Verse Magazine | Issue 2

Edition 2 | December 2014

InsIde The PrIde Issue An exploration of pride // The dreaded group assignment A night at the zoo // What students often forget

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Edition 2 | December 2014

contact@versemag.com.au www.versemag.com.au Head Editor Georgina Vivian Sub-Editor Divya Balakumar Web Editor Ben Allison Graphic Designer Prerna Ashok Contributors: Storm Warman, Lia Lawrie, Anneliese Abela, Jarrad Hurley, Ebony Story, Alannah Williams, Lachlan Peter, Kate Wakerley, Simon Behenna, Peter Palmato, Silvia De Cesare, Sebastian Moore, Alex Graham, Max Allison.

Cover Storm Warman Printer Newstyle Design & Production Consultant Tom Wilson Special thanks to Palace Nova Cinemas.

The views expressed in this magazine are not necessarily representative of the views of USASA or the editors.

All images, unless otherwise stated, by Prerna Ashok. facebook.com/Versemagadelaide

@versemag_adl

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Letter from the Editors Thank you and farewell Letter from the editors Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s 2014, and isn’t it flying by faster than Superman on an extra good day?! As the year has flown by, our nimble little fingers have been working hard to put together issues of this magazine, and this edition will be our last for the year. Fittingly with the theme, we sure are proud of our efforts and we hope you all are too.

Just like a contestant on reality TV, this little magazine has certainly been through a ‘journey’ this year; starting the year as the USASA Magazine after being UniLife Magazine for the past six years and then transitioning to the new and improved (and much, much cooler may we add) Verse Magazine that you have in your grubby little hands right now! All of us on the editing team are proud of the work we have completed to get to this stage and we hope that you have enjoyed the ride as well.

We’ve seen some really great work this year. There were articles focusing on key issues, lots of reality TV related ramblings (alliteration, sorta, FTW), a murder confession (we’re still shivering from reading it), movie reviews that helped solve the critical question of ‘what should I spend

my last dollars on?’ and SO MUCH CREATIVITY. We’d like to take this opportunity to thank our contributors for sharing their work with us. If you didn’t manage to write something in 2014, then start working that keyboard during your summer holidays so you’ll have plenty to submit to Verse in 2015.

Enough about us though. Whether you’re proud of academic achievements, sporting goals, denying temptation and saving up to buy that thing you’ve always wanted, or just proud of being the super cool human that you are, we’re proud of you too. You go, Glen Coco!

We’ll leave it there. Enjoy your summer, buckle up and get ready for the ride next year.

See you on the flip side!

The Verse Editors of 2014

Contents Edition 2 | December 2014 Letter from the Editors 2 What students often forget 5 Pride 6 An exploration of pride 9 Pride vs mindfulness: An internal struggle 12 An English lesson 16 Surviving Shanghai 19 The dreaded group assignment 22 58 jobs and counting 27 A culture of self[ie] obsession 31 Ms Apollonian 35 A night at the zoo 36 Poem 40 Mental illness: Let’s talk 43 My story 46 Storm’s feature images 54 Film reviews 58 EP Review: Devil’s Crossroad 62

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UniSA clothing Choose from t-shirts and hoodies in a variety of colours See the full range on campus at Unibooks and USASA counters or online at unisa.edu.au/campuswear

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What students often forget Lia Lawrie

What we as students often forget isn’t our stationery, textbooks or due dates.

What we forget is much more profound, and that is taking pride in who we are. I write this article because last week, USASA worked with UniSA to support mental health and wellbeing week on our campuses.

We wanted to let students know that USASA is there for them, whether it is through this magazine—which is a platform for students to express their voice—or our advocacy service that supports students who are going through academic issues. We also wanted to let students know about our social clubs they can join to connect with one another.

But the thing is, service provision to the UniSA student cohort is challenging because we are a wonderfully diverse group. Some of us work too much, and some too little.

Some of us have no idea where we’re going in our lives and can’t help but watch others who have got it together carry on.

We all have beliefs, experiences and abilities that are so unique that we often don’t feel as if we’re part of anything larger than us because we’re the ones peering through the looking glass.

Each student has a huge mix of responsibilities and expectations, and it truly is no wonder that we’re stressed out all the time. In fact, in my role, it is quite a common occurrence for students to say that they feel like they’re just at uni to do their degree. I assume this is because everyone has been overloading themselves to be that much more competitive. But if students are struggling to get their degrees, they reassure themselves with the mantra, ‘I can do it. P’s get degrees’.

And that right there is the problem, that one letter word, ‘I’. How has our approach to university become one where we are unwilling to connect with any of our peers? Why is it that as soon as classes are done for the day, without thinking, students head home instead of spending time with other students? And why won’t somebody think of the children?

What makes us unique isn’t bad. Nor are the choices that have led us to become who we are, or wanting to be independent individuals. But knowing that you’re avoiding major issues, or choosing to isolate yourself from others, those aren’t necessarily the best behaviours.

If you’re struggling with an assignment that is worth a huge chunk of your grade, ask your table buddy at the tutorial if you want to study together. If you feel like your assessment was worth more and you would like some advice on the process of remarking or on any academic issue, please contact any of USASA’s advocates (they can be found on the USASA website). If you’re interested in connecting to your fellow students, whether it be social or academic, you can find the full list on the website too.

If you’re experiencing personal issues that are affecting your studies, then please know you can turn to UniSA’s counselling service for help.

Lia Lawrie USASA President

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Pride Anneliese Abela

I’ve never really been sure how to react when people say they’re proud of me.

Since my dad passed away last year everyone has said how proud they are of how well I’m doing, to which I can only silently nod and give an awkward smile. How do I respond to that? I’ve never been good at receiving compliments at the best of times, and being told I’ve made someone proud is a strangely uncomfortable experience.

What makes it so hard to understand is the fact that I haven’t changed that much since my dad passed away.

I haven’t conquered any of my biggest fears or ticked off any lifelong dreams. It doesn’t feel like I’ve become a better person, or really changed at all. I still avoid completing my uni assignments until the last possible minute and occasionally call in sick to work simply because I don’t feel like going. There are days I never reply to any of my friends, or sometimes delay getting out of bed until three in the afternoon. How can anyone be proud of that?

What makes the constant mentions of pride even more difficult to swallow are the awe-inspiring yet guiltinducing reminders of what other people in the world have achieved. People who have faced much more serious and life-shattering tragedies than I have; people who have walked away from something that should have broken them, only to strike back with success, happiness, determination and strength.

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It feels like all I have managed to do is continue studying my degree, keep my part-time job and maintain a level of sanity that stops me from collapsing on the ground in tears every day.

However, lately I’ve begun to realise that when faced with the heartbreak of losing loved ones, or any kind of personal tragedy, some days, simply managing to walk in a straight line is an accomplishment. I’m learning I can’t compare my own sorrow or misfortune to those of any other human being on this planet, nor can I compare my happiness with that of others. Things that happen in life will always affect us differently, and we can’t expect to recover the same way.

During my dad’s long and emotionally draining illness, he broke down more than once into sobs of ‘why me?’ to which he’d answer himself a few minutes later: ‘I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself. I am so lucky. I have been given all this time. I can still talk, hear and see, and I am with my family. Some people have it so much worse’.

I can distinctly remember sitting in a small, bare-walled room in the middle of a counselling session one day, a few months before my dad’s passing. On the table between the counsellor and I was a glass bowl filled with shiny,

polished pebbles, all engraved with words like believe, love, inspire and hope. I remember the counsellor leaning over the table after I mentioned the guilt I had for feeling so sorry for myself over something millions of people worldwide had to endure too. After handing me one of the cold smooth pebbles with ‘live’ in a slanted, gold engraving, she told me that saying I shouldn’t feel sad because others have it worse than me is the same thing as saying I shouldn’t feel happy because others have it better than me.

My dad worked hard to stay with us. He focused on his health, both physically and psychologically, and he was so determined to survive for his family. My guilt at hearing how proud I make my family always used to stir this thought in my mind. Dad was the one who fought and held on stubbornly and conquered life in the face of the inevitable. You should all be proud of him, not me. All I have managed to do is not cry on the bus each morning.

But now, looking back on all those morning bus rides, I understand that this is a small but significant way of conquering life. Every time the rain fell across the bus windows or sunshine illuminated the fingerprints and dust on the glass panes, I was strong in my own small way. I am now proud of the fact I can get my assignments finished on time, and even more proud when I receive a high mark for them. I understand my family’s pride when I make it through a whole day of work, interacting with people and witnessing fathers and daughters laughing, talking and walking together. I am proud when I make time to catch up with friends, even just for a quick coffee.

For when personal tragedy strikes us, despite how unimportant or trivial it may seem in the great global scheme of things, it is important. Discovering that we can move on and continue breathing, that we can strive to make the most of our lives and our time on Earth, is the greatest achievement. Because when we’re so weighed down by worry, hopelessness, grief, fear or overwhelming sadness, just being able to get out of bed at all—even if it isn’t until three in the afternoon—is definitely something to be proud of.

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An exploration of pride Ben Allison When was the last time you were proud of yourself?

In fact, pride created the Devil.

Did you get a HD for the essay you started the night before it was due?

So the story goes; Lucifer was originally an angel. In fact he was God’s favourite angel. However, Lucifer’s pride caused his incessant desire to compete with the holy G.O.D. Pride became his downfall and he was subsequently evicted from the house behind the pearly white gates. His fall from Heaven resulted in his transformation into Satan and that’s how the Devil came to be.

Did you win a free McFlurry in the McDonald’s Monopoly?

Did you successfully complete a shift at work with a crippling hangover?

Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but, you’re a sinner.

I knew I was a sinner long before writing this article (for a plethora of reasons I care not to admit here), but until I was researching the etymology of the word ‘pride’, I had no idea that I was actually committing the ultimate sin on a daily basis.

As part of the editorial team of this very magazine, I take a great deal of pride in what we have accomplished this year. Look at our fancy new cover, our fancy new spine and our fancy new paper. What’s not to be proud of?

However, I should heed caution because pride is the original and most serious of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Gluttony, lust, greed, wrath, sloth and envy are all born out of pride.

As Marsellus Wallace from Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction says, ‘the night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting.

That’s pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps’. And that was certainly true for our good ol’ friend, Lucifer.

But why is pride, of all the emotions to feel, the most destructive sin there is? Gluttony, lust, greed, wrath, sloth and envy are all very undesirable traits and I can understand why they are sinful (to a degree), yet every day we reinforce to our younger generations that they should be proud of who they are and where they have come from.

Children yearn for their parents to be proud of them, and parents in turn are quick to tell you how proud they are of their kids.

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Journalists continually ask celebrities what they are most proud of, and we continue to applaud them for their answers.

Adele is proud to represent the majority of women, Jim Carrey is proud to be a Canadian, JK Rowling is proud of her accomplishments, Drew Barrymore is proud of her mistakes and Ariana Grande is proud of her organic vegetable garden.

As a society we commend those who take pride in their bodies, their sexuality, their nationality, their heritage, their lack of plastic surgery or their honesty at having had plastic surgery, and of course, their organic gardens.

So what has caused this shift in the acceptance of pride?

Is it that the very meaning of the word has loosened and transformed over the years, now representing a noble and self-affirming emotion?

Is it because secular societal influences have dictated that pride is now a virtue?

Or is it the work of the Devil himself; to cause a paradigm shift in the way society perceives the original and most destructive of the Seven Deadly Sins (the very sin that got him kicked out of Heaven)? Has he convinced us that the most evil and immoral sin a person can commit is now a virtuous trait to be nurtured? Has this been his plan all along?

After all, as Kevin Spacey famously says in The Usual Suspects, ‘the greatest feat the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he doesn’t exist’. Perhaps now he has also convinced us that the very reason for his downfall is the same trait we must declare loud and clear for the world (and God) to hear, thereby securing ourselves a seat right next to Lucifer himself in the fiery dungeons of Hell.

Well, regardless of the reasoning behind it, I still urge all readers to stand tall and share their pride in themselves, their work and their accomplishments. To all the students graduating at the end of this semester: congratulations.

What an achievement. Lucifer would be proud, and so should you.

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I urge all readers to stand tall and share their pride in themselves, their work and their accomplishments

Pride vs mindfulness: An internal struggle Jarrad Hurley We all like a good ‘fix’ of pride, but what is it really?

Pride is a state, a feeling and an emotion heavily linked to society’s traditional views of self-worth and esteem.

Pride is a beaming, self-assured and self-congratulatory sensation that has the ability to motivate us in many of the things we choose to do. Whether that’s taking on a more intensive line of work, or starting that new diet and workout regime you have been putting off.

We can also experience pride vicariously through those we align with—perhaps through the successes of your local football team or milestones reached by your children—and in many ways the things that make us proud can help us identify commonalities and build alliances with others. Pride is like the emotional chips we cash in after a success or alignment with something especially worthy.

In Buddhist philosophy, according to William Gundling of Buddha House in Tusmore, South Australia,

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pride is an emotion best tempered with moderation by the laymen, and best avoided by those seeking enlightenment.

‘Pride is essentially a type of value judgement we make about ourselves and then pass onto others,’ Gundling says. ‘As with any form of judgement, it sets up a dichotomy of inclusion and exclusion.’

‘Inclusion can provide an immediate sense of acceptance, certainty and security, while exclusion can lead to bigotry, prejudice and stigmatisation.’

Buddhist teachings convey the duality of nature. They teach that nothing is inherently independent; everything in existence is dependent on another factor.

In this fundamental rule of nature, nothing is excluded. However, pride asserts a delusionary independence from the external world; the principles of karma, cause and effect, and living things.

It is a state that is separatist by its very nature.

‘There is no separate state of being,

but rather a continuously interacting state of inter-being,’ Gundling explains.

Pride, he says, is an attachment.

We are feverishly defensive of our pride, often to the detriment of ourselves and those we care about.

Gundling says pride is an emotional attachment that must be fed, fuelled and maintained. He believes that such attachment is inherently irrational and not conducive to happiness.

‘Attachment is a state that is manifested in our failure to recognise the impermanence of all things,’ he says.

‘Through attachment, we develop the attitudes of desire, grasping and clinging towards impermanent things and emotional states of this world.’

In Buddhist teachings, attachment is inseparable from suffering. As life is an impermanent state, there is nothing in this world we can keep forever, be it emotions, our home, that new Audi in the driveway, or sadly even our friends and loved

ones. To be attached to these things is to live in the prison of your own mind.

‘Pride, as an attachment, binds us to an endless cycle of dissatisfaction and suffering in this life,’ Gundling adds.

‘In the Buddhist context of rebirth, it severely impacts negatively on future lives.’

As the trial and error sciences that are psychology and psychiatry continue to advance, the link which pride

was believed to have with a healthy self-esteem has become tenuous at best. Pride could be considered fuel for the ego, which is generally seen as a pseudo-self by psychologists. It is an interface we create in childhood for the outside world, a persona that shields the self to some extent from reality and direct suffering.

The ego is like our avatar; it plays a similar role as a Facebook page does for our online identity, except ego

is for the external, physical world.

It may have our likes, dislikes and preferences, but it is not truly ‘us’.

Gundling explains that psychologists are now moving away from attempting to placate an individual’s pride and ego when working with depressive patients, and towards ideals that Buddhists have advocated for eons.

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‘There has been a pronounced investigation in the fields of psychology and psychiatry into what are essentially Buddhist practises, regarding the development of personal mindfulness, insightful thinking and social consciousness, as tools for improving mental health,’ Gundling says.

It is wise to be mindful of mindfulness. To put it simply, mindfulness is the non-judgemental acceptance and appreciation of the moment.

There is no attachment to this moment; there is no particular labelling to the moment, no predetermined predilection or prejudice to it. The moment simply is what it is.

While pride presupposes outcomes and expectations, mindfulness does not weigh the practitioner down with any of those things.

‘Mindfulness allows one to be open to accepting the experience of the

moment as it occurs,’ Gundling says.

‘Pride always includes a degree of “separation from” something as being integral to the nature of its existence.’

The reader is best to be mindful of pride and its effects. While it can’t be expected that anybody would give up their lifelong admiration of Port Power or the Adelaide Crows after reading this article, perhaps it is wise to temper pride with humility as a counter-balance.

Pride, in those of us not searching for spiritual enlightenment, can be a completely healthy emotion and can inspire many levels of achievement.

Nonetheless, pride is not in itself happiness, nor is it a guarantee of happiness. Gundling says there is no Buddhist replacement of pride, as the layman would understand it. The emotion that would fill that conceptual void, he suggests, would be one of a tranquil, unattached sense of belonging and one-ness with all that exists.

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An English lesson Words and images by Ebony Story

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The last thing I expected to find while studying overseas in the United Kingdom was the sheer amount of puns.

Not just horrible attempts at puns found in newspapers (I’m looking at you, the Advertiser), but smart and funny puns, such as shop names or on vehicles, everywhere for everyone to see!

I loved it. I seem to have a fascination with words and how they can convey so much meaning, which is why puns are so great; there can be two entirely different meanings in one word. Perhaps it’s just because I’m a Writing and Creative Communication student, but so far I haven’t met anyone else who shares my level of enthusiasm for these plays on words. Let me give you some examples: a restaurant was called ‘Ate O’Clock Restaurant’, a florist shop was called ‘Fleurtations’ and a gift shop was called ‘Thistle Do Nicely’. I’d better stop there before I get carried away. Oh, England…

Aside from the pun storm that has hit the UK, studying there was actually quite cool. I was accepted into the University of Sunderland, which is way up north on the coast near Newcastle. With a stony beach and lots of old buildings, it was a bit of a culture shock at first. Despite England being our motherland and all, it was still so different.

At university, three subjects equated to our four (score!) which was nice and gave me some extra days free to travel and explore. Everyone who tells you that the countryside in England is amazing are so right.

Green! Green things everywhere! It’s like they’ve never experienced a sun so hot it saps the moisture out of everything. Oh, that’s right, it barely gets above 38 degrees on a decent summer’s day.

England also seems to have a much more involved University culture; lots of sport and club societies that run events and socials. There are even student nights out on the town with drink specials! When I’m talking about drink specials, I’m talking £2 ($4) for a pint of cider or beer. And not a South Australian pint, which is 450mL, but a real pint of 570mL. Good times.

became more guilt free. Needless to say, you want to be a student, especially when you even get a free bus service that runs from campus to campus, and to university accommodation.

And do I need to mention that there was a Starbucks in the University library?

I was sold on student life in England, and even my money worries weren’t so bad. Despite the high rate of exchange from dollars to pounds, I found the cost of living a little cheaper than here in Adelaide. I shared a flat with four others and the total cost for our weekly shopping rarely went above £50! That’s £10, or $20, each. Let me just say that again—$20 for an entire week of food. I was laughing!

Despite England being our motherland and all, it was still so different Well, until I had a visa mishap and had to pay a ridiculous amount of money to get it sorted out so I didn’t get kicked out of the country. Many thanks go to my mum here. That’s one of the things returned students warn you about: you will probably run out of money; and as I found out, it was true.

But you can’t let that stop you from studying abroad; it’s just part of the experience. You find out how to get things done by yourself and stand on your own two feet. You make new friends from all over the world and learn random German and Croatian words. You eat carb-loaded food and drink cheap booze, and then you join a gym because you’ve let yourself go. But it’s all part of the experience! And that’s what makes studying overseas so great. All of that and the puns, of course.

Now, not only do students get discounted drinks on particular nights, but they also get discounts in most clothing shops. It’s a decent 10% too; shopping suddenly

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Surviving Shanghai Alannah Williams

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‘Woman chops off penis in Guangzhou province. Who wants this one?’ announces the editor from his office.

The same man walks into the conference room and throws a stack of newspapers onto the table. He begins to assign stories to the other journalists sitting quietly around the table. Lastly, he passes a story down to me, which I can only assume is the silliest story of the bunch because I’m their newest intern at That’s Shanghai Magazine and Online.

I soon realise most of my work will be rewriting soft news and posting it online. A sense of disappointment and frustration overwhelms me as I sink into my broken chair. I’ve travelled thousands of miles to rewrite a story about how the mayor went for a swim in a polluted lake this morning…

You see, most Australian toddlers go to English playgroups where they meet other English-speaking kids and learn to sing age-old nursery rhymes and finger paint. Not me. I went to

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a Chinese playgroup and learnt the basics of Mandarin, how to appreciate Chinese food, and of course how to hold chopsticks or kuai zi. From there I passionately pursued learning Chinese throughout my schooling, in the hope I would one day work in China.

So here I am at twenty-two-years-old, sitting in this slimy conference room in Shanghai about to begin my first tacky news story. After all, a story is a story no matter whether you write it in a dingy and crammed newsroom or whether you write it on your iMac in your air-conditioned office at home.

I knew I needed to toughen up, and quick.

What I didn’t realise was how difficult stories about loopy mayors, the harmful effects of wearing Crocs and the crazed vampire-like blood drinks in China actually are to pull off.

I felt as though I was making fun of the Chinese by writing these stories, but apparently this kind of news happens every day in Shanghai.

Almost daily, someone in China falls

onto a metro train track, or a woman is arrested for killing her husband.

It almost becomes a joke in the newsroom. Especially when the penis stories come up.

I also had to comply with strict deadlines, as the editor wanted one story posted every hour. I had to throw away the perfectionism within me and adapt a more aggressive approach to stories in order to finish them in time.

The pace of the office, however, was nothing compared to my time spent outside of the office. I spent my mornings and afternoons running through the underground tunnels of the metro system, trying to get onto trains during peak hour. The metro system and I had a rough relationship to begin with, when my arm was jammed in the doors as it was trying to take off during my first week of work. Only two minutes later I realised I was on the wrong train and the battle wounds on my arm were all for nothing. It makes a good story though (I keep telling myself).

There’s little time to relax in Shanghai, when workmates are forever coercing you to go out with them for a cheap bowl of noodles and a couple of bottles of Qsing Dao, and later some Baijiu, a strong alcoholic drink that tastes almost like petrol.

My workmates invited me to a KTV karaoke bar, which was more of an initiation ceremony. Could this Aussie girl sing and make us a proud friend?

Or would she disappoint?

Soon I’m standing on a disco flashing boom box holding a sequined microphone belting out Whitney Houston’s ‘I will always love you’ to all my new friends. Suddenly, everyone is on stage with me and I’m holding the sweaty hand of our IT support guy, who is closing his eyes and singing as loud as his lungs will allow him. Someone screams ‘Gan bei!’ which literally means ‘drink it all’, and I am forced to gulp down the remainders of my drink.

The reality of not wanting to feel alone in Shanghai meant it was easy to be caught up in the whirlwind

night scene of going out with workmates, even on weeknights.

After two weeks in the city I had almost forgotten why I came here in the first place. Of course I wanted to write fantastic stories that would please my editor, but I needed to step up my game if I was going to achieve anything in this city.

Thankfully, it wasn’t too late. I began writing stories for Urban Family Magazine, part of That’s Shanghai group. These stories helped to ground me and expose me to one of the best elements of Chinese culture—the family unit. Walk around any neighbourhood after 11.00 pm and you will see families spending time together, an act almost unseen in Australian culture.

Children stay up late to join their parents and grandparents for meals shared around a table. Parks are full of families practicing badminton, dancing or watching opera singers who come to perform at night.

Whatever they want to do, they do it together and it was my pleasure to document some of this in my story on

‘Shanghai Parks’ for the magazine.

It’s about finding a balance between working and partying and not letting the Shanghai nightlife tsunami swallow you up and spit you out. All too often you hear of young Western graduates and entrepreneurs living in Shanghai, searching for that ‘Asian dream’ or the next big start-up company to be a part of. They have their sights set high and after six months realise it’s never going to happen. They find themselves addicted to the nightlife like I did and never escape the trap. Luckily I was able to stabilise myself before it was too late and return to Australia feeling stronger both as a writer and as a person.

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The dreaded group assignment Ben Allison

‘When I die I want my group project members to lower me into my grave so they can let me down one last time…’

I am currently in my final semester of university (congratulations to me). As I sit here writing this article (read: procrastinating from completing assignments), I have five weeks left before I bid adieu to the Magill campus forever. There are only six major assignments standing between myself and that piece of paper that says I’m a qualified writer. The catch is (because there is always a catch, and nothing to do with university is ever simple), that the six major assignments I have to complete are… group assignments (cue the Wilhelm scream).

I have spent the last four years, five if you count my gap year, avoiding group assignments at all costs. I have purposefully not enrolled in courses because there is a group assignment component, often opting for an exam at the end of the year instead.

While the work is relatively simple, it is the trials and tribulations associated with working in a group setting that I find incredibly off-putting. Don’t get me wrong, I am an extremely social person and I get along with a multitude of different personalities just fine. However, I don’t think that I am alone in my seething hatred of group assignments.

Throughout my academic career, I have had to endure multiple groups and have found that there are a range of stereotypical group members one inevitably stumbles upon:

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The ‘I don’t care’ member. Whenever you ask this member a question, assign a task or discuss a time to meet up, their response will forever and always be: ‘I don’t care’. While their indecisiveness seems like a blessing at first due to their chilled nature and acceptance of any task or role within the assignment, you will inevitably learn that they also ‘don’t care’ about the grade you will receive. Expect slap-dash sentences and references from Wikipedia.

The over-achiever. This group member is the exact opposite of the ‘I don’t care’ member. While the ‘I don’t care’ member sits back relaxed in their seat, the overachiever is hunched over their notepad rapidly scribbling down any tips and pointers the tutor slips out of their mouth. The over-achiever’s hand will always shoot up whenever the question of a ‘team leader’ is expressed or discussed. Expect tight deadlines, multiple drafts and the suggestion of an extra workload to impress the marker.

The mature age student. Quick tip: the older they are, the worse they will be. While the mature age student’s heart is in the right place, you will constantly be reminded of their work commitments, family life and extra activities they have to juggle as well as do the current assignment.

Annoying? Yes. They will tell you how their ‘real world experience’ is more valuable than the theory and you will often hear the phrase ‘well, this is how we do it in the

workforce’. Expect in-depth discussions with the tutor and no imaginable way to connect with them on any personal level.

The one that never shows up. This member is the most frustrating of all. You will inevitably find that once you have divided up all the roles and responsibilities pertaining to the assignment, they will come along to the second tutorial. So, the group divides the roles and responsibilities again to account for the extra group member. Then you won’t see them ever again. There will be no explanation or reason for the absence and you will once again have to redivide the roles and responsibilities. Alternatively, you will work with this group member for the duration of the semester, only to find that on the day the assignment or presentation is due, they are a no-show, leaving you with one less section of the assignment to hand up. Expect a fall in grades.

The one that doesn’t have Facebook. Facebook is a godsend for group assignments. It basically means that you will never have to physically meet up with your co-members and all of the work and discussion can occur online. Unless… one of your members doesn’t have Facebook. What twenty-something-year-old doesn’t have Facebook? Even the mature age student has an account to spy on their unsuspecting teenage child. However, the fact that one member doesn’t have Facebook means that you will have to make the hour-long drive to campus

just to meet up with your group (despite the fact you have no other tutes or lectures on that day). The meeting will inevitably achieve nothing and everyone will walk away only to leave the other group members discussing the assignment behind their back on Facebook. Expect whining about feeling ‘out of the loop’.

The international student. Let’s just say, there will be a language barrier. Often the student will miss the whole point of the task and will hand up a section that doesn’t gel with the rest of the assignment. This isn’t to say that this particular member isn’t trying to the best of their ability, but you will always be left with an abundance of editing to do on their behalf. While not necessarily their fault, it is still frustrating at best. Expect broken English in written and oral form.

The full-time worker. Perhaps my favourite of the stereotypes. This member studies and works full time. You will often wonder how they manage it all, and perhaps feel a bit guilty at your own laziness in comparison. They will hand up everything on time, but they won’t be present at any meetings or tutorials ‘due to work commitments’.

When you think about it, this is a bonus because it’s one less person you have to talk to. Expect to feel inadequate compared to their achievements, especially if they have already secured a job in the field you are studying.

Now, put these stereotypes together and expect clashes galore!

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The mature age student and the over-achiever form an alliance against the full-time worker and the one that never shows up.

You hear Barb (the mature age student) say to Candice (Barb’s over-achieving sidekick), ‘well, at least Joe (the full-time worker) handed up their draft, unlike Sam (the one that never shows up)’.

‘Who even is Sam?’ Candice replies. ‘Do you think we’ll get penalised if he doesn’t come to our presentation? I’ve already done a quick little mock-up of his part just in case, but we should tell the tutor anyway.’

Sven (the international student) looks up for a second from his translator and then looks back down, perhaps sensing drama is afoot.

‘Well, maybe Karen (the ‘I don’t care’ member) can do Sam’s part?’ Barb suggests.

‘Yeah, I don’t care,’ Karen says vaguely.

It’s hard to judge whether Karen actually minds doing extra work on Sam’s behalf or not.

‘Or I guess we could ask Shelley (the one that doesn’t have Facebook) to do it, but she won’t be able to post her draft to us on the group page so we won’t actually see it until the day,’ Candice says.

‘I could always email it to someone,’ Shelley replies.

Shelley is ignored by the rest of the group while Barb and Candice stress about who will complete Sam’s section of the assignment in the likely case that he doesn’t attend.

This is despite the fact that Candice has already written his part in full and referenced it to completion.

Case in point: group work is the absolute worst.

Whenever I do a group assignment, I don’t necessarily learn anything about the subject matter. This is partly because the over-achiever will always take your part, edit it and then submit a version that looks nothing like what you’ve written. However, the one thing I do learn each and every time is how much I hate group assignments.

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58 jobs and counting Lachlan Peter The question of ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ is something we have all heard at some stage in our lives, and we spend our time working towards the goal of our ‘dream job’. On average, people tend to change careers up to ten times in a lifetime, but that number is just a drop in the ocean for 52-year-old Bronte Peter who has worked a staggering 58 jobs in his lifetime—and counting.

Growing up was an adventure for Bronte, being the youngest of three children with ten years between him and his sister, Jenny, and thirteen years between him and his eldest brother, Steven. Bronte had to amuse himself, as his siblings were too old to play with and his parents were constantly working, owning the busy historic pub in the small coastal town of Port Broughton.

The Broughton Hotel was a popular spot with tourists and was also the birth place of Bronte’s first job. ‘I used to walk down to the local jetty when I was about five and catch crabs in a net I got for my birthday,’ said Bronte. ‘I’d cook up the crabs and sell them in the front bar to the tourists and locals for 20c each. My dad used to hate it because they’d (the customers) make a huge mess with the crab

shells and he’d have to clean it up. He told me later on that most of the time he’d give them their money back because the crabs were usually undersized and undercooked.’

With older siblings influencing Bronte, he found that he was a lot more mature than most kids his age and developed a keen interest in making money. He told a story about a small hole that was in the roof of the front bar of the hotel. ‘The locals used to try and trick me by flipping pennies into the air and making them disappear; it was a pretty good trick until I realised there was a hole in the ceiling and I climbed onto the roof and pocketed all their pennies.’

School wasn’t a strong point for Bronte and it was no surprise to his parents when he decided to drop out after Year 11; the only condition was that he needed to have a job. ‘I was working on and off as Broughton’s postie at the time. It was a pretty laid-back job and I liked doing it, so when I was asked to take over full time, I didn’t have to think too hard about it. The trouble was that my dad had teed up an apprenticeship with the local butcher who used to come into the pub.’

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Bronte turned down the offer to become a postman and started his apprenticeship at the butcher’s. ‘I hated every minute of it. It was the worst four years of my life!’ stated Bronte with a sense of anger and hatred in his voice. ‘I learnt everything there was to know in about six months and then just did it over and over for the next three and a half years. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.’

and very little money, with the sole objective of seeing the world. ‘I took any job that was going,’ said Bronte. ‘I was a bartender in Darwin, a security guard at a RAAF (Royal Australian Air Force) Base, a highway worker, a truck driver in the desert, a labourer in Egypt and Greece, a cook in Amsterdam, and I even got some work as an extra in the movie Evil Angels alongside Meryl Streep.’

After completing his apprenticeship, Bronte soon realised that the small town he grew up in offered very little opportunity for career development and job prospects.

‘Broughton is surrounded by farm lands; if you weren’t a farmer, you were nothing. All of the kids at my school lived on farms and they all knew from a young age that they were going to take over the family farm when they grew up. That’s just how it was. I didn’t have that; my parents owned a pub. I knew I had to move closer to Adelaide if I wanted to do something other than work in a pub or cut up dead animals for the rest of my life.’

Bronte and Alison returned back to Adelaide, married and with a baby on the way. ‘We were flat broke when we eventually came home and it started to sink in that we had no savings, no jobs and we were about to start a family,’ Bronte said unhappily. ‘I resorted back to working in a pub and in a butcher’s shop, exactly what I left Port Broughton to avoid.’

At just 19-years-old, Bronte made the move to ‘The Big Smoke’, but instead of finding a job, he found love, as well as a new found passion for travelling. He and his new partner Alison up and left Adelaide with no plans, no jobs

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Although Bronte admits that this was a low point in his life, he believes that without this struggle, his life may have panned out very differently. ‘I became the head chef at the pub and this developed my love for cooking and preparing food. I finally had a bit of direction with where I wanted to go with my career and started throwing some ideas around with Alison about owning our own restaurant.’

Money was still a big factor for Bronte and Alison and was holding them back from achieving their goals. By this stage Alison was pregnant with their second child and Bronte made the tough decision of leaving his family to work as a chef in the mines to earn the money his family desperately needed. ‘It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, leaving my family for weeks at a time. But I had to do it; we just weren’t earning enough money.’

‘I don’t regret anything I have done in my life; it has taken me to where I am today. I have always said that there is no point in doing something if you don’t enjoy it and that’s something that I have told my kids their whole life. It took me 58 jobs to find what I enjoyed doing but I feel there might be a few more before I retire. I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I had taken that job as a postman.’

While Bronte was working away, he was gathering qualifications and certificates in countless areas surrounding food and food preparation. ‘I would turn up to these courses and by the end of the day I was up the front teaching it. I had more experience than anyone there, including the teacher.’

Bronte’s stint in the mines lasted just over a year and in that time he had earned enough money to buy a small café-come-restaurant in the Adelaide hills that he and Alison still run as a team. Statistically, small businesses fail within the first three years of opening. ‘Kelsey Cottage’ has had its doors open for 11 years and counting.

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A culture of self[ie] obsession Kate Wakerley

It is however worth considering the psychology behind this egocentric culture in social media How often do you check your Facebook or Twitter account? After you update your status, send a tweet or post a photo, do you check back to see how many people ‘like’ it? Do you feel a sense of pride when you are retweeted? Does it inflate your ego when you see how many ‘likes’ you get?

I’ll admit it, I get a boost of self-esteem based on how many likes I get on Facebook, or when my posts get shared on social media. Even researchers have confirmed that our desire to be ‘liked’ on social media is a universal phenomenon. All of us want to feel worthy of acceptance, love and belonging. In today’s connected world, the likes we get on Facebook can satisfy this desire on some level.

We are living in an age of self-obsession. Wherever you look, you can see a fascination with self-interest, selfimage, self-development, self-expression, self-help and self-love.

Raving bridezillas, the endless amount of selfies on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook, delusional performances on reality television shows—we live in a culture that’s ‘all about me’.

In this age where social media is king, the number of ways we can validate our own ordinary lives is almost endless.

Showing off has never been easier, and never more celebrated.

In many ways it’s no surprise that the Oxford English Dictionary chose ‘selfie’ as its word of the year in 2013. On its blog, Oxford Dictionaries has claimed that the winner was a unanimous choice. Selfie is a term that has become synonymous with social media.

A poll by smartphone manufacturer Samsung revealed that 30 per cent of all photos taken by people aged between 18 and 44 are selfies, with more than half of those ending up on Facebook. Selfies have become much more than just a fleeting trend, with ordinary users, celebrities and politicians jumping on the bandwagon. The art of the selfie is here to stay.

It is however worth considering the psychology behind this ego-centric culture in social media. With a number of ways to seek validation thanks to technology, are we truly a selfobsessed bunch? Or is this simply another way to connect and share our life with our friends and family? Or are you a digital narcissist?

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‘By any historical standards, our society is marked by a radical individualism obsessed with the self,’ Anne Manne wrote in an essay in The Monthly. ‘It is a very particular self. It is a self on display, measured by externals and appearance, in pursuit of success and material prosperity more than care for others, of popularity and notice more than respect.’

In 2013, a study from the University of Michigan found that social media both reflects and amplifies a growing level of narcissism in our culture. The study shows that narcissistic students and adults use social media in differing ways to boost their egos and control others’ perception of them.

Social networking sites, such as Facebook, are providing users with an outlet by enabling users to broadcast their lives and for gaining attention from others. We are now more connected than we have ever been, but on the flipside, we are also less interested in others, apart from our need to gain their feedback and acceptance.

Social media has made it easier to be narcissistic. The narcissist’s sense of self is largely reliant on the feedback and validation of other people. Social media can be for narcissists what crack is for addicts because it provides an endless means of gaining positive feedback. Digital narcissists collect evidence which proves how successful they have become, such as their house, car, likes and the number of Twitter followers they have.

It must be said that a healthy sense of self is by no means a bad thing. In fact, narcissism in moderation can be valuable. A study of US presidents found that those who showed signs of narcissism such as Bill Clinton, John F Kennedy and Richard Nixon were bound for greatness.

Although studies have shown that there is a connection between social media and self-obsession, there is also a connection between being active on Facebook and Twitter and higher levels of self-esteem.

Take a moment to consider how you are using social media. Are your status updates about connecting with others and being positive? How often do you post selfies?

Are you simply looking for an ego boost? Reflecting on the way you are using social media can go a long way to separating digital narcissism from a healthy dose of self-esteem.

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Ms Apollonian Simon Behenna She had obviously arrived.

The band had not faltered in its rendition of Samba e Amor, the dancing had not stopped, and the clusters of bejewelled revelers were still animatedly conversing. Yet, seemingly all at once, everyone was aware that she had entered the room.

Two butlers in dark suits with white gloves continue to hold open the ornately carved entrance doors even after her passing. Their hair is worn firmly smoothed back from their normally staid faces and their gazes are, contrary to explicit directives regarding comportment around guests, fixed decidedly on the passing figure of Ms Bebel Apollonian.

Blood red polish crowns her curvaceous feet. A scant golden strap, almost invisible against her skin, winds gently upwards to an elegantly raised heel. Cascading layers of azure silk fall from a tight, strapless bodice.

Her lips, glistening and full, smile gracefully at those around her whilst rings of black hair cavort around her naked shoulders. Her make-up, barely noticeable, is just so. Her eyes, wide and brown and highlighted by thick black lashes, dance coquettishly when she spies her lover sipping champagne on the other side of the room.

As much as one’s gaze is attracted to a glint from the sun, such is the effect of Ms Apollonian’s presence. Almost in a single well-practiced movement, men swing their dance partners around in an effort to catch a better glimpse of

her. Whole groups of ladies spot her, peer at her intently for a few seconds and then turn to their friends to comment about Ms Apollonian’s ways. Single men gape at her longingly from behind the raised rim of wine glasses and the debutantes, of course, look unabashedly at her to eyeball the latest of the classic fashions.

Ms Apollonian begins to sashay across the room, the fullness of her gown clearing a comfortable space around her. Once within the crowd, people quickly blur into a mash of tuxedos and puffed gowns. From her left a waiter with pursed lips and excitable eyeballs appears, a thick silver tray laden with flutes of champagne held expertly in front of him as he minces through.

Her lips leave a lined imprint on the edge of the glass and as the bubbles effervesce inside of her, she is reminded of exuberance from parties past.

Her lover stands in a small group of three men and two women, all of whom are sipping champagne. The men, their tuxedos impeccably pressed and with fresh gardenias poking daintily from lapels, bow slightly as they kiss Ms Apollonian’s raised hand. The blonde lady, wearing a tightly gathered silk dress and nimble red pumps, greets her as the old friend that she is. And then—finally—she is face-to-face with her lover. Their heights are wholly compatible, their styling similar, and their lipstick of the same hue. They kiss fervently.

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A night at the zoo Words by Ben Allison | Images by Max Allison On Saturday 18 October, the University of South Australia Student Association (USASA) held its annual ball.

For VIP members, the ball started in the Panda Sanctuary, where the formal proceedings occurred.

Guests sipped French champagne, mingled and ate decadent food while Wang Wang and Funi looked on, munching merrily on their bamboo sticks.

USASA President, Lia Lawrie, opened the evening with a formal address, after which Pro Vice Chancellor, Dr Laura-Anne Bull, presented former USASA President, Arun Thomas, with an Honorary Lifetime USASA Membership.

After the formal proceedings, guests were greeted by members of the zoo (not the human kind). A plethora of cuddly, slimy, scaly and furry creatures interacted with the guests before they entered the excitement of the night ahead. And exciting it was.

From fire-twirlers to a caricaturist, the night boasted a wide range of entertainment (and alcohol).

While party people tore up the dance floor to the live music, a magician walked around the room, bedazzling unsuspecting spectators.

During the night, a flash mob erupted and wowed the crowd.

Luckily, USASA employed a photographer to capture the night, so none of us have to remember what happened for ourselves. Enjoy!

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Poem Peter Palmato Thorn Goodbye darling, The rose I thought I knew Was a thorn In truth Goodbye lovely, Kisses on your cheek I brushed my lips Past brambles in disguise Goodbye bad bitch, You had no stem, No spine or strengths But you still cut deep Goodbye false friend, I snipped you away Behind my back, the truth Only lies to my face

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Goodbye beautiful, Skin deep love I’ll never trust again A flawless complexion Goodbye memories, of sitting, smiling with you all the love has gone the good times, too Goodbye stories, of men and men and men your tales made me smile but always had the same end Goodbye, my dear, we will never be the same I now know the thorns behind the rose and the poison they contain

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Mental illness: Let’s talk Divya Balakumar Dear Everyone Reading This,

I have some ‘coming out’ to do—no, not the ceremonious outpourings of a closet homosexual, another type of ‘coming out’.

I don’t want to invalidate the use of the phrase ‘coming out’ by using it in this context, but I love it so I will use it.

I have a mental illness.

Before an avalanche of judgement rushes through your mind, let me clarify a couple of things.

1. I look pretty normal (I’d say, like a 5, maybe a 6 if I’m having a ‘skinny’ day).

2. I don’t only wear dark clothes and listen to sad music while pushing my fringe out of my face (no judgement here, I just don’t fit the type).

What I’m trying to say, I think, is that there are no signs that point towards me being a mentally ill person; unless you creepily hid a camera in my house, you would probably not have the slightest clue.

I am depressed, and I have generalised anxiety with hints of social anxiety.

Now, what does this mean, you may be wondering?

Depression, as I understand it, is a prolonged feeling of sadness interspersed with hopelessness, guilt and a whole lot of other negative feelings. Depression for me is waking up and refusing to get out of bed until 3.00 pm, eating cereal for lunch (although, really, who is complaining here?) and not finding the motivation to do anything at all.

Add a pinch of anxiety to that and you have the recipe to the disaster that has been my life for the last two years.

Now I don’t mean to turn this into a rant—some of the support I have received has been tremendous.

For instance, in the university context, the Learning and Teaching unit (LTU) has been amazing and I can’t thank them enough. They helped me come up with an Access Plan to bridge the gap of understanding between my tutors and I; basically, it was the piece of paper I needed to let my teachers know that I had an issue, and these are the areas I might struggle with.

And my tutors and lecturers have been fantastic. They’ve been flexible, they’ve expressed genuine concern and they were always responsive to my needs.

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The hardest thing for me, has been opening up about my mental illness to friends and family But in the social context, I have struggled, and in part I’m sure I can attribute this to my mild social anxiety.

Let me tell you this: the hardest thing for me has been opening up about my mental illness to friends and family.

And I know not everyone knows what to say, but I also know that keeping silent is of no help.

It hasn’t been easy learning to accept my mental health issues, but in time (two years!) I have come to understand myself better and take the time to better manage my situation, and I am proud of the steps that I have taken in the last two years to try and cope.

The stigma is evident in every society, but it is far more apparent in the Asian context, at least in my experience. A few weeks ago, I had a difficult conversation with my dad about my mental illness. He listened, and he told me very honestly he did not know what to do or what to say.

All I said to him was, ‘lend me an ear when I need to talk’.

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So here I am, reaching out to you, the masses, to say this: if someone opens up to you about their feelings, listen to them. If you don’t know what to say, try to ask them questions to help you better understand their situation.

Not everyone wants or needs a solution to their problem, but we all need to know we can reach out to our nearest and dearest.

If you still don’t know how you can help, be honest about it, but let them know you will always lend an ear and be supportive throughout their journey ahead.

Support services like Lifeline and Beyond Blue are a great starting point, but instead of directing someone to a helpline, perhaps we can also pledge to provide complementary support to the people who need it, by just being there.

So go on, then. Speak up, start the conversation, and slowly, perhaps we can all end the stigma.

My story I saw this poster on one of the walls in the hallway. There must be a lot of international students who actually look at the walls in the hallway; everyone else seems to have their attention on their phones all the time. They wouldn’t even have a clue about what’s going on around them, unless they saw it on social media.

I’m a first year student. I finished year twelve last year but wanted to take a gap year to know what I really wanted to do.

My dad didn’t allow me. That’s the thing about life… timing! We all come out of year twelve and haven’t even experienced life yet, only to jump right into our futures. It’s like one minute we’re wearing uniform and just breezing through life, and the next minute we have to pick a career that will supposably take over the rest of our lives. I study teaching, but the thing is, I’m not sure if I enjoy it. I’m too scared to tell my parents about this because I’ve pretty much wasted this year taking the course. But this course really annoys me. I only have three days a week.

I moved from my family to come to a whole new atmosphere with different people to me, but so far I’ve made no friends.

I always thought uni was a social environment, but not the social I knew of. Uni is more of a social media environment.

Everything is being submitted online, you can follow people on Twitter and Facebook and there are so many apps that Uni asks you to download so you can connect with them in your own time. I pay rent and buy my food every two weeks. Sometimes I regret doing this course internally. I sacrificed so many things to be here… for nothing! I believe that everyone has a purpose in life and I have not found mine yet.

I feel alone so often, but I cannot tell anyone because I have no friends here. I think that’s why I am writing this. You don’t know me and I don’t know you and so I feel confident telling you this. Who you do and do not tell won’t affect me, as you do not know me.

Thank you very much for taking the time to read this.

E

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UniSA’s Leadership Program Preparing tomorrow’s leaders today At the university of enterprise, we’re preparing the professional leaders of tomorrow.

UniSA’s nationally commended Leadership Program^, will allow you to develop knowledge of your personal strengths and help you understand how to use these for study, work, life and more.

Places now available for 2015. Register your interest today. unisa.edu.au/leadership2015

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My story Words and images by Silvia De Cesare

‘In dreams begin responsibilities’ (Acrobat, U2) My name is Silvia, I am Italian and my adventure in Australia and at the University of South Australia is the result of a dream that has now become a responsibility, having committed to a two-year Master in Education which I am determined to attain with the best possible results.

I am an adult student and together with my husband, I decided to start all over again, move to Australia and change carrier path with the hope, shared by many of us international students, of a better life and future. When UniSA accepted my application back in February, the dream became a sudden reality, a train to catch with no hesitation, a change of direction by guiding and holding on to my steering wheel, rather than waiting for some kind

of fate to change something for me. That is how, at 41-years-old, I decided to leave my job, my home, my close friends and family, to start studying again in beautiful Adelaide and chasing down a long-life dream… Leaving your home country in your 40s, when you have already built something, with strong ties and relationships, is a greater risk than when you are young but… same adrenaline! It is a poker game to play bluffing first of all with yourself, pretending not to think about what and who you leave behind, otherwise you will never jump the gap without the safety net. Some form of madness, insanity and unawareness leads the way…

I arrived in Australia at the beginning of June with winter already knocking at the door; a mild one at the beginning but slowly it got colder, wetter, with constant rain getting into my bones and

melancholy settling in my heart— but not for long. Television claimed it was the worst winter in fifty years (lucky me) and what a great start for all of us international students!

That said, there was no humidity, therefore no frizzy hair for me, and winter only really lasted a couple of months. Since September, I have already enjoyed the beach every weekend.

No matter what season you arrive in Adelaide, as an international student, the first month is about sorting out all the bureaucracy such as visa, bank accounts, medical insurance, looking for a nice and hopefully not too expensive apartment, and of course enrolling.

Always read the useful instructions and directions on our university website; they could save you some unwanted and unpleasant surprises.

I also found International Students Welcome Week very helpful, a

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wonderful opportunity to meet people, to interact with university staff, to ask questions, clarify your doubts, and last but not least, to have some fun. Moreover, you have the chance to visit all of UniSA’s campuses, value your options, have information about part-time work and things you must do as an International student to comply with Student Visa’s regulations, such us always informing university and Department of Immigration about changing your contact address.

Enrolling was a ‘surprising’ experience for someone like me who finished her Bachelor Degree eighteen years ago in Italy. At that time, we barely had classrooms for our lessons, you had to be lucky to find available books in the library, free computers was unheard of, and the internet looked like science fiction from a George Orwell book.

The enrolling process at UniSA instead is simple and easy to follow

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through and there is plenty of help available from the Teaching and Learning Unit. Amazingly for me, you can do everything online and better still there are courses that you can do online from your own home. Do not worry if you do not have a computer or an internet connection; you can do it at any of the university campuses, AND 24/7!

No matter what the location of your lessons, you can choose between different campus locations: City East, City West, Mawson Lakes and Magill, and the regional campuses, and in any of them you will always find a library—either ‘physical’ or online—with plenty of material to support your studies. Furthermore, after library hours there are always rooms and computers available for your study, again, 24/7.

As an international student the main challenge is writing and preparing essays, since different countries and different languages may have

different ways of writing, different requirements and structures.

However, throughout the semesters, UniSA gives us great support with scheduled workshops where we learn about the Australian standard essay structure and the referencing style we will need to apply. In addition, there is a section on the website, L3, where you can find all the useful information and tips for preparing for exams and assignments.

As for Adelaide, it is a great city with a population close to 1.3 million people. It does not look like a chaotic city; everywhere you turn you will find a well-maintained public park, black swans which I had never seen before, and if ducks happen to cross the road, all traffic will stop and let them cross safely! This is not civilisation, this is ‘refinement’! You can also enjoy a river in between with plenty of cycling paths, and free

bikes, helmets included, that you can keep all day until dawn! There are beautiful beaches only fifteen kilometres from the city centre, and if you go a little further you will find the most breathtaking sea views in places like Port Willunga. You do not need to buy a car as there is a great public transport service, not expensive for students, with buses, trams or trains every 10-15 minutes, and there is even a free bus and free tram service for the city centre loop!

There are plenty of public libraries where you can use computers, printers and scanners with free connection all day long, seven days a week. By the way, the free connection is also available in plenty of places within the city and at most public transport stops. Last but not least, for people like me who do not like smoking, it is not permitted even in some outside areas such as bus stops and university campuses.

For me, this is paradise!

I have also noticed the following differences (or I could define them as ‘peculiarities’) from my country: - people walking in flip flops and sandals even during winter with five degrees and lashing rain - double beds are small; the standard is queen size, which is the French double bed size of 1.501.60m wide. French people may like it but I prefer huge beds to stretch out on a wet Sunday morning. A little advice: look for a King Size bed of 180 x 200 cm - no plate rack on the wall above the sink to let your plates drip and dry.

In Italy, every kitchen has one - hard to find ‘feminine’ soap as there is no bidet in the bathroom (so difficult to adapt to for an Italian girl!)

- can easily find any type of food and ingredient.

On this aspect I would like to dwell a little as it is very comforting to know that I will never miss my food!

In Adelaide I can find any sort of Italian food, things that I did not find when I lived in Ireland a few years ago, even if it was much closer to Italy. The reason being that with the weather very similar to the Mediterranean one, Italian people who came here decades ago started to produce and distribute our products. I can find Australian made oil of olive, Italian style coffee, wine and typical Italian vegetables like broad beans, artichokes and fennels, and most of all, being produced locally, at a very reasonable price.

All these words to say that I am happy we moved to Adelaide.

Perhaps in the future I will see some negative aspects but better leave them for later, better to concentrate on the positive ones. Adelaide is a beautiful city, with rights and duties.

For some aspects it is expensive

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but it does offer us international students some opportunities and possibilities on the horizon.

Yet, sometimes I miss home; I suppose all international students do at some stage. When I stop and think, I wonder if I did the right thing. Was I crazy to leave everything and go? Perhaps if I had a little more time to think about it, I would have never left… It is hard to let go of a safe, comfortable life, the one you know well, while here you need to start over, invest time and money and make a bigger effort.

It was difficult to pack, to close the door and lock it for the last time…

The last goodbyes, hugs, were so painful, it hurt like when someone is gone forever.

On one side there is this new, exciting life with the opportunity to meet people from all over the world, learn about their culture, their habits, their lives, and a chance to change your ways of thinking and adapting to circumstances. On the other hand though there is the stress of having to re-arrange your life, adapt to another language, culture, lifestyle and rules, and try to find a new identity in such a far away and different place. Probably in a few months I will laugh about these thoughts and doubts; my instinct tells me that, once settled in my routine, some part time work, new home, a bit of sun, nice walks on the beach, perhaps then I will want to stay for a long time.

I suppose it is natural to be afraid facing such a challenging and total change, but there is something

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stronger than fear: HOPE. The hope that my mother embedded in my heart and soul, and that since her death is tattooed on my right-hand shoulder clung to a butterfly’s wing to remind me that we are born free to fly—almost a guardian angel—I am sure that hope will follow me, all of us, along this new journey like a supernova, a comet… We just have to be careful not to lose its sight…

Certainly, all international students at some stage may have my same doubts, worries and fears as we share the same world of uncertainty, excitement and novelty. We must remember though, that we are not alone, we are not just ONE, we are MANY and together we can help each other and make this experience the greatest of our life.

We have to be strong, to see beyond whatever wall, to go, look and push further, while not giving up, and mostly not giving up our dreams.

We must keep chasing them before they fade away, swallowed by time, regrets and surrender. Dreams can guide and shape the world, the better ones, at least.

I do not know where this new road will lead but I do know that it is new, exciting and full of surprises just around the corner. For sure us international students along the way will have to face some crossroads, red lights, slow down signs due to ‘men at work’ and dangerous bends, but after the bend we will always be able to see the straight road ahead.

I cannot finish my story without thanking my family and friends for supporting this sudden

and unexpected choice, for understanding and swallowing the bitter pill, for the encouragement and for following our adventure from a distance. I also thank my husband for wanting and driving this change, for always being on my side, for being my strength and my home no matter where we live, for being not just my other half, but my better half, and for loving me despite my flaws. Ultimately, I thank our mothers: my husband’s for accepting her pain with a smile and a never-ending hug, and my mother, hoping that from somewhere out there she’ll lead and show us the way.

My mother passed on to me the joy of music since I was a little girl so that music shapes my heart and inspires my thoughts. Every morning I wake up with a different song in my head and I will end this story in the same way I started it, sharing with you a verse from a song, this time from an Italian singer, Lorenzo Cherubini: ‘There is no higher mountain than the one I shall not climb...’ ‘ Non c’e’ montagna piu’ alta di quella che non scalero…’

Good luck to all students.

the art of Storm Warman

Imag[in]e Verse Mag’s Regular Art & Design feature

Storm Warman is a UniSA student, a ridiculously talented artist and designer, and our issue 2 cover artist. Her portrait of the late Gough Whitlam an inspirational addition to the “Pride” issue. Finding inspiration in anything and everything including current affairs, pop culture, social justice and… creepy people, Storm ensures that her pieces speak beyond their layered, painterly aesthetics.

Can you tell us a few things about your methods and how you work?

For an illustrative piece, I’ll start by madly researching, collecting imagery and sketching some conceptual ideas as I go.

Then I’ll usually compile a rough composite image by building a collage of reference photos that will inform the first stages of a paper drawing. I’ll put this back through Photoshop and add what I need digitally. I might then print out a copy, add pen and ink, or engage another traditional medium, re-scan and render the image digitally.

What inspires your work?

I can source inspiration from anyone, anything and everything. I find relevance to my work in pop culture, current affairs, history, humour, social justice, music, art, creepy people, and photography.

What industry experience do you have?

I’ve worked for a variation of clients that include SA Government, artists of Fringe Festival, Indigenous communications, Feast Arts and Cultural Festival, University of South Australia, Barossa Vintage Festival, World Aids Day, Relationships SA, and a mix of illustrative commissions and graphic design projects.

Who are you favourite artists?

My mentor David Blaiklock continues to inspire me personally, professionally and artistically. I also love a wide and varied group of artists, including: Etam Cru, Tomer Hanuka, Weislaw Walkuski, Ashley Wood, Frank Miller, James Jean, J.C. Leyendecker, and probably a few hundred more…

You can check out more of Storm’s work at www.stormwarman.com

If you’d like to feature your artwork in the next issue of Verse Mag send some samples to contact@versemag.com.au

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Film reviews

The Immigrant Sebastian Moore Written and directed by James Gray, The Immigrant is about the promises of freedom and opportunity harboured by New World myths. In this case, it’s the American Dream, and it’s sardonically portrayed as an ideal that cannot be attained.

Ewa (Marion Cotillard), our immigrant of the title, is put through a tortuous journey of false hope and disappointment, which plagued many immigrants in the 1920s who were seduced by this ‘dream’. It is unfortunate, then, that Gray’s enquiry into the immigrant experience doesn’t extend much further than this.

The crux of my issues with The Immigrant lay in its positioning and use of its

characters. Gray insists on a love triangle, and the characters that comprise these roles are given little to distinguish themselves with.

Bruno (Joaquin Phoenix) is a pimp who uses Ewa for his own interests and Orlando (Jeremy Renner) is a magician who encourages her to leave Bruno and find a better life for herself elsewhere.

Ultimately, Bruno represents the reality of immigrant life in America, whereas Orlando personifies the hope and opportunity that was promised to Ewa and the rest of the immigrants when they floated onto Ellis Island. It’s an interesting dynamic, but Gray fails to create anything on the page that is singular about these people. Bruno

and Orlando are nothing more than ideas, and Ewa slips into the same flatness.

Cotillard’s role has the broadness of the immigrant experience, but none of the finer brush strokes that could forge something unique or individual from it. By trying to be about everything, The Immigrant has no idiosyncrasy, and says nothing new or compelling because of it.

It is, however, an aesthetically seamless accomplishment.

Gray has captured the sepia-tinged hues and period-specific detail of a lost time that is bound to draw comparisons to Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in America. He isn’t concerned with overplaying his hand,

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

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either. Gray holds a lot of his shots for protracted lengths of time. When there is nothing to hold onto, though, the images start to lose their edge and blur together. An image without purpose is only compelling in isolation, and in James Gray’s The Immigrant, the narrative fails those images. The shots that bookend the film are majestic, but they are in service of very little. Unfortunately, what occurs between these images doesn’t find the depth to justify such ambition.

Night Moves Sebastian Moore As with several minimalist films before it, Night Moves pivots on a single incident.

The build-up and fallout are split into two halves, and what we know of the characters beforehand is muddied by the event and its repercussions. It is an act of eco-terrorism, and the suspect of our interest is Josh (Jesse Eisenberg), a detached, introverted 20-something who skirts the peripheries of the modern world. Accompanied by Dena (Dakota Fanning) and Harmon (Peter Sarsgaard)— two equally committed and radical environmentalists— the three of them plan on blowing up a major hydroelectric dam.

Contrary to the subject matter, the politics in Night Moves never manifest into a diatribe on pollution or big business. Director Kelly Reichardt would rather consider the ‘how’, not the ‘why’, of these people.

Her eye for the mundane is so specific and vivid that eventless scenes are given boundless aesthetic dimension. We learn so much about this world and these people by the way they move, signal, group and look at each other. The realism of Reichardt’s approach borders on fictionalised documentation. In the most intimate of settings, Josh’s body language is often slouched and absent, gliding in synchronicity with the

empty spaces that small settings barely make room for. He moves in sole orbit around friends and family, internalising his frustrations which emerge through infinitesimal tics.

Removed of the quick wit and motor-mouth that has characterised the majority of his screen work (notably The Social Network), Eisenberg is a revelation—a silent volcano that is far more riveting in its gestation period than its inevitable eruption. Jeff Grace’s uneasy, discordant score imparts our central protagonist’s paranoid behaviour and fuses seamlessly with the elusive rhythms of Reichardt’s visual sensibility.

In the first half of Night Moves, Josh and Dena find a dead, pregnant doe with its fawn still alive in the womb.

Josh proceeds to push it off the road and into a ditch.

It’s an isolated sequence, no doubt, but it punctuates Reichardt’s politics (or lack thereof) like a cigarette burn.

The final shot is a cynical rebuke to this hypocrisy; a confident and smug end note that reverberates with bleak irony.

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

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Gone Girl Sebastian Moore In the opening scene of Gone Girl, a man describes the shape of his wife’s head. It’s a pretty head, burgeoning with golden straws that protrude from a face of porcelain beauty. Her unknowable eyes conceal the thoughts that stormcloud inside. ‘What are you thinking,’ he ponders.

We don’t know what he is capable of, nor do we know what is going on behind her eyes.

This is our introduction to Amy and Nick Dunne, the couple at the centre of Gone Girl. On the afternoon of their fifth wedding anniversary, Amy (Rosemund Pike) vanishes without a trace and Nick (Ben Affleck) is left to figure out what has happened. With cops questioning him and a media frenzy circling, Nick is put into

precarious positions which challenge his innocence in the eyes of others. Even though there is no physical evidence that suggests he is responsible for Amy’s disappearance, the media builds a narrative of guilt against Nick which creates fierce public outcry. This is not dissimilar to the power of false accusation explored in Arthur Miller’s The Crucible.

In this case, however, we as an audience are participants in the witch hunt, and as motives against Nick’s innocence slowly accumulate, we begin to assume his guilt before Amy’s body is even found.

Adapted for the screen from her own best-selling novel, Gillian Flynn’s subject matter proves the perfect marriage for David Fincher’s detached

visuals. Gruesome without the gore (for the most part), the ideas explored in Gone Girl belie its glassy surface. Below Fincher’s sleek exteriors is a world of gliding monsters, and this contradiction between the surface and what sits beneath it makes for a film which is increasingly uneasy to sit through.

By subverting its genre trappings, Fincher’s whodunit expands into a social commentary about our obsession with image and the media’s distortion of what we see. It is also a dissection of marriage and how we use these ‘images’ as a way to persuade, delude and entrap one another. As active participants, Gone Girl has a finger on our pulse. It understands our fixation with

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

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image, our fascination with media and our assumptions about gender and gender roles, and uses this to manipulate our expectations.

In that respect, Fincher is our puppet master, and we react the way he wants us to.

Early on in the film, Nick describes what it would be like to crack Amy’s skull open. A few minutes later, we see the camera cut from a scene of them kissing to an oral swab. The thoughts and images this edit and that description conjure are more disturbing than anything I’ve seen in any recent slasher film. Fincher has created a horror movie of ideas. Or, as some may view it, the worst date movie of the year.

The Maze Runner Alex Graham Young Adult novels about dystopian societies have been in resurgence on-screen. The Maze Runner is the most recent addition to this genre and while it doesn’t exactly break new ground, it’s still an entertaining mystery.

The film follows Thomas (played by Dylan O’Brien from the TV series Teen Wolf), who suddenly wakes up in a glade amongst a community of other teenage boys. None of them have any idea how they got there or even who they were before arriving, aside from their names. A large wall surrounds the glade, and every day it opens up to an enormous maze for runners to find an exit. But the entrance closes up every night and being trapped in the maze is a death sentence.

Thomas must rally the support of the other boys to escape and unlock the mystery of why they are there.

There are hints of The Hunger Games, mixed with Lord of the Flies and The Bourne Identity, but there’s enough uniqueness to the concept to differentiate it.

The film engages through its mystery and as you learn more about why the characters are trapped in the maze, more interesting plot twists and moral dilemmas occur. Without getting too ‘spoiler-y’, I would have liked to have seen the film go further with its themes of survival and trust. Since this is the first film in a series, I suspect they’ll explore such

ideas with greater depth later down the track.

The cast is quite strong and I sense a lot of these faces will pop up more often in the future. Dylan O’Brien is an effective lead and Will Poulter stands out as antagonistic, by-the-book Gally.

Unfortunately there’s very little characterisation for the actors to work with, making it hard to get emotionally invested in the story.

While let down by underwritten characters and a sense that it’s just a set-up for another film, The Maze Runner succeeds through tense intrigue and thematic questions.

For his feature film debut, director Wes Ball has made a fairly intense and odd mystery that isn’t afraid to get dark at times. However, the action can be a bit incoherent, as there’s a dependence on shaky camerawork that makes it hard to see what’s going on.

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

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EP Review Devil’s Crossroad Andrew Rapisarda madness, while also producing works of touching, melancholic beauty. They are not a predictable group.

The first song, ‘Rag Doll’, is a solid opening to the EP that begins with a hard and fast, frenzied psychedelic wall of sound which intermittently drops off in pace, and then explodes again into complete feverish rock and roll abandon. The lyrics of the song make an ode to the catastrophe of young lovers hell-bent on completely giving themselves up to each other. It’s a fatalistic song to match the petulance and admirably passionate yet sometimes foolish ventures of a lover who is willing to sacrifice it all for their other, to let themselves be treated as a ‘Rag Doll’ in the tempest of their love.

The songs of Devil’s Crossroad pay homage to all the times you have ever made love, resisted the authorities, partied ‘til the sun came up, fought and drank to excess. Devil’s Crossroad makes thrilling odes of wild passion that remind you of all of the good times you will always remember.

They are one of the most poetic yet crazed bands I have heard in recent times.

An up and coming band from Adelaide, they are unsigned to a record label as yet but have a strong presence in the pubs and clubs around the city. They thrill their audiences with a unique sound, described on their Facebook page as ‘Alternative Psychedelic Blues Rock’. Their four members are Nathan Dior on vocals and guitar, Zac Czuchwicki as lead guitarist, Kyle Clarke on bass, and Stefan Metzger on drums.

They released their first EP in March of this year, and it’s an impressive little number to give any listener a good feel for what Devil’s Crossroad are all about. The EP contains six songs, and all of them are pleasingly varied in style and lyrical content. Devil’s Crossroad are known for producing fast-paced numbers of filthy riffs and warped psychedelic

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Up next is ‘Run Away’, one of their more popular songs at the moment, which also has its own music video that the band produced earlier this year. ‘Run Away’ is a tempest of exhilarating sound, a powerful romp of a song that makes you want to let everything go and escape the bullshit and all the fear and loathing you capitulate to in your life. It’s a song that makes you feel like it’s ok to be insolent and angry sometimes.

Next on the EP is ‘Fuck the Constitution’, an ode to the rebel, confronting society and all the arbitrary control that’s heaped upon us. It has such a romantic, brazen message that I cannot help but adore its somewhat brash, simple morality that it imposes on the listener. ‘Does anyone remember…just what freedom means?’ asks lead singer Dior, before the song breaks out into an immensely satisfying, lonesome, wailing guitar solo of absolute magnificence, over a full minute of awesomeness that qualifies itself as my single favourite moment on the entire EP.

‘Needle in my Neck’ is somewhat more aggressive and contemptuous than any of the others, its hard rock and roll providing a powerful sound that builds up to hateful intensity and angst. It is a dramatic number that shows the band’s capability for a harder variety of rock for those who prefer a bit of grit in their music.

‘Exorcise Me’ is a complete delight in its disturbed, dark energy. It is a grungy, spiteful song, a testament to the darker side of human nature. It tells of deep-seated, borderline sociopathic anger and great despair, and the rasping, lonesome vocals of Dior, combined with the rolling, rollicking instrumentals make for a hell of a ride.

‘Fake Smiles and Thoughts of Despair’ starts with a soft, melancholic opening and progresses into a floating, intoxicating, yet at the same time crushingly sad song. It’s a particularly emotive number and perhaps not the best to listen to when your heart’s feeling a little tender. It makes you think a lot about the injustices and great terrors of the world, the kind of stuff that leaves you wide awake at night, while reminding you how vulnerable and sensitive you really are, and that shit can overpower you sometimes.

The EP altogether provides an immensely pleasurable yet emotionally tumultuous listening experience. You will be both charmed and overjoyed by the more upbeat and wildly rebellious tracks of psychedelic carnage, then provoked and thrilled by the brutal, carnal odes to the darker side of the human consciousness, and then be crushed yet completely enthralled by the melancholic beauty of a song like ‘Fake Smiles and Thoughts of Despair’. Devil’s Crossroad’s first EP has been a success in showcasing the impressive range of musical ability the group is capable of, and is an essential buy for any listener who is looking for a unique new band to indulge in.

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competitions and represent Team UniSA. Participate in campus sports activities from Campus Challenge to Come N Try exercise classes including Pilates and yoga. Enjoy the many gyms and sports facilities available on UniSA campuses.

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