VERSE
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ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF COUNTRY.
It was and always will be Aboriginal land.
Verse Magazine acknowledges the Kaurna, Boandik and Barngarla First Nations People as the traditional custodians of the unceded lands that are now home to the Univeristy of South Australia’s campuses in Adelaide, Mount Gambier and Whyalla. Verse Magazine respectfully acknowledges their Ancestors and Elders, past, present and emerging. Verse Magazine also acknowledge the Traditional Custodians and their Ancestors of the lands and waters across Australia.
EDITOR’S LETTER
You made us laugh. You made us smile. You made us cry. And you made us grow.
It has been an incredible year working with the Verse team and all the wonderful students who bravely shared pieces for us to consider in this year’s publication.
Edition 61 is the final magazine for 2024, and what a fantastic collection of creative works we have put together for us all to reflect on once the year is out.
We have adored getting to know so many of you through written works, photography, and numerous creative designs, and even though we have only met a few of you, we genuinely feel a connection with all the people who have submitted.
While the designs and stories put to page deserve all the credit, it goes without saying that our graphic designer made every piece shine; Taybah — thank you!
Our social media queen, Manith, has also been a big part behind the scenes, from prompting Spotify mixes to daily posts and creating images with delicious splashes of colour that ultimately enticed the Verse community to grow.
CELEBRATION is the theme, and we are set to go out with a bang! So, grab your favourite beverage and get comfy because Edition 61 is set to please.
The cover, as always, is a showstopper, with this design brilliantly evoking a party theme. We share a memoir that captures the heartbreak, challenges, and celebration of life through
stuttering to a poetry piece that captures Adelaide’s seasons. Stories like these, are a testament to the resilience and beauty of life, inspiring us all. We celebrate the opportunities within ‘the land down under,’ and hear how Australia as a destination has changed many lives and perspectives for international students. I interviewed John Walker (what a name!), who revealed some exciting news of a health and well-being webpage about to be launched. Most of all, the creative and non-creative pieces prepared within this Verse Magazine, share one common element — celebrating life as it is, a message that we hope will uplift and inspire our readers.
And that, folks, wraps up what’s install for Verse Magazine for 2024.
The team wishes you all the best in whatever entices your future creative journey, professionally and personally. Until we meet again, keep writing, keep
Krunk by Sad Night Dynamite
True Lovers by Holy Holy
Spring Is Coming With A Strawberry In The Mouth by Coraline Polachek
Champagne Coast by Blood Orange Genesis by Raye
1-800-hot-n-fun by Le Sserafim
Cry Baby by The Neighbourhood
Weird Fishes by Radiohead
Year Zero by Ghost
Die With A Small by Lady Gaga
A SPOTIFY PLAYLIST
Fire Song by Senthil Ganesh
Million Dollar Baby by Tommy Richman
Everything In Its Place by The Neighbourhood
PHOTOGRAPHY by Anadi Sharma
ALMOND BLOSSOM
A CELEBRATION OF SPRING
PHOTOGRAPHY by Justin Joji
THE QUIET BECOMINGS
“Looking back on what I wanted to celebrate this year, I realized that the quiet moments stood out. Points of growth and reflection that I knew had profoundly but not obviously. And a recognition that personal growth is an ongoing process, a journey that we’re all on, and it’s worth celebrating every step of the way”
WORDS by Sanusha S Sritharan PHOTOGRAPHY by Dhruvkumar (Dhruv) Rajubhai, Darji
Fireworks and fanfare mark not these moments: standing in front of a round green hobbit door, grinning shifting from sitting cross-legged to kneeling, reaching singing to the horizon at the bottom of the world, listening sobbing on a plane ride back home, resisting the unbecoming.
But I feel them, in my bones, from hollow sponges to granite mountains in the pit of my stomach, from roiling sea to placid lake in my chest, from distant icy glaciers to the burble of waterfalls in my mind, from fog and murk to piercing sunshine and starlight. A celebration of ribcage expanding and spine lengthening, spacious, silent and still.
These too are the moments unmarked: staring at the ceiling listening to midnight sea shanties, questioning scoffing down cake and crisps and chocolate, hating sorting anxieties into to-do lists, praying sitting across from them, asking for love, still.
And so, mountains become quarries the tide rolls back in waterfalls are suspended clouds obscure the sky. A constant danceone step forward two steps back or is it two forward one back? A celebration of practice and repetition, silent strides till the once unfamiliar is.
PHOTOGRAPHY by Justin Leung
GIRLS & FLOWERS
IMAGE by Sheydin Dew
IMAGE by Sheydin Dew
IMAGE by Leah Ahrens
“I arrived in Australia as an International student, together with my family, eager to embrace new challenges. Now, with my degree completed and graduation approaching in december 2024. I find myself reflecting on this incredible journey. Throughout my time here, I’ve captured my experiences, and growth through the art of poetry.
This final poem is my way of expressing heartfelt gratitude to the University and to Australia. Thank you for the opportunities to showcase my skills and for the honour of having my work published. These moments will forever hold a special place in my heart.”
WORDS by Mary Jane Panansar
ILLUSTRATION by Shriyanka Das Sharma
8TH AUGUST
8th August, a day I’ll never forget,
Two years now in this land we’ve met. Australia, you’ve been so kind and true, Cheers to many more years with you!
A student at forty, the road was tough, But every challenge made me strong enough.
The kids found joy in schools so bright, While my husband worked from dawn to night.
Hurdles came, one after the other,
But we faced them together, stronger than ever.
Grateful for friends, both new and old,
For their warmth, their love, their stories told.
Now my degree is proudly earned, With every lesson, a new page turned.
Thank you, UniSA, for all you gave, And Australia, for the love we crave.
Two years have flown, but our journey’s not done, Here’s to the future, to laughter and fun!
With gratitude deep, our hearts are full, Cheers to you, Australia, our beautiful jewel!
NEW SEASON, NEW SOUL
The sun rises for you, The clouds have parted. The flowers bloom for you, Spring has now started. Through thunder and rain, Through your hidden pain, Is what remains the same? The reign of Spring, passionate inner flame.
Your new body and your new smile, just becoming whole. Your new life and your new heart, having love for it all.
Embracing the sun again, are things really the same?
Another reason, another goal. New season, new soul.
“The poem is a celebration of personal growth and resilience, a testament to the acknowledgment of one’s own accomplishments. It is a reflection of the coming of Spring, a time when flowers bloom, bringing colour and warmth to the year’s end.”
WORDS by Jimmy Ngo IMAGE by Taybah Hamza
THE GREAT SAFARI PARK STAND-UP
The South Australia University Comedy Club was buzzing with excitement as the annual Clubs Awards night approached. President Jeffrey and his executive team, Charlotte, Shreyas, and Prajwal, were confident of their club’s chances.
They had been nominated for several awards, including Best Club of the Year, New Club of the Year, and Best Events of the Year.
On the night of the awards ceremony, the club members donned their finest attire and headed to what they thought was the venue. Little did they know, a hilarious mix-up had occurred. Instead of heading to Adelaide Zoo, as the invitation had clearly stated, they had mistakenly followed the directions to Monarto Safari Park, a two-hour drive away.
As the club members arrived at the safari park, they were greeted by curious stares from park visitors. Confused, they tried to contact the organizers of the awards ceremony, but to no avail. Realizing their mistake, they burst into laughter, their initial disappointment turning into amusement.
Meanwhile, back at the Adelaide Zoo, the comedy club’s absence went unnoticed. As the awards were announced, the club’s name was called several times, but with no one to claim the prizes, the organizers simply moved on.
The club members decided to make the most of their unexpected safari adventure. They explored the park, marveled at the wildlife, and even attempted some stand-up comedy routines for the amusement of the park
“ ...they had mistakenly followed the directions to Monarto Safari Park, a two hour drive away.
visitors. Unfortunately, their impromptu performances were met with mixed reactions. While some visitors found their jokes hilarious, others simply stared in confusion.
As the day came to an end, the club members returned to Adelaide,
WORDS by King Bong Tam
ILLUSTRATION AND WORDS
by Shriyanka Das Sharma
PERSPECTIVES ON LIFE
“Perspectives
on Life, showcases the duality and uncanniness of our existence.”
SOPHISTICATED IN BLACK
PHOTOGRAPHY by Heleina Garcia
A YEAR ABROAD
In summer’s heat, beneath the blazing sun’s glare, I find the courage, to look at this new world, to stare
In summer, dreams take flight, Bright hopes shimmer, in the morning light.
Sweat beads glisten, upon my brow, Yet in the struggle, I find my vow.
To chase my dreams, with fervent might, In the scorching heat, I don’t hide.
In autumn’s gold, I tread, a stranger in the land, Whispers of eucalyptus, tales of the ancient sand.
A foreigner amidst the crimson leaves’ ballet, Yet, in their dance, I find a guiding sway.
In autumn’s embrace, I navigate the unknown, Amongst rustling leaves, seeds of resilience sown.
Through whispers of change, I learn to adapt, In the symphony of seasons, my fears unwrapped.
Winter’s chill arrives, frost tracing paths unseen, Lonely nights by the fire, dreams drift between.
Though the cold may pierce, and shadows grow long, Within, a flicker burns, resilient and strong.
Winter’s grip tightens, a test of endurance begun, Yet in the cold, I find warmth in the sun.
Through the darkest nights, a beacon I seek, In the stars’ silent counsel, solace I speak.
Spring’s gentle touch, a promise of rebirth, Amidst uncertainty, I find solace in the earth.
Blossoms paint the skyline, hope in every hue, In their fragile beauty, a mirror of what I pursue.
Spring’s arrival, a symphony of renewal’s call, Amidst blossoms blooming, I stand tall.
In the cycle of growth, I find my place, Each challenge embraced, with grace and grace.
Through trials untold, in this distant terrain, I forge ahead, despite the ache, the strain.
Each season’s cycle, a testament profound, To resilience found, in every inch of ground.
Amidst the gum trees’ whispers, I find my song, Through winter’s frost, I learn to carry on.
In spring’s embrace, I find the strength to rise, For in every season, a deeper purpose lies.
With every step, I weave my tale anew, In the rhythm of seasons, my spirit imbued.
For though the road is long, and the path unclear, In the dance of nature, I find my anchor here.
Through the ebb and flow of life’s relentless tide, In the heart of the journey, I choose to abide.
For in the depths of struggle, I discover my might, In the dance of seasons, my spirit takes flight.
WORDS by Umme Kulsum Keya PHOTOGRAPHY by Taybah Hamza
SHE DID NOT STUTTER
To be honest, my younger self would totally have a stress induced heart attack if she knew that her “deepest, darkest secret” is about to be exposed to hundreds of random people (yes, that includes you, dear reader). But here goes nothing, I guess. Three, two, one, I have a stutter.
See, that wasn’t so bad! Having spent my first 11 years in Vietnam, I unfortunately did not have the best support. It ranged from being teased and bullied at school, starting in kindergarten by my peers and teachers to dodgy “speech therapy” (what do you mean I should put rocks in my mouth), just to name a few. As a result, my self-esteem and confidence suffered greatly, and I predictably fell into the role of the shy, quiet kid at school; a role that would stay with me for the rest of my schooling life. I would be afraid to speak, unless to close friends and family, out of fear that I would be judged, laughed at, called names. In my mind, it was easier to be known as quiet and shy than to be known as a person who stutters.
Of course, after graduating high school and leaving that restricting but predictable environment, I had a full blown quarter life crisis. So much of who I am had been defined by others’ perceptions, and my entire identity fell apart when no one was there to witness. I am not quiet and shy, then who am I. It’s hard when I’ve been like this ever since I’ve learned how to speak, since I don’t know any other ways to be “me”. I’ve hit a wall, and ever since then, I’ve been deconstructing it brick by brick. The best thing about life after high school is the freedom. I no longer had the pressure to uphold a façade around people that I see every single day. From doing new things and widening my social circle, I’ve come to realise that so much of my anxiety is manufactured in my own brain. I’ve learned that my stutter can’t hurt me, and so is others’ knowledge of it. And what if others do judge?
At the end of the day, I’m only responsible for my own life, and everything else is out of my control. I guess it was really that simple after all. But progress isn’t linear. Some days, I would be see-sawing between regretting how I had hidden myself for so long and mourning my wasted potential and regressing back to my insecure high school self; wishing that I was a fluent speaker. Sometimes I would feel lonely and misunderstood, like my stutter has put an invisible barrier between me and the world. I’ve heard that 1 out of 100 people have a stutter, then how come I’ve never met another person who stutters in real life. Or maybe they’re too busy being the shy, quiet person in their own life story? Either way, I think that raising awareness and being unapologetically honest (like in the form of a magazine article!) is the key to breaking down that invisible barrier, and it’s also just so incredibly cathartic to pour out what I have held in my head and heart for so long. At the end of the day, I am proud that I’ve been able to grow past my damaging childhood experiences and blossom into the person that I’ve meant to be all along.
I can, therefore I can.
“The theme is celebration, so I wanted to celebrate who I am – I stutter!”
WORDS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
by Mia Nguyen
“ I can, therefore I can
THE LAMB
My daughter was ballooning. It was barely a decade earlier that she had ballooned before, gulping constant at my breast, sweet sticky-milk smile, puffing into a fat, chubby, toddling child. I remember her belly, pushed out and round as she wobbled, clunkily loping from her father’s arms to mine. First steps. First word. First bike. First friend. First grade. First game. First love. She was a little milestone collector, always a beat ahead, a consistent surprise. Her growth was celebrated, logged on charts and marked on doorframes.
Now, it is met with a hush. Her distended belly a mystery, or fallacy, or grievous transgression, or miracle.
Mim hasn’t yet bled, but here she is: A virgin mother. A girl with an impossible womb. Her child chest turned breast bud turned sagging udder, leaking against cotton t-shirts and her stomach, always graced by her tender hands, growing weak by week. Centimetre by centimetre.
Mim sits at the dining table, her hands resting on her belly. Sometimes she calls me over, guides me to feel the parasitic pushes, kicks and bumps that contort her stomach, tapping against my palm.
I remember the way she swam inside of me, feet kicking and paddling up by my ribs, the thrum of her toes tickling
Discolsure: This creative piece contains sex themes, coarse language and traumatic events. Although not intentional, it may offend some viewers
in time to the thrum of my heartbeat. How she swirled around, mixing me up. How she turned me inside-out, left me split in two, legs in stirrups as my blood flowed and flowed. I remember, in my periphery, the doctors and their snorkels, the lapping of ruby red at my bedside. We were under-water, underblood, a waterfall from the eighth story hospital window. It took four days for the council to clean the blood stains from the street. But finally, she had arrived. Gnawing at my breast in our ichorous ocean, we floated like that for days, until, bled dry. We landed in this house, in my bed, and rested and fed and waited, and she grew, and I shrunk.
There is a collection of vases on the windowsill full of native bouquets. All fresh, always fresh; blooms shielding her from the sting of passerby eyes, the buzz of the crowds that gather on our lawn, the strangers kicking their feet in the stones, weaving through the yard. The clink of coins in a tin and the thrum of the crowd like bees swarming.
The door opens and a woman I have never met before walks in. She drops to her knees on the soft carpet floor, her black dress a cosmic abyss, velvet glinting in the afternoon light. My daughter reaches out and grabs the woman’s hands, placing them on her lower abdomen.
WORDS by Bonnie Brown PHOTOGRAPHY by Taybah Hamza
“A miracle,” the woman says, eyes glinting with something like wonder or terror.
“We will be with you,” My daughter replies.
The woman seems to melt. The course wrinkles of her face relax and smoothen, her skin flushes and a grin grows and grows. Ecstatic, she shivers. The walls stop breathing. Her eyes crack open, switching from misty to sharp in an instant and she whispers her thanks and breezes out the door.
We sit like this all day. People are travelling days to lay their hands on my child. To hear those words, ‘we will be with you,’ and be thrust into a state somewhere between orgasm and the sinking of grief. My daughter, my miracle, is on the front page of every newspaper. She has been interviewed for the local news broadcast. An author offered us the value of our house to buy the story of the pregnant virgin, but her father declines.
The day before she pissed on a stick, five hundred revered individuals, scientists, martyrs, and political leaders fell into a daydream and woke with the story: a saviour was to be born. Formed in the womb of a virgin, consecrated with something godly, something that would help us fix this place.
It was her father’s idea. The publishing
company didn’t know good literature he said, and when people started showing up in our front yard unannounced, he saw gold. He was right. A few dollars from hundreds of people adds up.
I want to tuck her back inside of me. Watching Mim be pillaged over and over every day opens me back up. I yearn to push her into me and hide her from this, the touches and reverence, the father’s commoditisation of her little body. Him and I have an agreement, or he sets the law, and I follow it; this is His house, His daughter and I am His wife, and I hate Him for it.
In and out and in and out they come. Men and women and kids and people, punching through our door to see her: The Virgin. The news electrocuted the country. The penetrative force of these people, entering our home, entering my daughter’s space, sits in my chest; a constant nausea. This relentless push and push for a miracle that isn’t theirs.
The line dwindles as the sun sets, and we settle into the night. Her father,
now almost absent in our life, a new mystic to the crowds, disappears into his study to document his daughter’s confinement, to document every new revelation of the day. His room is shut off from us, but when he slips in at night, I see hundreds of papers covering the floor. This is his best work yet, he tells us.
Mim wakes me when the cloud-diffused moon is our only light. She is writhing. Clutching her womb. Early in the night, she hummed through the contractions but now, a cacophony of guttural yells in waves crashing closer and closer, my daughter, a cliff, defying erosion, she wails and rails, her back arching off the bed, a cloud forming above her, a microcosmic thunderstorm. Lighting sparks, the bed is burning, her head is thrown back. I have known this pain, the division, this splitting; I am watching my daughter in mitosis. The paper doll I cut of myself now holding scissors in her hand. She is breathing. It slows. It is easing. I push against her hips, squeezing her pelvis as it widens, the pressure easing her pain.
“Mama, I’m sorry,” she says, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”
I laugh. Before I can tell her I would do it all over again she grunts, reeling over, clutching a pillow to her chest. She screams, it echoes along the scar that divides me in two, an electric rush, crackling and fizzing. It is time. Her scream is long and never-ending, she is breathing but I cannot hear it. Gooey chorion is dripping from between her legs; she screams and screams and
screams and screams and opens and cleaves. More. There is something there… pink and white. She reaches a hand down, brushing aside amniotic sac, a black hoof. A black hoof. A snout. Something white and slimy. She is breathing in loud sobs, wracking through her. She is trembling, with each great wobble of her body the thing slides further out. I clasp her hand in mine, awaiting an ocean that never comes. She yowls almighty and brings her babe from her split body to rest on her chest. She licks and scrapes at the tiny kicking infant, still encased, chewing open the caul, sucking and spitting fluid from its snout.
It mewls, the lamb, its sleepy black eyes peeling open, looking up at her, my daughter, its mother.
When a woman gives birth there is this bewilderment, this rippling shock. We loll, our mouths agape, oxytocin surging, hands shaking, bringing our baby to our breast, this utter disbelief. That is when a mother is born. My daughter holds the lamb to her chest. It braes gently, knocking her nipple with its nose. She is trembling and grinning a shining smile, cheeks glassy with tears.
The Father’s door cracks open. He screams. He drops to the floor. Mim looks up, her smile never wavering. The lamb is suckling at the flesh of her
breast, just below her nipple.
“Here, I’ll show you,” I say.
I breastfed Mim until she was six, we shared milk and flesh for years, sacred moments spent with her nursing from me, golden fluid nourishing her, her hand wrapped up in my hair. I position myself behind her, and exhausted, she flops back against me. We are enveloped by the bed, settling into this sanctuary.
I place my hand under the lamb’s head, its coat is sticky, but the fine layer of wool is soft and perfect.
“Nipple to nose,” Mim’s hand covers mine, as the lamb’s snout hits her nipple. Its small mouth opening and latching onto her. It gulps, feeding eagerly and desperately. We lie like that for a long time.
We wake to shouting. The Lamb nestled in Mim’s arms, Mim curled against my chest. The father is on the front porch, a faith healer, prophet, and ringmaster all in one.
“The Lamb,” he dazzles “The Miracle Lamb is born.”
Whooping and chattering rumble through the windowsill flower petals, the crowd ripples with raucous bursts of expectation, hope, glee.
Out of the window I watch, his hand raised above his head, clutching leaves of translucent paper, dotted in black ink, the rhythmic click of the typewriter that
echoed through the night an apparition of words on a page.
“A prophecy,” his voice lilts, melodic and jaunty, “a new age.”
His ecstatic premonition melts into the general roar of the congregation.
The lamb is feeding again. During the early morning, it trembled, tiny hooves tapping against the wooden floor as it held its own weight for the first time. A tiny impossibility, this baby, standing and falling in three wonky, wobbling steps to collapse into my daughter’s soft belly, braeing the song of mother and child; entwined again. They, the babes, had slept like that all day, rising and falling, feeding and cooing, an inhale and exhale of wake and sleep.
The father and I had railed in the kitchen. He wanted to bring them in, the flock, he was febrile describing the money, the opportunity, the prophecy, this miracle. His eyes sparked, something orange and alive I had never seen before. The line from my crotch to my heart burst and something split in me. I walloped his chest over and over.
“You will not let them in. You will not let them in.”
Thunk, thunk, thunk against his chest. His mouth was at my eye level, his teeth flared in a snarl, and he roared and slapped me across the face. I threw a vase at his
head. The after birth quiet, shattered as glass hit the ground. I dragged the table in front of the door. Propped the chairs against it, knocked the kitchen shelf down, saffron and apple seeds scattered the floor. I glowed from my centre, as he scowled back into his room, and I pivoted the table quietly against his slammed study door.
The jerry can glugs quietly. I draw lines through the house, over the threshold, across the windowsills, traipsing in and out of the bedrooms, overflowing the toilet with brown viscous fluid. I drew over the invisible line that had divided him and me, the door frame between his castle and his kingdom. The carpet in front of the study door is drenched and pungent.
I am every moment I have ever lived. I am His rough hands holding mine. I am fucking desperately and constant, slamming bodies together, a particle collider, to implode, to explode, to make something realer than real. I am on the swing set and five years old, and I learn that up will come down and down will come up and I will always be one push away from revolution. I am alone for a very long time and then I am not alone. I am four-legged and twohearted. I will never be alone again. I am suddenly, blindingly, more than he will ever be. I strike a match and light birthday candles. I strike a match and smudge sage. I strike a match, and I drop it onto the carpet.
Flames lick up the door of his study, red and orange, a waltz spinning and circling, reaching upwards and upwards. Sparks fizzle and pop, cracking loud
and bright. The father thumps at the door, thunk, thunk, thunk and the room is swirling with smoke, purple smog swallowing flame to be enveloped by the plasma, a hazy ouroboros firework show. The father sings in a loud wail, his hymn punctuated by creaking wood beams, pillars leaning inwards and inwards.
We stand in the backyard, Mim, the lamb and I. The house is alight, a supernova rapidly collapsing in on itself, the roof concaves— sucked into the singularity. The fire roars, and the smash of each brick into the ground, each great split of wood, and that echoing scream, is deafening. This catastrophic breakdown, immaculate swallowing of every moment up until this point. The house Mim was born in, the house Mim birthed in, the house I raised her in, her first steps, the lamb’s first steps. Our first nirvana and final inferno.
Mim places the lamb on the ground, and it stumbles awkwardly into the forest, she follows, her hand clasped in mine. We walk into the gloaming, my eyes bleary with tears, Mim’s nipples weeping as she watches the lamb frolic blindly forward.
“
Him and I have an agreement, or he sets the law, and I follow it; this is His house, His daughter and I am His wife, and I hate Him for it.
ILLUSTRATION
by Scarleth Molina Arias
Well-being, Mental Health & All That S……tudy Stuff!
Interviewer Melissa Raymond
Interviewee John Walker
UniSA actually cares about your mental health and well-being – that’s a fact! So much so, that after months of qualitative and quantitative research, staff behind the scenes have put together an exciting new webpage about to hit your digital platform.
Perhaps this is not something you’re interested in, but I urge you to think again because this may be useful at some stage in your study journey or when you least expect it, such as you or one of your friends or family members hitting rock bottom.
I caught up with John Walker from UniSA’s Student Engagement Unit; a Master of Management with first class Honours, a BA in Business Studies Management and a Diploma in Project Management gives this kind and generous human leverage to share some insight about a very exciting new project about to come to fruition.
Student
Mental Health Framework Project is coming to your platform soon!
A new mental health and well-being pilot program is about to be launched throughout UniSA for all staff and students to access with ease.
The initiative was drawn from focus groups and surveys that revealed the current mental health resources and support services at UniSA, requires extensive navigation to access topics of interest and time when people are seeking help.
Project manager John Walker says, “Most times people seek help, is often in the critical stages, and delays in locating information, ultimately can cause more stress than needed.”
Mental health issues can arise when warning signs are ignored, and for the majority of university students, stressrelated issues have become the norm. Let’s face it: we all know someone who feels the constant urge to keep on top of study commitments, assignment tasks and mounting pressure in daily life that can bring on the blues.
The waiting time for support service appointments through UniSA currently
averages around five days. However, additional service partners such as Beyond Blue (www.beyondblue.org.au or 1300 22 4636) are offered to provide extended resources for people in need.
John says, “The modern-day approach is totally different than in the past, and the best thing for students and staff now is that they can seek advice and access tools to help themselves and others by fasttracking through a new webpage and its various links.”
“Student well-being is everyone’s responsibility” says John, and whether it’s through general chit-chat or changes in a person’s behaviour, the signs of someone struggling can be easily identified through peer conversations.
Asking for help is critical, but asking early, well before a person actually needs support services, can alleviate a mental health problem arising.
Managing well-being is not an intervention, and many of us know detoxing from digital networks is a refreshing experience. But that’s not so easy when study loads and assessments are demanding more and
more of students’ free’ time, especially when juggling the old cliché, work-life and balance.
Studying aboard is a familiar memory for John, who excitedly accepted a university scholarship in the United States as an 18-year-old. Nigerian born with partial British ancestry often led to travelling across borders to experience different cultures and communities in the UK. However, when embarking on university education alone, John remembered that the vastness of cities and idle country towns challenged his mental health and well-being when he needed to adapt to life independently.
“A good support network is vital,” even if you are from the “muscle-it-out mindset.” Furthermore, exercise is key to managing stress-related issues, not forgetting the positive benefits a person experiences once breaking monotonous routines.
The project aims to provide tools for UniSA employees. At the same time, students and the entire UniSA community will reap the benefits of accessing apps such as exercise programs and discounts on various platforms.
“ A good support network is vital, even if you are from the “muscle-it-out mindset.”
Currently, the UniSA App provides helpful tools to navigate offerings; however, with a revamped link for students to access health services and well-being aids, John hopes to expand amenities such as affordable second-hand textbooks.
“Even a cafeteria has been discussed,” John says, “since we have seen the student demand and volunteer support from the brekky-bars.”
The cost of living is biting us all. Hence, the shift in online services on multiple levels has enabled a more flexible approach to study. But the downside has reduced social activity and interaction with others, especially in times of need.
“We (UniSA) see this as a value offering and is vital to keep us all in a job; Afterall, staff are here for students’ and with managed health and well-being initiatives will be good for us all.”
“The new webpage was needed; it is designed purposefully and coherently with a targeted approach.”
The only thing the new and improved pilot program cannot facilitate is students choosing to use the webpage. As John concludes, “It’s all about choice; ideally, people should view the webpage when it goes live (hopefully late September or early October ‘24) as it will guide people to recognise signs, ask for help and seek out staff if they are unsure of which way to go.”
Choice may be a simplistic expression, but in a nutshell, choices for John, or as he reflected, “is how I analysed if I should choose this way, or that way.”
PHOTOGRAPHY by Justin Leung
PHOTOGRAPHY by Yi Shin Aw
PHOTOGRAPHY by Justin Leung
COULD MENTAL HEALTH BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE?
Disclosure: Mental health themes are detailed in the memoir
We celebrate birthdays, engagements, weddings, gender reveals, baby showers, and promotions. But here is something I think should be added to the celebration list - a Mental Health Diagnosis.
I’ve had my fair share of celebrations. I was raised in the Catholic Church so throughout my childhood, not only did I look forward to a fun birthday party, I also celebrated a Baptism, First Holy Communion, and Confirmation (celebration of becoming an adult) all before year 7. Then I went to high school. I turned 13 (big party), and 16 (bigger party), and 18 (the biggest party!). When I was 21 I held a retro-theme dressup party, complete with a jukebox, a checkerboard dance floor, and inflatable hot rods. My family and friends gave speeches about my life, celebrating my achievements and toasting to my future.
I’ve also attended many celebrations where someone receives something new - a ring at engagements, a piece of paper at weddings, new babies, the announcement of gender, reaching milestone birthdays and anniversary celebrations. But when I was given a mental health diagnosis in 2022, I had no desire to pop champagne.
I had never heard about Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) before, and when I asked Dr Google the response was frightening - dissociation, impulsivity, intense emotions and anger, and unstable relationships were some parts of the diagnostic criteria. I felt like a freak. I wondered how I would be treated by people in my circle. Was I the person that movies based serial killers on? Would people be calling me the new Patrick Bateman? Could I star in Australian Psycho?
As I started talking about it, I was shunned by a few people within my circle. My counsellor for the past 3 years said that it would be best if I found another provider. I had friends stop returning my calls after disclosing my condition, and others that told me I was overthinking it. I felt depressed and ashamed of the person I was, and I was anxious to be myself, or talk about my life in front of others. Many people glazed over, found it uncomfortable to hear about, and wanted to know if it really was that bad?
Forums on the internet claimed that people with BPD were manipulative, hysterical and could not be trusted. The National Library of Medicine published a study on the effects of negative stigma surrounding BPD and stated that
“ We celebrate birthdays, engagements, weddings…. I think a Mental Health Diagnosis should be added to the celebration list.
prejudice towards people with BPD was found to be higher than prejudice toward those living with other mental illnesses. It also highlighted a need for greater understanding of the diagnosis required by people affected by someone living with a diagnosis. Armed with a new diagnosis and awareness that it was highly stigmatised, I was feeling incredibly down and found myself wishing that my whole life could be erased.
I soon learned that while BPD cannot be treated with medication, it can be managed via therapies. Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT) appears to be the gold standard with Schema Therapy and Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) coming in as alternatives.
I began working with a Provisional Psychologist via the university to start treatment in Schema Therapy. I learned a lot about my past traumas, and how this impacted my response to my experiences today including everyday stressors. It made sense why I’d had multiple jobs throughout my life - I had felt unsafe in many previous environments and was looking out for my sense of security. Why do I feel inclined to change my hair style and clothing choices? Image instability stemming from early childhood was
the identifying cause. Similarly, I could see that I often had fears that my partner and I would break up due to intense fear of abandonment.
Now that I am 18 months into recovery, I am asking myself, why do I need to feel shame and hide my condition? Yes, I experience dissociation, but I still aim to give my all to the people in front of me and communicate when there is a topic that makes me uncomfortable. Yes, I am impulsive, but I am finding ways to be positively impulsive, like going for a run instead of binge-watching Netflix or baking a friend a cake for a surprise visit. Yes, I experience intense emotions and anger, but I am creatively channeling these through writing, dancing and hitting the gym. Yes, I have had unstable relationships in the past, but I know the people that are in my life now, really want to be there and will support me through challenging times. Isn’t that cause for celebration?
In fact, why aren’t we celebrating the little moves people living with mental illness are taking everyday to keep themselves well, and assist in their recovery? The anxious folk who managed to journal their fears and get them out of their heads, and those living with depression who managed to take a walk outside today, to those living with post-traumatic stress who had a conversation with their boss about their condition. Even if someone managed to
make a phone call to Beyond Blue (and held on through the long wait times!) I think that’s something pretty damn amazing.
I’m not alone in this idea. The World Health Organization has named October 10 as World Mental Health Day. On that theme, many organizations’ including SA Health, Tafe SA, Black Dog Institute, and Life Without Barriers celebrate Mental Health Month, aimed at raising awareness of mental health issues around the world and to mobilize efforts in support. In fact, the first week of Mental Health Month, 1-7 October 2024 is BPD Awareness Week. If you’re not familiar with BPD, or know someone who lives with this condition, https://www. bpdawareness.com.au/ is a great resource.
More than anything, this mental health diagnosis has given me the opportunity to learn about, and experience, something that is not easy to manage in everyday life. It’s also made me increasingly more aware of what other people may be going through, and what might be beyond the surface. Skills in supporting myself in my difficult times have helped me to support others, such as being more open-minded to individual struggles, being in tune with my environment, and sensitive to what might not be working for others. Overall, I feel that while this diagnosis was, for me, difficult to bear at first; throughout my journey I have developed new tools and techniques, made new acquaintances, and been involved in some great mental health initiatives. And for this, I am grateful.
The 2024 theme for BPD Awareness Week is ‘Living Life Well: Recovery & BPD’ and that sounds like a celebration to me. Even though I’m not planning a massive party with champagne and streamers, I am going to take myself out for lunch, reflect on my progress, and make a toast to myself for taking this journey.
“ Skills supporting myself in difficult times have helped me to support others.
WORDS by Anon
ILLUSTRATION
by Victoria Ng
CLOWN RING
PHOTOGRAPHY by Madison Haynes
“Clown Ring :0). Copper. I really like clowns.”
CROSS WORD
2024 Adelaide Events to Celebrate
Across
4. Keep the fire burning, black, loud and proud?
6. An Adelaide venue where you can book an adventure room, play games and enjoy a beverage at the bar?
7. Beginning with S, an August arts festival for all local and regional communities to experience?
8. Founded in 1881, open daily with a variety of free events and home to one of Australia’s largest art collections?
Down
1. A central location in Adelaide where famous celebrities are known to live, such as Wang Wang and Fu Ni
2. USASA Club Award night is held when at the Adelaide Zoo?
3. A central place for Adelaideans to buy local produce, eat or try diverse food options and enjoy music at this weekly event from Wednesday to Sunday’s?
5. A UniSA Fair held annually at City West and Mawson Lakes?
SALA, 8. Art Gallery (Down) 1. Adelaide Zoo, 2. October11, 3. Central Market, 5. Campus Fair,)
ILLUSTRATION
by Manith
ILLUSTRATION
by Leah Ahrens
FRUIT SALAD FINALE
ILLUSTRATION by Evanthea Kyriacou
ILLUSTRATION by Leah Ahrens
A CELEBRATION OF
STYLE
ILLUSTRATION by Sheydin Dew
ILLUSTRATION by Ashlesha Surjuse
FROM THE DESIGNERS
In this final edition, in alignment with the theme, I am celebrating the past five editions of creative exploration, inspiration, and expression. This magazine has been one of my favourite things to work on this past year. Seeing what I can create with photos, illustration and words has been invaluable in my design journey. Thank you to everyone who contributed to that! By submitting, reading, and/or following along on social media, your work has inspired many, including me!
Taybah | Graphic Designer
AN EPILOGUE
I’m incredibly grateful to be part of Verse Magazine 2024, and it’s hard to believe this is our final edition of the year! My favorite part of being with Verse has been the opportunity to interact with so many students and witness the amazing creativity from all of you. Thank you, everyone, for being part of the Verse journey!
Manith | Content Creator
PRESIDENT’S LETTER
Hey, I’m Oliver Shephard-Bayly, USASA’s student president for 2024.
As this is my last letter for the year, I wanted to touch on student struggles relating to the cost of living. While also highlighting the important role USASA & Student Unions have played this year in fighting for student welfare and wellbeing at a national and campus level.
It is no secret that the cost-of-living crisis has hugely affected students. However, the impacts of student poverty are often forgotten. Student poverty is usually normalized and accepted, and subsequent governments have ignored students when developing policies
to relieve the cost-of-living pressures in areas of society.
This is despite so many barriers being put in the way of students; rapidly increasing rents, barriers to paid work, unregulated increasing international tuition fees and an unfair HECS system. It is certainly not easy to be a student in Australia.
By ourselves, it is tough to advocate for changes and get Universities to provide services that really benefit students. Student unions play a critical role in advocating for all students, making sure governments hear students’ voices and
This year, student unions have had some big wins on a national level, such as the introduction of placement payments to help students facing placement poverty and the reduction of HECS indexing, whipping 3 billion from student HECS debts. But there is so much more we need to keep advocating nationally, such as reforming the Centrelink system to make it fair for students and fixing the broken student visa and international student cap changes. But it’s only by working together with students and their unions across Australia that we can make this happen.
Student wellbeing has been one of our biggest focuses this year at USASA, and in response to the growing need, we have expanded our financial grants and wellbeing program to ensure more students can access it. We’ve started the USASA op shops, and I’m really excited about recently securing funding to start a student food pantry; hopefully, it will roll out soon!
Being a student isn’t easy. If you are facing financial stress, please reach out and book an appointment with our financial wellbeing team. They can help you access emergency food support and grants and help you develop a spending plan.
I hope everyone has a great rest of their year—Thanks!
Oliver
CONTRIBUTORS
Anadi Sharma
Anon
Ashlesha Surjuse
Bonnie Brown
Dhruvkumar Rajubhai, Darji
Evanthea Kyriacou
Heleina Garcia
Jimmy Ngo
Justin Joji
Justin Leung
KIN BONG TAM
Leah Ahrens
Madison Haynes
Manith
Melissa Raymond
Mia Nguyen
Mary Jane Panansar
Sanusha S Sritharan
Scarleth Molina Arias
Shriyanka Das Sharma
Sheydin Dew
Taybah Hamza
Umme Kulsum Keya
Victoria Ng
Yi Shin Aw
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