Volume 18: Circus by Perspektif Magazine

Acknowledgement of Country Perspektif Magazine acknowledges the Traditional Owners of the land our magazine is produced and printed on, in which we have been given the opportunity to create and share our thoughts, art and stories. We pay our respects to the Elders past and present, and emerging leaders. We understand that Sovereignty was never ceded.

PERSPEKTIF CIRCUS | VOLUME 18

Perspektif

Indonesian for Perspective (noun.) a point of view

Perspektif is a biannual print and online magazine dedicated to showcasing young talents and ideas about current issues. Each volume contains a variety of written and visual pieces from critical analyses to poems and personal essays, each centralised on a theme. Supported by kind donations and passionate individuals, our magazine is entirely free to access and run by a team of student volunteers. We hope that Perspektif will inspire and familiarise you with new ideas, and perhaps help you to challenge yours in the process.

VISION To be a platform that exemplifies the diversity of student experiences through showcasing ideas, talents, initiatives, and stories relevant to the youth.

MISSION To provide a shared space for discussions of timely topics and build a sense of community, while creating a magazine that is visually and intellectually engaging.

CIRCUS “All the heat and fear had purged itself. I felt surprisingly at peace. -Sylvia Plath A single arrow up in the sky. Sharp. Steady. There is a brief second of silence, of glistening pupils looking up in awe. A burst of colours—neon streaks, soft at the edges, a curved memory. It pops! On the ground, the spectacle stands strong above popcorn-flooded stands. There goes another one, and another—the fireworks now aligned a few feet over striped tents. It glistens like rain; all while a series of gasps echoes over cheers. The crackling sound is so close you could reach out and grab it! Extend a hand to capture the memory as the circus begins, and let the question wander through your mind: what’s next?

scan for the ultimate reading experience!

LIFE IS A CIRCUS (AND I’M THE CLOWN) illustration PRINCETTA NADJA

EDITOR in chief’S WORDS Hi Fellas, Welcome to our circus. It’s my pleasure to welcome you all to witness the most dazzling, astonishing, yet profound, stories from our performers. They come with various tricks to wow and transport you to a world where you could, for a while, find entertainment and also hopefully, solace. Let your imagination run wild and emotions freely overflow. Grab your favourite snack or drink (maybe even both) and get ready to embark on this crazy, spontaneous and wholesome ride as you swivel from page to page. – To say the least, the whole process of bringing this magazine to life is a giant circus in itself. Many played their crucial parts. Yet one merely cannot exist and be complete without its counterparts. The mesmerising contributors with their unique pieces, our hard-working officers and passionate executives— every single one of you played a prominent role in creating this memoir of distinct thoughts and experiences. Although the title might seem light and humorous, the stories and illustrations that have been shared with us are truly beyond our expectations. Reading and soaking in each of the incredible pieces made me reflect on my own life; I even shed a few tears because some pieces really hit close to home. Some made me want to hug my inner child so tight, while others made me giggle and laugh to my stomach. So if you’re in for a good cry, laugh, or perhaps anger... Do yourself a favour and continue flipping through the pages of this magazine. We have so much in store for you! Or if you’ve read till the end and stumbled upon this page last, I sincerely hope that this volume gives you a chance to reflect on yourself, the people around you, and the world we live in right now. Or at the very least, made you escape from the atrocities of life. A big thank you to our contributors for trusting us to be the home for your pieces. We are so sure that you’ll leave our readers in awe and inspired. And before I sign off, I also wanted to thank all my supercalifragilisticexpialidocious team for their love for Perspektif. Especially my executives, Anindya, Angel, Astri, and Michelle—you girls are literally the beating heart of Perspektif. Thank you for the past year. Thank you for saying yes. Thank you for wanting to walk together with your officers and I. You girls rock! And also for my officers, each one of you I appreciate o-so-very dearly. The future is bright for all of you. With that, I am officially signing off. Enjoy the circus! And if you’ve made it to the end, we hope you had a good and wholesome time, just as much as we did! All love, Dwigdi Diksita 9

Managing EDITOR’S WORDS The striped tent over warm streetlights. The fireball shooting across space. Cotton candy stuck on fingers and empty cups crushed on bleachers. A marching band, footsteps aligned. These are my earliest memories of a circus—seven-year-old me with a bag of popcorn in hand sitting at the very top row. I couldn’t remember what all the chattering was about, or why someone would ride a unicycle on a thin thread whilst high above the ground. Why was there confetti at every corner? My eyes are on it! I reached a hand out and failed. Then, I try again. And again. I’m defeated. Yet right when the show ended and I was about to step out, I found one on the ground and kept it as a souvenir. It’s long gone now. I suppose life is like that, sometimes. When the chaos engulfs every aspect of your daily routine, you keep an eye out for one thing. Just one. Most times, it’s enough to keep you going. It’s like a game. Throughout the years, more and more obstacles are added. A level up, then another, then another. Like a circus, one act follows the next. A risky move that challenges what it means to be brave. An unexpected twist in the middle of the chapter. And you? The main character. So, what happens when you lose control? What if it all just gets a little too much? In this volume, our contributors share their interpretation of what a ‘circus’ is, and how, often times, the silver lining of a messy moment is hidden. The key is to keep trying. To our contributors, I want to thank you for trusting our magazine with their experiences, creativity and talents. It’s always a pleasure to exchange ideas with such wonderful individuals! As you flip through this volume, we hope you’re as proud as we are of your works. To my fellow executives for always being there, ready to give advice 24/7, and Perspektif committee for always being so wonderful. Thank you all! I’m so grateful to have gotten the chance to work with you all this past year, despite the lockdowns and weird times. Can you believe we’ve published two volumes? What! And of course, my Editorial team. Y’all are the best. I don’t even have the words. Em dashes forever! With love, Anindya

FOUNDERS Fauziyah Annur Rama Adityadharma Mary Anugrah Rasita

EDITOR IN CHIEF Dwigdi Diksita

EDITORIAL Managing Editor Anindya Setiawan

Editors

TRAPEZE ARTISTE illustration VASYA

Alexandra Teh Padmo Widyaseno Valleryna Putri Amanda Xaviera Quincy Jhon

CREATIVE Creative Director Michelle Felica

Designers & Illustrators Alicia Oktaviana Halim Jessemina Carmenia Sugiono Tiara Puspa Amanda

Webmaster Marceline Nathalie Layandri

MARKETING: SOCIAL MEDIA Social Media Director Astri Sanjaya

Social Media Officers Geraldi Maharlian Abdiel Jessica Quan Jesslyn Chrishella Vanessa Sutiono

Photographer William Evan Subrata

MARKETING: EVENT Events Director Angelina Kurniawan

Events Officers Kimberly Santoso Lorenza Jocelyn Handojo Marcia Christina Thomas Vanezia Valentine Tjiong 11

TA B L E OF CONTENTS

*5,6,7,8* D W I G D I D I K S I TA

TIGHT ROPE A K A N K S H A A G A R WA L

WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS A K A N K S H A A G A R WA L

E L E VAT O R S QUINCY J

THE CLOWN MANIFESTO HANNA C.

ENTRANCED BY THE CIRCUS JORDAN LUONG

THE LITTLE THINGS ALEXANDRA TEH

SPOTLIGHT’S SHADOW VELLA AMANDA

THE SHOW GOES ON HODA HELMY

LYRA illustration VASYA

FREAK SHOW JESSICA QUAN

D R A M AT I C D I S C O R D A N C E S H U J A AT M I R Z A

PA P E R C U P S A N I N D YA M E I V

THE BIRTHDAY GIRL I C O U L D N ’ T P O S S I B LY F O R G E T

I C A R U S , A F T E R T H E FA L L M U H A M M A D R A F F I D W I TA M A

ANGELINA

G L A N C I N G AT A C O N V E R S AT I O N WITH A RIVER VIEW

FA R R E L L A D I

ESCAPE P A D M O W I D YA S E N O

I’VE NEVER BEEN TO A CIRCUS HANNA C.

ROLLER COASTERS P A D M O W I D YA S E N O , Q U I N C Y J

T H E C A R N I VA L O F A B S U R D DELUSIONS S H U J A AT M I R Z A

T H E S W O R D S WA L L O W E R R O WA N H E AT H

I REMEMBER YOU BUT N O T I N T H AT WAY QUINCY J

ON ONE EVENING, WHEN I WAS SEVENTEEN photograph TIARA PUSPA AMANDA 13

AN UNLIKELY TRIAD illustration VASYA

CONTRIBUTORS VOLUME 18

WORDS D W I G D I D I K S I TA AKANKSHA AGARWAL QUINCY J HANNA C. JORDAN LUONG ALEXANDRA TEH VELLA AMANDA HODA HELMY JESSICA QUAN S H U J A AT M I R Z A A N I N D YA M E I V ANGELINA FA R R E L L A D I P A D M O W I D YA S E N O R O WA N H E AT H M U H A M M A D R A F F I D W I TA M A

MEDIA P R I N C E T TA N A D J A T I A R A P U S PA A M A N D A A U R E T TA V A S YA D W I G D I D I K S I TA FA R I D A F I T R I H A N I PPIA VIC

* 5 , 6 , 7, 8 * words DWIGDI DIKSITA photo KIRANA PUTRI SUDARSONO

The curtains open, the crowd is loud, all on the edges of their seats. At the side of the stage, the dancers wait–their turn to perform and impress is near. Their bodies all warmed up, but their hearts: pounding o-so-incredibly fast. Then, the music starts. Every dancer’s conscious is woken up “You got this. You won’t fall. Everything will be ok.” And when the time comes, all the shivers and trembling ease. Between the music and the dancers, they sync in harmony. The orchestra fades. The dancers run gracefully backstage. Slowly, adrenaline dims down; feet sore, heavy sighs. The dancers utter to themselves: “Thank God I didn’t fall. Thank God my dress and hair were intact. Thank God the dance went smoothly.” They wait for their next cue, counting inside their heads. Five, six, seven, eight. Another pat on the back for each of them. A confirmation from themselves. They run back out with their hearts open. . . O! what a spectacle! A collaboration of love for the art form—all beating the soreness and trembles that are part of the performance itself.

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ARTS, CULTURE AND EDUCATION /

tight rope words AKANKSHA AGARWAL illustration ALICIA OKTAVIANA HALIM

Standing on a tightrope Awaits a gulf of glittery faces Underneath the glowing, giddy, glitter, peeks a terrified creature, liquefying from the inside. A sea of faces and Joyful screams, there is no turning back. My glossed lips curl, flame eyes narrow, the ropes— transform, into a trampoline. Soaring into the sky, my body falls into an arc. Wings for arms My feet kiss the ground in a bow.

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WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS words AKANKSHA AGARWAL illustration ALICIA OKTAVIANA HALIM

A circus world, inwardly, juggling with emotions— acrobat routine. Pray there is a ringmaster in this crazy carnival Love. Takes you on a ferris wheel, by the pier, the target girl, awaits knives of judgement. Flying elephants, Fire-breathers, Sword-swallowers, props in the carousel Lo-and-behold, the House of Mirrors, for I realise, the clown, is me.

CREATIVE CREATIVE//

E L E VATO R S words QUINCY J illustration TIARA PUSPA AMANDA

I live on the 22nd floor of an apartment building, somewhere in a city I’ve known only by the sounds. I remember walking into the elevator and thinking how far the journey will take me. I take at least two elevator journeys in a day (one down, one up), not to mention the many more trips I make when I would stay in the common room to spend time with my lonely little life. I’m not complaining, by the way. It’s as comforting as knowing that the Sun will shine today. There’s something oddly thrilling about these simple elevator rides. Each trip is a guessing game as to what lays behind the closed automatic doors. There are 3 elevators in total: 1 for furniture loadings which can also be for passengers, and the other 2 strictly for human beings. Restrictions have made the elevator only available for 2 entities, but even so, the residents here seem to be reluctant to be on board with strangers of different units. Maybe small talk is not their thing, or maybe their personal space spans beyond a two-by-two area. Either way, two people waiting for the same elevator might end up going on separate ones. When it gets late and the apartment floors seem to be only filled with ghosts of daytime footprints, I would wait patiently in front of these three travel capsules. And, everytime the door opens, I would always anticipate for the worst. Could it be a trapped resident with a damaged or forgotten key fob? Or could it be an injured man reaching out for help? The latter seems to be an embedded choice inside my head. What would I have done? With all the things in my head, my personal belongings, and the fear that my skin seems to adopt, will I be able to see things clearly? What would I have done? There were also moments where I fought that fear— the fear that something is about to gnarl at me from within the metal doors. Maybe it’s a parade of clowns, or a zoo of animals. Imagine seeing someone

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hosting a party on the elevator, with disco balls on the ceiling and a mini bar on the corner. Music will be playing from a bass-boosted speaker with songs randomly picked out, only for the passengers to enjoy in their 30-second ride on the vertical transport. Can you imagine? Let’s do some math. If I spend 30 seconds for each trip in an elevator, with an average frequency of four rides a day, I would spend two minutes each day on an elevator. In a month, that’s 60. In a year, that’s 720. In a lifetime, hoping that we would live to 70, that’s 36,000. I can’t help but think I could’ve used that time for something much more meaningful than just the plain silence and swooshing. It was never a choice to commute in elevators. There’s no better way of going up and down 22 floors than riding in an electrical capsule. But think of all the accumulated time you spend there. Isn’t it so redundant to be living in a city of skyscrapers and tall office buildings? In the absence of phone signals and conversations, will we ever find a better way to lose the cost of an elevator ride? I’ve realised that, at this stage, I’ve asked you at least 10 rhetorical questions. 10 futile questions not worth answering. Why bother thinking about an elevator ride when you don’t even think during one? Another question. I guess the answer is simple. Elevator rides are one of the many distractions in our lives. Think about anticipating what’s behind the doors every time you board one, and the same dread that you may feel before alighting. Elevators are not mere modes of transportation—it is the very pause where we rethink the very reason we do things. Pay attention to that the next time you’re going up or down. The strangest question may exist in your head without caution. What should I have for dinner today? Should I do laundry today? Will I be late to work again? These are questions that we often overlook, only giving it a time to be answered as we close our minds to the bustling sounds of the city. It’s a weird review to write, this one. But, as I stare

into the outside world from the common room windows, I notice that we see the little things in our lives only when we are faced with the big ones. Humans are ungrateful in their nature. We want big things when we have only a little in our hands, and small things when we have too much in our heads. I think elevator rides give us the time to think about these things–the things we don’t have in life and the things we ought to discard from our lives. It is never too bad to have these little distractions in our lives. It is never an ugly thing to understand the ugly truths in the matter of half a minute. Maybe, just maybe, this is what everyone seems to need:

small windows of truths, leading only to lives’ biggest realisation. It may not be clowns, or zoos, or parties. Or, it may well be all those things mentioned—but this time, only in our heads. In his universally—acclaimed book Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami wrote, "Taking crazy things seriously is a serious waste of time."” But I want to believe that these thoughts yield into the many things our little lives carry in our pockets. I’d spend all that time and wonder where my mind would wander. I promise you: it will never be a waste of time.

ARTS, CULTURE AND EDUCATION /

THE CLOWN MANIFESTO words HANNA C. illustration JESSEMINA SUGIONO

If 2021 was dubbed the year of the girlboss, I am here manifesting for 2022 to be the year of the clown. Unleashing your inner clown could vary from person to person. Perhaps, clowning is stepping out of your comfort zone to try new things that you were reluctant to do for fear of getting booed by your imaginary audience. Maybe clowning is having more empathy for others, like how clowns—at least not the scary ones—are out there trying to make people smile, one balloon at a time. Or, it might be accepting mistakes and not-so-great decisions as parts that bring more colour to your show instead of making you want to wallow behind the circus tent. Whatever form it is, clowning (except for clowning for love over and over, because even a clown’s versatility has boundaries. Let’s leave magic tricks for the magicians) for sure means embracing life and living

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it in a lighter sense. I hope we can stop feeling like we must chase after or be chased by something, to just hop on our trampolines while juggling and have some popcorn too while we’re at it. Speaking from personal experience, I too found it hard to accept that I clown myself way more often than not, but I think it’s time to reclaim the narrative. Uncertainties are now my best pals and my mistakes dazzle me. In a similar spirit as "catch flights, not feelings" that preceded our era, let’s proclaim "don’t frown, go clown around town." Honk your big red nose and paint your face, prance! Life is more a circus than an airport anyway.

ARTS, CULTURE AND EDUCATION CREATIVE /

E N T R A N C E D BY T H E C I R C U S words JORDAN LUONG illustration ALICIA OKTAVIANA HALIM

The rush of adrenaline And ecstasy is common Here, innervated From the rhythmic vibrations Underneath The roar of the crowd An impulsive stage, explosive Warmth of the lights Potent sensations In heat Behind the curtains, eyes dart Across all places The mind: Overwhelmed A reminder To breathe A sense of fulfilment Fast-paced and fun Like never before As if it is fate The possibility of a world Outside Forgotten But the eyes converged On one radiant point Fully engaged Absolutely encapsulated, Entranced and in awe: The main event Disguised under striped tents And a dozen balloons Love has its own tricks sometimes 24

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CREATIVE /

THE LITTLE THINGS words ALEXANDRA TEH illustration TIARA PUSPA AMANDA

Streets bustling. Orange leaves falling. Cars and motorcycles starting up their engines. The soft acoustic guitar plucking. People shouting. The crystal sound of the river flowing. I look around and see tall buildings, and the short ones that complement it. As I walk through Grant Street, I put my earphones in. Life is better with a soundtrack. To me, it’s the closest thing I’ve found to true peace. My Spotify listening history reflects how I feel day to day, acting as a journal of sorts. Music is the best form of therapy. My favourite part about going to the city is passing through the NGV, the one located in Southbank. When I walk past, it feels like I’ve been transported to New York. The busyness, the chaotic walking, and the theatre that takes the shape of an Eiffel Tower. Well...maybe not that? You could probably see that in Vegas. Usually, I would start taking the tram from Flinders

Street, which is weird because my friends would always ask, “"Why? The city is a long ride, especially from your place? Wouldn’t you find it best to use the tram?" I would always laugh and reply, "Yeah, no. I’m going to take a walk, it’s not that far anyway!"” I love this city. It’s full of art and culture, and there are always new things around the corner. Although I used to hate the endless lockdowns, the fact that we had version 6.0 will always be unfathomable. I despised it with a passion. Now everything is back to normal, although with additional chaos. Shops, malls, and cafes are back in business. International borders have reopened, resulting in floods of students swarming into the country. I remember when I first came out of lockdown, I was overcome with a surge of excitement. It felt like my heart wanted to jump out of my body. I wanted to do so many things that I planned a summer bucket list during my time in lockdown.

Summer Bucketlist 2022 1. ( I should not say ) 2. Learn how to skate 3. Try the IT! ( pancake parlour ) 4. Grazeland 5. Get a few gigs 6. Get a part-time job 7. Ride the city circle tram 8. Go to LUME! 9. Get a badminton racket 10. Work on a song with a friend 11. ACMI Disney exhibition 12. Go to an outdoor cinema

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13. Pottery class 14. Wine and paint class 15. Jazz café 16. Glenny’s Kebab’s 17. Swim at Brighton beach 18. Planetarium 19. Luna Park 20. Christmas carnival 21. Rock climbing

At the same time, a feeling of anxiety came over me. Will I be different around other people now since I haven’t seen them for a while? Will I forget how to socialise? What if I feel disappointed with what happens next? Most importantly, what if I miss out on things when everything is up and running? I promised myself that I had to tick off every single item on that bucket list. Time is of the essence, and it is not to be taken for granted. I wanted to try on new things and embark on new adventures. I learnt how to skate, it was exhilarating and incredibly fun. I’ve always wanted to try it for the longest time. Even though it took a while to get the hang of it—I suffered an embarrassing fall at first—it was worth it nevertheless. I loved the process of doing something new. It gave me a spark of happiness amid the chaos. I got my first ever paid gig on Christmas eve. It was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I’ve never done a gig in Melbourne, let alone a paid one. The process was chaotic. First of all, I haven’t performed in almost two years. Secondly, the setlist was decided very last-minute and lastly, I only confirmed a week ago. When I arrived, it also wasn’t clear when I would perform, so when I did perform it felt very sudden. I grabbed my mahogany-built Taylor GS mini and slung it across my shoulder. I got so jittery and nervous for the first song that I asked the crowd to sing with me. I sang a few Christmas songs and I had to sing my originals. All the thoughts were running in my head. Am I doing this right? What if I mess up? Will my voice break? I closed my eyes and tried to remember the feeling I had when I started performing. All I heard was music. My heartbeat slowed; Thump.. thump... Thump... It slowed with the strumming of my guitar. All of a sudden, that anxious feeling switched off. I felt peaceful singing my songs, and then I realised. Music was my peace. From making to enjoying music, it’s the little things I love that make up the peace in my heart. Peace in the midst of chaos. I thought I was missing out on every uni student’s dream. Getting the bag; getting a part-time job which has been on my bucket list since forever. Therefore, I decided to get one, for real this time. I stressed a lot on what to put on my resumé, and again the anxious thoughts began running through my head. Is my experience enough? Will they hire me? I believed these thoughts to be true. I applied to numerous places, asking friends, but I haven’t

heard back from any of them. I was devastated and ready to give up. I felt exhausted and tired all at once. But I didn’t give up and kept on searching for what would suit me. One day I received an email back from a French café I applied last minute, as I didn’t think I would get the job. I’d walk past that café every Saturday. My mom likes the Jasmine Lychee cake a lot, so she gets it every time. I called my mom saying I got the job there, and she screamed, just like my dad did. I was happy that I didn’t lose hope because all of the hard work and rejection were worth it. It was a blessing in disguise, and I knew that there was always going to be hope in the midst of chaos. As I’m sitting on the plane back home, I realise it’s always the little things that we should be grateful for. It’s the little things we love that bring us peace. Life can seem a little dull sometimes, and yes, it can be brutal. But if you look close enough, you’ll find the beauty in it. If you see Earth from afar, it looks just like another planet, but if you zoom in a million light-years you would find it to be different. If you look close enough you’d see that it’s the only planet that brings life. Therein lies the beauty. The late-night laughs with my cousins during quarantine, my nephew waking me up every morning with a smile. My cousins home-cooked meals, which made us feel like we were back home when we all felt homesick. All the beach trips that I made during the lockdown to catch the sunset every 8PM. The screaming in the movie-like carnival rides, the late-night scooter rides. Sitting underneath the stars once the movie is about to be played. The old couple drinking two cappuccinos with no chocolate, finishing each other’s crossword puzzles. Having a crush and the little untainted memories that come along. Laughing nonstop with my friends and endless train rides that’d take us to the best HSP in town. Playing music with my band that flooded my ears and grabbing a huge chicken parma at Universal after every practice. I’d always question, where do I find my comfort in? It’s all these little things. These little adventures brought me happiness and peace in the midst of chaos. I haven’t seen my family in two years, as I imagine

ARTS, CULTURE AND EDUCATION /

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running toward my mom and hugging her belly, tears rolling down my face. I missed her constant nagging (ok...maybe not so much), grabbing my face and saying "I think there’s something there"” every ten seconds. I missed accompanying her to sleep when my dad goes home late. Watching the TV in front of the sofa and eating bolu.

But,

Her presence.

Everything in between. The closest to finding “"true peace and happiness"”is in the middle of this circus.

I never thought in a million years, that I would be hugging my mom. Two and a half years.

The little moments, Music, And,

The season’s changing now. Cold breeze, hot chocolates, late-night study sessions, the sound of peaceful guitar strings.

Two and a half. The thought of these things makes it all worth more.

Now, to whoever is reading this. I ask you, where do you find your peace?

Truth is I don’t know when I would ever find true peace.

ARTS, CULTURE AND EDUCATION /

SPOTLIGHT’S SHADOW words VELLA AMANDA illustration AURETTA

I felt his gaze screaming at me, about how much he loved her. Even the raging ocean waves could not waver the certainty in his eyes. It was so pitiful to watch someone you care about fall so much into a fruitless love. Yet, deep down, I know that it was my dishonesty and jealousy that fueled me. Because I know that as fruitless as it may be, he had a better chance with his love than I. "I’m doing it, I’m telling her today." He said, not a hint of hesitation in his voice. Just pure, foolish, and naïve confidence. It was written all over his face, and it made me sick to my stomach. "After all this time, huh?"”I asked sheepishly, "you’re finally going to do it?"”I tried to hide the venom in my voice, because I was better suited for a supporting role. The one who watches the protagonists fall in love, the one who stays in the background encouraging the two to blossom their romance. To see him, finally, be with Ai. Ah yes, Ai. Ai was one of the brightest student in our class. She was a force to be reckoned with. If his gaze could withstand the violent waves, hers would stop time. Captivating as always, you could not help but bend to her every will. The minute she flashed a smile at you, any hatred you had would simply melt away like ice thrown into a fire. Watching her was like admiring a flower riding the summer breeze, so weightless and pure. It almost seemed impossible that she was real. But she was. And he was going to declare his love for her. That day, during the school festival. As cliché as it was, I expected nothing less from him. He would confess to her with his candid grin and his easy-going eyes. He would tell her that he liked her, she would jump in joy, and they would be together. That was how it would go. As always, I shall wait out here in the wings as I watch the two play out their love. The lights would dim down, I would give them my applause and tell them what a great job they did. 30

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That was how it would go. So, I readied myself, I prepared for the worse and I encouraged him. I told him not to be a fool, to be cool about it, to accept defeat if she ever does reject him. I told him not to be nervous and simply...be himself. The words flowed out of me like an actress reading off a script. It felt so natural as if it was bound to happen. I was prepared for this. I was stupid to think that. It was almost laughable, how much it pained me to see them together. Even with the crowd, I felt like a fool for only seeing those two. As if they were beacons of lights that roused the spite that bubbled in my throat. Then, amongst the crowd, we caught each other’s eyes and he beamed at me. Ai gave me her sweetest smile and I froze. "Oh, Hey! There you are! We’ve been looking for you."” He said as he made his way towards me, taking Ai with him. "Hey, sorry. I was helping out a teacher." I lied. I didn’t have to go to the festival, and yet here we are. "Are you free? Would you like to join us?" Ai offered because sure she did. She was too kind not to politely ask. She was just that kind. A million excuses immediately registered in my head. I glanced at him, and he seemed oblivious. Did he not care that I was there? Or did he simply believe my presence wouldn’t ruin his big confession anyway? "No thanks, I’ve got to go anyway. But, you guys go have fun," I said through gritted teeth and mustered whatever smile I could. Ai exhaled and crinkled her eyebrows, "ah, that’s a shame. I hope you can join us next time." ” Oh god no, please. I rather not spend any time with you two alone. "For sure. Alright, have fun you two." I turned and bid

them farewell. After a few steps away, I stopped in my tracks". He didn’t seem so sure; he wasn’t as nervous as I thought he’d be. Was he not going to go through with it? Did he have second thoughts? Could I—stop him? No, what was I thinking? I had no say in this, I was never part of their story, I was never even part of the equation. But—alas, curiosity killed the cat. So, I turned around and I tailed them. Immediately, I regretted my decision. I should not have followed them. I should have not listened to them.

Oh, to be in his shoes. To have those eyes watching him. To have that smile and be able to proudly say they were meant for him.

I was instead left in their shadow, but I could not help but be drunken by hers. Ai, if I had said it first would Because he did go through with it. He did tell her, you have given me the same earnest look? with his ever so soothing and sincere voice and her delightfully heartfelt expression. Would you have taken a fool like me? Would you have let me hold your hands under the streetlight and sing I felt my heart sink. Whatever dam was holding the to you of how much I loved you? river together had been broken down. They looked so picture-perfect. But it didn’t matter. For I have chosen to stay and watch by the wings. I could not look at the two for another second, a brief glimpse and I knew. I was like the fool behind the It is alright because I was cast as the fool. It is alright curtains watching Romeo and Juliet falling in love. because, at least, I am allowed to still have your eyes I entertained the ideas, and I could simply laugh at in my life. Even if I had to continue, silently, loving you. myself for planning my downfall. CREATIVE /

THE SHOW GOES ON words HODA HELMY illustration ALICIA OKTAVIANA HALIM The first thing I do in the morning is look at myself in the mirror. My face is unfamiliar to me again. This person whom I see every day in the morning, I would leave behind for the rest of the day. My skin is pale, blemished, and full of emptiness. I try to smile as I see the person who is supposed to be me doing the same thing. The smile came out awkward and unnatural. I sigh and try again, showing my teeth this time. Much better. I will just have to do the same when I come across someone today. I break away from the mirror, to choose my outfit for the day. Which role would I play today? Who am I supposed to be? Today, I have a meeting with an important client. If the client isn’t satisfied enough, I will probably get scolded, or worse lose my job. I pick a presentable outfit. A black suit with a white shirt underneath it. High heels make me look tall enough. The outfit is clean and smells nice, and it is ironed, making it hard to notice any cracks on the fabric. Ignoring the fact that it always makes me uncomfortable. Nevertheless, this outfit will be suitable for the role I am playing today. Someone who knows what they are doing. Someone confident and professional. Someone trusted. Someone who can fool and trick everyone to buy something that they actually don’t need. Perfect. Moving back to the mirror on the wall, I paint my face with colour. Drawing the lines for the character I am playing today. Colours that match with the show and tricks I will be putting on for the client. A neater and more acceptable look, while deceiving everyone that looks at me. There. This person is the person I recognise. Full of smiles and a living soul. With perfect and flawless skin. Sparkling eyes makeup and red lipstick. Bold. Nice! No one will know the truth underneath. Everyone will be deceived. "Marie, it’s time for your show." I turn my head in surprise. Almost forgetting where I am. Behind a long curtain, a boy whose face is full of colours was standing. His head is the only shown part of his

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body as the rest is hidden behind the curtain. His face is painted to give him a fun character. Someone who will make people laugh. However, once the colours were off, you will find a person who lacks self-confidence, is insecure and anxious. Another performer in this big show. However, aren’t we all performers? Aren’t we all here to make people laugh after all? "I am ready." I give the boy the same smile I practised this morning. Walking out of the room, to the hallway of darkness and then... Lights. All over the place above my head like a big sun, warming what is shown of my skin. I scan the arena to see no faces, all I see is the other person who is playing the client, sitting at the end of a large table. The table is placed in the middle of the arena where the light mostly focuses on. This is the person who I should entertain and satisfy. I collect myself, bringing myself back to the real purpose of why I am here. Adjusting the image, so the arena turns back into a normal, boring meeting room. Another smile forms. My mouth stretches across my face and wrinkles form around my nose. Another smile drawn perfectly for this little performance. Little did they know. I walk across the meeting room. Closer to the client. "Good morning, I hope I am not late. Shall we start? I hope our proposal would satisfy you at the end of the meeting."

FR E A K S H O W words JESSICA QUAN illustration ALICIA OKTAVIANA HALIM

Here I am again, I’ve bought myself another ticket to this strange little town. Here I am again, shoving my feelings away into the coin slot. Here I am again, chasing after another fairytale that turns out to be yet another freak show. But here I am again, searching for my happy ending, just to find myself chained to this sad little carnival

So here I am again, struggling to run away asking Mr. Houdini why can’t I escape this grim game? and he answered, "Perhaps you are too in love with this circus of sorrow, that’s why you lead yourself back here again and again."

–But how can I? When he is the only one that I love.

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D R A M AT I C D I S CO R DA N C E words SHUJAAT MIRZA illustration JESSEMINA SUGIONO

I’m searching for innocence Sempiternal Not diurnal, nor nocturnal That doesn’t evade me Like an informal exchange Of greetings— From the wings of A cascading laughter. From the dance of an Infernal embrace. It throws me off balance, Like a trapeze artist Caught in the crossfire Of A Freefall— Timed to end on A round of clapping Wriggling in and out of pain Like jumping from thin air Into sweet nothings— The impact is Earth-shattering But barely registering In the corpus of An open ending—

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The residue of a lost time Brushed off to reveal An unexpected bounty Flattering Merely to deceive— And then a sudden loss Of lifelong earnings Like invisible algorithms In derivative trading Working to undermine Their historic opening Much sorrow, much lingering A slow unfolding, unravelling Like a ball of wool, From the past season’s fur Transformed beyond recognition. Stitching itself out of existence. A different shape now, unreal— Part fiction, part transient Against which the bleating flock Of wisdom rages on Assured of loss but carrying on The motions of discovering; Unwittingly shaking up The ruptures That can’t be darned.

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PAP ER CUP S words ANINDYA MEIV illustration VASYA

sixteen years young tracing the edges of a paper cup clockwise on a coaster, up high, ‘till the merry-go-round blurs out of sight not a single second passed, only hours and not a single hour lasted, only skimmed seventeen wishes at a parking lot dawned, gingham prints under confetti laid on pavement, i turned

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eighteen under november nineteen’s sky, gold on my eyelids all over party hats reflected the cotton candy i held birthday popcorns popped as twenty paper cups overflowed the carnival flew by in hazy lighting: my teenage dream waved me goodbye gingham prints in the rain, twenty-one of ‘em, down the drain

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T h e B i r t h d ay G i r l I C o u l d n ’t Po s s i b l y Fo r g e t words ANGELINA illustration TIARA PUSPA AMANDA

Hi, Mr. Clown.

It’s time to talk about the most important part of being a clown. That’s right, performances! You should plan it thoroughly, Mr. Clown! Here’s a piece of advice: make your audiences be fully involved in your act. As a matter of fact, just let them take over the stage for you! That’s how it works in my school.

Why did you come to my birthday party?

I may not be wearing colourful pants or that huge red shoes you have on there, but we are the same. I believe so! Otherwise, why am I the source of everyone’s laughter? I think everybody in my class would agree with that, so I guess I’m just too good at this job.

What kind of performances? Well, I usually get pushed around when walking through the hallway, or get my stuff taken so I’ll look for it in confusion. My favourite was when they broke my glasses and locked me in an empty classroom. Sure, it was a horrifying experience for me. Unpleasant, even; but, I could see every one of them laughing from the tinted window. It was blurry, but I’m sure they were laughing! I can still hear the sound echoing clearly through that dark room. They must have loved it so much; they didn’t let me go until a teacher came.

Oh, sorry if I’m bragging a bit too much just now! It’s been a while since I got to talk about this to other people. Hey, how ‘bout hearing me out a little, Mr. Clown? I can give you some tips to be better at this little game.

Mr. Clown, why are you making that face? Are you worried you won’t be able to pull off such performances? Yeah, that last one might be a bit tough for you. I even cried myself to sleep that night thinking about how I got myself into this mess.

First things first, let’s get you a nickname! Something memorable and catchy. And make sure you have more than one; people get bored easily. That’s why I have tons of names, and lucky for me, I always get new ones from others. Lately, they’ve been calling me The Hunched Back Frog.

The truth: I never wanted to be a clown. I wanted to be an audience, I wanted to join the crowd. So that day, I kept wondering, why am I always the one getting singled out? How did I become such a laughingstock?

What? Is that not catchy enough for you, Mr. Clown? That’s weird, people call me that all day; they even forgot my real name. Anyway, get yourself one so you can make a grand entrance wherever you go!

And do you know what the worst part about this job is? The lonely feeling that slowly eats you from the inside every single time you force yourself to swallow all the jokes and banters others throw your way. You are dictated to be "chill" about the pranks that you experience, and you lie to yourself that this is, indeed, just the way children play. But, why? Why are children so cruel?

Oh, I’m sorry if that came out a bit rude! It’s just that...I’m quite the class clown myself, and It’s a bit weird to have us both in one place, don’t cha think?

The next step: be popular. If you are known, more people will talk about you. Again, I don’t mean to brag, but I am the most popular clown in school. Every time I pass by the canteen, I’d hear whispers about me. I don’t know what they are talking about, but sometimes I get boys telling me that I’m pretty out loud. It’s not too flattering, I know! More like embarrassing, right? It’s usually followed by some hysterical laughter from their friends. I don’t mind it, though. I’m entertaining them, after all. What even counts as praise anymore, right?

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It’s shameful.

I began to loathe everyone; hate piled up inside my young heart. The teachers who ignored the troubles and hated me for not having a backbone; the stand-byers who laughed along with all the antics, who dared to think they are all innocent as they watched me being humiliated; and those people who (somehow, someway) found joy by putting me

in misery, up until I, myself, gave up on trying to sympathise with myself. Day by day, I wretchedly hoped that they would get a glimpse of what I have faced. I still crave for their suffering. That’s why I was so angry when I heard that my parents invited all my classmates to my party today. I wanted to yell at them. I wanted to say something, anything. But, I was too embarrassed to tell them the truth. I don’t think they’re ready, anyway. So, I thought, how bad could it be?

I’m a little sad. Weird, I know! What was I thinking? Even if they came, they would torment me on my special day. They would call me names and blatantly make fun of me in front of my family. They would ruin my cake, or maybe pop all the pretty balloons that I love so much. They would...at least, make me a little less lonely. How could they? After all the laughs I gave them, none of them thought about coming today? Nobody cares enough, I suppose. On my birthday. So, tell me, Mr. Clown, why did you come to my birthday party?

No one showed up today.

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G L A N C I N G AT A C O N V E R S AT I O N WIT H A RIVER VIEW words FARRELL ADI illustration ALICIA OKTAVIANA HALIM "To you, what is a circus?’

"You know, clowns doing their tricks, coming out in droves from their tiny car."

I was taken aback by your question; it was so sudden. "Is there more?" "What do you mean?" I asked. I needed more. "I suppose so." "You know, a circus! What’s it like, in your opinion?" "Tell me, then." "Why are you asking?" "Just wondering." We walk a little further along, as I settled on the question. Finally, I said, "Let me think about it, alright?" You nodded. One step at a time, we took our time. The river looked especially clear that Sunday, the sun’s reflection on its streams—glimmering. We were trying to take a breather, trying to catch a break. Enjoying ourselves before tomorrow comes. Yet, I was finding it incredibly difficult to do just that. I couldn’t relax. Your question stumped me. A circus—something I never thought about. My face must have been all over the place, blank eyes staring off the distance shrouding a train of thought. Yet you seemed blissfully unaware, enjoying the view. Then, I blurted out a word as we walked down the stairs, closer to the river.

"The acrobats, walking on their wires like it’s a walk in a park. Strongman, you know, those muscular guys performing feats of strengths like bending steel," I began to list the acts in my head. Then, I added, "Though, I suppose that wouldn’t impress anybody these days." "Anything else?" I was surprised. The way you said it–I wasn’t sure if you were being sarcastic or frustrated with me. I still don’t. I thought about it for a moment; maybe for too long. I could feel you staring at me, and I wasn’t even looking at you anymore. I needed to say more. I had to. But I only shrugged. I thought you were running out of patience with me. "Nothing?" I couldn’t find the words. My head felt empty and I didn’t know why. The only question in my mind was, why? Why was this so important to you?

"Clowns." "The ringmaster? His loyal animals?" You raised an eyebrow; the surprise was written on your face. I couldn’t believe what I just said. I smiled awkwardly. You have probably already forgotten your question by now, and here I am thinking far and deep about such a stupid enquiry. We stopped by the railing, for you to listen to what I meant, for me to explain further. The riverside was so close; I could hear the water splashing. So close I could almost feel it on my skin.

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"Of course!" I quickly answered. "Yes. Them, too" You looked away from me, finally. A single laugh. "That’s quite a typical, plain answer. Fair enough I suppose, but can you come up with something more? Perhaps something closer, maybe?" "Not really. No, sorry," I said, barely above a whisper. I felt my face heating up, you probably saw how red

it was. Leaning on the railing, I barely registered the groaning sound it made, too preoccupied with my own embarrassment and other noises from afar; noises of fast-paced drums and trumpets. Faint screams in unison. The vibrations from speakers danced on the surface of the river, its reflection shimmering. I looked for their source and saw a plethora of lights in various colours. And then it hit me. There was a reason, after all. Smacking my forehead, I realised why you asked that question. "Is that why?" I pointed to a carnival some distance away from where we stood. "Yeah," you softly said. "I was actually hoping to go there with you." The look on your face, you seemed regretful. The realisation that you didn’t mean to be upsetting came to me just then, that what you said was in jest. I relaxed myself a bit, wanting to hold that face of yours and reassure you. But before I got to do that, I felt the railing I leaned against croak again. I heard a sharp snap, like something broke. It all happened so

quickly. The railing tilted, and just like that, I fell into the river below. The panic on your face was the last thing I saw before the murky waters were the only thing my vision came in contact with. Pain. Pain was the only thing I remembered after that. I suspected my head hitting something as I fell, or maybe I hit the water itself (or whatever was in it). What was clear to me was people pulling me away from the river, and you were amongst them. Then, I remembered the sound of sirens and people. So many people. My face went red again, embarrassed as bystanders circled us. They were whispering, but I couldn’t hear them, ears still ringing. When they finally cleared up, your voice was the first thing I heard. "Are you alright?" "You know what?" I said, ignoring your question. I was still breathless and clutching my hand to my chest. You leaned in closer to listen. "What?"

"This... this is a circus too"

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A PERFORMANCE (ON THE FIELD)

/ ARTS, CULTURE AND EDUCATION

A memoir of events from the VIC CUP 2022 event by PPIA Victoria—an Indonesian student organisation bridging together all Indonesian student unions in Victoria.

All pictures are provided by @viccup.au @ppiavic"

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ESCAPE words PADMO WIDYASENO illustration TIARA PUSPA AMANDA

It’s been a while since I’ve returned home. Accepting a lucrative journalism job a couple of years back forced me to make the move to the city, leaving my hometown for the first time in my life. Since then, my days have revolved around constant deadlines, never-ending meetings and a concerning amount of time spent glued to a screen. Sure, it was my dream job. And sure, I deserved it. But over time, I’ve also found myself becoming increasingly disillusioned. For the longest time, I’d fantasised about being a prominent journalist–living that flashy, fast-paced, 21st-century lifestyle that’s been glamorised by the media. But now that I’m actually here, it’s safe to say that the wow factor has dialled down...and so have

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my hopes. It’s hard to be interested in anything new when your work requires you 24/7. My mind’s almost consumed by it. Journalism used to be exciting, but now that it’s become the sole focus of my life, I can’t remember the last time it felt that way. All I yearn for now is to recapture that sense of child-like joy that I haven’t felt in a while. Because being an adult is just so incredibly draining. Yes, there are bills, taxes and endless errands, but it extends beyond those things. I simply despise behaving like a "grown-up". Society puts so much expectation on you to be sophisticated, unassuming and conformist once you reach a certain age. I’ve been forced to say

goodbye to self-expression and the freedom I had as a child. Adulthood is so devoid of colour. Why did my friends and I romanticise the idea of it when we were growing up? The reality couldn’t have been any more different. It’s almost hilarious. I feel like I’m starting to lose myself. I’ve spent most of my time living in the midst of the hustle and bustle of society, yet I’ve never felt so detached from everything at the same time. I’m away from the wide-open fields where I’d run around endlessly with my friends; I’m away from the familiar roads and buildings that I’ve passed by thousands of times; I’m away from the people that mean the most to me. The city deprived me of the sense of comfort and joy that my hometown offered. Its initial promise has long faded, and I’m left stifled by the pressures and demands that come with it. I need an escape. Whenever I feel that the burdens of adult life are just too overwhelming, I tend to reminisce about my childhood days. It comforts me to know that there was a time I was at peace with myself. As I explore the depths of my core childhood memories, I always refer back to this one circus that I used to watch regularly. They would come to my hometown annually, and their performances would form some of my fondest childhood memories. There was something so rejuvenating about their presence. As a child living in my tiny little hometown, I was enthralled by their breathtaking and realitydefying circus acts. It brought me so much joy to watch them perform. The day that the circus came to town was regularly marked on my calendar. It became a ritual for my family to watch them, and I loved how it became this continuous activity that I did with my loved ones. So it was especially disheartening when I learned that it was discontinued due to something as banal as "financial reasons". Sure, at that point I was already in high school (and you wouldn’t really expect a high school student to still be obsessing over a circus) but something in me was affected that day. I was disheartened. The innocent, wide-eyed kid was suddenly gone. There went my childhood. But through an incredible stroke of good fortune, it

somehow came back to me. A particularly fascinating Instagram post captured my attention one morning. I couldn’t believe it. They were reviving the circus—the same one I watched as a child! And the best part is that my hometown was still included. My soul instantly lit up. I thought, this was the exact remedy I needed to overcome my disenchantment! I was ecstatic! But I still needed a reason to get out of work. I feigned an excuse to return home to my bosses (the "family emergency" card always worked) and promptly made plans for my return. I packed my bags, called up my family and I was on my way. I could’ve gone the easy route by taking the plane back home, but I purposely chose to drive instead. I wanted to use the travel time to reminisce, and as I drew nearer to my destination, the surroundings became more and more familiar, thus increasing the strength of nostalgia. I was taken by an overwhelming sense of bliss. Home. After the obligatory reunions and catch-ups, my family and I prepared for the circus performance, a night that we had eagerly anticipated for weeks. Oh, how I missed this feeling! I knew coming back was a rare occurrence for me, so on the way there, I was silently hoping we could slowly revive our old tradition and continue to do this in the coming years. As I approached the immensely grand circus tent, the memories of my previous visits to the circus began replaying in my mind. I felt like I was transported back to my childhood self again, anticipating the performance with the same innocence and sense of wonder. I was reminded of what that walk looked like back in the day. There were these bright red circus-themed banners that lined up the path, several posters promoting the circus company itself, and of course the escalating roar of the crowd. All of these things have gone mostly unchanged, aside from some minor modernisations. It was at that moment that the occasion fully began to sink in. By the time the lights dimmed and the music began, I completely forgot about the outside world– the meetings, phone calls and deadlines. I hadn’t

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felt stress-free in so long. I simply watched and enjoyed the breathtaking spectacle with an open and empty mind, just like a child would. Out of my own curiosity, I briefly browsed the audience and I was touched by how many young people I saw. It was heartwarming not only because they reminded me of my younger self, but I was just simply moved that today’s youth—in a world increasingly preoccupied with the ‘digital’—can still find amusement in something more palpable. The performance itself was everything I could’ve asked for. From the trapeze artists, acrobats and tightrope walkers, the crowd was constantly enthralled by the mind-boggling tricks that they performed. Their cheering echoed. And although I’ve seen this performance multiple times before, I was still in awe of their sheer brilliance. What was different this time, perhaps, was that now I could appreciate the freedom that these performers exuded. It was almost like I could understand them, somehow. They were able to do what they pleased, expressing themselves however way they wanted to—all without any pressure weighing down on them. That was the state I yearned to be in. I dreamt of it. Of course, it would be easier said than done, but I’d just love the opportunity to escape every once in a while. I was right. This whole trip was a much-needed escape for me. I knew I’d return to my daily urban monotony soon enough, but it was nice that—for a brief moment; I was unfettered and unbothered. The state I’d been longing for so long. I know responsibilities will continue to follow us, and for a lot of people, it may seem like some sort of drudgery. But what I also know now, is that what gets us through it is those small moments that reminds us of just how simple and wonderful life can be. That moment can honestly be anything that matters greatly to you. It could be a certain place, person, or in my case: a silly old circus.

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T HE CARNI VAL OF A B SURD DEL U SIONS words SHUJAAT MIRZA illustration JESSEMINA SUGIONO

What’s heart failure To the uninitiated skirmish That barely scratches Its awaited turn at dawn. A joke simmers at the lips— Fluttering like a hummingbird Flapping violently, And vanishing into the mists— Poof - just gone. The deformed contours of A momentary thrill That the crowd latches on Watching the patient birds! In their aviary of isolations! Before the lights are gone A whirligig that runs on Before the curtains fall To a much-needed applause As the reverberations Stay on From the sensorium, Of a swansong. The cognoscenti Rush downstairs From the hall, unaware Of the developing nightmare Dancing away into the wilds Unstuck by nothing; Not if lies lay hold of truths Even if reality never dawns Even if the calling card is gone For fame has no love lost For broken places To adorn Them with a forever song. 48

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T H E S W O R D S WA L L O W E R CW: Depiction of a dangerous act by use of a weapon (sword); mentions of blood

The sword swallower raises the blade above her head and empties her mind. She focuses on the blade’s fine point, so sharp it must be invisible. She supposes that if it thins forever then it doesn’t really end. It only gets smaller and smaller until she can’t see it, and what looks like twenty inches of sword actually goes on for miles. When she points it up at the sky she cuts out the stars, and when she turns the blade inwards and points it at her open mouth, she slices herself down the middle so cleanly she doesn’t draw blood. She stands with her feet hip-width apart and splays her left hand by her side. She extends her tongue and holds it a centimetre away from the tip of the blade, then she winks and points the sword back up to the sky. She feels the audience pulsate with morbid hunger. They want her to take the blade into her body and come out unscathed, but they also want to believe that she’ll get hurt. That’s why they’re here, that’s why they watch: for the chance that she really is swallowing a sword and not some telescopic prop; that the blade is sharp and her insides are as soft, red and vulnerable as their own. They want to be suspended in the moment where she tiptoes in a circle, looking up with her throat clenched around the blade. They want to believe that they’re about to witness something tragic. But she snatches the moment from them, flinging the sword away from her face. She presses her lips together so that two neat dimples appear in her cheeks, giving off the impression of a rodent hiding something in its mouth. She brings her legs together and sweeps the sword in a long balletic crescent across the audience so they can all see how sharp and polished it is. Moon-faced children follow its arc with mouths agape, young men leer at her colourful stockings and old women ready their hands, pressing them flat against their sternums, so that their palms are close by when the sword is inevitably swallowed. They ready themselves so that they can hide how their own mouths open when the sword slides in; how they imagine the cool blade would wiggle down their throats and tickle the entrance of their stomachs. They wonder if all their organs are aligned in such a way that a sword, even 50

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one as delicate as that, can slip from the base of their throat and plunge into them without causing a bleed. Some suspect that the sword swallower has a length of tubing already inserted in her torso, or she’s using some secret lubrication, or the sword isn’t a real sword at all but a cheap prop or a clever illusion. Now the sword swallower steps towards a cardboard pedestal set to one side of her little arena. Holding the sword at arm’s length, she whips a black velvet cloth from the pedestal to reveal a green melon as large as a child’s skull. Raising her pencil-thin

brows, she purses her lips as if to whistle, but doesn’t make a sound. As her sword arm sweeps towards the fruit, the whole audience sways with it like reeds in a breeze. She twirls them in circles as she waves the sword in a spiral over the melon as if to cast a spell. She stabs the melon. The point of the sword pops twice through the skin. A child screeches; old women

gasp and mutter. The audience ogles the pink fluid that bubbles from the wound and drips onto the pavement. They take that as a promise that she’s serious about their entertainment, that she will give her body to them, that all her strange, graceful movements are part of a secret ritual offering her flesh and mortality to their straining eyes. In return they let her dangle their anxiety on the point of her sword, conducting them in a choreography of suspense and desire that builds towards an inevitable, delicious conclusion. She jerks the sword out of the melon with such force that the audience takes fright; a few children giggle, a man grows uneasy and turns to leave. For a moment, while the sword is thrown behind her, she seems ready to stab the fruit again, or bash it with her fist, or let it tumble off the pedestal to combust on the pavement. She turns to the audience and smiles a closeted, playful smile—no, she will not smash the melon—and the audience exhales, released from the threat of an unnecessarily messy violence. She straightens, steps delicately back to the centre of her chalk circle and cleans the sword with the velvet cloth, only a breath of fabric between metal and skin, while the audience nods along to the movement of her hand. She drops the cloth and reoccupies her wide-footed stance, splays her left hand by her side, squares her shoulders and

draws the sword upwards in a slow, tantalising curve before her, as though crafting a ward. The audience leans in—this is the moment she will tilt her head back—but the sword falls and begins another circle in the air, then another, completing three rotations before it comes to rest once more above her head. The sword swallower performs another dimply, secretive smile. Finally, she turns her face upwards and focuses so completely on the sword that it’s not clear if she has forgotten her audience or if they themselves have disappeared. She readies herself only by taking a breath. Despite what her audience thinks, sceptics and believers alike, the sword isn’t telescopic or blunted, but a genuine blade sharp enough to pierce the inch-thick skin of a melon. She doesn’t use tricks or illusions. As long as she moves the same way each time, the sword goes in, the audience gapes and cheers and winces, and the sword comes out one careful inch at a time. She curtsies, packs up and goes home. Her routine has never changed—the feints, the pierced melon, the three circles drawn in the air. Each time she performs she moves the same way, and each time she comes away unscathed. When she draws the three protective circles she imagines a bright, sparkling light emitting from the point of her sword, dimming the audience and enclosing her in a deep black tunnel. The faces in the crowd fade and she no longer feels the bite of their desire. She doesn’t mind the men and their leering. She only worries that she’ll miss a step in the routine one day—what might happen then? The sword shoots up from her hand in an infinite silver line. If she’s not careful, if she’s not deliberate, she could cut out the moon.

words ROWAN HEATH illustration ALICIA OKTAVIANA HALIM

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I REMEMBER YOU BUT NOT IN THAT WAY words QUINCY J illustration VASYA

pain was the colour you painted yourself in that night in silence— and i remember that in lieu of feeling the melodies of violins playing on my skin, dancing like leaves falling in autumn we found peace in each others’ arms, and i remember asking, whether your touch is a boundary i’d cross like standing under fireworks and between the unguided sparks euphoria like no other but i saw you— and decided that tonight is one of those nights where you and i would sit in silence and like the waves coming in and out we’ll manage to find ourselves

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ICARUS, AFTER THE FALL words MUHAMMAD RAFFI DWITAMA illustration JESSEMINA SUGIONO

If I could describe what the past three months have been, it would probably be, One Giant Circus. And I’m not talking about the "Greatest Showman" kind of circus, but more alike to the "Devil’s Carnival". Just like everyone else, this year started off great.

"Anything good is never easy, right?" I thought to myself.

2022 marked the first time everyone was freed from their isolation at home and returned to their exciting online-free life. I was fortunate enough to continue living abroad, returning to the land down under and meeting old friends whom I have not seen in two years. I would have never imagined getting another chance to look at Melbourne’s skyline again from the top of Royal Park, bringing in the feeling of nostalgia but also excitement for what’s to come. On top of that, I was given an opportunity of a lifetime. A project so grand that even I couldn’t believe the scale of it, much less when I was offered the chance to build it into reality. I was excited, passionate, and determined to pour everything into this one.

The project was too big, too unfeasible, to make into a reality. Many external factors stood in the way of our vision, restricting us from this grandiose dream of ours. Multiple stakeholders insisted on downsizing the project. However, it was downscaled so much that it became a shell of what it was.

Unfortunately, the good part stops there. As fast as that excitement built up, the faster it was to fall down. To say that it was an utter mess is probably a massive understatement, and I was unprepared to handle the sheer physical, mental, and emotional loads that were to come. This is a story about a project so ambitious that it was doomed from the start. This is the story of Icarus and how he flew too close to the sun. This is a story of my failure... and how I overcame it. So, where do I start? The project I was tasked to lead was ambitious. Knowing what I know now, it was...too ambitious. Many people were involved—I even know most of them personally. So, there was a lot of expectation, pressure, and trust weighing me down to make sure this event became a success. I spent countless nights drowning myself in meetings and discussions. The project was extremely demanding, but the passion that burned within me was enough to keep me going. 54

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We were shooting for the sun, which became our ultimate downfall.

Time wasn’t on our side. We couldn’t afford to delay the project, and the longer it took to finalize it, the more unattainable the dream became. The pressure was unrelenting, and as much as I wanted to hold on to that dream, it was naive of me to think that it was still in the realm of possibility. The thought of cancelling the project never crossed my mind, but there I was, signing the last document that became the nail to the coffin; pulling the plug after just two months of starting it. It’s easy to say that you’ll live your life without regrets. With conviction, I am a self-proclaimed determined person who gives a 100% on everything, believing that the process is more important than the result. Growing up, I’ve learned to rely on myself first and foremost. The only thing you can control in this world is yourself. To expect that the universe will favour you in some way is blatantly incorrect. For the most part, I’ve stood by those words and I will continue to do so. At least, that was what I thought. Those convictions became hollow statements as I broke down, regretting everything I’ve done that led to the cancellation. As a leader, I failed many that have put their trust in me.

As an individual, I defiled the very same principle that makes me who I am. In the days following the cancellation, I took it pretty hard. I avoided people to save myself from the sheer embarrassment and shame that accompanied failure. My heart carried hate and resentment towards the people involved with the cancellation. I was to blame for most of it, but it doesn’t make them any less guilty. I was in a pretty bad state, and it took me a while to clamber out of that hole. Ironically, the very people I’ve failed were the same people that helped me. Many gave words of encouragement; some even said thank you for the brief time they had whilst in the project. In my eyes, I felt like I had no right receiving that kindness. After all, I was the one who failed them. But from their words alone, I found refuge and comfort. I was determined to rise back up. This was the world telling me to grow. Because all the good things in life might hurt the most. The story of Icarus is commonly associated with reaching beyond one’s ability and the repercussions that accompanied it. For many, his story serves as a warning. Yet, I see it a little differently. Sure, his tale was a tragedy. His reckless abandonment was stupid and that was what ultimately killed him. But, to think that his action of reaching the sun was deemed as askew...did not sit well with me. For me, Icarus was a dreamer. He didn’t let society nor the gods keep him from what he loved doing. I’d like to believe that the moral of his story is to not hold yourself back from reaching the sun. By all means, I think we should be encouraged to do so.

His story is a reminder that as long as you’re still breathing, it’s okay to fall down. You should chase your dreams, no matter how ambitious it is, no matter all the obstacles blocking your path; you should run towards them with every single breath you take. And if you fall, always believe there’s always a silver lining to it. A lesson to be learned, an experience to fuel your growth. After all, you’re still alive—right? It’s a shame Icarus’s story ended abruptly, but I know for damn sure, that if it didn’t kill him, he’d go back up and do it all over again. With a heavy heart, I announced that the project will, for now, only remain a vision. Even though it will stay on paper for quite some time, I’m blessed for all the experiences I’ve learned in this short while. I’m grateful for all the friends I’ve made, ones who’ve supported me through this whole process. I’m thankful for all the heartbreaks, disappointment, and sadness that followed. If I could describe what the past three months have been, it would probably be, One Giant Circus. Yet, for all that chaos, I would still choose to relive it again if given the chance. Looking back, there’s a certain beauty to this whole experience. It’s abstract, but once the story has finished writing itself, it finally starts making sense. Writing this piece was my way of closing this chapter of my life—think of it as my way of giving myself closure. Unlike Icarus, I have the opportunity to commit mistakes and learn from them as I mature further. I don’t take this opportunity for granted. Certainly, I won’t take this failure for granted as well. ARTS, CULTURE AND EDUCATION /

I’VE NEVER BEEN TO A C I RC U S words HANNA C. illustration JESSEMINA SUGIONO

I’ve never been to a circus, but will you take me with you? Let’s hop on a ferris wheel, see how tiny the world seems to be when we reach the top and for a moment forget that we ever need to go down. Then we can enter the funhouse. Whatever shows on the carnival mirror won’t matter because I promise I’ll like you just the same in any shape. When we get to the carousel, you can be my knight on a white horse, be part of my fairy tale as we ride side by side. Lastly, before we go home, get me a snack or two. Make me feel as rosy as cotton candy pink, sweet melting clouds in my mouth instead of tears. Despite rusty engines and heights, funhouses belonging in horror movies, dirty carousel horses no longer looking white, and sugar not really helping my anxiety, I’d happily disappear into chaos with you.

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CREATIVE /

ROLLER COASTERS For Padmo Widyaseno Is there anything quite as physically exhilarating as riding a menacing and tantalising roller coaster? The thrill of having your soul thrust against the wind at a hundred miles per hour, without knowing what turn or drop the ride will surprise you with next; the suspense raising your adrenaline to its pinnacle. Sure, there may be a list of similar examples, but there’s something about sitting down on a roller coaster and checking your seatbelt for the hundredth time to make sure they are indeed fastened that makes the attraction stand out among other thrillseeking exploits. For starters, roller coasters create this marvellous union of feeling, as if you’ve braved a daredevil-like stunt, while still having that assurance that you’ll survive at the end of the ride. Everyone wants to experience that sensation. To feel like they’re flying, to feel the mounting anticipation when the cart goes uphill and the subsequent release as it plummets down an unbelievably steep decline. To feel free. For most of history, that sensation is usually accompanied by the possibility of fatality. When the human body moves at such high speeds, a theoretical impact with something could cause an extreme amount of pain and damage. Roller coasters, however, are one of the few adrenaline pumpers that has a relatively low risk of certain death (although...it can still happen). But thanks to evolving technology, people can experience an exciting rush in their veins, a spike in their endorphins, all from the comforts and security of a strap-on seatbelt. Such a perfect pastime. So, what are you waiting for?

words PADMO WIDYASENO, QUINCY J illustration TIARA PUSPA AMANDA

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Against Quincy J I personally like roller coasters. I’ve always been the brave one in theme parks—something about living in the moment and making it last (as cheesy as that sounds). But, I also remember all the people who hate it and I guess I’m trying to put myself in their shoes as I continue with my arguments. It’s always been a pointless gesture to ask my mum whether she wants to ride on roller coasters. She’ll always say no as she finds herself a seat across the ride, holding onto my bag as I march away to blend in with the queue. It’s not because she doesn’t like the fun; it’s because she’s not physically and mentally prepared for it. She’s a very brave woman, but roller coasters are simply not made for her. Aside from the fact that she’s scared of heights, she also has vertigo. Rides that take her through every possible direction tend to sicken her, literally. And, I mean, this is definitely not the sole reason why I dislike roller coasters. A lot of people can’t go on roller coasters because of health precautions too: heart diseases, pregnancy, and everything else that I can’t really remember. Also, like, height requirements. Sorry, kids. And do I even need to mention how dangerous it is? I’ve heard so many accidents, my jaws are on the floor. Why do we do that to ourselves—define ‘fun’ as doing something that can potentially be fatal? But, I guess my counterargument towards the infamous theme park ride is not just due to our physical limitation, but the toxic culture that can be borne out of this roller coaster fiesta. I just hate it, despise, loathe, detest—whatever word you’d like to translate it to—when people go through all the fuss of forcing another who dislikes riding roller coasters to get on one. Stop it. Get some help.

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SELF-APPOINTED CLOWNERY illustration FARIDA FITRIHANI

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cover illustration TIARA PUSPA AMANDA