Woroni Edition 1 2023

Content

Emmanuelle Dunn Lewis

Holly McDonell

Aala Cheema

Claudia Hunt

Sabrina Tse

Zoe Christofides

Manny Singh

Luca Ittimani

OIivia Chollet

Patrick Stephenson

Perpetual Nkatiaa Boadu

Lara Connolly

Daniel Pavlich

Ruby Smuskowitz

TV

Sharlotte Thou

Eliz So

Niall Fleming

Kaylie Nguyen

Xianzhi (Kerry) Jiang

Hima Panaganti

Jenny Lin

Radio

Maya Johnson

Nat Johnstone

Elektra Dizz

Managing

Brianna Collett

Oskah Dunnin

Chris Jackson

Arabella Ritchie

Jeffrey Liang

Art

Xuming Du

Cynthia Weng

Max Macfarlane

News

Rosie Welsh

Zelda Smith

Sophie Hilton

Dina Luate-Wani

James Donnelly

Letter from the Editor

Dear everyone,

Congratulations on stepping out into the big, bad world and falling into the grassy meadows of Australia’s number one(ish) university. Welcome to ANU! You’re going to love it here, really, you’ve got the whole glorious and rambunctious university experience ahead of you. I dare you to tell me you’re not excited for the crushing weight of everyone’s expectations, the mounting stress of your increasing academic load and the chaotic turbulence of your unstable relationships with your peers. Indeed there is much to be excited for at university and you will definitely enjoy every second spent labouring over coursework and stressing about who is judging your outfit as you walk through Kambri.

You’re already here though so it’s a bit late to drop out and move back to your parent’s house, and I’m obliged to write this letter, so I may as well impart some advice to make your time more bearable.

One of the most decisive factors in your enjoyment of your time spent at university is the company you keep. Good friends can be hard to come by. You need common interests, mutual understanding, reliability, and a shared appetite for fun. The girl who drunkenly gushed over your makeup in the club bathroom or the person you sat next to in your first tutorial who was polite and friendly during the icebreakers may not necessarily be ‘the one’ in this respect.

Don’t be the fool who takes their first year to ‘ease in’ to university life. Like an ice cold pool, the best thing you can do is jump straight in and immerse yourself head to toe. What you need to jump into right now is a club or society.

My membership of Woroni, for example, has connected me to a community of like-minded people, with whom I can work towards a similar goal. Woroni has provided me with a fun and productive space in which I could reflect on the direction of my life and what my contribution to humanity could be (so far I’ve settled on having gorgeous tits and a juicy bum). I love Woroni, I love its people, and I love its mission, and I would shout that love from the rooftops of Marie Reay. That would be kind of embarrassing and likely disturbing to the residents of Fenner Hall so instead I’ll do so from the inside of the brilliant Euphoric mag created by the electric Indy and the magnetic Jasmin and their effervescent teams.

Woroni doesn’t have to be your thing - any thing could be your thing! There is a kaleidoscope of niche clubs and societies operating at the ANU, all awaiting your membership. You just need to put your big kid shoes on and show up.

Love,

Rose Dixon-Campbell, Editor in Chief

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Through the RSSS Glass: Exploring Recent CASS Reforms and Their “Corporate Logic”

Dina Luate-Wani

In March of 2022, the College of Arts and Social Sciences (CASS) discussed a program reform strategy at a faculty meeting. The reforms had three key features:

1. A projected increase in postgraduate enrolment and a projected decrease in undergraduate enrolment.

2. Increasing postgraduate inter national student intake.

3. “Consolidating” undergraduate degrees.

The Melbourne Model

The Melbourne Curriculum is a model for undergraduate education adopted by the University of Melbourne in 2008. It is an American-inspired program which typically offers one degree per faculty (e.g. Bachelor of Arts, Bachelor of Science, Bachelor of Commerce).

The Melbourne Curriculum focuses on postgraduate study. The inflexible and purposefully broad nature of the undergraduate degree means students require a postgraduate degree to get the expertise they may believe they need to enter the workforce.

While the ANU stated categorically that “ANU is not moving to the Melbourne model - and there is absolutely no evidence of this”, some students and staff feel that there are similarities. The discussion paper, for example, explicitly calls for the consolidation of a large number of CASS undergraduate programs under the Bachelor of Arts.

Based on statistics from ANU’s central planning, CASS predicts a 66.3 percent increase in the number of postgraduate enrolments and a 14.9 percent contraction in the number of undergraduate enrolments.The College also expects to double international postgraduate students. This comes in the context of what some staff and students see as part of a transition to a University of Melbourne Model of teaching.

A University spokesperson explained that these numbers are not fixed, and that undergraduate enrolment could just as easily increase. They did not explain why CASS is basing its current program cuts on predictions that may change substantially.

Associate Dean of Education (CASS), Professor Geoff Hinchecliffe also alluded to this at the CASS Program Disestablishments Town Hall which took place earlier in the semester. Hinchcliffe confirmed: “We are committing to the BA.”

The proposed consolidation includes nearly halving the number of programs available for incoming undergraduate students. Many program cuts have already taken place, such as the Bachelor of Development Studies, the Bachelor of Archaeological Practice, and the Bachelor of European Studies.

When the College discussed these program reforms, they also proposed simplifying the postgraduate system. However, this did not include a list of postgraduate programs to disestablish, rather it focused on the course requirements and on tailoring it to professionals. An ANU spokesperson has since confirmed that “CASS is not cutting postgraduate programs.”

Woroni obtained this graph from a discussion paper provided to the CASS Education Committee. The inner line is the 2019 composition of CASS, with the outer line being the expected 2025 composition.

When Woroni asked the University about the documents, a spokesperson said that “the main purpose of the presentation was to flag the proposed growth in PG…the presentation was the basis for discussion. Exactly if/how the college responds to those proposed figures is to be determined.”

However, it appears the discussion has settled in favour of the proposals in the document. The discussion paper, when listing which degrees could be cut, includes every CASS degree cut this year. “Teach Less, Better” which the paper refers to, has become the ANU’s trademarked slogan when discussing course consolidation.

More Cuts Ahead?

The College has already cut several Bachelors programs, including Development Studies, Archaeological Practice, Classical Studies, European Studies, and Middle East and Central Asian Studies.

The college also considered disestablishing the Bachelor of Public Policy and combining the Art and Design programs. However, the outcomes of these discussions have not been made public. Conversations with CASS academic staff have revealed that the College also attempted to cut the Bachelor of Political Sciences, but changed course after significant backlash from staff in the School of Politics and International Relations (SPIR).

Just recently, CASS announced an external review of the entire SPIR school. The review will evaluate the Bachelor of Political Sciences, Bachelor of Public Policy, and the Bachelor of International Relations in particular. The review will also look at named degrees that include SPIR units, such as the Bachelor of Politics, Philosophy and Economics (PPE). Several of those conducting the review come from Australian universities which do not offer specialised degrees. Of three experts, one comes from the University of Queensland, which only offers the Bachelor of Arts and a Bachelor of PPE (Honours), and another from Griffith University, which has a Bachelor of Arts and a Bachelor of Politics and International Relations.

The ANU did not provide comment on the makeup of the panel.

What the ANU did say is that “here seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding among some staff and students about how the University’s policies on curriculum development actually work.”

Additionally, Woroni has obtained documents detailing the ANU’s 2025 undergraduate curriculum review. Throughout a number of separate documents is the idea of an “ANU Core” - four units offered across all undergraduate degrees regardless of discipline. This is similar to many liberal arts universities in the US, and represents another attempt at streamlining and uniforming the ANU undergraduate degree.

These core courses will replace four other courses in an undergraduate degree that students would normally use to take electives, or to study specialised courses. While it does not indicate a course cut, and the documents did not include cutting courses, “core courses” could reduce the number of students enrolled in the more specialised courses of a degree. This would leave some courses open to low enrollment and hence, the College may cut them.

An ANU spokesperson framed the recent disestablishment as part of “...a constant

Students and Staff Speak Up

There have been several protests against both course cuts and broader program changes. Many students see these as being intertwined and voiced this concern at the CASS Town Hall which took place earlier in the semester.

“The degrees being cut mean the courses required for those degrees are no longer available,” said one student. However, one SPIR academic has a different interpretation of these events. “I suppose they come from two different places. Course cuts are a result of budget concerns. My impression is that program cuts, named degree cuts, are more of an ideological belief in streamlining.”

Another SPIR academic alleged that under the current system, a course is cut if no one teaches it for three years. The ANU confirmed that this is the case. However, the academic went on to explain that lecturers in their school often must teach larger, general and introductory courses around once every two to three years. Individual schools themselves determine staffing levels and rotations, not University management. The ANU did not provide a comment on this alleged policy. The academic went on to explain that a close colleague of theirs stopped teaching one introductory course in order to preserve their “pet” research-driven course because they feared the ANU would cut it.

One School of Literature, Languages, and Linguistics (SLLL) academic describes being hired to replace a permanent lecturer.

“Instead of paying a salary for a full or permanent lecturer, they would get someone like me, who is a casual, and they pay me by the hour, which is peanuts compared to what the lecturer was being paid.” Beyond being paid less for the same work, casual staff are also more vulnerable to exploitation like the SLLL academic has experienced. “We are only paid for the time that you teach in class… I didn’t get anything for marking.” The academic has since confirmed that the ANU paid them at the end of the semester for marking work.

At a rally outside the Chancellery, one student spoke to the connection between fewer options for students and worse conditions for staff.

“These course cuts are happening in the shadow of devastating job cuts where around 400 staff were cut… and a $234 million dollar surplus that the university posted this year with having returned to pre-covid staffing levels and pre-covid course offerings.”

A number of students and staff feel the program changes are driven by financial motives.

Woroni spoke to one lecturer who described the main objection to the course they now teach was finding the budget for it. The University claims that “Course and program changes are unrelated to the University’s budget.” It could be the case that the financial barrier was specific to the school, but it is unclear. Yet, at the CASS Town Hall, Associate Dean Dr Lucy Neave admitted “...there is a corporate logic in universities. It’s a problem for all of us… But can I just tell you that from our perspective, we’re not trying to be University of Melbourne in the short term.”

The key words for many students in attendance were, “in the short term.” Program consolidation can leave research-driven courses dependent on strong enrollment each year, and on staffing availability. Students studying niche degrees worry that in periods of low enrolment, schools will cut specific courses.

The effects of this have already been seen. At a College Representatives Council meeting in 2022, then General-Secretary Ben Yates brought up the issue of courses listed on the ANU’s Programs and Courses page that the ANU no longer actually offers. He pointed out that this can mislead current and prospective students as to what they will eventually study. An ANU spokesperson did explain that, under an ANU policy from 2020, courses not taught for three years will not be shown on Programs and Courses.

CASS is not the only college to undergo these changes. Many students protesting the CASS reforms noted the similarities between these events and the events at the College of Engineering, Computing & Cybernetics (CECC). “Clearly, these degree cuts pave the way for course cuts as well. We’ve seen it before with the disestablishment of courses and majors in the Engineering department,” said one protester.

Course and program cuts mean that undergraduate students have a less specialised education. For example, cuts in Engineering and Computer Science resulted not only in offering less majors, but also the removal of minors and specialisations, units students take to gain specific skills and qualifications. In 2020, the College merged seven schools into three and then cut some of its niche degrees, such as Honours in Software Engineering.

“I’m less in favour of the program cuts because students like them and employers like them... I really don’t like the American style BA with a major. I think there’s something really valuable in having specific programs,” says one CASS academic.

These cuts also detract from one of the ANU’s most famous attributes: the flexible-double degree. Students travel across the country and overseas for this program. Fewer available degrees means that the flexible-double will be less versatile.

As one SPIR staff member put it, there is no public, informed discussion about the changes to CASS. And, they argued, without this, there can be no changes that benefit students, staff and University management.

Earlier this semester, CASS held a town hall for students to help explain the program cuts. It was filled with frustrated students who insisted that course cuts will come. The Education Officer for 2023, Beatrice Tucker (they/them) campaigned on protesting and fighting course cuts. Many students are convinced that the ANU will cut courses in the future. The ANU, however, insists there are no planned cuts.

There is a real divide between staff, students and University management. What exactly happens inside the RSSS has many on the outside confused. However, the staff Woroni spoke to painted a picture of a complex system which students know little about. Whether there will be an ongoing, public discussion, remains to be seen.

ACAT Decision Pending: ANU Students Take Action Against University Over “Frustrated”

Residential Contract During Covid-19

Zelda Smith

The claim relates to accommodation costs in 2021 paid by the students to the University during the NSW and ACT COVID-19 lockdowns. Woroni spoke to the students involved and invited the University to comment.

Two ANU students, Kate Aston (she/her) and Sigourney Vallis (she/her), were previously residents of on-campus accommodation offered by the ANU.

The central claim of Aston and Vallis is that their residential occupancy contract was “frustrated”, and that the contract was repudiated by the ANU when it told students outside the ACT to not return to campus, and could not provide a student quarantine facility.

Vallis explained that she became “stuck” in Sydney due to changing lockdown requirements after visiting family in the semester break. She then applied for an exemption to return to the ACT to resume residency and study at ANU in Semester Two, but ACT Health denied the exemption as it did not consider her a resident.

During this time, Vallis indicated she was in communication with the ANU about quarantining at Davey Lodge although an offer to quarantine at the Lodge never eventuated. When it became clear to Vallis that she would not be able to return to the ACT for an extended time due to the public health directive, she tried to terminate her occupancy agreement. Vallis claimed that she attempted to negotiate this change with the University, but was unsuccessful.

The University’s position appears to be that staff warned students that their agreements could not be ended due to public health directives. However, during cross-examination, an ANU staff member admitted that the ANU had not

published this information on the residential contracts portal, StarRez, as they had planned.

They did contend, however, that the agreements did not state that students could terminate due to COVID-19, irrespective of whether this was formally noted on StarRez.

An Observer article, published when the dispute began, noted that:

• The ANU claimed that students would be able to quarantine at Davey lodge after a pause by ACT Health (July 2021), but by October 2021 ACT Health found that Davey Lodge was an “unsuitable quarantine facility.”

• The occupancy rates across on-campus accommodation ranged from 50-90%, with an average occupancy of 70% (October 2021). The university said this meant that lockdowns and border restrictions affect approximately 650 students.

Both Vallis and Aston communicated with their Residential Hall and with ANU ViceChancellor, Brian Schmidt. They allege that the only financial help offered was insufficient to allow them to remain in their occupancy agreements, with one complainant receiving less than a fortnight’s support.

As the ANU would not terminate the agreements, the students felt they were left with little option but to pursue action through ACAT.

Vallis and Aston do not feel that they are the only students with a claim. “...even if we don’t get the outcome we want, they [other students] can still stand up and challenge the University on this issue, and…[we]...hope that students in a similar position do so… [because]... many people have been negatively impacted.”

Even students who did live at the colleges during 2021 raised issues about the “unacceptable” situation, including the working conditions of the Senior Residents.

The COVID-19 lockdowns in 2021 resulted in increasing inequality and increased the number of Australians living on or below the poverty line. A large number of students live below the poverty line and would be among the hardest-hit socioeconomic groups during the pandemic.

At the same time, the ANU made a $232 million profit, and in 2023, it has increased student rent.

According to Vallis and Aston, from the start of the lockdown until the end of their contract period they paid over $5000 dollars to the University but could not access their rooms for the majority of that time.

When asked about how they felt going to the ACAT with a claim against the University both Vallis and Aston described the process as, “daunting, stressful, time-consuming and a little surreal.” They felt that the University adopted an “aggressive” approach, reminiscent of a “David and Goliath situation” in which two community lawyerrepresented students were up against the King & Wood Mallesons Lawyers-backed University. Lawyers-backed University.

Vallis and Aston claimed that the University threatened to withhold the academic results of the students until they paid their rental debts. Students signing onto the occupancy agreement consent to such disciplinary measures. Both students hoped that their case would help other students, who might be “unsure how they could fight this [situation]”.

An ANU spokesperson stated that, “ANU didn’t take this matter to the ACT Civil and Administrative Tribunal – the students did. The ANU occupancy agreements comply with the requirements of the Residential Tenancies Act. An occupancy agreement is in place until its date of expiration and according to the Residential Tenancy Act concludes on that date unless agreed between the grantor and the occupant. This is a common and standard feature of any occupancy agreement. As this matter is ongoing, the University is unable to comment on it further at this point in time.”

Unlike ANU’s on-campus students, students living in non-university rentals were eligible for COVID-19-related support. During 2021, several changes were made to the Residential Tenancies ACT through the COVID-19 Emergency Response Declaration 2021 (No 3) to support tenants impacted by COVID-19. These changes allowed impacted tenants to terminate their fixed term tenancy agreements early. Impacted tenants had to provide evidence of a reduction in household income and/or receipt of a Commonwealth Disaster payment.

Woroni asked the ANU to specify the difference between occupancy and residential contracts. The ANU’s response did not address this question.

Occupancy agreements provide limited legal protection to people in the ACT. As they do not have standard terms, the rights and obligations depend on the terms signed. Grantors (Colleges/Halls) can charge fees that are not typical in residential contracts (such as room change over fees and laundry fees), and the grantor holds the occupant’s bond instead of the bond being lodged with an independent agency (the Office of Rental Bonds).

During the 2022 student election the ACTION! For ANUSA ticket argued that the lack of tenancy rights for students on campus “cause[d] significant problems.” They sought to replace occupancy agreements with tenancy agreements.

Vallis argues that: “students seeking oncampus accommodation should not have to agree to contracts that render them essentially powerless just so that they can live on campus.”

As Vallis and Aston allege happened to them, the ANU’s occupancy agreements also mixes academic and residential life. The University may withhold results, or use other academic-based measures, when students do not meet the terms of the occupancy agreement. Vallis and Aston’s lawyer argued in court that the occupancy agreements are incredibly biassed in favour of the University.

A number of ANU students attended the ACAT hearing, and it has attracted national media attention. The case of Vallis and Aston is similar to the situation of students globally, pursuing legal action against their universities and residential colleges for allegedly unfair treatment during COVID-19. This includes class action suits against Miami University

for the shift to online programs with no reduction in tuition cost. In the United Kingdom students were able to terminate their on-campus residential contracts without any charges. Additionally, students may have reduced “contract freedom” due to Covid-related changes in some agreements.

Woroni expects the ACAT to announce a judgement this month or next. Stay tuned for more.

Clair de Lune

Justin Elliot

Silence.

Just silence.

Pause, for a breath. Remember to breathe. In. Out. Focus on a C: Middle C. Hands poised, arched, wait a beat...

At the piano, seat creaking. Room musty, books dusty. Flick through them, they were mine when I was your age! All those scales. Over and over. Slowly, shakily at first. Then faster. Left hand, right hand, separately, together. One finger over the other. Right hand – D flat major –crescendo decrescendo – legato. One and two and one AND TWO AND. And?

Ah. Thumb under three THEN four. Don’t forget second finger either. Try again slowly. And again and again. Try again with feeling. Then speed. Speed with feeling and confidence. Remember to breathe!

At the piano, seat creaking. Room still musty, books not dusty. Both hands now! I like this piece; it’s soft. Gentle. Gentle and strong. There’s a tenderness to it. A restrained power, an eloquence brimming. Saying just what needs to be said. Masterful, but can we master it? Surely not, and don’t call me Shirley. Focus! Back to it then. Start at the start. Can’t have a finish without a start. Over and over. Ivories tickling. Tinkling.

***

It sounds a little trite to say, but surely it’s as much the journey, if not more so, than the destination that counts. Without it, would the destination be as satisfying? If we didn’t have the memories of all the time it took to get to where we are going, all the hours spent waiting, preparing, dreaming

of what could be or what we could do, would there even be a destination to speak of? For any hobby, the journey – the process or the act itself – has to be somewhat satisfying, otherwise it wouldn’t compel us in the first place. Without an appreciation of how much we’ve grown between the beginning and the end, there’d be no sense of achievement, no sense of euphoria, or any feeling for that matter, about finally mastering that skill that we’ve agonised over. Otherwise, it’s just a task, a chore to be completed. ***

Mastered? No, never mastered. But mastering? Always. Finding the waves. Finding the rhythms. Hear it, think it, feel it in your bones! Finding the way through. Not janky jangly, but smooth, clear. Crystalline.

We’re ready now. Time to begin.

Slowly at first, but this time with confidence. Excitement and anticipation. Section number one: a hint - don’t give it away yet – done. D U double N done. Ah, here it is: The part everyone knows. Don’t give it away yet! A murmur, a burble. But a little more. Movement under the surface with a crescendo. Fingers gliding, up and down and down and up and down, like water rippling over a creek bed rushing between the stones with speed – with feeling – rushing further and further and finally bursting, bursting through, cascading down with laughter and joy and triumph and you’ve made it! You’ve made it, down into the denouement.

Peace and repose. Silence.

A Home in Australia, a Home Within Myself

Nitya Narasimhan

As another year goes by at an exhilarating speed, I find myself reflecting on the year that was. In January 2022, if I had imagined myself spending the next New Year in another country away from my family, I would have been scared and sceptical as I left what I called ‘home’ in India. But as 2023 begins, I am anything but scared, sceptical, or nostalgic, as I have not only found a new home away from home but have also started to piece together who I am as an individual.

So, who am I? I am a 25-year-old international student who is a very late bloomer, as this is the first time I get to live independently away from my family and all the safe and familiar places I was used to. Landing in Australia alone in February 2022, I was nervous. I had secretly hoped that I could have just continued and finished my degree online, as moving to a new country was way out of my comfort zone. Almost a year later, I realise that coming to Australia has been the most enlightening decision of my life.

For the first time in 25 years, I am solely responsible for all my decisions. From really small choices such as, “do I like tea or coffee better?” to the more drastic resolution to go vegetarian, independence has given me a newfound confidence and a unique sense of identity that I had never experienced before. Coming to a new country forces you to see more clearly who you are, as you break away from the patterns, people, and places you were used to all your life. Here, I navigated newfound friendships through which I understood myself better. Discussing whether to go out clubbing or to go to a restaurant to have a nice wholesome meal over a beautiful conversation (I always chose the latter) helped me understand myself a bit more. As I started feeling at home with my new friends, I also started feeling at home with myself. I started craving more quiet, introspective walks and watching movies alone at home.

As I rejoiced in making decisions on my own, I also met so many other students who helped me further explore my culture and country. I discussed India with my friends, both Indians and people from other countries. This led me to reconsider many of my previously held assumptions and explore what terms like “my culture”, “my home” and “my country” mean to me. Making Chai for my friends or sharing bits and pieces about my home that I would consider “normal”, but which my non-Indian friends considered unique, gave me a newfound sense of pride, acknowledgement and understanding about my own country, something I had taken for granted until recently. In most of my courses, I would be the only Indian, and certain questions like “what curries do you really like?” triggered a very retrospective journey: I realised that no meal I ever had in India was ever called “curry”, and how I would become a laughing stock at home if I were to call my protein (for lack of a better English word) “curry”. But this inquisitiveness of my friends who admired India made me dig deeper to learn more about my roots and where I come from. On regular calls with my mother, I would ask her for traditional Indian recipes that I could share with my friends or question her about the detailed significance behind different festivals my friends were curious about.

Not only was I exploring and understanding my roots, I gradually realised that I had also found a new home. The friends I made and the unexpected relationships I formed with people from so many different backgrounds and walks of life are now who I call my family. They invited me to their home on Christmas to have dinner as I was alone. They motivated me to reach my potential and they inspired me to be the best version of myself whenever I felt low.

Not only did I meet people who I poured my heart out to, and I also met my role models – regular people studying at ANU who had certain qualities and personalities that I wanted to acquire. I have always envisioned being an independent, confident woman with a strong, opinionated voice. At ANU, I have met so many people, and women especially, who are just that. I found myself spending more time with such women and trying to learn from them. As I slowly explored what I wanted to say, I also started imitating how these women expressed their opinions politely, yet in a way that everyone heard and understood them. I am still exploring this part of me, but I have already come a long way in voicing my opinions in class or group discussions and being more confident in myself.

As the new year brings new cheer, excitement and enthusiasm, my self-exploration journey is far from over. Moving to Australia has been one of the best decisions of my life, and I shall continue to evolve to be a better person and understand who I am in this beautiful world where I belong. Here’s to another year of deep exploration, self-actualisation and seizing the day to achieve all the dreams we have been waiting to fulfil. I hope you have a beautiful year too!

Euphoria Grace Barbic

Eu are everything

Eu are the wind, sky, and sea

Eu are all of me

Phor is the feeling

Phor is the sun in eur eyes

Phor is the moon’s song

I offer my heart

I trust eur eyes and eur hands

I wait for eur words

A gentle finger

A gentle touch on my heart

Eur heart matching mine

Art by Max Macfarlane

...blue

Euphoria In...

George Hogg

...red

...orange

To The Boy Who Showed Me I Could Love

Indy Shead

Dear you,

I wrote you a letter before I saw you again, tied it to a plane keychain - you promised to put it on your keys. Laughing as you read, “you’re so cute,” you whispered.

Well, here’s another one you will probably never read.

I wouldn’t have looked at you twice back home, especially considering my normal type is closer to my age, feminine and not in the army. But I fell in love with you.

You say it isn’t truly love - that it takes more than three weeks - that I was just saying it. But I wasn’t.

You’d been teasing me all week that you were going to “make me say it”. I’d told you that was crazy. But last night, I was curled up in your arms, crying because you were leaving in 5 hours to fly to the other side of the world, and I just wanted to be with you.

I whispered I love you in your chest - you pulled me in close.

I knew you wouldn’t say it back; I knew I fell stronger, quicker, for you than you did for me. And usually — logically — that would’ve stopped me from saying anything. But at that moment, I didn’t care. I still don’t care.

You say that in two weeks I’ll be over you, won’t even think about you, will be with somebody else — somebody better. Somebody closer. I say I don’t want anyone else, I just want you. You call me gorgeous and kiss my forehead. It’ll be ok, you say — but, in that moment, I don’t want it to be ok. I don’t want you to leave, to not be able to see you, not be able to touch your hand, not be able to feel you hold me.

You say it’s just lust but we both know that’s not the truth. I say I am falling, you say “I don’t know what that even means; you just have strong feelings” — I say “isn’t that just falling in love?” I want to stay in that moment forever, just lying in your arms.

I usually don’t feel secure; don’t trust anyone. I’ve stopped myself from falling so many times — found obscure and nonsensical reasons to cast someone off. My friend says “you must really like him if you’re not annoyed by his typos and bad grammar”. Oddly enough, that’s when I knew. And the fact that I got jealous, and that is rare.

So often I felt like we were the only people in the world. Lying under the full moon. You’re the only one I let stare into my eyes.

It was freeing — peaceful — weightless — on the back of your bike. I’ve never been an adrenaline junky, I liked to think I was — at least according to my Tinder I am — but I never felt safe.

I feel safe with you.

Even when I probably shouldn’t. Even when you tried to tip me off a JetSki, pushed me in the pool or drowned me in the ocean and stole my swimmers.

Your friend says you’re never serious. But you’re serious with me. I can’t help feeling special when you kiss my cheek.

We acted like a real couple so much I began to believe it, joking that we were on our honeymoon when people complimented us. They called you my boyfriend, my husband, and I didn’t want to correct them.

I romanticise people more than I romanticise things. Or at least the idea of them, of what they could be, what we could be. It’s always been a flaw of mine. To see you as perfect when deep down I know we have incompatibilities.

I’m crying about you now. You tell me “awwww baby please don’t be sad. Think about how much fun we had together.” And I say that is the problem, how much fun we had. I don’t want it to end.

I tell you I haven’t liked someone as much as I like you in a really long time — I say two years. I tell you I love you, and I keep telling you all night.

You don’t say it back and I don’t care.

For the first time in my life, I’m not fixated on how much someone likes me but instead on how I feel. I never feel secure in relationships, but I know where I stand with you, I know how to get you to open up, I can read your body language. For the first time in a long time, I’m not confused.

I tell you that I love you. A few times that night and once in the morning, kissing you goodbye. You smile and say I don’t mean it. I say I do. But now I’m not sure if I’ve fallen in love with you or the act of falling in love.

After my last breakup, I’d given up on love, swearing I’d prefer to be alone and that everyone I let in would eventually hurt me.

My friends told me to be careful — to not let you break my heart. But I did.

And I would do it again.

I didn’t know that I had a full heart to break again. But it feels different this time.

I think a piece of my heart will always belong to you, belong to everywhere we went, to every second we spent together, to the mementos I’ll carry back home, to the xs we keep sending.

We say farewell and not goodbye, and I like to think that if it’s meant to be, we will find each other again.

I fell in love with falling in love. And now I don’t feel so scared. I don’t know what will happen in the future, if we will ever meet again, but I’ll live my life and you’ll live yours and maybe one day we’ll fall in love again.

You’ll always have a piece of my heart and the one I give credit to for showing me how beautiful it is to open up again. Thank you for showing me that I can love again and, more importantly, that I actually want to.

Love, Indy

Natural Euphoria in Sports

Maitrey Khobragade

Euphoria is a feeling or a state of intense excitement and happiness. Nowadays, negative sentiment may surround ‘euphoria’ that makes it seem like a symptom of neuropsychiatric or neurological disorders. However, earlier neurophysiologists such as Thomas Laycock described euphoria as “a feeling of well-being and hopefulness.” I concur with this idea as I naturally experience euphoria without external stimulants.

Sex, drugs, music, and such have all been identified as euphoria catalysts, but I have experienced exercise-induced euphoria. This euphoria arises when a person exercises and their body releases phenethylamine, β-endorphin, and anandamide. Scientifically speaking, a cocktail of these compounds in the body helps us reach a euphoric state. However, the individual’s experience of a transient euphoric state is unique; for me, it was triggered by football.

As an athletic kid who played various sports, it allowed me to make new friends, play, and develop strength. Throughout my sports career, I needed to narrow my interests to specialise in one. When selecting a sport, I was advised to keep two things in mind: I must be competent and enjoy it. Himanshu, my well-meaning friend, introduced me to football. Reluctant as I was in those days, he hadn’t expected me to show up, so he picked me up from home.

Upon reaching the playground, a team was assembled for us to play against. As a rookie, I was assigned the position of goalkeeper. I was average at goalkeeping, but that allowed me to observe the sport and the engrossed players playing it. It was as if all their problems faded away when they entered the field. Defenders aggressively closed on attackers to defend the goal. The attackers were determined to score. Watching them play and make countless simulations in their heads to come up with a strategy to beat each other gave me a taste of euphoria.

Within a year of committing myself to the sport, I became the top performer in my age group. Defenders came up to me for practice, other wingers asked me for advice, and I became widely recognised as a formidable winger. My school also started to view me as a valuable player. I received special treatment from my coaches. Every day, through my training, I faced formidable defenders and using a flashy move to get past them gave me euphoria. Soon enough, I developed a personal play style that did not involve passing, teamwork, or other skills. The only thing it needed was a surge of confidence in myself.

With the skills I had developed, I became arrogant. I expected more from others, and seeing them falter drove me to anger. Their faults made me see them as worthless pawns. I felt euphoric when the defenders were hungry to get the ball from me. It excited me to fight with all my might and helped me find creative plays to get past people. As soon as I started having fun, my opponents would give up. “Is this what happens when I put in a little effort?” I thought.

The sport I loved was starting to feel like one big drag. My immense passion for the sport made me slowly come to hate it. Suddenly, losing something you treasure, its euphoric feeling, will make you angry and subsequently blossom into hate. I didn’t find meaning in showing up for practice because we would win anyway. My arrogance only grew stronger until I was injured in a district-level match. That was a match where I felt euphoric again after a long time. The defenders were terrific. I could tell they had polished their basics and were focused on me. That’s the one chance I got to experience ’The Runner’s High’’. For me, it is where the mind, body, and football connect so that the ball is an extension of my instincts. During the game, I don’t recall thinking about anything. I was absorbed in the world of football. I was consumed by euphoria. Everything was possible in that domain for me to conquer. Before I knew it, I had snapped out of it and badly injured my leg.

My life ground to a halt for three months. The injury gave me time to think about my actions. I was selfish. I wanted everyone to pass the ball to me. My close friends and family came to see me and take care of me. I was left to question whether that euphoria would come back to me. Was this euphoric state even sustainable if all it took to break its hold on me was this injury? Was there a point in chasing it at all if its breakaway would be so painful? The mental turmoil I lived through eventually led me to accept my arrogance, hatred, selfishness, and ego. After all, it was me, albeit a different me.

Everything changed when Himanshu stopped by to visit me. He was my only genuine friend who didn’t deal with me because I was skilled at football, and he needed me to score for the team. His style of play focused on teamwork and passing, which I’d despised. I’d rather have stopped playing entirely than migrate to his type of play. After my physiotherapist helped me recover, Himanshu showed up to help me practice.

It had been a long time since my feet had touched the ball. My body had changed physically. My mind was still fixed on me being the ‘king’ of the field. However, when Himanshu passed the ball to me, I sensed his feelings; the rotation and speed of the ball were personalised to me. I had never felt this way before. A spark was lit inside of me. With each pass, I felt closer to the person I was passing to. I could control the game’s flow without running or making flashy moves, and my passes were trustworthy. I transitioned from relying solely on myself to trusting other people. I felt euphoric knowing that my teammates were waiting for a perfect pass. It conveyed my gratitude to them for being present on the field and contributing to the team’s success.

Through this journey and altering my playing style, I experienced two different and distinct forms of euphoria. Science may deem them similar, but their origin sets them apart. Knowing oneself is not in achieving everything or in becoming flawless. Instead, it is to become aware of what one is and isn’t capable of. It is simply to forgive oneself for the things one cannot do alone. To know who and what you are, you must re-examine and acknowledge your true self. My selfish playstyle gave me a sense of euphoria, but it came from a place of negativity. The team-oriented playstyle I learnt from my friend originated in trust, and that euphoria is entirely different. I found my natural strength and sustainable euphoria in fighting for my team.

Art by Jasmin Small 25.

Fake It Til You Break It

Carly Johnson

Despite semester one classes looming over me, I was determined to start skateboarding, even if this meant meeting up with a random person via Facebook Marketplace. My parents’ warning ran through my head - “Don’t go there by yourself!” - so with my friend in the passenger seat, I set out to pick up my purchase. We arrived at the house, and I got out of the car, trying to remember the self-defence moves I was taught in high school, until a young boy walked out. I let out the breath I was holding, handed over the money, and we parted ways, myself, one skateboard richer.

While buying a skateboard certainly didn’t make the list of new year’s resolutions, replaced by more important matters such as strengthening connections at university and resetting my sleep schedule, I was always amazed by the other skaters I saw on campus.

Arriving back at uni, I grabbed my water bottle and bike helmet, changed into long pants and laced up my shoes, before heading eagerly down the stairs. Armed with the depths of knowledge that only YouTube can provide, I found a quiet car park on campus and practised getting on and off my board on the grass. I was too self-conscious to skate during the day, so skating in the evenings when campus was quieter became my routine.

I had no preconceptions that skateboarding was easy, but even so, the first session was an incredibly humbling experience, and my respect and admiration for skateboarders only increased. After practising pushing, debating which foot to place forward on my board and whether it was even positioned in the right direction, I was skating with more purpose and picked up some speed. In reality, I was probably skating at only 2km/hr, but I felt powerful. That was until I promptly fell off my board in an area with 24/7 CCTV footage. I’m sure anyone watching the recordings at that point would have laughed, as did I. The next day, I was sore in muscles I didn’t even know existed, as my ankles adjusted to an entirely new range of movement.

One of the things I really enjoyed about learning to skate was the entertainment I provided to people passing by. As a young female who doesn’t wear Vans, didn’t own Converse until last year and wore a bike helmet learning to skate, I might not be the typical image of a skateboarder. Once, as I began another lap of the car park, a random girl shouted, “You go girl! Do that thing!” Soon after, as I skated back towards the other end, a car pulled in to drop someone off. As I picked up my board and moved off the road, I got a laugh and wave from the driver.

Another thing I came to realise when skateboarding around campus was how uneven the ground is. As a pedestrian, you may think the ground is a relatively flat surface, but my limited skating experience would say otherwise. Walking down Uni Ave is one thing - I’ve tripped on the bricks lining the path past the chemistry, psychology and engineering buildings enough times - but skating? I felt a strong sense of impending doom whenever I got on my board and skated on that surface. Each crack in the footpath was an obstacle. Understandably, I came to love skating on the smooth road. However, as my confidence grew with each passing day, I branched out to different ground types. I once tried skating on the pebble footpath near South Oval.

Unfortunately for me, this path has a slight downhill section. As I reached it, my board started moving faster, and fear overcame me. I jumped off onto the grass and was left chasing after my skateboard on foot. Unfortunately for me, after attempting to skate over the small hills, it began to rain and I was caught out in the downpour. Nowhere near my residence, and with no umbrella, I simply accepted my fate of an outside shower.

As I reached it, my board started moving faster, and fear overcame me. I jumped off onto the grass and was left chasing after my skateboard on foot. Unfortunately for me, after attempting to skate over the small hills, it began to rain and I was caught out in the downpour. Nowhere near my residence, and with no umbrella, I simply accepted my fate of an outside shower.

Skating has taught me persistence, dedication, how to overcome fear, and the results that hard work and consistency can bring. I can now skate during broad daylight, albeit with a wobble here or there, euphoric and on top of the world, or only on top of a board on wheels, nonetheless.

If you see a tall, brunette girl with a fringe and a pink and black skateboard on campus, fear not! I’ll probably end up falling on the ground shortly after, as I relearn to skate following the summer break.

The Runner Raida Chowdry

Nothing escapes the strangle-hold of my anxiety, not breath nor thought. Like a sentient ivy plant, it slithers into my rib cage and tightens around my lungs, attempting to crush it into stillness. As you can imagine, this drives me insane. The ivy then creeps into my brain, engulfing it. This too is deeply frustrating.

In such cases, I fantasise about how nice it would be to insert my hands into my mouth, reaching down my throat to my lungs and rip apart the ivy. Since it’s not possible, I tend to go on a run.

When I run, something passes through me, a vital force; it eviscerates the ivy. With each breath, the rhythm of my lungs grows thunderous and my rib cage stretches against its botanic prison. The pace becomes unbearable, the wind pushing me back. I run with a rage, a strange viciousness to purge guilt, regret, pain or unruly frustration. I’m sure I’ve made faces. The ivy can no longer tolerate this pace; it loses its grip and begins to wilt. With thighs trembling with pain, calves on the brink of cramping, my head resembles a balloon with rocks inside; one small mistake and my head will come crashing to the ground. Even in the face of this physical agony, I don’t stop — not until every green tendril is gone. Until I am free from its suffocating torment, until I have reached clarity, like a snake with its skin, I shed that which confined me.

When I get back from running, I like to lie down. My problems are distant and negligible. The issues still exist — running does not alter the course of reality — but they are like ghosts, trapped in a coffin, screaming within and unable to escape. With the issues trapped, I am left with a feeling of tranquillity mixed with excitement and determination. The world feels larger, bearable, and my relationship with it far more congruent. But the feeling evaporates like water left in the blistering sun — slowly, delicately and unnoticed. Squirming in quicksand, I drown back in reality. The ghosts break through the coffin. The problems surround me, like being ambushed by thieves until the cycle repeats itself.

The high feels like a hoax the more I understand what happens. Running releases hormones called endocannabinoids, which, when released into the bloodstream, can reach the brain and lead to mood changes. Knowing this, for me at least, deteriorates the magic of running. Even the word endocannabinoids mocks the ivy as some immature simile. The feeling is fake, a defence mechanism against your body’s pain after running. Yet, this elusive and rather bogus euphoria is compelling, as I am sure many athletes will testify. It feels deeply primitive yet so fulfilling. Rewarding, too, because the euphoria is earned from straining my muscles, from pushing my body forwards and from being resilient against the harsh and rapid breaths. My body, as she seems to remind me, is made for this. While I constantly doubt whether she can go on for any longer, I find myself consistently surprised.

As it turns out, the euphoria from running is innately within us. Whether you are running towards or away from something, running is inherently human. Running is a mechanism specifically crafted to escape our many flaws which are what make us human. If you were to bend your head backwards right now, and press your fingers on the centre of the back of your neck, then tilt it forward, you will (if you did it correctly) feel a hard cord push on your fingers. That is your nuchal ligament and it’s only present in animals that are meant to (in contrast to can) run. This ligament stops your head from bobbing down to your chest like a rag doll when you run. Because running is intensely strenuous, endorphins are released into the bloodstream to reduce muscular pain. Our toes which are shorter than other primates, our Achilles tendon at our heel bone and our ability to absorb the body weight on our feet make the human body a runner. A slow one, perhaps, but a persistent one nevertheless.

Maybe that’s why there is euphoria involved. Because the body needs to run, but being outwardly under the command of the mind, it needs to create a rewards-based system to encourage it.

I personally find the history of running fascinating – from being hunters’ only way of getting food to leading armies in Ancient Egypt. It became an Olympic sport in 776 B.C. but only gained heavy momentum as a sport in the 1970s. Now, in this century of sit at a desk and stare at a screen, running is regularly medically prescribed. Running’s prevalence, I suspect, is because of its simplicity; in a world where the choice of being the lover or the fighter is both equally convoluted, it’s far easier to be the runner.

Photography by Chris Jackson

Art by Rose Dixon-Campbell

Break Your Feet to Break Them In

Emmanuelle Dunn Lewis

As a first-time buyer of Dr Martens (commonly known as ‘Docs’), I was cautiously optimistic. I’d heard about the horrors of breaking in Docs… the never-ending pain… but was reassured that it was all worth it - that, by the time the shoes were broken in, they would not only be comfy but in fact the comfiest pair of shoes I’d ever own. I was also told that they are sturdy – that the shoes would outlive me! (After having broken a pair of Converse in under a year and countless pairs of sandals, I was listening). I figured the pain couldn’t be that bad (my ankles had bled wearing flats before and I didn’t notice until I took them off) and that having cool-looking shoes fit for almost all purposes was a good trade-off. A little bit of pain for a lot of pleasure - rational to push through the pain… right?

I went to the one-stop shop for Docs – Redpath Shoes in Garema Place. After trying on a few pairs, I settled on the splattered paint ones (the goes-with-any-outfit black ones are overrated). I had, in fact, specifically chosen the suede ones which were much softer than the shiny and smooth leather. How could bendy shoes possibly give you blisters? I had no problems at all walking around the shop - I’d even go as far as to say that they were comfortable! Docs in hand, I left the shop a satisfied customer.

Attempt Number 1: It was a Tuesday morning. I’d waterproofed my Docs the night before (as instructed) and was ready to parade them around on campus. I was meeting a friend for coffee at Lab, a whole ten-minute walk from my college. I only wore one pair of socks…

Post coffee, I didn’t have time to go back and change shoes but limped on to Llewellyn for a lecture. I took off my shoes in the bathroom and was happily surprised to see the back of my foot swollen but intact. Desperate times call for desperate measures – netball socks wrapped with several layers of toilet paper had to suffice to dress my war wounds. The dressing worked, the pain was bearable enough to get to French.

It was a whole week before Attempt Number 2: my friends had told me that you had to break Docs in on a night out. That the alcohol ‘numbs’ the pain enough for you not to feel it or that you’re out of it enough that you don’t notice the pain. Now armed with two pairs of super thick socks, I was ready to try again. I can say it was much better this time; other than the walk over to the clubs, I only noticed the pain after half an hour or so. Getting from ten minutes to half an hour was progress, even if I was nursing my ankles back to health over the next week with blister band-aids.

After another few attempts, I’d finally decided it was time to wear my Docs to work. I’d made the 40-minute walk-over and all was going well until after about an hour, the pain kicked in. I didn’t have my blister band-aids with me or any other pairs of socks… the pain was so bad that there were one of two options after work: Uber or walk home barefoot. As a mildly broke uni student, I couldn’t justify paying $10 for an Uber back over a twenty-minute walk on a Friday afternoon. Walking it was. You know something is seriously wrong when you choose to walk on gravel barefoot rather than wear your

Docs… with hindsight, I should have just got the Uber. I got back with not only serious blisters on the heels of each of my feet but the soles of my feet throbbing so much that it hurt to walk barefoot on carpet.

My Docs still aren’t broken in, but I haven’t lost hope. Whilst I’ll probably need a week or two to forget the pain before I try again, I’m still convinced they’re a good investment. I just now know that when people tell you to ‘break them in’, they’re talking about your feet, not the shoes.

Skin

Lilian James

Content Warning: This piece centres on descriptions of sexual assault, stealthing, emergency contraception and reporting to police. Discretion is advised.

I stare at my naked body in the foggy bathroom mirror. I’ve washed away any physical trace of him but the knowledge that he’d seen me like this, so vulnerable, not even five hours ago, sticks to my skin.

“You’re so beautiful.” He’d whispered, his hand on my waist, before pressing his lips to mine. Beautiful was always my favourite adjective. I used to dream of the day a man said these exact words to me.

I get dressed and walk across campus to the pharmacy. My voice is steady and I meet the pharmacist’s gaze unapologetically. I can’t tell if he’s disdainful or pitying or if I’m just projecting my own anxieties onto him.

Back in my room, I open up the box. It’s strange, to empty out the contents and only see a single pill. It’s bigger than I expected it to be, and I can feel it scrape all the way down my throat.

A knock on my door.

“Just a second!” I call out, my chest tightening. There’s nothing stopping whoever’s outside from opening my door and finding the A3-sized list of instructions and side effects spread out across my bed. I shove it under a pillow.

Sarah leans against the door frame, arms folded.

“How was your night?” She smirks.

“Yeah, pretty good,” I say with a smile.

“Breakfast? I think people are already there.”

Aside from a few remarks about how hungover we’re feeling, we spend most of the walk in a comfortable silence.

Hugh and Phoebe are sitting outside. They laugh when they see me.

“You look rough,” Hugh says.

I smile and try to ignore the churning in my stomach. If I throw up, I’ll have to go back and spend another forty dollars at the pharmacy. I order an eggs benedict and an iced coffee. It’s colder outside than I thought and I regret not ordering a warm drink. Only a few metres away, a group of students are protesting course cuts. The sound of their righteous anger, staticky through the megaphone, makes me lower my head to the sticky table. A swirl of guilt lurks below the bile in my throat. I support their cause. If I’d made better choices last night, I might have been there shouting instead of wishing death upon them.

“We didn’t know where you went, you just disappeared,” Phoebe says as I pluck a chip off her plate.

“Yeah, sorry about that. If I’m being honest, I don’t remember leaving the club. Just dancing and then being in his apartment.”

“And then we called you, and it was such a girlboss moment. You were just like, yeah I made him get dressed and go get a condom.”

“Oh, yeah.” I laugh, I’d forgotten about that. “I was like, ‘do you have a condom?’ and he said no and so I told him ‘go get one then’ and he was fully naked and had to put all his clothes back on.”

“He was probably sprinting down the street to the servo or something.” We giggle at the image.

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

“How old was he, like thirty?”

“Thirty-three,” I say.

“Slay.”

“He didn’t seem concerned at all when I told him I was nineteen though, which I thought was a bit weird.”

“How was it?”

“Fine,” I answer. “Average.” And then the conversation moves on.

It’s only that evening, cross-legged on Phoebe’s white doona cover, that I tell her the whole story. I try to remember exactly what it was he said, but I can’t.

“Something about me being on the pill. And I looked at him and said, ‘I’m not on the pill.’ And he was genuinely shocked at that, which annoyed me because like, I gave absolutely no indication that I was.”

“You used protection though?” She asks.

I take a moment to reply to that. I don’t know if what I feel is shame or anger or hurt, but it sits heavy within me.

“Yeah, but he like… he took it off.”

I smile as I say it, although I can’t look her in the eyes.

“After you literally made him run out of the building to get one?”

“Yeah.”

She tells me that what he’s done is illegal. That, if I wanted, she’d go with me to the police. I tell her that I don’t even know his last name, that it wouldn’t be worth the hassle.

I don’t know how to tell her that the case wouldn’t hold up anyway. He’d asked, “can I come inside you?” And I’d said yes. I was drunk and tired and I just wanted the thing to be over, but I’d said yes.

It wasn’t until he’d shrugged, “oh, then I guess you’ll need the morning-after pill,” that I realised what he’d meant. I stared at him as the knowledge sunk deep through my bones, but he was looking down at his phone.

“You’ll need to transfer me forty dollars.” Was all I said. He looked up then, a smile spreading across his colourless face. He walked over to me, put his hand on my waist. I felt cold at the touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss me. I let him. But I didn’t kiss him back.

In truth, the only moment I felt beautiful that night was in the backseat of the uber home, out from the weight of his gaze. Short dress and cowboy boots, smudged mascara, tousled hair, and tears slowly rolling down my cheeks as I stared blankly out the window. I think of the carelessness with which men inflict pain. Their wounds are casual, levied without thought or intention. Too busy admiring your beauty to notice the knife they’ve left in the space between your lowest ribs. Too busy watching my ass as I leave to notice the trail of blood staining his carpet.

If you or anyone you know is affected by the content of this piece, please contact one of the support services below:

Sexual Violence Support:

Canberra Rape Crisis Centre, Crisis Line (Available 7am-11pm daily)

02) 6247 2525

1800 RESPECT (Available 24/7)

1800 737 732

ANU Women’s Department sa.womens@anu.edu.au

ANU Respectful Relationships Unit respect@anu.edu.au

Mental Health Resources:

ANU Counselling (call in the morning for next day/quicker appointments) (02) 6125 2442

Access Mental Health Unit (02) 6205 1065

Lifeline (Available 24/7)

13 11 14

ANU Crisis Support line (Available 5pm-9am weekdays, 24/7 weekends)

1300 050 327 (call)

0488 884 170 (text)

Strategic Psychology (private practice with shorter wait times but expensive) (02) 6262 6157

Hobart Place General Practice (bulk billing for ANU students)

(02) 6247 4342

Sugar on My Tongue Anonymous

Content Warning: This piece features detailed descriptions of disordered eating, specifically bulimia, purging, self harm and the emotions and actions associated with these. This piece may be triggering for some readers, personal discretion is advised.

There are certain feelings of euphoria that we should objectively be chasing. One submission in Urban Dictionary defines “high” as “the most amazing feeling in the world” and is often in reference to “that sweet, sweet Mary Jane” (slang for marijuana). However, that feeling of absolute zen and buzz is almost everywhere: the high of getting back a good grade or a promotion at work, from feeling healthy and knowing that your body is working in its best state. But the everyday highs cannot equal the feeling of a wonderfully empty belly and stomach acid tingling on your tongue.

I think that the worst thing about bulimia is the fact that you know it’s unhealthy. You’re painfully aware that it’s bad for you. That your stomach lining suffers. That the enamel that protects your teeth is hanging by a thread and your breath stinks. But it’s ok, you say, because the feeling of emptying your stomach of lunch in the bathrooms of Marie Reay is irreplaceable. Any bathroom will do though and any sink or bathtub in a crunch.

There’s no set definition for bulimia and for that I am almost grateful because every person affected by bulimia exhibits different behaviours. It can be broadly understood as a cycle of eating and then purging to expel unwanted calories. Describing or defining bulimia is so sterile and doesn’t explain at all why people do it. Why do people find themselves leaning over a toilet bowl throughout the day and obsessively think about what foods would taste even better coming up? It’s not just to rid your stomach of unwarranted calories — it’s because the feeling is euphoric. It’s a high.

I love food. A major misconception about people who struggle with healthy eating habits is that we hate food or that we are scared of it. Don’t get me wrong, I am definitely scared of food. But I am also obsessed with it — planning what I am going to buy and trawling the aisles of Coles after work gives me such a high. The possibilities! The world is truly my oyster when broccoli is on sale. So many types of pasta! The shapes are mesmerising and it feels cruel to have to choose only one for the week. Meticulously thinking about the meals I am going to cook is almost better than eating. There is such an art to sauces and seasoning, sauteing and simmering. The rituals are obsessive and mind consuming. There is not an hour that goes by where I do not think about food and feel the slight tingle and promise of euphoria when I throw it all up.

I like to think of my eating ritual as preparing for a great high. Just like you make sure to have a responsibly sober friend present and a ride home, I sip something sweet and chew very carefully. In the same way that you watch your clock waiting for whatever you’ve taken to kick in, I have a mental timer of 20 minutes ticking the minute food hits my tongue.

Like all great highs, the comedown is nothing short of horrific. The feeling of euphoria comes only when the mixture of food and burning stomach acid comes gushing from my stomach and out my mouth, coating my carefully trimmed fingers and splashing into the toilet-paper-lined toilet bowl. The moment of realisation and horror sets in almost immediately and you think about your New Year’s resolutions to be healthy — to feel the everyday high of being grateful for life and health. You think about the money you have just wasted, a good $8 of carefully prepared food sitting in a sad pile of mush on top of some toilet paper. You think of your immigrant parents who grew up poor and wouldn’t waste a crumb; what they would think of you leaning over this toilet bowl and the good food that now coats your fingers. Your teeth feel fuzzy, your head is light and you resolve to never do it again.

But then you’re sitting in bed and find yourself thinking of what you’re going to have for dinner tomorrow and you realise that the feeling of purging is simply too euphoric to give up. And so you plan, cook, sip and find yourself sitting next to another toilet bowl on your lunch break at work. The danger of euphoria is that it is addictive, which I’m sure you know. It’s why we all do things that aren’t particularly good for us, because the everyday high simply doesn’t compare to feeling a few seconds of intense euphoria. The everyday high of eating three balanced meals a day and having the energy to live a more fulfilling life is all well and good — it’s the sort of everyday high that we should be chasing.

In reflecting on what treatment plans have worked and the ways of thinking that have helped me out of my periods of craving a good purge, I have found that allowing myself to think of purging as a euphoric activity has helped. This sounds counterintuitive, but there are many euphoric things that we simply don’t do because there are consequences. In thinking whatever goes down must come up, you must also remember that whatever goes up must come down. Eating anything and everything you want is unhealthy — your risk of diabetes increases tenfold and so does your risk of developing heart problems. You stop yourself from that extra drink, even if you think that it would feel absolutely euphoric in the moment, because you will not feel euphoric in the morning. Purging is euphoric for me; there is no question. And like all good things in life, there are consequences. I am not a monkey nor a slave to my desires (most of the time) and accepting that it is euphoric has also helped me accept that I shouldn’t be doing it.

Knowing this is different from feeling this. I want to feel that everyday high, that feeling of euphoria that lulls in the background while I go about life. And the biggest step for me was knowing that while purging is euphoric, it’s simply not worth it.

If you or anyone you know is affected by the content of this piece, please contact one of the support services below:

Lifeline (Available 24/7)

13 11 14

Butterfly Foundation (Disordered Eating Specific Support) 1800 33 4673

ANU Counselling (call in the morning for next day/quicker appointments)

(02) 6125 2442

Access Mental Health Unit

(02) 6205 1065

ANU Crisis Support line (Available 5pm-9am weekdays, 24/7 weekends)

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Bushwalkers, Cave Crawlers, and the Tyranny of the 1964 ANU Sports Council

Marlow Hurst

Around April 6th of 1964, the ANU Sports Council held a routine meeting to hear club applications. Five aspirational clubs and societies threw themselves at the mercy of a regular who’s who of campus sport. A basketball club was an instant slam dunk and was rubber-stamped by the council intelligentsia. Similarly, the baseball club hit a home run and knocked it out of the park. But not every application was quite so cut and dry. The final three presented a philosophical and ideological conundrum to the council, a conundrum that probed a perennial question in the sporting world: what exactly is a sport? Well, in the opinion of the 1964 ANU Sports Council, while the Rock Climbing Club fit the bill, the Bush Walkers Club and Speleological (Caving) Society did not qualify — the former being too recreational and the latter thought to have “a certain academic flavour” (derogatory).

And so the Sports Council stood triumphant, having exiled the dastardly trail-tromping and cavern-crawling interlopers and graciously allowing entry to those fine, if not borderline recreational, rock-climbing folk. Upstanding athletes across campus could sleep easily, safe in the knowledge that their dues were being put towards worthy causes like ski lodge icicle landscaping and boat shed reshingling. Just another day of defending the fitness faith!

Naturally, none of that happened. Instead, what followed was a bitter and prolonged battle. A Special General Meeting (SGM) of the Council was called in mid-April, where, in a shocking twist, both the Speleology Society and the Bushwalking Club had their applications approved! But why this sudden change of heart? Well, almost immediately after the SGM, accusations flew thick and fast, with a Woroni editorial claiming that both prospective clubs were “unusually well represented” in this crucial vote and the Speleology Society’s inaugural newsletter reporting that the group was accused of stacking by embittered Sports Council hotshots. But Kevin H. J. Bryant, Woroni pen pal and Speleology Society committee member, assured the public in a letter to the editor that the alleged stacking was simply “transport arrangements… for some who might have otherwise found it difficult to attend — surely a reasonable measure.” A very reasonable measure indeed, especially when you consider that, once again according to our old friend Kevin Bryant, “opponents of the Speleos and Bushwalkers were given lifts to the meeting” as well.

Sadly, no matter how much transport they arranged, nothing could stop what happened next. The Sports Council fired back with a crippling broadside at their AGM June 8th. The council passed a constitutional amendment that adopted a list of sports recognised by the Australian University Sports Association (AUSA) and mandated inclusion on this list as a requirement of affiliation.This automatically disaffiliated the Bushwalking Club, the Speleology Society, and, almost spitefully, the Rock Climbing Club.

The move was met with outrage and condemnation. Woroni penned two editorials on the subject, calling the Sports Council a “glorified piggy-bank”, the decision “absurd”, and the strategy “short sighted.” And it was all of these things. As was noted at the time in Woroni editorials and letters to the editor, this list of supposed AUSA “recognised” sports was simply a list of inter-varsity competitions to which sports were added and removed as demand dictated. While it achieved the council’s short-term goal of ridding themselves of the bushwalkers and speleologists, it would also prohibit a surfing, wrestling, or archery club (among many others) from affiliating — all of which are indisputably sports. When you consider that Sports Union fees were mandatory for all students at the time, it all seems terribly unfair.

After this killing blow at the AGM, the dust settled and it’d take till March 1965, a little less than a year later, for the issue to be finally put to rest. At a Sports Council meeting and after lengthy discussion and debate, the ANU Caving Club, formerly known as the Speleology Society, was officially affiliated with the Sports Union — the only catch was a clause that allowed the council to review the decision at any time. Luckily for cavers at ANU and across the country, they elected not to review that decision and the ANU Caving Club lives on to this day. While it isn’t known when exactly the Bushwalking Club was allowed to affiliate with the Sports Union again, they would have certainly done so before 1967. In this year, in a merger with the Rock Climbing Club and Canoe Club, they helped to make the ANU Mountaineering Club (ANUMC)— which, like the cavers, is still alive and kicking.

And what about the contention that started this whole bloody saga: should these activities be classified as a sport? The ANUMC’s current Bushwalking and Mountaineering Officer, Byron Muir, says bushwalking doesn’t count. Caving Club President Gyver Fu says speleology should be in. Fifty-eight years later, the matter is unresolved. Let’s just hope nobody tells the Sports Council of 1964.

This scintillating saga was made possible by Woroni’s digitised collection. Its searchable database of editions stretches from the student newspaper’s inception in 1950 to its recent history in 2007. Without this invaluable archive, the trials and triumphs of the Speleological Society and Bushwalkers Club may have never been known. The collection can be accessed at https://trove. nla.gov.au/newspaper/title/666.

by Rose Dixon-Campbell

Art by Rose Dixon-Campbell

Pleasure-Pains

Is Acute Pain Distinguishable From Pleasure? Angie Ritchie

A couple of weeks ago I took a trip to the Art Gallery of NSW. After stumbling through the familiar upstairs galleries, I made my way down to the temporary exhibitions. It was here that I came across an intriguing art piece. Through anime, the artist, Lu Yang, explored the different perspectives and possible realities of heaven and hell. It got me thinking… if everyone has a different idea of pain and pleasure, how are they distinguishable from one another? More specifically, regarding smaller pains and pleasures, how can there be any objective consensus determining which is which?

The Buddha once said, “life is suffering”. Whilst this may be a rather dark way to begin this discussion, this idea touches on the complexities of pain and pleasure. As humans, we scream, cry and laugh in both pain and pleasure.

The idea that pain and pleasure are inextricably linked is not new. Several historical, religious and philosophical personalities have already covered this area extensively. From key teachings in Buddhism to modern perspectives in canonical literature, there is much discussion of the duality of pain and pleasure. The Four Noble Truths of Buddhism offer wisdom when it comes to the cause and elimination of suffering. Essentially they propose that:

1. Life is suffering (dukkha)

2. The cause of suffering is our constant need for desire

3. To eliminate suffering, you must eliminate desire and

4. To end suffering, follow the Middle path (essentially, aim for moderation)

Ultimately, if one ends their suffering, one will reach Nirvana. Compared to other religions, Buddhism has a much broader understanding of suffering, proposing that it can stem from pain and pleasure. To understand this more clearly, imagine yourself eating a brownie. Before you eat the brownie, Buddhism would say that your desire for the brownie is suffering. When you begin consuming the brownie, even though it may momentarily fulfil your desire and lead you to experience pleasure, this consumption is also suffering because it is only temporary. After you eat the brownie, you are left with a desire for more. Thus, you are also suffering. Whilst this understanding of the inextricable nature of pain and pleasure may seem complex, perhaps it provides some explanation as to why the line between pain and pleasure is so blurred.

But what do other historical figures have to offer? French philosopher Descartes understood pain as something inextricable from one’s soul. Proposing one of the first scientific theories on pain, he argued that pain could result from injury in a physical or psychological sense. Taking a more narrow view of suffering than Buddhism, as a monotheist, Descartes nonetheless recognised a connection between the different types of pain. He proposed pain and pleasure as mutually exclusive realities. From his perspective, pain is distinguishable from pleasure based on how the brain reacts to sensations. Ultimately, his research led him to believe that pain was felt in the brain, specifically in the pineal gland. Perhaps from his perspective then, pain and pleasure could be distinguishable based on how an experience affects the pineal gland.

As an eccentric man of the 19th century, Charles Caleb Colton shared yet another perspective regarding the inextricable nature of pleasure and pain: “Pain may be said to follow pleasure as its shadow”. The author seems to touch on a similar idea to Buddhism’s dukkha: where there is pleasure, pain underlies. Whilst each person’s understanding of pain and pleasure is very subjective and possibly influenced by cultural and historical context, there is some sort of consensus that pain cannot exist without pleasure and vice-versa.

In our context, sitting through compulsory English classes in high school may as well have been a form of torture for some. For others, those classes may have been an escape, an indulgence. The recent television show Euphoria, which follows a group of teenagers exploring identities and relationships in the contemporary world, clearly demonstrates the complex nature of pleasure and pain. For some (*cough, cough* Cassie), sleeping with Nate Jacobs (her best friend’s ex-boyfriend) is practically equivalent to Nirvana. For most of us watching Euphoria, however, that same “pleasure” for Cassie is closer to emotional abuse. Yet, this does not deter the majority of people from continuing to watch Euphoria. Is this because the show allows us to observe pain without physically experiencing it? Does it temporarily satisfy our desire to binge-watch?

On the most acute levels, the distinction between pleasure and pain is even more difficult to draw out. Consider, for example, extreme forms of exercise.

Most people running marathons do so because they enjoy the experiencewhether it’s the runner’s high they receive, the feeling of accomplishment or the benefit they get from setting daily training habits. But, at the same time, most runners experience uncomfortable acute pains alongside this pleasure. Perhaps it’s the daily exhaustion and eyebags from waking up at ungodly hours to train. Maybe it’s the sore muscles and enormous appetites which result. The point is, for most people who run marathons, a duality of pain and pleasure exists even at the smallest levels. Waking up early for training is a partly painful experience, but it is also recognised as a pleasurable one.

Whilst most of us probably aren’t training to run forty-two kilometres, it’s interesting to consider how these acute “pleasure-pains” operate in our own lives. Consider the phenomenon below and ask yourself if you like, dislike, or are indifferent to the following “pleasure-pains”:

• Eating spicy foods

• Engaging in BDSM

• Eating ice cream with sensitive teeth

• Receiving attention in a toxic relationship

• Consuming large quantities of sugar

• Drinking alcohol

• Weight-lifting

• Procrastinating

Chances are high that there is at least one “pleasure-pain” that you have experienced on that list. Whether it’s emotional, physical or physiological pleasure, it’s odd to realise that it’s underscored by pain more than you’d assume. Whilst different individuals may have different understandings of pain and pleasure, the philosophical approach of Buddhism to pain and pleasure particularly resonates with me. For me, acute pain seems virtually impossible to distinguish from pleasure. After much deliberation, I find myself accepting that the “pleasure-pain” duality manifests in my experiences more than I previously considered.

Eating Well for Our Environment

How To Live More Sustainably One Meal At A Time Liam Berryman

With the New Year not long passed, some of us have given ourselves new promises and ambitious resolutions to make 2023 euphoric. I didn’t make any, but if you did, your year is starting off a fair bit more organised than mine. However, if there is one thing I have this year that is close to a New Year’s resolution, it is to be more environmentally conscious.

Many hold this sentiment, but it also raises the question, how do I minimise my impact on the environment? The tools to fix our environment often seem to be out of reach so all we can do is sit and watch. While it is true that we need to make changes on a global scale to save our environment, smaller and individual changes are some of the best steps we can take to have a genuine impact.

Changing what we eat is one simple way to achieve significant benefits in reducing our greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions and minimising our direct effect on local environments. Worldwide, food production is the leading cause of deforestation, responsible for about one-quarter of global emissions and the vast majority of water pollution. Making changes to your diet will have significant short and long-term benefits. Here is some information on how to make your grocery shop genuinely beneficial to the environment.

How to Help the Climate

In terms of GHG emissions, Australia’s agriculture sector is its third largest polluter, narrowly behind the transport sector. Luckily, using our dietary choices to lower agricultural emissions takes less time and is much better suited to student budgets than buying a brand-new electric vehicle.

I’m definitely not the first to say it, but reconsidering our consumption of animal products goes a long way. Yet, this doesn’t mean we all have to go vegetarian or vegan, even though that will significantly lower our carbon footprint. Livestock comprises the vast majority of Australian agricultural emissions, so reconsidering which and what quantity of meat we consume can make significant changes to our climate impact.

Balancing our consumption of meat and animal products is essential, as not all animals are born equal in terms of GHG emissions. A CSIRO study compared the amount of GHG emissions released in farming 1 kg of four different types of meat. Emissions are measured in terms of CO2 equivalence which means that if the actual emission is another gas it is converted into the equivalent amount of CO2. The CSIRO study showed that the amount of CO2 emitted for:

• 1kg of beef was 25.2kg

• 1kg of lamb was 19.4kg

• 1kg of pork was 6.3kg

• 1kg of chicken was 2.9kg

To put this into perspective, the average Australian passenger vehicle emits 146.5 grams of CO2 per kilometre driven. With that in mind, consuming 200 grams of beef is equivalent to driving 34 kilometres

in a car, whereas 200 grams of chicken is equal to driving 4 kilometres. Changing your steak to a chicken burger could have as much impact as swapping your trip to work from car to bike.

Most of these emissions come through methane, which is highly potent, trapping up to 83 times the heat of CO2 over 20 years. While new technologies are being researched to lower methane emissions, they haven’t yet been widely adopted. This means that reconsidering the methane our diets produce has significant short-term effects in limiting our contribution to climate change.

The Harms of Food Waste

The environmental impact of food waste in landfill is significant on a local and national level. Landfills create a form of toxic run-off called leachate, which ruins soils, pollutes groundwater and requires natural habitats to be cleared.

Landfills are ugly, polluting and a lazy alternative to simple alterations we can make in our diet. Food waste in Australia contributes to 35% of waste in landfill and about 2600 gigalitres of water used to grow it, which would fill over 1 million Olympic swimming pools. This is concerning considering the deterioration

of many of Australia’s native wetlands and farmlands due to overly irrigated water systems. Don’t think this is just due to food scraps either; in Australia, we waste over 30% of the food we purchase.

The simplest way to prevent food waste is to plan what you will really eat in a week. Purchasing vegetables just to throw them away after they rot in the back of a fridge is environmentally harmful. Not only could they poison wherever they end up, but they take up to decades to decompose in landfill. However, as we all know, not all plans come to… fruition. At times those tomatoes may slip our minds and go a bit soft for a sandwich, so why not give those vegetables a new life through pickling, roasting, or putting them in a soup, all of which are perfect ways to extend the life of food.

Considering Our Diets

We can’t stop our emissions tomorrow, but we can start to consider the marginal changes we can make in our own lives to lower our environmental impact. Re-thinking areas such as our diets will lay the groundwork for more significant changes that will be taken further down the line to create a properly sustainable world.

Happiness in Capsule Form Anonymous

Content Warning: Drug use, specifically ecstasy use for recreational and therapeutic purposes.

I can feel the pill. It’s started doing something, but not quite everything yet. We’ve had them tested; we know what we’ve got. 170mg of pure ecstasy is working its way into our bloodstream, pushing against the soft tissue of our minds. The festival around us has been fun, but this is the main event, the real headliner.

Colours seem to brighten, and suddenly I’m smiling and everything is different and strange and wonderful. Nothing can shake this bliss. With my arms stretched in the air catching a slight breeze, I feel myself laugh at that otherworldly sensation.

It’s almost maddening in its intensity; hours pass while we dance and hug. Communication becomes short; “I love you” is the only thing we need to say. Yet it all feels so natural; we’re only rolling (a slang term for the use of MDMA) on the serotonin our body naturally produces and uses to create the typical sensation of happiness. Those impossible crystals have just encouraged our bodies to give us all we’ve got.

Suddenly, the world warps, changing monumentally in a matter of seconds. The edges of my vision are distorting, like discarded aqua-green cellophane, and I’m standing at the last act of the night, taken completely by surprise into sobriety.

MDMA, also known as ecstasy, is the drug perfect for long days at music festivals, telling your friends how much you appreciate them and creating lasting self-acceptance.

Ecstasy acts on the body by releasing all the serotonin stored in the brain. Serotonin is the neurotransmitter associated with the regulation of mood and chemical rewards that create the sensations of pleasure and happiness. Taking MDMA causes the user to experience a period of complete euphoria in which they may feel more confident, blissful and accepted by others and themselves. For me it makes my heart open and at its best reminds me of my fondest memories, like being surrounded by friends on those last precious days of summer.

That said, it took me a long time to unpack the stigma surrounding MDMA before choosing to explore this new experience. Despite previously having had incredibly positive adventures on psychedelics and other substances, Ecstasy felt like a terrifying new horizon that I wasn’t ready to face.

Ecstasy has been the victim of a consistent fear campaign since it gained wide popularity in the 1980s from the nightclub and rave scene. The US classified MDMA as a Schedule 1 Drug as part of its War on Drugs which allowed for maximum sentencing for possessing and distributing the substance. This hard-line drug policy is now widely understood to have been based on explicitly racist goals to disproportionately target and persecute communities of racial minorities. Nonetheless, the fear of legal repercussions and propaganda-derived perception of the substance’s danger still remains.

It is important to note that careless MDMA use does come with significant risks to users. As this drug consumes all the serotonin in users’ brains, like squeezing a sponge dry, it can cause severe comedowns in which users can experience day-long periods of depressive feelings. This presents a clear risk to consumers’ mental health and general well-being, which may push users to use more of the substance or other drugs increasing their chance of overdose. Countless preventable deaths have been linked to ecstasy and counterfeit pills which have been sold as ecstasy.

These fatalities can occur due to pills being cut with other more dangerous drugs as adulterants (to make a dealer’s supply of pure ecstasy go further), and users’ reckless behaviour whilst under the influence of the substance. Overdoses are unfortunately also one of the most common causes of harm caused by the drug. This can be caused by individuals intentionally taking more than recommended dosages of MDMA to intensify the experience or due to mistakes and intentional deceptions regarding dosages made by those supplying users with the substance. Another avoidable harm is Serotonin Syndrome which occurs when individuals use MDMA whilst already using other stimulant drugs such as antidepressants. This lethal combination pushes the body to radically overproduce and release serotonin, causing delirium, seizures and death if untreated.

However, there are steps that governments and large-scale events like music festivals and raves, where the use of this drug is common, can take to decrease these potential harms. Such as offering accessible pill testing and providing widespread education on harm reduction practices. The Alcohol and Drug Foundation, an Australian charity aimed at minimising harm from substance use, suggest that individuals plan to include harm-reduction strategies when taking MDMA in a recreational context. These recommendations include preparing by utilising pill-testing services to understand exactly what strength and dosage you are actually planning on taking and avoiding mixing the drug with other intoxicating substances. During the high, they suggest having regular breaks from strenuous activities like dancing and regularly drinking moderate amounts of water, roughly 250500ml an hour to help reduce the risk of potentially deadly dehydration and inversely overhydration. Additionally, they stress the impact that mood and environment can have on individual users. Taking MDMA when in a positive state of mind, in a safe environment and with trusted friends can reduce the chances of having a bad experience.

I do want to highlight that this article should not be taken as conclusive safe-use advice for all MDMA use. Instead, I hope for it to be an entry point to the topic which should be supplemented by balanced research into the risks presented by the substances use and current harm-reduction advice. Each individual considering personal use of the substance should consult a wide range of sources as background research and responsibly create a detailed plan for any personal exploration of this drug.

Personally, through research, I deconstructed the myths and fear-mongering surrounding MDMA whilst gaining a healthy respect for the harm-reduction practices essential for having the safest possible experience whilst using the substance. The first time I rolled is a moment in my life that I will never forget. I let my psyche dissolve into the experience of an intimate festival with some of my closest friends and felt the sheer bliss of the day overwhelm me. Infrequent and purposeful use means that ecstasy still has a certain kind of magic for me and has deepened my relationships with those closest to me.

Medical researchers have recently begun to explore MDMA’s use in drug-assisted psychotherapy. Its ability to allow users to explore their traumatic memories without fear or self-judgement means it has emerged as a breakthrough drug for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) treatment. Rick Doblin, the founder of the Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies, has been a powerful voice for adopting MDMA into clinical practice. His work to educate medical professionals and pressure government agencies in 2004 led to the first modern clinical trial of MDMA for the treatment of PTSD. These initial tests were exceptionally successful, with 75% of patients showing meaningful and sustained lessening of their PTSD symptoms. As there have been so few adverse effects to participants, the doors have been thrown open for the exciting world of research into MDMA and other psychoactive substances.

While I don’t claim to have had such profound effects from my use of MDMA as a party drug, these clinical outcomes contribute to my understanding of ecstasy as a force for good which can offer life-changing experiences. Experimentation with MDMA, as with all drugs, should be approached with caution and an understanding of the risks and benefits inherent to its use. When used with this appreciation, ecstasy can contribute to monumental moments and offer unbridled elation coupled with definitive self-actualisation.

Research Spotlight - Quantum Computing with Jake Lyons Interview

By Daniel Pavlich

ANU is full of exciting research that is often at the very cutting edge of its respective field. Unfortunately, if you aren’t directly involved or know someone that is, it is highly likely that you won’t hear anything about it. That stops now. We can all revel in the euphoria of hearing from Jake Lyons, who is completing a summer research internship at the Research School of Physics. He takes us into the high-tech world of quantum computing and gives us a snapshot of his current research.

What is Quantum Computing?

Quantum computing is a new frontier of technology that fundamentally alters the basis of computation. Classical computers, like your iPhone or laptop, store information in bits that exist as 0s or 1s, which you may know as binary code. A quantum computer, instead, stores information in qubits. Rather than existing in either a 0 state or a 1 state, a qubit exists in a superposition, or mixture, of both states at once. The spin of an electron, which at any time is a superposition (combination) of both up and down spin at once, is a physical representation of this system.

Qubits must eventually be measured to extract information from a quantum computer, which fundamentally changes them. Instead of existing in superposition, they are said to collapse, being seen as either a 0 or 1. The weird thing about this measurement operation is that, as far as we know, it is entirely indeterministic—that is, we cannot predict which state a qubit will collapse into when we measure it. To see how this can be useful, consider the case where we have two bits next to each other on a classical computer. There are four possible states: 0-0, 0-1, 1-0, and 1-1. Therefore, four states must be created separately on a

classical computer to realise each possibility.

However, on a quantum computer, just two qubits in a row would be needed to represent all four possible states. This is because both qubits are in superposition, meaning they exist as both 1 and 0 simultaneously. Therefore, only two quantum states must be created to realise all possibilities on a quantum computer. This opens the door to quantum parallelism, whereby many possible states can be operated upon simultaneously, dramatically speeding up computation.

What is it Useful For?

Parallelism improves our ability to solve search and optimisation problems. One typical example is supply chains for certain goods. A quantum computer can determine the optimal flow of goods between manufacturing, packaging and distribution plants by solving a quadratic assignment problem, creating incredibly efficient, resilient supply chains. Simulations of this kind are often applied to designing hospitals that are efficiently spaced or creating an exam timetable that minimises clashes. Quantum computers speed up these calculations, significantly increasing their applicability.

Simulation and Clean Energy

Quantum computation also promises to help us understand the behaviour of small-scale particles that are quantum in nature. A so-called quantum simulation would be a significant boon in our migration to clean energy. My current summer research is designing a quantum algorithm to model plasma, a state of matter characterised by a pool of charged particles like ions and electrons. This is important for developing stable tokamak reactors to establish net-positive nuclear fusion energy.

Traditional nuclear reactors utilise the splitting of atoms, nuclear fission, to generate energy. Not only does this create nuclear waste, but it also doesn’t utilise all of the potential energy it could. Fusion reactors join atoms together, like what happens in the sun, producing vast amounts of energy with less waste. However, we are yet to

design a fusion reactor that can be harnessed. The Tokamak reactor is our best bet so far. It heats hydrogen gas to mind-boggling temperatures, where it becomes plasma. Understanding the behaviour of these plasma particles is incredibly important to reaching fusion soon. We hope that algorithms like the one I am working on will aid this.

Real quantum computers are still in their early development, but they are improving rapidly. Soon we could see this new technology transform our understanding of things like pharmaceuticals and batteries. The first quantum computers will be large-scale, only accessible to the government and big tech. One thing’s for sure; quantum computers will change life as we know it, hopefully for the better. Who knows, maybe your grandchildren will have quantum computers in their neural implants!

Language, Feeling, Culture: the Terrific Trio Ariana Haghighi

“To speak” and “to feel” appear to be as distinct as actions can be. But language is proving to be more powerful than once thought; its influence extends beyond that of a label, as it can influence other forces such as emotion. If words can hold us captive, they are also the knight of deliverance; they grant us power by ascribing a name to a feeling. Psychological research examining the tug-of-war between language and emotion reveals the closely entwined relationship between the two forces. Emotions affect the evolution of language and how we use words, and language gives back, in turn influencing our feelings.

Languages boast a wealth of words, into which we dip and grab and change, trying to best articulate ourselves. The universal emotions we feel have shaped the development of languages over time. A day of fine weather may be splendid, pleasant or delightful, whilst one of rain may forebode gloom and doom — all of the world’s languages brim with words to describe positive and negative feelings. There is not much left to be desired for a keen wordsmith. When speaking a language, the possible synonyms for any word feel endless — but studies suggest that the pool of positive words reaches far deeper than negative.

Known as the “language happiness bias”, this phenomenon of positive abundance might come as a surprise. The conscious human mind is a naysayer, self-doubting and critical of others. However, research reveals our sunnier subconscious has a keen eye for silver linings. As a result, the brain tends to remember and use more positive words, creating a cloud of euphoria.

As well as our emotions shaping language, psychological research also increasingly recognises the power of language in shaping how we feel. Rather than simply being a label pasted on an emotion, words reach into us, twisting and melding our mental state like hands to damp clay. Emotions are primitive stabs inside our bodies; newborns wail because their sadness manifests as a tug at the stomach lining; a heartbreak feels like a twisting knife in the ribcage. Language grants meaning to what is beyond description, allowing us to place individual sensations into a societal context. Giving a name to an otherwise ambiguous emotional response reduces activity in brain areas such as the amygdala, leading to both calmness and reduced uncertainty. Without language, infants respond similarly to all facial expressions perceived as “negative”, such as anger, fear and sadness, struggling to differentiate between the nuances of negativity.

With words possessing more than labelling power, this raises the question: how do languages, with differing vocabularies for emotions, shape the speaker? Whilst I can clearly delineate the distinct meanings between the feelings of “shame” and “embarrassment”, most East Asian languages refer to both concepts with one word. These cultures are collectivistic, where internal embarrassment is less recognisable than the negative feelings of the entire family unit. Similarly, there is no direct translation for “self-esteem” in Mandarin, reflecting the lesser importance placed on selfhood compared to the community. Other languages, such as Turkish,

employ behavioural descriptions in place of conventional feeling words (such as “laughing” for joy and “yelling” for anger) highlighting how emotion arises through interpersonal relations.

We accept that the range of emotions felt within a culture affects the development of that group’s language. It flows that, in turn, the words they speak influence feeling. As language allows us to perceive and interpret the emotions of others, such as what unravels on a friend’s face, it also allows us to interpret bodily responses within ourselves.

In a study into the role of language in enhancing emotional experience, participants wrote a story based on the emotion of fear or anger to anchor this word in their minds. The researchers then disturbed their emotional state with unpleasant or highly arousing music. Results demonstrated a clear link between the induced emotion and consequent behaviour. For example, participants in the fear condition acted fretfully and displayed risk-averse behaviours of shutting their ears.

Given the broad spectrum of human emotion, it is also inevitable that there are feelings that have not yet been put into words, at least in certain languages. To the disappointment of translators everywhere, some specific emotion words cannot be seamlessly transferred from one language to the next. There are some “untranslatable” emotions that have become common vernacular, such as the recognisable “wanderlust” or “schadenfreude”. But it is not limited to a select few. Researchers have gathered at least 1,200 examples of this occurrence. Norwegians frequently refer to the feeling of “peiskos”, much more clunkily translated to “cosiness in front of a fire” in English — a sentiment clearly produced from rainy weather. “Tarab” is an Arabic word for “euphoria”, a feeling specifically induced by grooving to music, attesting to the significance of classical Arabic music in Arab cultures. Culturespecific words describing emotions are windows into the quirks of different communities and give insights into their foundations. Language is both the bedrock and the ornament; we could not understand the distinctive elements of culture without it.

Like the infant faced with indescribable emotional expressions, we too are ignorant in the face of linguistic uncertainty. Since there is no polyglot on Earth who can speak every language, there will always be an inkblot of opaqueness in our understanding. But every new language we learn and interact with begins to bridge that gap — both linguistic and emotional. Using the words of another language comes with the gift of experiencing feeling in another form, not just memorising a new vocabulary. Learning more about other languages enhances our personal understanding of the world, continents of cultures and seas of feeling.

I

An Almost Silently Yes Perfectly Afternoon

Jerome Arrow

This piece was inspired by the poetry of Robinson Jeffers.

“Mountain and ocean, rock, water, and beasts and trees

Are the protagonists, the human people are only symbolic interpreters.”

Begin like him on Hungerfield. The thing’s excellence is measured against the old kin. Says so at the end of the first versicals: to begin: But then he’s forgotten. Buried out by Tor House, the longed-for Inhuman view of Point Sur. One structure voided. Nullified, he wrote, in the rings of the atoms (“spinning demons”, or Kekulé’s Ouroboros), screaming through the whistle of a cracked and lipless lekythos.

II

Taralga Road after flooding.

Some scrap of bone or gristle redly smeared That fumigates the ute a roadkill deer. An estrangement of limbs repeatedly arranged, a pilous clotment, venous, borderless to the bitumen. Rain will return to the Central Plains over the weekend. Expect Flash-flooding and never drive drive through flood w— —ell the break arrives

When a spell is most wanted. Groans from the verandah, Mid-century columns become level-measures.

And the sheep fly over the hills slung belly wise under an Airforce evac.

III

Then the image is its definition and the name is something else and already to say about it is to remember it only, it is to remember it only, and the definition lies elsewhere and at other times, yes, it lies in an instant that is already ended. Unamuno’s Soloviev or someone else who said that doubting brings us nearer to that incomprehension from which it is possible to begin, but I think that that this is is also the shining and empty ending. That road familiar in spite of itself.

Artist’s Statement:

I was driving home after recent floods. Sometimes, there is something like euphoria that comes and makes a sign language between the world and me. When disparate images and thoughts seem to come and tell the world and to say something of this upheaval. It is a kind of revelation. It is a kind of shaky revelation because when I try to tell people about it, it is lessened and less sure. Probably when the words get in the way

Reflections

Carly Johnson and Finlay Clarke

Give Yourself Away

Aspen Blomfield

City Gallery Wellington/Te Whare Toi is bountiful. I visited the gallery several months ago to find a Joanna Margaret Paul retrospective on the first floor, a Martin Basher and Ben Buchannan exhibition on the second, and a collection of ceramic objects curated by Jess Johnson on the third. The latter had a scented dimension; its predominant bases Civet, a glandular secretion from small mammals, and Coumarin, a bittersweet compound diffused by plants as a defence mechanism, an expansion of the artistic world to a third or fourth or fifth sense. But it was a single copy of Emilie Rākete’s 2016 article In Human: Parasites, Posthumanism, and Papatūānuku which really caught my attention. The 6-page essay was peeking out from underneath coffee table books on a bench in the lobby.

This was my first time visiting New Zealand/Aotearoa. I’d seen the landscapes on peoples’ Instagram stories and in Hollywood blockbusters; Waihau Bay in Taika Waititi’s Boy, and the Central Otago/Ōtākou mountain ranges in Jane Campion’s The Power of the Dog. But New Zealand/Aotearoa was all-encompassing in the flesh. Wellington/Te Whanganui-aTara, the capital city, is surrounded by tall, undulating hills, pine cone forests, and a large, glassy harbour. Boats come and go, cars crawl, and planes land, but nature is so much bigger, simultaneously suffocating you and alleviating your fears. Shortly after my arrival, drunk on fatigue, I lost myself in nearby woods. Thousand-year-old tree roots strangled dirt paths. Silver ferns unfurled. Birds cried like chainsaws and car alarms, glass shattering and balloons deflating. It was sunny overhead but it smelt like recent rain; water must have pooled in giant leaves.

An alien affair. And just across the sea.

Emilie Rākete eschews a “hegemonising Chain of Being which hierarchises humanity as an epistemological category above worms, lice, and land.” We’re just one small function of the land. One function of ecology. Rivers, lakes, hills, plants, birds, insects, buildings, sunlight, heat, warmth, presence, absence. It’s all part of one big, interconnected system. And none of these phenomena are placed above the other. Humans can try their best to manipulate the environment, but nature does not discriminate. The great white doesn’t choose who to bite, or the avalanche whom to bury. Rākete calls this whakapapa, a fundamental Māori principle marked by “fundamental sameness”, “dynamic equity”, and “common ancestry”.

I’ve always had an irrational fear that I harbour a tapeworm within me. Sashimi at a shopping centre sushi stall gone wrong. Emilie Rākete says that’s okay. I’m not “an individual subject with bounded and inviolable borders”. I am “an environment in which other individuals may also operate.” I am “Land/Papatūānuku writ small.” Just as humans can enter the water and take the salmon, the tapeworm can invade too. If I suspect I carry one, I’ll still have it looked at. Still take antibiotics or undergo surgery. I’ll just be more understanding.

Are parasitic worms all that common?

While in Waipara, a small town in the South Island/Te Waipounamu, I sprawled arms and legs across wild grass and listened to Solar Power by Lorde, an album both formative and validating. The song Oceanic Feeling charts gratitude, “We could go fishing / you’ll catch the big one / sliding the knife under the skin / grateful for this offering / and all the living things under the sun” and cognisance, “I got this power / I just had to breathe out (breathe out, breathe out, breathe out, breathe out) / and tune in (tune in, tune in, tune in, tune in)”. Right then and there, sun shining down, I realised my place, and power, in the family of things.

Still fixed to the grass, I finished reading The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson, a unique blend of autobiography and theory. Nelson says, of her partner, “rather than being from or for another, you felt you came from the whole world, utterly plural”. It’s an age-old adage, but it’s true, and it’s poignant; all energy is borrowed. We’re made of star stuff. The Stegosaurus. The fallen oak. The “many-gendered mothers of [our] hearts”.

There’s not much order to these paragraphs. Structure is such an estranged concept.

This article was penned as an homage to Y tu mamá también by Alfonso Cuaron. That 2001 Mexican road film? Yeah, that’s my favourite movie. I was going to write about the final scene; Luísa, 28 years old, dying of cancer, yoked by capitalism, stepping out into the ocean. She tells Julio and Tenoch, two teenage boys, “life is like the surf, so give yourself away like the sea”. Embracing the world? I’d call it euphoria. Ecstasy. Whakapapa.

Know Me Alex Lane

I was told recently by a new friend that something I had written made them feel too known. By luck, I had exposed them as just another person, believing they were inscrutable, and not like all these other people. It seemed that they feared this perception, this call-out, this loss of uniqueness.

It’s quite the proposition. I would assume that there was something pleasant, possibly complimentary, in knowing that another person could understand you. Part of me thinks that in our big bad world where we are one of billions, to be spotted from the crowd would lift one up.

But at the same time, I understood it almost completely. Foucault wrote that systems of knowledge prop up systems of oppression. The modern state is built on classifying, studying and ultimately knowing its citizens, according to the state’s epistemological framework.

The idea of “being perceived” has taken off on social media, particularly in what I will optimistically call online gender discourse. I still don’t fully understand it, but I’d hazard it denotes how perception is not a passive activity, but rather we know when we’re being perceived and, to an extent, how we’re being perceived. In the vein of Foucault, it’s easy to see how simply ‘being known’ feels constrictive at the best of times.

I feel it myself, from time to time. Life is nothing but signalling and I hate meeting someone and watching, in their eyes, as I am slowly thrown into a stereotype. I sometimes excuse being mispronoun-ed on the grounds that the person is not trying to cast me into the incorrect gender but that they are too old and cannot help but perceive me a certain way. I am, in case it is unclear, ever conscious of how I look. Crippling narcissism, I’ve heard it called.

Yet, there is an intimacy to being seen, like when lovers fondly explore each other. I would go so far as to say that we need those few people in our life who really can see into our souls, who can know us so fully. There are moments when we can be perceived passively, often because there is a shared vulnerability. I do not like being seen naked, except after sex. I hate to be caught getting ready, especially because I faff around, but I enjoy getting ready with someone else. Likewise, there is no greater solidarity than mutually fucking up, be it in class or at trying something new.

I believe the other fear that underlies the anxiety about being seen is the concern that if we are observed, the cliches we try so hard to reject, and the subcultures we’re desperately trying to embrace, will be obvious. This is the contradiction. We don’t want to be seen, but if we are to be seen, it should be as someone wholly separate from the rest of the world. Like a deer caught in the headlights which tries to stand up and appear as an eldritch. I embody this almost completely, and frequently worry that I look like I’m trying too hard. It’s only as I’ve come to university, and gotten slightly more independent, that I’ve come to understand that I do look like I try hard, but that it is not necessarily a bad thing.

The fear of being perceived then belies a paradox much like any anxiety. If one person is concerned about being typecast, then it’s likely that we all are. And if we all are, it isn’t really a problem, is it? Because we’re all equally vulnerable, and not in a position to judge anyone else. Alternatively, I could try touching grass more.

I have the bad habit of falling in and out of friendships. Moreso out of them than into them. In the interest of optimism and transparency, it is part of something diagnosable, and my therapist tells me I can overcome it. I remain sceptical.

Nonetheless, living so close to a revolving social door provides some insights. We seem to assume that the turbulence of life pushes people to reject strangers and company. I disagree. There is a wonderful streak of humanity that, despite everything, chooses friendship and community time and time again. And I think that it is this streak which understands that it is better to let people in, even if there is that risk of being hurt. Letting, or even better, wanting ourselves to be known, is a simple part of this. It’s a neat little way of choosing to connect rather than isolate and that’s important.

Online criticism, for instance, of gatekeeping, captures this perfectly. Gatekeeping is a more explicit, direct way of cutting oneself off from others. I believe it frustrates people because it ignores how much we owe to our communities. We are products of those around us, and we ought to recognise it.

Good fences make good neighbours. Confected inscrutability makes even better neighbours. And refusing to be perceived, insisting on uniqueness, breeds a certain egoism. Admitting that we do construct ourselves, especially at this age, from the bits and bobs of the culture around us, fosters humility but also gives us more freedom. The shame we can feel at being “caught out” for trying too hard limits our freedom and our identity.

I guess, to cut to the chase, I’d like to be able to proffer my whole self to strangers, with cupped palms like Oliver Twist, because I want to hope that I won’t be thrown away. Others might call that people pleasing. I’d call it faith.

A Blue Kind of Euphoria

Erin Blond

Content warning: mentions of death and grief

When Jay died, I would ask people, “do you think everyone is happy at least once in their life?”

When asked this question, my dad would respond with a glance away, “I don’t know, maybe somewhere.” My mum might frown as pity swells in her eyes, “are you okay, darling?” My brother, Jamie, would yell at me, “why would I care, get out of my room!”

But my aunty Em, she would just smile at me, a strand of sun-bleached hair wrapped around her pinkie finger, “Possibly, but remember to be happy is a choice, your own choice.”

Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I guess, well… I could blame it on the fact that it’s five in the morning, that the church isn’t even open, that the coffee I downed is doing nothing to yank me out of my sleep, and that I just drove five miles to my hometown for a boat, a stupid little boat that washed up on shore.

You know, the last time I saw that boat I was sitting staring at the horizon, watching as the yellow sun blended with the cascading blue ocean below. I loved sitting there, perched on the edge of a large oak tree with funny little red gloves on my hands to stop the splinters, with bare feet dangling below. Up there, I was hidden from the world, listening as the waves crashed upon the shore and I remained frozen in glee. I’d shut my eyes, imagining a world below the surface; a floor laden with fields of flowers, an overflowing chest of ancient novels, dolphins dressed in boas and fancy hats and in between, a beautiful ocean glistening under the sun.

In the water below, Jay would laugh, water spraying from his nose. “If there was a world below, I’d want it to be filled with people like you, curious little children, with little red gloves, or little red boots, or even little red hats.” He continued, “I’d want to float till the current pulls me miles away, building sandcastles till dawn breaks and watching as my body grows old from the sun and the salty breeze.”

I was seven years old when Jay was here, seven years old. My parents say I was too young to remember, but I do; I remember it all. I remember the good, the bad, the excitement, the confusion, but most importantly, I remember his big blue boat. The paint peeling at the edges to reveal an old wooden mask beneath.

I guess that’s why I’m here. Because I knew Jay. I really did. But.

But, well… I guess I wish I knew more. I wish I could see him grow old and wrinkly and watch his big blue boat decay as the waves brushed against its raw wooden frame.

I wish… I wish Jay had come back.

No matter how old I become, a part of me will always think of Jay, like a painting in the gallery of my life. Filled with golden yellow and orange hues, light and welcoming, brought together by a stream of blue twisting upwards. When I saw Jay, as the young child I was, I saw happiness, glee and excitement, but he didn’t know that. In his own gallery, his portrait was filled with darkness.

I am afraid of the darkness. But I think that was the difference; he wasn’t. I sometimes wish we saw each other through the eyes of others, then we might understand the power we hold, and the euphoria one might feel by simply being in our presence. By seeing the way we smile. The way he laughed with me swung across his shoulders. The way he kept my little red gloves safe in his boat. The way he dismissed the ‘no swimming sign’ on a beach, running to where the water licked the sand without a trace of fear. The way he slipped his hair behind his ears and prepared to sing sea shanties towards the audience, his sea. The joy he captured for me.

If I could see Jay now, I’d tell him this:

Jay, I wanted to be that big blue boat; I wanted it so badly. I wanted to follow you across the ocean to help you on your journey. One day when I swim beneath the surface to that world below, I’ll see you again. But until then, I’ll be perched at the edge of the large oak tree watching as the deep, dark ocean meets the blazing sun above. ~

I like to think that he was once happy in life.

But even if he wasn’t, I choose to be.

If you or anyone you know is affected by the content of this piece, please contact one of the support services below:

Lifeline (Available 24/7): 13 11 14

Flemish:

Een extreem gevoel van vreugde. Euforie is een heel sterk gevoel, dus ik kan mij eerlijk gezegd niet herinneren of en wanneer ik dat gevoeld heb. Enthousiasme of opwinding? Ja, maar euforie? Goh, ik denk het niet.

(Google Translate: “An extreme feeling of joy. Euphoria is a very strong feeling, so I honestly can’t remember if and when I felt it. Enthusiasm or excitement? Yes, but euphoria? Gee, I don’t think so.”)

French:

Un sentiment ou sensation à caractère positif, limitée en durée, qui prend de court par sa puissance et l’engouement qu’il génère en réponse à un stimuli ou un événement. J’étais euphorique de voir, finalement, un koala à l’état sauvage dans son environnement naturel.

(Google Translate: “A feeling or sensation of a positive nature, limited in duration, which takes you by surprise by its power and the enthusiasm it generates in response to a stimulus or an event. I was euphoric to finally see a koala in the wild in its natural environment.”)

Google

(Google Translate: “Euphoria: when I cry things out and make them work.”)

亢奋用来形容极度兴奋，振奋。

最近一段时间感觉到激动和亢奋是我拿到了宿舍兼职工作的offer, 我从几十个人里脱

颖而出，这让我感觉原来自己竟然还不错！

(Google Translate: “Excitement is used to describe extreme excitement, excitement. Recently, I feel excited and excited because I got the offer of a part-time job in the dormitory. I stand out from dozens of people, which makes me feel that I am not bad!”)

German:

Euphoria ist ein Level von Extase, ein kurzer Moment intensiver Gefühle, der schwer in Worte zu fassen ist. Ich erinnere mich an dieses Gefühl, als ich die Zusage für mein Auslandssemester in Australien bekommen habe.“

(Google Translate: “Euphoria is a level of ecstasy, a brief moment of intense emotion that is difficult to put into words. I remember this feeling when I was accepted for my semester abroad in Australia.”)

Tamil:

Hindi:

(Google Translate: “When I first realized that I could be happy on my own without depending on anyone else, I was overjoyed. I felt this feeling when I went abroad; it was an experience I hadn’t felt before.”)

(Google Translate: “Chow: When I used to meet my grandmother and she would point to me and call me, I used to get a lot of chow.”)

“I Thought You Might Like This”

Amelia Board

I have a friend called Rosie. Now, this article isn’t entirely about Rosie (though I know she would like that, and so would you as she is one of the most interesting people I have ever met) but I thought she would be a lovely place to start.

One day, I received a link from Rosie. Clicking on said link brought me to a Letterboxd list called “For Mills”. Now, to quote my favourite poem of all time (The Oranges by Wendy Cope) “this made me so happy. As ordinary things often do. Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park. This is peace and contentment. It’s new.” This made me happy (euphoric, even) for a few reasons. The first was simply the title, her casual adoption of the nickname I so love being called. I cannot help but be charmed by the adoration of a nickname and the sweet, simple recognition of being known and called upon by another person. Standing by its side was that wonderful selfless word “For”. Something made, found and possessed by one person to be gifted to another, “From”. As I scrolled through all the movies that she had picked out (arranged in colour order). I imagined her sitting in bed with her laptop resting on her knees as she squinted with concentration and puzzlement over whether the striped cover of Juno should sit within the orange or white section), I thought about that space between Fors and Froms. I wondered if anything more intimate existed then this tender combination and exchange of her favourite films and those she believed could be mine.

I was reminded of the sweetness of those Fors and Froms and their intermingling the other day as I walked to my dear friend Maeve’s house. Maeve only lives a street away. I began the treacherous journey that is not-so-treacherous down the long road that connects her house to mine. With a book in one hand and my phone in the other, I arrived at her house. To the reader’s surprise, I didn’t knock on the door. I knew no one was home as the upstairs balcony doors remained closed (a rare occasion indeed). The handles of the balcony doors joined to form a warped frown, missing their occupants. I slipped the book, my For, into her letterbox and messaged her my From, “check your mailbox for a surprise that’s not so surprising!” The book was Seeing Other People by Diana Reid and would mark one of the many pieces of media shared, consumed, discussed and occasionally attempted to replicate between us. (This is in reference to our post-Conversations with Friends attempt to strike up an intellectually-rich-occasionally-politicallyfuelled email exchange inspired by Bobbi and Frances, and ultimate failure when the ANU mailing system bounced the first email).

A quote from this book consolidated my musings on the blossoming of relationships of all forms through the exchange of media, rooted in this desire to understand and be understood. Eleanor speaks of her recent-ex (semi-spoiler but they break up in the first few pages so not really) boyfriend’s theory, which she attests is one of his only theories that holds any truth. “Our lives are so content saturated he said. If you recommend something – a book, a TV show, a movie, a song – and the other person accepts that recommendation, they very well want to sleep with you. The shorter the time between the recommendation and uptake, the more carnal the intention.” (p.113) I think he has a point, but I think it’s more than just sexual.

I think it is the look of joy on my beloved friend Sarah’s face, as I drove her home and “Skin” by Dijon (her absolute favourite artist) began playing on shuffle. “You added it to your playlist!” she exclaimed. It is also the conflation of fiction and reality as we place ourselves and our friends within narratives and characters. I recently completed a very in-depth online character quiz, receiving Phoebe Buffat as a 99% match, followed by a long list of other characters across decades of film and television. Comparing my list to those of my friends (whom I had shared the link with, and the quizzes had been swiftly completed across various different lecture halls and reception desks) was an act of examining our similarities and our differences through the guise of tv shows or movies or books. Blissfully drawing up the lines where one of us began and the other ended.

That is what this article is about. It is that human desire to showcase little pieces of the self that you have created through a mosaic of characters, lyrics and scenes and gift them to those people you love. So that they may know you and love you a little bit more and that wish to make them feel thought of, special, understood, with those magical words you attach to your recommendation, “I thought you might like this.”

by Rose Dixon-Campbell

You will discover a sibling you never knew you had in 2023. You and your kin will be posted on the Siblings or Dating Instagram but don’t let this discourage you from enthusiastically jumping into this relationship. Your new sibling is a prominent member of an obscure guild of monks, and your Capricorn nature makes you crave this clout.

There is a powerful individual in your life who you desire and who desires you. Follow your heart and fuck them good. Make sure they come; they deserve it for working so hard and being so high status. Your paramour will exert coercive influence over your enemies and elevate you to a new position of power.

Just like in 2014 when that U2 album was spontaneously downloaded on everyone’s phone, in 2023, you will find your worst notes app poetry shared in every one of your group chats. There is no recovering from this shame, and you should consider observing some form of muteness to compensate. Consider never speaking to the members of these group chats again.

A chance encounter with Julie Bishop on campus will lead to a vexatious string of encounters with other former Liberal Party members and staffers. You will be gang-stalked by Malcolm Turnbull, Tony Abbott, Christopher Pyne, Joe Hockey and Peta Credlin, and no one will believe you. This is symbolic of the Gemini’s broader struggle of being two people somehow.

You will become TikTok famous after a video of you sneezing, burping and farting goes viral. Everywhere you go, people will ask you to recreate the moment that made you famous and led to the SBF challenge trending for months. You will walk red carpets sneezing, burping and farting. Avoid nosy journalists seeking to use your story in their anti-TikTok crusade.

On a chance trip to Cheviot Beach, you will stumble upon a tiny, mushroomshaped cottage. Inside is Harold Holt. He tells you he has lived here since 1967, brewing tea and maintaining his garden, after having decided he was simply too cosy to participate in society any longer. Your Libra reasoning will see you agree to keep his secret, and occasionally he sends you his homemade preserves in thanks.

Capricorn Aquarius

Taurus Gemini

Virgo Libra

You are a fish, so it is hard to predict your future or understand why you are reading this magazine. Seek out bodies of water like Sullivan’s Creek or your mate’s dusty sharehouse bathtub. There is success to be found in any relationship shared with a water rat.

In 2023 you will get lost in a hedge maze. It is important that you stay calm and don’t think about how this exact situation led to the death of Robert Pattinson’s character in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. You are not as hot as Robert Pattinson so you should be fine.

On the morning of your birthday in 2023, you will find you have grown an extra . If you were charitable, you would donate this to someone who is missing such an appendage. But Cancers are not known for this quality, so you hoard your surplus limb. Careful investment of your limb collection may help you to join the global one per cent and participate in virgin sacrifices.

You will make an extraordinary discovery in the middle aisle of Aldi. You will claim the rarity for yourself and travel the world thanks to the qualities of this undefined Thing. You must decide whether you will share the spoils of the Thing with the Aldi cashiers, whose service brought you into its orbit, or join the Cancers and their virgin sacrifices.

2023 will see you searching for a new roommate. A rabbit will apply for the available room and, all things seeming well, you will admit him to live with you. The first few months will be ordinary, but as the Voice to Parliament debate progresses, you will discover the rabbit is an imperialist and racist. Your keen Scorpio political instincts will allow you to deal with this with maximum controversy.

Your most generous Sugar Mummy/ Daddy/Parent will die in 2023. You will make a Lana Del Rey-inspired appearance at their funeral, where the presiding priest will catch your eye. The priest is a talented manipulator and may invite you to join his church as a nun. Accept his proposal, despite your salacious Sagittarius nature, and never have sex again.

Pisces Aries

Cancer

Leo

Scorpio

Sagittarius

A Design for Destruction

Ghost of O-Weeks Past

It’s Saturday night of O-week and, as is time-honoured tradition, you’re staring down the barrel of your fifth consecutive night plastered to the sticky floors of downstairs Mooseheads. Less than fumes, you’re running on pure hope – hope that tonight you won’t have to hold your friend’s hair while they expel the two slices of bread they gobbled down to ‘line’ their stomach, or hope that you won’t catch some middle-aged man making eyes at you from across the pool table. Countless cohorts have shared in this revelry before your time. Moose’s gummy floors, someone’s dad’s wandering eyes, the muggy confines of DSM and the unequivocally shithouse music represent the past, present and future of the ANU Student Experience.

Every student comes to O-week with their own unique strategies for navigating this constellation of questionable adventures. Much of this knowledge is lost to the sands of time, but I, a humble apparition, the Ghost of O-weeks Past, have come to share with you an infernal design which will ensure your domination.

Ingredients:

>Pre-workout (preferably high caffeine content)

>Any liquor (preferably high alcohol content)

>Any energy drink (Monster, for those of refined taste)

>A large receptacle (consider: children’s sandcastle bucket)

Optional:

>Tiny umbrella

>Metal straw (save the turtles, destroy your liver)

Step 1. Take two shots of your pre-workout with as little water as you can handle. This will gradually kick in as you prepare and consume your concoction, and hopefully by the time you head out, the tingles will have subsided.

Step 2. Grab your liquor and pour it into its semi-final destination. Close your eyes and count one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi, fourMississippi, five-Mississippi. Open your eyes and you will observe an appropriate and sustainable serving.

Step 3. Combine your energy drink with your alcohol. Caffeine is an upper and alcohol is a downer, so their combination in gross quantities will mean you are perfectly balanced and in harmony with the universe. Just make sure when you’re puking up all that zen that you do it in a toilet bowl.

Now you are fully equipped to seize the night. Fly, my pretties! Fly!

A Recipe for Recovery

Ghost of O-Weeks Future

Sunday morning. Head noise, nausea, and copious amounts of cringe have overtaken your body. You haven’t consumed any water for at least 18 hours. There’s an UberEats order, consisting of nine McDonald’s hash browns, maturing on your front door step. It’s been there since whenever you blindly ordered it after stumbling home somehow. Try not to think about who you spoke to or what you said, you can take stock of the moronic images and messages you sent out across your every social media platform at a later date. What’s important right now is that in addition to suffering the consequences of your actions, somewhere along the way you became infected with Freshers Flu.

This flu strikes indiscriminately and quite reliably in the first weeks of semester. Just as you dominated Saturday night, Fresher’s Flu will dominate you. Body pains, congested sinuses, fatigue, sore throat and a chunky cough all form part of its Inquisition to root out the Infidels (read: your will to live). There are few things you can do to ease your suffering; rest is best and certainly avoid sharing germs with any more strangers. In my darkest days of Freshers Flu this tea has aided my plight, and I hope you too might find relief in its sweet gingery warmth.

Ingredients:

>One nub of ginger root

>One tablespoon of honey

>One teaspoon of cinnamon

>One whole lemon

>One whole orange

Optional:

>Oodie or other like apparel

>Debilitating self-pity

Step 1. Slice the ginger into slivers of roughly half a centimetre in length. Steep these in a tea pot full of boiling water for at least fifteen minutes.

Step 2. While the ginger is steeping, extract from the lemon roughly 20mL of juice and from the orange roughly 10mL of juice. Add these and the honey and cinnamon to the tea pot of boiling water.

Step 3. Once all the ingredients are combined and the ginger has finished steeping, sip the tea while it is still hot. Make yourself a bulk quantity to keep you hydrated and well nourished by helpful vitamins throughout the day.

No matter how many times it has happened before, you will fall victim to Freshers Flu again. Keep this recipe handy for some relief while you meditate on all the choices that brought you to this unfortunate destination.

ACROSS

1 The black one is Africa’s longest venomous snake

6 Function applied to an angle

9 Hank Schrader’s agency in Breaking Bad

12 1979 classic film set aboard the Nostromo

13 Swiss army knife selling points

15 Unidentifiable, casually

16 Singles in your area, say

18 Word before check or forest

19 ___ de vivre

20 Spiritual euphoria

22 Offence discovered via breathalyzer, in brief

24 Generic fantasy foe

26 When to see vertical shadows

27 Exercise-induced euphoria

30 Dog’s bark

33 Like zones on the body that may induce euphoria

34 “The French Dispatch” star Seydoux

35 Month whose length varies, in brief

36 “Apollo 13” director Howard

37 English ensemble that recorded the score to “Star Wars”, in brief

40 French luxury fashion house, in brief

41 Abbr. before a date on a cafe sign, say

42 Sees the glass as halffull

45 Cert. needed before being a waiter, often

46 Euphoric

48 McKellen and Curtis, for two

50 Ozone-depleting chemical

51 Floppy disk descendant, in brief

52 “Euphoria” star

55Faux-intellectual

57 Response to “Who said that?”

58 Louisiana locale known for its Mardi Gras

63 Responsibility

64 Rocky outcrop

65 “Don’t Look Up” director Adam

66 Conflict recounted by a U.S. Vet, casually

67 Special ___

68 Put up with DOWN

1 “Shaun Micallef’s ___ as Hell”

2 In the vein of

3 Uni that over 100 Nobel laureates have been affiliated with

4 Bit of China

5 The A in A.D.

6 Boomy, in a way

7 Camera sensitivity setting

8 One in a group of nobles

9 Part of a modern forensic investigation, say

10 “Artemis Fowl”author Colfer

11 “Pitch Perfect” star Kendrick

14 Post-injury accessory

15 Later than 26-across, casually

17 Day, in Italy

21 “Ruh-___” (Scooby Doo exclamation)

22 Unlawful persuasion

23 Term in fiction for a rare material used as a plot device

25 Jon M. ___, director of “Crazy Rich Asians”

27 Recommend, as a specialist to a patient

28 Eternally, in poetry

29 2018 Wes Anderson stop-motion film

31 Button clicked during a password reset, say

32 One of two options in some tests

38 Bit of china

39 Tired, as a joke

43 Video game expansion pack, in brief

44 Browser right-click option

46 Out ___ limb

47 “Bye Bye Bye” boy band

49 Chimes in

52 Place in the Hebrew Bible

53 Iconic Dame portrayed by Barry Humphries

54 Chocolate bar with a bubbly texture

56 Shade trees

59 Cardi B and Megan

Thee Stallion hit of 2020

60 Letters before an alias

61 Pop’s partner

62 Kingsford Smith Airport, as it appears on a luggage tag

Answers will be posted to @woroni on Instagram.

Make This Page Euphoric

land on which it is created, that of the Ngunnawal, Ngambri and Ngunawal peoples. This land always was, and always will be, Aboriginal land. Those who live, work and study on this land and who are not its rightful, traditional owners, have a responsibility to pay the rent owed in whatever way they can.

Euphoria as a concept, has a wealth of connotations, each dependent upon the individual. However, two common themes throughout this edition are the use of drugs and issues around mental health. As we discuss and read about these two aspects of euphoria, we ought to remember how First Nations people can have very different experiences with them, a facet of their historic and continued oppression. Substance abuse is often used to vilify First Nations people and to justify the ongoing denial of their sovereignty. While the increasing legalisation of drugs in Australia benefits the majority of the population, no attempts are being made to right the wrongs of draconian and racist drug laws. Meanwhile, First Nations Australians have markedly worse mental health outcomes compared to the rest of the country’s population. They do not have the same access to healthcare, and when they do, they must deal with wholly different issues, such as intergenerational trauma and the realities of ethnic cleansing.

The ways in which non-First Nations readers and writers engage with euphoria is ultimately shaped by how Australia’s colonial system privileges them.

The name Woroni, which means “mouthpiece” was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation without permission. Consultation with First Nations people suggested that Woroni continue to use the word, provided it acknowledged the theft, and strove for better reconciliation in the future.