already walking on. And I can still hear the whales. In fact, they become louder and louder as I step onto the porch. At her door, I take a breath. Thinking maybe I should be sorry about this. Maybe I should turn back, again. But my hand is on the door handle. How did it get on the door handle? It’ll be locked. It’s not locked. I walk inside. The door closes behind me and I’m back into silence. I look around the house, my eyes badly readjusting to the dim interior. Everything turns a cool grey, the best my eyes can manage. I try a light but, of course, the electricity must have been cut for years. The moonlight will have to be enough. Squinting around, the house is much less special than I always thought it would be. It is furnished, sparsely at that, with everything left exactly the way it was. There are still cups and saucers scattered messily on the kitchen countertops. Bowls of half-eaten fruit loops, still frighteningly colourful despite the age on them. There’s a blanket strewn across the living room couch, as if chucked off a sleeping body. There are pairs of shoes, all the same size, left piled at the backdoor. Time twiddles and twists around me. I rise slowly up the staircase; the gloom ahead looks so thick that I helplessly wave my arms in front of me in an attempt to clear it. And suddenly all sound becomes warbled. And there’s that same distant whine from before. A long, lone moan. I can hear the whales. It gets louder and louder as I reach the upstairs hall. As I begin to walk down it, I hear a splashing and then I feel it. My shoes sink into the damp carpet, squishy mush. Water burbles out beneath a bedroom door. It begins to wash over my ankles as I get closer. Her name is etched on the door, with flowers circling it. My hand betrays me at the handle, it doesn’t want to open it. I want to open it. I do and before me is a wall of water. I stretch out my hand to touch the surface. I touch it. And I’m sucked in. Floating in an underwater bedroom. Can I breathe? I don’t dare to try. I bump against something. A small orca. White belly, white eyes. It opens its mouth and I see pearls on its tongue. …
She went out to the beach. And walked into the water. And kept walking, walking, walking, walking until she couldn’t walk no more. Until her feet no longer touched the seabed. I was standing on top of the sand dunes, holding her dandelion to my chest. I remember the exact moment she vanished under the depths. The water sucked her in. The liquid skin enclosing over her head, over the last strands of her hair. And where she once was, she was no longer.
… It’s a wet, sopping wet, trudge back to my house. The keys are still on the doorstep, left as fallen as they were before. I don’t think too much about what has just gone on and what I’ve just seen. I’d think I was dreaming if not for the squidgy sucking of my sodden socks. Maybe, I’ll join her one day. I’m sure she must still be there, under the waves. In a submerged forest, with her blooming eyes no longer looking so ever onward. No longer looking so distant. No longer looking so uncatchable. Like the fragile tune of the whale song that sometimes rises over Tingstova’s horizon. Perhaps, one day. But tomorrow, I’ll be swimming in all the wrong sorts of waters again. The kind of waters where the currents take you round and round and round. Circular motions. Tomorrow, I’ll be gutting fish. In my kitchen, I swallow stolen pearls. I take the wilted dandelion and engulf it my hand. And it reblooms under the spill of the hot, emptying sea breaking through the shell of the clam.
FAIRYTALE
Fruit of the Tree Travis Radford @travis_radford1
Plums spilling from chequered cloth; they tumble from the tableside. Caught in the open palms of guests. Oh, Don! A shrill voice pretends to be offended, igniting a daisy chain of laughs. Bubbles float and rise from overflowing glasses, showering the moment in joy - the tabletop stained with revelry. Thalia smiles wryly at the antics, wiping a drop of champagne from her lip and reclining in her seat, waiting for the sun and horizon to meet and another evening of celebrations to begin. When later the night dares show its pale round face, the stars are stolen from the sky, pulled down on strings to adorn the house’s many rooms and smother any darkness in its sleep. From her second-storey room, Thalia sits propped against the foot of her bed, watching as any sign of the day’s end is wrapped in sparkling lights, in this piece of the world where night is never allowed to fall. She stands from her waking slumber and glides to an open wardrobe filled with only white dresses. Taking one in her hands, she pauses before the dresser’s mirror, admiring her beauty before putting it on. Silver hair plaited down to her waist, and blue eyes so striking they steal the colour from any room. With the white dress on, she becomes another of the party’s earthbound stars, warding off any cruel memory from before. An orchestral tune takes charge of the silence, inviting all downstairs. Reds and greens cover every inch of the house’s interior – beams, stairwells and window panes all joined together to taunt the exeunt night. Christmas time. Not in date, but in spirit. A luminous Thalia, dress inscribed with art:
@rainy_chalk
the light’s majesty, enters a mood beyond reproach. Moving in slow-motion, partygoers’ exaggerated smiles rock back and forth on animated faces bathed in lights and love. Thalia steps forward into the protection of the adoring crowd. Ready. Smiles widen, eyes transfix, and crystal-cut collisions cease. Room made for hushed words and promiscuous winks. The perfect nothing. Feet obeying the orchestra’s rhythm, Thalia is carried across the painted room. Carried into his arms. Words discarded and retinas ablaze. A shared glance. A question. Can I be your tomorrow? Fast-beating hearts synchronised; faces instinctively meet and tongues word feelings never told. The walls breathe heat into the room and an ambience wrapped in layers of affection reassures the fate of this moment. Wonder flows through the room like water, its current pulling lovers’ bodies back to their flooded bedrooms. Here, tangled limbs rejoice, silk fingertips dancing atop one another in a craze to live, until sleep finally arrives - late again. When morning comes, she gingerly rouses her sleeping babes, stroking their foreheads with soft-burning light. She asks they join the parrots practicing their symphonies, singing thanks to the earthly haven. Still encased in the arms of another, hands conjoined, Thalia lies adoring summer’s rising sun. A whisper embalmed in love falls from his mouth like soft rain. Good morning. With it a smile promising her day will never again turn to night. Together, they emerge from 49
FAIRYTALE the night’s chrysalis, peeling the comfortable casing from their bodies, they spread their wings and join the others in the spotless sky.
orchestra begins its nightly summons before there is time.
Outside, the day’s ritual is repeated, as halcyon’s disciples gather for worship - the tables their altars, and the orchard’s bounty their idols. Thalia, with a wicker basket in one hand and her lover’s hand in the other, skips between the harvest’s plenty. The supple curves of a plum seduce her eye and foot. Thumbing her way along the stem toward the tree’s brilliant purple-red offerings, her eyes veiled by the hands of another - she giggles magnetically, the gleeful tune leading the bird’s daytime orchestra. Thalia takes the fruit from the earth’s protection into her own. The curtains around her eyes draw open – rebirthing her into an enchanted world, as vibrant and perfect as the plum’s blemishless skin.
Blanketed in white, the dance floor’s attendants move as a collective, rising and dipping under the spell of the conductor’s wand. Thalia joins the entranced crowd, tiring faster than usual. She surfaces to gulp in the atmosphere, no longer sweet, but stale and steeped in sweat. There she notices him alone. On his coat she points to a missing button and an empty thread. He points to her still-stained dress. Retreating upstairs to bed, they try to smooth away the rough edges from beneath another layer of white, and for the first time, sleep comes early.
Slipping from her grasp, the fruit tumbles to the ground. Juice gushes from its collapsed body; dying the ends of Thalia’s dress red. Kneeling before the plum, his cleft chin pointed in its direction, Thalia’s company turns the fruit over in his hands, exposing marbled brown flesh. He throws it to the ground, stumbling to his feet and straightening his coat, hastily pulling Thalia into the banquet’s comfort. Another day-long feast turns into another day-long night. Another beautiful party and another even more beautiful dress. Thalia strides across her chamber’s floor, noticing for the first time the boards creaking beneath her feet. And from the corner of the room, the steady tick of a clock. Growing louder with each passing second. At her dresser, she paces restlessly, a crack on the mirror’s edge obscuring her beauty. Running fingers along the fissure, as if to seal it with her touch - the 50
Her joints stiff and breath pronounced, the night wakes Thalia from the day’s medicine with its sobering chill. The room engulfed in shadows, all lights have been put out, and all switches broken from the walls. A window ajar, lets in the dull glow of moonlight. Beneath its sill, silver buttons look like fallen stars, and on the ledge beneath the starless sky, her lover. The bleeding shadows of the night’s henchmen claw sharp, grotesque murmurs from his mouth. Spitting up lightning, he recites the unbearable deafening lyrics from before - words that live on only in the unlit creases of the past. A darkness that cannot be extinguished. He leaps into the night. Blue bleeds from Thalia’s eyes and the red stain climbs from dress to skin. Surging through wrinkled canyons, it undoes plaits and turns silver to grey, taking tooth from mouth and ripping skin from bone. The mirror refuses to look. The door opens without sound, letting light back into the room. Unfamiliar and strange, Thalia finds her world trapped on walls and inside cabinets, imprisoned in ornate dusty frames. A comfortable smile receives her terrified stare. The woman removes a
FAIRYTALE a torch from her pocket, scaring the shadows dancing behind Thalia’s eyes. Helping her into an empty bed, she places the end of her steel necklace onto Thalia’s racing heart. Let’s get ya back to sleep, Thal. How ‘bout one o’ them instrumental records you’re always listening to?
“Smiles widen, eyes transfix, and crystal-cut collisions cease. Room made for hushed words and promiscuous winks. The perfect nothing.”
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Imagine if people stopped growing old? Alex Turner-Cohen Alex Turner-Cohen Imagine if you could live forever. Alex Turner-Cohen explores the difference between living, growing and merely existing in a world where people never age.
The cupcake was too sweet. There was icing on top and even a few rainbow sprinkles. Scrunching up my nose, I forced myself to swallow the mouthful. I placed the rest of the cupcake back inside the box and sealed it tightly. Then I pulled out a toothbrush and some toothpaste to ensure the sugar didn’t erode my molars. I started brushing. It had been almost 150 years since I’d had dessert. Usually I would never indulge in such a way but today I was in a celebratory mood. “Happy birthday to you,” I sang softly. “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday dear Gabrielle and Amber. Happy birthday to us.” The murmur of the grass blades and the mumble of the wind was the only applause for my hesitant voice. The tune didn’t sound quite right, but after thousands of years, noone could quite remember how the original went anyway. It was my 1000th birthday. And Gabrielle’s. A millennium was a long time. The years had blurred into decades, the decades into centuries. There had been so many moments that it sometimes felt like my life was an ugly brown canvas. All the colours had mixed together, changing into one monochromatic blend that was neither remarkable nor easy on the eye. A star had collided with the earth in
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2048. As a result, humans had absorbed some of that star’s qualities. After our 25th birthdays, we stopped getting old. We had gained the ability to last hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of years. Still, society wasn’t immortal or invincible. We could die from physical injuries and illnesses. It was very hard to reproduce. But if we looked after ourselves properly, we could live forever, the theory went. And so, I was very, very careful. It was baffling to me, to imagine a world where people had lines on their faces, where they could forget their own names and drop dead simply from old age. How archaic! Equally as baffling was the idea of retirement and pensions. To think one could stop working at a certain age? What a dream! There was no such thing as retirement anymore; to stop working was a luxury most couldn’t afford. Ever. I sat on top of a mountain. A small one, but awe-inspiring nonetheless. The city of Crescent sprawled beneath me, buildings standing tall against the horizon like tombstones in a graveyard. The sky was dreary, the sunlight weak. A lone tree clutched the mountain top itself, branches bare, clinging to some semblance of life despite all odds. Usually this was a popular tourist destination, according to the guidebook.
art:
@rainy_chalk
But the clouds had dissuaded most. As far as I could tell, I was alone. “It’s my birthday too!” someone squeaked behind me. I glanced behind to see a girl approaching. Well, girl wasn’t quite right. Though she looked in her early twenties, she could easily be thousands of years older. Other than a slightly freckled face, and yellowish teeth, there was no clue as to her true youthfulness (or lack thereof). “Ahh, so you’re a fan too,” I replied. I held out my copy of the guidebook, titled Putting the ‘Live’ Back into Alive: Finding new purpose in the same old world. The book was a bestseller. It claimed to “ignite a new spark of passion and enjoyment in young and old readers alike” and had recommended this mountain as a solitary birthday destination. As I had no-one to spend my birthday with, the suggestion had been perfect. The girl nodded, “It’s just so lovely here,” She said.“Hopefully it doesn’t storm,” I replied. “I wish I’d brought an umbrella.” Clearly she didn’t care about a little rain because she responded with a non-sequitur. “I turned the big 1-0-0 today.” She spoke as if I should be impressed. “100,” I mused. “So you’re a young one then. I remember the days when I was only a century old. I’m 1000 today, you see.” Even though I was 900 years older, we looked scarcely a day apart. “Wow!” She looked at me with newfound respect. “So what’s the secret to longevity?” I supposed it was still rare, to find someone in society who had lived so long. Many succumbed to common deaths such as car accidents, heart attacks and kidney failure because of unhealthy or hazardous lifestyles. But not me. “It’s quite simple, really,” I said. “Don’t take any risks.” I decided to impart a bit more wisdom upon this young soul, adding: “Don’t get in the car if you can help it — get a train or walk places. Never fully trust machines. Don’t eat red meat — it can cause heart attacks. Exercise everyday. Don’t do drugs or alcohol. And finally, don’t get too attached to people because they’ll always let you down.” I sucked in a breath. If only I’d been able to give that advice to my twin sister Gabrielle, all those years ago. I added one final warning: “The first 100 years is probably the best. After that, everything gets a little less… colourful.” When I was younger I‘d been more laid back.
I’d been driving somewhere with Gabrielle. The funny thing is, to this day I can never remember where we were going. Before we could reach our mystery destination, a driver hit us headon. I was in the passenger seat and by some miracle was largely unscathed. It was Gabrielle who got the brunt of the impact. She’d been in a coma for 912 years. Ever since then, I was a little more careful. Because I couldn’t think of anything worse than becoming like Gabrielle, a bag of bones in bed. The young woman and I looked down at the city from our vantage point. The sky blackened. The colour drained from the world, as if we were in a black and white film. And suddenly I felt it. Droplets. At first it was a tiny patter, but it grew stronger and swifter. A storm. Rain pummelled us and the city far below. We ran for the tree. A drip of water got between my collar and my skin, the cold liquid oozing down my back.“We have to get out of here,” I said. “We could get pneumonia or worse.” And that was when it happened. Lightning. A fist of electricity struck the tree. It caught fire. We screamed. I remembered something I’d learned in school, all those centuries ago. Lightning always hits the highest point. And right now, that was us. “Run!” I shouted to the woman. She needed no more encouragement. I ran. Rather than taking the meandering path down the mountain, I took the steepest and most direct route to safety. I headed for the visitor centre, the only safe place for miles around. But it was almost at the bottom of the mountain. Rain pounded me. Yet I felt nothing, no coldness, no wetness. Not even fear. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, pumping and spluttering, fuelling my legs to run so fast. Only I wasn’t running, not quite. The better way to describe it would be mountain surfing. I slid down the slope, my feet gliding over the ground. I surfed an ocean of rocks. Lightning struck the mountain randomly, sparks flying, flashes of white lighting the darkness. I felt the vibration of each impact. It was a game of Russian roulette — choosing the wrong spot meant death. I finally reached the visitor centre. The 100-year-old was close behind. I realised I wasn’t even panting. It had taken two hours to walk up the mountain. Only five minutes to run down. “Oh my goodness, are you two okay?” the man at the counter asked, seeing our sodden clothing and rattled expressions. 53
SELF-LOVE
THE FAMILY BUSINESS Esther Hannan-Moon @esther_hm
A Father and Son stood outside 56 Eagle Street in matching outfits. Their black clothes shrouded their faces, obscuring their hands and shadowing their figures. The Son had his hood pulled over a mop of crow coloured hair, and headphones in his ears, blocking out the quiet of the scarcely alive morning. An iron fence painted seasick green barricaded number 56 with two armchairs occupying the front veranda, one dust coated, the other worn in from use. The Son slipped off the headphones and drew his bottom lip up to nibble on. His hands wrung themselves underneath the draped black sleeves. The Father put a hand on his shoulder, but kept his face fixed on the house’s front door. “This can be a precious moment, so I need you to handle it with caution.” The Father said. “I know…it’s the right time, but it’s still his time.” The Son replied, drawing in a breath that let off a rattle as it left his ashen body. The Father nodded, “Mr. Jameson. Eighty54
two years old. His wife passed over two years ago. Cancer. Are you ready?” The son shook his head. His hand shot out and grabbed hold of his Father’s cloak. The older of the two felt a pinch in his chest. Pictures of a chubby fist in his own bone thin hand, a bubble of laughter as his Son was tossed laughing into the air. The Father went to the door and knocked three times. A weathered hand pulled open the door and a gentleman with thick owl glasses stood regarding the pair. ‘Um...hi Sir, I’m Death Jr. You can call me Ripper. So... you’ve um, died, and we’re here to take you over. If you want. Well, actually, it’s not much of a choice, but you can take your time if you need to say goodbye to some people. Is that allowed? I’m not sure, but...yeah.” The Son mumbled. The man, Mr. Jameson, smiled. It was a smile that reached his eyes, showing the shine of a few tears that had pooled. “It’s my son’s first day on the job, I’m still showing him the tricks.” The Father said as art: nimasotoudeh.com
SELF-LOVE he wrapped a skeletal arm around the Son, “I do apologise Mr. Jameson for the brashness. I’m afraid though that you have passed, my good Sir. In your sleep, painless as possible, very lucky. You may indeed visit anyone you wish to say goodbye to, but I suggest you do this soon as the wait will take longer at the other end. We have procedures you see. I am sorry for your loss.” Mr. Jameson shook his head and cupped his mouth with a leather hand. The tears cascaded from his eyes. A pop of noise escaped his lips, then another, but nothing intelligent was made from it. Instead he gave a nod. “We’ll wait for you here.” The Son looked up at his Father with a crinkled brow, unsure what to do now so he took a seat on the front step. He flipped his hood off then ran his fingers through his hair, dust floating to the ground, covering his sneakers. The Father sat beside him.
Mr. Jameson reappeared. He stood at the gate with a bright smile. His hand reached out towards the Son. A gesture of trust, of eagerness. “I’m ready to see my wife please. Mr. Ripper, would you mind showing me the way?” The Son shot to his feet and stumbled out of the gate almost knocking Mr. Jameson over. His Father chuckled and got to his feet. He could feel his Son watching him. “Um, Dad, would you mind taking Mr. Jameson? I have a few more houses to do. You know… lighten the load and stuff?” The Father walked up and squeezed his Son’s shoulder. He found he couldn’t say anything, so he simply nodded. Mr. Jameson and the Father then went their separate ways, both disappearing into the silence.
“So, that’s the family business.” The Son stared at the dust settling. “It’s a demanding job, I understand that, but I need you to step up Son. A little more practice, that’s all you need. It took my five years to get it right! What I’m saying is you’re doing great. I can’t wait to see you grow into this role and I’ll help… son?” A hiccup flopped out of the Son’s mouth before he could stop it. His face was buried in the shadow of his hood. The young apprentice looked up at the two chairs before he hung his head again. “Listen. Son, I’m sorry. That was too much. It’s just… I’m not going to be able to do this forever… and I believe in…” The Father said, wringing his bone fingers together. 55
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@natashar0se
Fragmentation Emma Walls Emma Walls
A sluggish, balmy afternoon in a suburb nestled in Sydney’s outer west, draws to a close. The sun begins its reluctant journey back beneath the grey mass of buildings that litter the horizon. A figure flies through the centre of town. An erratic, desperate blur. Gaining speed, they rip throughthe clusters of leaves that have scattered along the road. Crunching under the wheels of his bike, they fall hazily onto the rough bitumen. The homes that greet him either side are lined with knee-high fences, the white paint flaking off each individual post. The air is thick and particles of pollen eddy around his head, attaching themselves to the striped fabric of his t-shirt. Previously unwavering, his attention now falters. He screeches to a halt. The plastic bag laden with groceries that he’d balanced precariously in the middle of his handlebars, spills its contents onto the ground. He mutters under his breath in frustration when he notices the milk, gently leaking onto the uneven ground. It navigates the rivets, the bumps and lumps of the bitumen, to greet the gutter. He yanks it off the road, fumbling with the lid as it coats his hand, eventually conceding defeat and abandoning it in a neighbour’s trash. He snatches the bread up, the sheen of plastic rustling in his grip, bundling the vegetables back into the bag too. He settles the bag back onto the handlebars, before pausing to locate the source of his interest. A butterfly. Tattered fragments of wings are shoved by a burst of wind, disassociating from their larger being, detaching to join the breeze and dissolve into the atmosphere. Painted brilliant reds and yellows, he decides it surely would become dinner for an eagereyed bird. Lifting up the disintegrating being, he settles the insect between two rustling bushes, out of harm’s way. Seemingly at ease, it ceases to move, with a habitual twitch of its left wing assuring him it remains alive. A kaleidoscope of butterflies form above, their psychedelic colours merging together to form a swarming furore, powerful and bold. He hopes it will continue to grow, as best it can.into a clay-world tundra. Those
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Verdant Freckles Allyson Shaw Allyson Shaw
A sole, green dot marked his skin. Unnoticed by its host. He carried the thing as it lay dormant. Waiting. It was not long until green peppered his skin. Verdant freckles. He was aware now. And the dots turned to bumps. Every pore fertilised ready for its own growth. That first dot, the heart of the being, led its troops forward. A spindly thread appeared. The boy tugged it out. Painful. He separated skin from thread. But the boy could not see the root of the pest Agitated now, threads sprung up, weeds everywhere. Prepared, the boy knew what to do. He understood how to win the game. But with every tug his organs shifted too, snagging until the thread gave way from the boy’s force. And this did not stop the plant. The boy could not uproot every thread. And the green dots, the spawn of the threads, were unshakeable. It was a race against the being. The boy stood facing his reflection. Frantic. He tried to smooth his skin, a battle against the plant and pain. No victory led him closer to the end, a war of attrition. The boy could not rid his body of the thing. He sat and watched one of the freshly plucked green bumps turn once again into a climbing thread. It ventured from his skin, leaning, trying to feel more. He let it. And watched as it thickened. The thread grew tall enough to run across his skin, between the bases of its fellows. The boy was transfixed as the plant wandered: skirting around his forearm, criss-crossing and latticing his pale flesh. A leaf sprouted, and the boy cried.
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— After his surrender, the plant moved without interruption. From below, it riddled its way along the boy’s bones. Tentacles swam flowing in the river of blood, spinning around his veins and arteries. The boy continued to move with the knowledge he’d succumbed to the being. Words caught on the threshold of lips, balancing there in his mouth, yet unable to escape and call for aid – as the plant pinned his tongue down with green twine. He could not speak at all. And even his thoughts whispered to evade the everpresent plant. The boy stumbled around in the overworld, a microbiome within the big world. But even this movement was too much agency. He must be stopped. The tresses paused. As one they extended their green arms, and the threads found they could finally reach far beyond the boy. Vines latched onto the ground. And the boy broke free—but never mind, reinforcements would come. The being strengthened. Threads turned to ropes. The boy was pulled tight, the translucent threads bound and braided together as coordinated cords. Twisting with a focused purpose. The boy was stagnant. Succumbed, cocooned, the boy was consumed by the plant. Where was the division between boy and plant? Weed and flesh. The being sapped from the boy’s life. And a new integrity was created. A tree for wanderers to amaze at.
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@rainy_chalk
The Lost Garden Sidney B @boensidney
Lost in the depth of my skin Till flesh doesn’t meet bone but Morphs into a desert To which I now travel bare-footed Against the hot sands. Cast your gaze upon the Barren landscapes of a once thriving garden; Where did it go? Where did that which I held in my Youth, cradled in the nook Of my ribs wither to? Those variegated greens— Far reaching into the veins, Do the roots of puerile dreams Come forth; Bursting with such ferocious fertility, That each hand that ploughed The beginnings of each day, Gathered the Dew of opportunities And harvested well fed blooms by Dusk fall. Now it all hath crumbled into Golden ash and stone. Frosted with age, Fermented with dust, Toiled with rusted hoes. The gorges between those brows Were weighted down With burdensome fruit That only Man can bear To their fellow Man. As this body decays, No more to the call of the sun Does it ascend to. These eyes, dull and diseased art: nimasotoudeh.com
Cast their parched gaze, Towards the heavenward roost Housed by the stars and certainty Of our fleeting life. And this yearning heart Yearns for years no more. My garden’s sweetened Scent and vivid flowers That bewitch the bees to land Upon its petals, Have far expired. I drink the rest of the finite days, In solitude. Wandering enough have these Darkened legs and body done, From continent to continent, Lover to lover, Thus far in search of myself for myself, And to be lost in the eyes Of the world. And finally! Finally! Now in this ripened form Am I ... Ever so present. Ever so alive. To these dunes, Do I turn to make My shallow bed. Oh tender shoots That birth around The tartarean rot of my remains, A toast to you — The legacy springing amongst Bygone verdure.
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A Gunslinger’s Tale Georgio Platias @grplatias
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@therealanniewalker
SELF-GROWTH
You say I turned out fine. I think I’m still turning out Rachelle Tacadena Rachelle Tacadena
“Can you wait a sec? Let me catch my breath. I can’t remember how I got here.” I don’t think I ever really ‘came of age’. I’m entering my twenties this year (just a mere twenty years too soon), and I am sure as heck still growing up and figuring out who I am and who I will be. I know I’ve got to grow up some time, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. I guess right now, I’m just a weird, anxious and awkward soul. A Dreamer (according to that Adobe Creative Types Test) a.k.a one who overthinks, daydreams and is very emotional (so...nice to meet you too!). I latch onto occasional cliché coming-of-age movies for somereason and Netflix shows about growing up (like Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012), Glee (2009-2015), Sex Education (2019) on Netflix and even Big Mouth (2017-2019) because I find myself in them (minus Big Mouth. I just like John Mulaney and Nick Kroll content among other things). And don’t even get me started on my love of YouTube and how that has changed over the years. Here I am shouting “ME” at these things like Shane Dawson because these things are, in fact, me.
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Alongside YouTube changing significantly from its wholesome 2014 era, one thing that I have realised is that it has taken me since high school to recognise that how my mind is is a genuine and worthy problem. For as long as I can remember I have been a shy kid. Since mid-high school, I brushed off seemingly new traits that have now snowballed; hesitation/ fear in approaching people and keeping a conversation, easily distracted, disliking eye contact, fidgeting, disappearing into my own world. “Nah, I’ll just get through it on my own like always”, I would tell myself as I waded through. Even now, I’m still who I’ve always been; inside my head a lot, trying to escape the feeling that the world has passed me by. I’m surviving when I should be thriving. A quote from an article I read in high school went along the lines of, ‘I have a foot in two campsites but a tent in none.’ Link that with dodie’s song ‘6/10’ (“I know that you don’t want me here”) and there’s my life in a nutshell; never being enough, masking everything, making new friends but always floating around groups, always aware of the fact that everyone is more interesting than me and is closer friends with each other. I related to that song about anxiety before I even knew what anxiety was. How do I always end up being the odd one out on an even table? I was (and still am, honestly) at a point where I truly believed that I didn’t deserve any of my roles because everyone else was more worthy and skilled. That I didn’t deserve any of the people I have had the honour of calling my friends. I couldn’t legitimise it as more than just being shy or sad because it could be worse. I always think that I might actually be okay, and then I come in and prove myself wrong every single time (love a circle of life).
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@natashar0se
SELF-GROWTH I remember the day I changed friendship groups in high school (around year 8 or 9), making new ones before becoming closer with both groups. I remember the moment just before asking if I could sit with them. Walking out of the bathrooms, a deep feeling in my chest and the back of my mind that was waiting to be released. I was never fully happy sitting with the first group even though they were my first and closest friends. On the verge of tears at the exit of the bathrooms (classic emotional me), I shakily asked if I could sit with them. And lo and behold, they were the kindest people ever taking me into their arms. A seemingly minor story, but prominent to me nonetheless; I didn’t know my mental health was to blame for my sadness and now, years later, I’ve realised this was the first piece that proved mysuspicions. With a lot of things in my life, I always have to take a good step away from things to catch my breath and re-align. Cue “Turtles All the Way Down” spirals, a name I can finally put to a feeling that has made itself known to me. I’ve been so good, but it’s still getting harder. Why am I feeling empty? I could start going on about how I escape these spirals, but frankly I have a word limit that I‘m sure I’ve already passed. There are a few people/things that I greatly appreciate that have come into my life at the most perfect times. My high school year advisor, my favourite artists AJR and George Ezra, Dear Evan Hansen (albeit through a YouTube recording, don’t @ me pls) and pins for my denim jacket (truly me in a nutshell). AJR and Dear Evan Hansen have brought me so much clarity on my experiences, exposing the realities of growing up and putting it in a way that is just so real, universal and emotional as heck. Shoutout to everyone with niche interests too, especially those who recognise my many references throughout this which may seem odd or out of place (Cue Shane Dawson “ME!”). Even AJR’s 2019 album “Neotheater” was conceptualised as a “place in our minds we go to, to escape the
pressures of growing up”. So now, with parts of me finally in words, I can stop pretending I’m something better than the mess I am and stop running away from what’s true: Me. (I mean, ya girl is tired and frankly isn’t as fit). Starting with the decision to actually step into the sun and reach out for help, something that high school me would’ve never been able to do. I’m following the click in my ear finding where I should be; I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I’m going somewhere because all I see is sky for forever. I know I will be okay again sometime and mean it. And so, I want to grow to a point where I can confidently say and believe one of my new lines to live by from AJR (who else did you expect from me?). Dear all the people in my life who have made me more me than I could have ever dreamed. “I hope I made you smile. That’s all I ever wanted.”
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Growing as a Writer Travis Radford @travis_radfird1
Travis Radford recalls some not-so-fond memories from high school and shares some thoughts on how criticism can be used for your own good. If I could only use three words to describe how I’ve grown as a writer, they’d be: criticism and feedback. But seeing as I have approximately four hundred, I’ll expand a little more on that. Criticism can be difficult to hear, especially when Mr McDonnell, your grade eight history teacher, pretends to choke to death on how poorly your writing flows. This was my first real encounter with criticism, and I remember it vividly. Grade eight me was about to leave history class, when my teacher said, “no, not you.” I was quite proud of my work, so naturally assumed he wanted to congratulate me personally, without making the other kids feel bad for their inferior writing skills. “Do you know what commas are?” he said straight away. Before I had time to answer, he began reading my work aloud (this is actually a really useful way to check if your work flows), mockingly taking exaggerated breaths to mark the absence of each comma or full stop. The previous day I had submitted a report on the Chinese Emperor Qin Shi Huangdi. We had to write around three hundred words on his life and untimely death (from drinking mercury he ironically thought would make him immortal). I wrote three hundred words with only one full stop - right at the very end. With each breath he drew, my pride slowly died, as I wondered if this was it. Would I ever come back from this? What I think is important, and what helped grade eight me to come back from this, was to first of all change the way I thought about criticism. Thinking of it as an attack on your work is very one-dimensional, equivalent to drinking a cool glass of mercury – your writing will never improve! Feedback is a kinder word, without the same negative connotations. If you consider your writing as a product, being beta tested by readers for feedback, it’s easier to take criticism as constructive, rather than destructive. Ultimately criticism hurts and it never stops hurting but without taking that first piece of advice on board maybe I’d still be writing exhausting sentences like this that seem to carry on and on and on without any fragmentation from commas or full stops except At. The. Very. End.
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HOROSCOPES
HØrOsCØpes Keeley McAlinden @keeley_mca
What does your Horoscope have in store for you this year? Find out below!
Aries 21 March - 19 April
This year you are in the front-seat, Aries! you spend the last twelve months embracing new opportunities in your work and social life, and now it’s tiem to prove that you can handle them all. Ease back on accepting more responsibility at this time, as the last thing you want is to overload your plate. A new year always brings an air of change, and your impatience will make you want to seize every new thing coming your way but try not to ram into new situations- take a breath and focus on what you already have in front of you! Taurus 20 April - 20 May
This year you will feel a definite change in the air! With Uranus in retrogade over your sign, you will find yourself shaking up that old routing. Unfortunately, this will be rather tricky, as you have the tendency to be quite stubborn in your own ways. So, with 2019 almost over, it’s time to loosen those reigns, Taurus, and allow yourself to have some fun! You may do or say things that you haven’t before but embrace these changes and you will find this year to be one of liberation! gemini 21 May - 20 June
On the surface, gemini, you have a reputation for being quite inconsistent. But what most people don’t know about you is that you are also an incredible curious and affectionate person! This year it’s time to show these traits to the world. Open yourself up to concept of the “new”, whether that be new friends, new relationships or even new career opportunities. Prove to those naysayers that your inconsistency is actually adaptability- this is what will make you shine in professional environments. cancer 21 June - 22 July
Do social situations seem to be quite overwhelming right now? Whether it be complications at work, with friends or even in relationships, you seem to be stuck in the middle of some serious drama. Understandable, as your high level of emotional sympathy leaves people running to you for help and guidance. This year remember not to scuttle too close to battles that you don’t need to be a part of. Lend an ear, but not your heart, dear Cancer, and 2019 will promise to not get the better of you.
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@natashar0se
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HOROSCOPES
leo 23 July - 22 August
You are known in public for being a confident and cheerful individual, but this year it’s time to work on things closer to home. While you continue to be social throughout the first half of the year, keep in mind that your family takes priority. Perhaps it’s time to work on deepening those familial connections and addressing any issues that may be standing in the way of these. By doing this, Leo, you’ll find that the support from your Pride will only boost that confidence ten-fold. virgO 23 August - 22 September
This year, confidence is key! While you remain a very loyal and reliable person amongst your friends and work colleagues, you still need to practice standing up for yourself in times of conflict. Sometimes it may feel like your own self-criticism stops you from expressing your opinions in tricky situations. Remember that these negative thoughts are all in your head. 2019 is your time to shine, Virgo, so let those worries blow away in the summer air! libra 23 September - 22 October
Last year was a difficult one for you, Libra. You may have found yourself relying on others to get you through tough times, with self-pity getting the better of you here and there. But that all changes in 2019! This year is the time for you to reset the scales and claim that power over yourself. Embrace the concept of self-care by treating yourself to luxuries but remember not to over-indulge. Keep that balance of work and play!
scorpio 23 October - 21 November
You know that saying, “Out with the old in with the new”? This is your 2019 in a nutshell, Scorpio, so channel that inner Marie Kondo when it comes to matters of renewal. Spring Cleaning in the latter months is a good start, but when that’s done start looking at ways to rid yourself of unnecessary emotional baggage as well. Remember that old conflicts need to be let go. Your natural wilfulness and passion can sting others in arguments, but by letting this go, you will be recognised for the true friend that you are.
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HOROSCOPES
sagittarius 22 November - 21 December
This year is going to test you, and here’s how to get ready for it! Your generous, sociable and humorous personality makes you appear invincible to hardships, but unfortunately 2019 may leave you feeling down on your luck. Karma is working against you this year, so don’t leave important decisions to chance. Give your life a little bit of that extra structure by making a timetable of your commitments, so when difficult situations arise you can shoot through them like an arrow! capricorn 22 December - 19 January
2019 is going to be a busy year for you! With Saturn AND Pluto in retrograde under your sign, it looks like Karma is going to have a very big role in your relationships. This may throw a curveball into your routine, as your usual responsible and disciplined self will be tested by these planets’ affects. This year will also test the power dynamics of your friendships, so stay true to yourself and the ones who value you the most will continue to do so. aquarius 20 January - 18 February
As an Aquarius, it is clear that you think with your mind. Independent? Check! Progressive? Of course! Original? You know it! But this year, try thinking not with your mind, but with your heart. A new year brings the promise of new relationships, and this is definitely something you need to work on. Try practicing more empathetic approaches to problem-solving, as a little kindness will go a long way. Do this, Aquarius, and you’ll find new doors opening in the social areas of your life. pisces 19 February - 20 March
For you, a new year calls for a deep reflection of self. With Neptune in retrograde under your sign, you should feel a calling to find a deeper understanding of your own identity. If you are currently spending your efforts helping those around you, it is now time to put your own needs first. Take a step back from the hustle and bustle of everyday life and try to make time for meditation and contemplation. Your natural compassion will work wonders for self-recognition; you’ll take to meditation like a fish to water!
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Nick Gregson
@nickgregson14
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Want More? We’ve got content for days.
@UTSoC Around this time last year, I went through the toughest period of my life in terms of my mental health. First my mum was diagnosed with bowel cancer for the for the third time. Then a few passed, then my brother’s health saw a downturn too. The next few months were filled with bad news and regular visits to the hospital. This immense family stress, combined with uni work, left me feeling powerless and alone. I didn’t share my struggles at home with many other people because I felt like it was unfair of me to unload such a heavy burden on anyone I knew. The effect this had on my mental health was devastating. It was baggage I didn’t want to share, and it made me isolate myself from those I love the most. My brother passed in around November and never really dealing with the death of a loved one in my adult life before, I just became numb. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel. Then around 2 weeks later after the funeral, my mum’s condition became worse and she was admitted to the hospital full time. When my mum passed a few days later, it crushed me to levels I did not think possible. No matter how much my mum and I disagreed, her presence made me feel whole. Not having her around dealt a major blow to my mental health. I became even more distant from friends, being around family wasn’t enough to make me feel better and I took any possible shift at work to take my mind off the pain. No matter how bad things become mentally for me, I never let anyone in because of how weak it made me feel. It is the biggest regret of my life. But I remember one day I told a friend about my family situation while lying down on the alumni green and I don’t think I’ve felt more relieved and supported before. The burden it took off me and realizing the support networks I had because of this one moment was amazing. While I am still on the road of overcoming my grief and trying to become more open about my experiences, I wanted to share my story so those reading don’t feel afraid of approaching those they hold closest about their mental health.
FOGO: Fear of Going Out Esther Hannan-Moon explains why FOGO, is a perfect and preferable option for a Saturday night.
How to survive long -distance friendships
Sevin Pakbaz explains how long-distance friendships can survive, with a little bit of effort from both sides.
utsoc.com.au/thecomma/ fogo
utsoc.com.au/thecomma/ long-distance-relationships
Why is everyone so afraid of networking?
Get your #cutesoc gear
Stay warm, look, cute For your next networking and rep UTSoC with our super toasty hoodies. It’s session, Charlotte Biggins has five tips to genuinely the cosiest item change a terrifying ordeal of clothing you’ll own, and it’ll last a lifetime...just like into a unique careers the memories! opportunity. utsoc.com.au/thecomma/ $40 + booking fee through why-is-everyone-so-afraid- QPay. of-networking
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