Glass Issue 12: Complicated - 2021

Why Glass?

Whether you’re a glass half-full or glass halfempty kind of person; this issue of Glass is stacked with stories for QUT Students by QUT Students.

Like always, we aim to navigate you through the complicated facets of life that all students experience. Glass is here to be a lens on the issues, successes and stories that matter to students, and we hope you enjoy this issue.

Acknowledgement of Country

Glass Media and the QUT Guild acknowledge the Turrbal and Jagera peoples as the First Nations owners of the lands where QUT now stands. We pay respect to their Elders, past, present and emerging, their lores, customs and creation spirits. We recognise that these lands have always been places of teaching, research, learning and storytelling.

Glass Media and the QUT Guild acknowledge the important role Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples play within the Meanjin community.

Cultural Warning

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are warned that the following magazine may contain references to deceased persons.

Disclaimer

Glass Media informs readers that the views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in this issue of Glass belong solely to the author, and not necessarily express the views of Glass Media or the QUT Guild.

Editors’ Letter

Hey there Glassies,

We asked and you certainly delivered. Your submissions challenged us this issue to find new and creative ways to showcase amazing student art, stories and works. When we finally came to the theme Complicated , we never imagined that it would inspire such an increase in submissions and so many amazing artworks — the most ever in a single issue! Coming out of 2020 and navigating the changing world we now live in has been no easy task. In some ways

EM READMA

ELLA BRUMM TOM LOUDON CHRISTINA SIMONOSKI

I’ve been on board with Glass since Issue 7, and Issue 12 will be my final publication that I edit with Glass. The past two years were far from what I expected, but have come with some phenomenal experiences. I am so proud of what I have built alongside the editors I have worked with over the past two years, from the voices we have platformed, to the issues we have raised, to the community we have built.

life feels as though it has returned to normal, until we have another snap lockdown, virus mutation or vaccine shortage. Navigating life has always been complicated – in so many more ways than one, as this issue proves. Just like this theme, people are complex.

This issue we’d like to finish off our letter by each saying a little something straight from the heart, to you, our loyal readers.

EmI hope that Glass is something that stands the test of time, and continues to be a space to give students a voice and provide a source of information and entertainment. I’m glad to have been a part of that. The past six magazines have been a joy, and I cannot wait to see what this becomes. Thank you to everyone reading this for trusting me with this publication.

Ella

Th is issue challenged me in a few ways. I had the worst writers block for Complicated partly because I didn’t know how much I wanted to reveal about my own messy life. In the end I worked on two pieces that I thought were right for this issue and I am comfortable knowing they’re in the hands of such an accepting and open-minded community. Working in Glass throughout this year has been an eye opener. I’ve read personal and thought-provoking

pieces from my fellow editors and from all the contributors. It has been inspirational hearing others’ perspectives and their own stories. Glass has definitely helped me hear different voices that I wouldn’t have been able to listen to otherwise. Thank you to all the readers, contributors and launch party goers. You make our job incredibly rewarding!

Tom Christina

Working with the Glass contributors has certainly been a highlight of this year. When I joined the team in March, I didn’t realise just how passionate and dedicated our submitters are about their work. Seeing contributors improve and grow throughout the year – to the extent that we’ve had to increase the length of our magazine for this issue – has been inspiring.

Getting to interact with our subscribers has also been exciting – and if you haven’t subscribed to the Glass Newsletter, yet you are missing out! I can’t wait to see the future of Glass and what next year has in store for this little magazine.

Complicated! Wow, was this issue a big theme to tackle. The stunning submissions of creative artworks and the variety of writing we received were really inspiring. It was clear from these submissions that this issue would be even more introspective of student lives than Reset. I also really struggled to find the words to tell my story in this issue, so I hope if some of you can relate you don’t feel alone!

I’m super excited to see even more varied contributions in the future, so if you’re a fan reach out and let us know what kinds of content you’d like to see us add in the next issue and online x.

President’s Letter

OLIVIA BRUMM

Life as a university student is complicated. Most of us juggle work, social and family commitments while also trying to do our best in our subjects. Sometimes it can all become just a little too much. In the first few weeks of the semester, you stick to your routine; you think, ‘this time I’ll follow through’, and for a few weeks, you do. You get up at the first sound of your alarm, manage to fit in a few sessions at the gym every week, keep up with your course work and get to sleep at a reasonable time. Then somewhere around week 2 (or the middle of the semester if you’re lucky), you notice your routine starting to slip. You’re missing classes. Your sleep schedule is erratic if not non-existent. Your ‘healthy’ diet has been reduced to a vending machine Red Bull and a 2-minute cup of noodles at 10pm.

I am yet to encounter a single person who’s made it through their degree without some aspect of their life descending into chaos. We’re the first to recognise faults and shortcomings in ourselves but routinely fail to apply that same critical lens when analysing the achievements of others.

We are constantly benchmarking ourselves against the achievements of others our age, and luckily there seems to be no shortage of benchmarks to choose from. Whether it’s when we finish our degree, what class of honours we get, whether we’re in a relationship, how

fit we are, or how many social outings we can cram into a weekend. There are endless ways with which we can compare ourselves. Even the most well rounded and put-together of us will inevitably fall short by some measure.

Some of the most accomplished, impressive, and beautiful people I know cry in the work bathrooms at their dream job more than once a week. Some of my most assertive and articulate friends are paralysed by social anxiety when they’re out drinking on the weekends. Friends who have secured clerkships with top tier law firms are kept up at night, spiralling over a slightly awkward comment they made on the first day despite receiving a glowing exit review. Friends who misplace their personal belongings at an alarming rate are celebrating finishing last semester with straight 7’s.

Everyone puts up a façade; some are just better at maintaining it than others. So, this semester when life gets in the way and you fail to achieve some arbitrary measure of success you set for yourself in week one, take a second to reflect and try viewing your own achievements through the same rose-coloured glasses that you so willingly apply to others.

Best, Liv

A wellbeing initiative brought to you by QUT Guild, your student union.

In Search for Nostalgia:

In Search for Nostalgia (2020) is a six-part series that features archival family photos that have been digitally overlaid with nostalgic objects and environments from my childhood home. The process of digital manipulation, layering, exploration, and collecting were used. This series was my response to the robbed memories COVID-19 stole during lockdown in 2020. As the title suggests, these works were a therapeutic process that allowed me to search for happier and nostalgic times during a year of isolation and uncertainty.

@pipierweller

ARTWORK BY PIPIER WELLER

What It’s Like for Your Parents to Divorce When You’re in Your 20s:

An Interview with Jacqui Scheiwe

WRITTEN BY ELLA BRUMM

What was your childhood like?

My childhood was very normal. Just mum, dad, me and my brother. We never moved house. We never changed school. We would holiday at the beach every summer and ate far too many prawns and serves of trifle every Christmas. We went to church on Sunday mornings, and visited our grandma on Sunday afternoons. Mum would take me to my dance classes and dad taught me how to drive. Both me and my brother grew up with a sense that we were a ‘normal’ and ‘perfect’ family. Of course, we didn’t know any better.

How old were you when your parents divorced?

I was 24. I think. Even though it was only a few years ago, that period of my life is a blur. And my mind has actively suppressed the details. It’s crazy what your brain does under stress!

What did it feel like hearing your parents were divorcing?

I went numb, yet felt sad and angry at the same time. I was shocked it was happening. After being a ‘normal’ family for so long, it didn’t feel real. It felt like the rug had been pulled

out from underneath me. I felt silly that it was making me as sad as it did because I was an adult and society was telling me I should have been fine to cope with it. I distinctly remember telling myself “You’re one of those people now. A person from a broken family.”

I felt like I couldn’t tell my friends because their parents were still together and they just wouldn’t understand. I felt like a character in a movie. Films and TV shows I had previously loved which had a storyline of divorce, tugged at a new, relatable nerve.

Were you blindsided by the separation or did you see it coming?

I was gut-wrenchingly blindsided, even though months beforehand my dad had moved into the spare bedroom of our house, before signing a lease and moving into an apartment down the road. We just thought it was a phase he was going through and he’d come back. He never told us he was planning on divorcing. He was also diagnosed with prostate cancer during this time, which convinced us he would come home and reconnect with our family after his surgery. He didn’t. What blindsided me the

most was finding out dad had actually been having an affair for almost a decade with a family friend of ours from church. She had also been married at the time. And, she also happens to have the same name as me. I felt like not even Hollywood could write a script that ridiculous.

The blindsiding continued all through their property settlement. It became apparent dad had been siphoning off money from their joint bank account. He also tried to claim more than 50 per cent in the property settlement by devaluing the items he wanted to keep, and overvaluing mum’s things. But the best moment was probably when my dad sent mum a legal letter claiming defamation because she told her friends about dad’s affair. Except the lawyers spelt it as ‘defamination’! I couldn’t even recognise who my dad was anymore.

Did it make you question any of your childhood memories?

Absolutely, it made me question every childhood memory. I would lay in bed at night looking at our happy family photos on social media and wonder just how long our family had been living a lie? It made me long nostalgically for my trouble-free childhood. But with every happy memory I would go back and relive, I would find clues about the cheating. Memories about things I didn’t think anything of at the time and had dismissed, but now all made sense. Like when my dad used to get angry if we touched his phone, or when he would come home late from work every Friday night. How my mum would always worry about not being attractive enough for dad, even though she was stunning.

Did the separation change how you saw your parents?

Absolutely. You grow up thinking your parents have life figured out and you can go to them for advice. But all I could see them as was broken people. During the separation the parent/ child roles reversed completely. I would cook dinner for the family while my parents argued for hours on end. I would drive my mum to work because she couldn’t stop crying over the separation. I would put her sleeping pills under my pillow in case she decided to take too many that night. I felt so betrayed by my dad when he tried to convince mum she was mentally insane because she was so upset by the divorce, and had the car keys in his hand ready to drive her to hospital. I had to physically stand up and stop him because mum has no signs of mental illness or a history of it. I had a crash course in identifying a gaslighter that night.

How did your life change after the separation?

The biggest change was I lost my relationship with my dad. It was as if he had died, but I never got a funeral to grieve. While he was the one who left and decided to cut me and my brother off, I decided the best way for me to heal was to make sure I had no contact with him. At least until he is ready to admit he cheated and lied to our family. It made me lose myself in a few bad relationships. But in another way, it slowly but surely made me more confident in myself. I’ve had to become the one to back myself in everything because my parents weren’t there for me when I was grieving our family’s separation. It’s made me try new things out of my comfort zone to show dad what he’s missing out on now he’s left.

If you were a child the expectation is usually that you have one or two weeks with each parent but considering you’re an adult how has that developed? Do you feel the burden of having to share your time equally between both parents?

As an adult I’ve had all the freedom to cut off contact with my dad, and I am so thankful for that. If I was younger, I think I would have been somewhat forced into accepting his affair. It’s been an interesting journey learning not to feel guilty about cutting out a toxic person from my life, even if they are a parent, with cancer.

I was told every inner detail of their separation because of my age. From their lack of sex, to reading through every legal document exchanged between them. I was told about everything.

What is the biggest misconception you’ve noticed that people assume about divorce in the family?

The biggest misconception I’ve encountered as an adult child of divorced parents is people think the separation wasn’t such a big deal for me or my brother. Because we are older, people thought we were doing fine. When we started telling them our honest feelings, how much it actually upset us, our friends really did a double take. They slowly started realising just how painful it was for us to watch the two people who had been our rock for our entire lives, crumble before us.

Many research articles and psychologists have commented on the impacts that divorce has on children but many neglect people of divorce in their 20s, why do you think that is?

I honestly don’t know. Because I know I’m not the only adult who has suffered through their parent’s rough divorce. Having said that, I know my story is a little bit unique. But I think because there is a lot of awareness of how trauma in someone’s early years impacts their development and future success, there is more demand for research on that topic. I think divorcing parents are more aware of the impact they are having on their younger children. But if you do know of any resources for adults like me, please let me know because I’d love to read it!

Did they treat you like their child or a confidante?

They treated me and my brother like we were both children and their psychologists. They told us everything and confided every one of their emotions. Yet at the same time, they told us we were too young to understand. It was a difficult path to tread, and it always left me with knots in my stomach. I felt like I was going to be blamed for talking to one parent more than the other, and be accused of taking sides. It didn’t matter how careful I was because I was accused of it anyway.

Were there any silver linings that eventuated from your parents’ divorce?

It forced me to rebuild myself and my ideas about the world from the ground up. It’s made me more aware of the subtle ways people manipulate others. It’s made me see a psychologist to learn healthy ways of dealing with grief and anger, and to unlearn every toxic thing I subconsciously learnt from my parent’s marriage and divorce. Most of all, it’s made me, my mum and my brother the closest and happiest family we’ve ever been.

What has your parents’ relationship taught you about romantic relationships and has it made you reflect on your own relationships?

It’s taught me happily ever after is a lie. Haha I’m joking! I still believe I will find my Mr Right, and I still believe long-lasting marriage is absolutely possible and worth it. But it has taught me no matter how amazing your partner is or how religious they profess to be, they will always have the capacity to betray you. I now know the importance of being an emotionally healthy person before entering into a relationship to not only build a strong foundation for a healthy partnership, but to also help weed out the

narcissists

Did the separation bring you closer to your sibling?

In a strange and unspoken way, it has. We are the only people in this world who truly know what each other has gone through. We were both lied to by our dad. We both watched our mother’s breakdown. We were both misunderstood by our friends and extended family. And we’ve both come out the other side as stronger and better people.

and gaslighters before you marry them.

Now I’m 22, What Do I Do?

WRITTEN BY CHRISTINA SIMONOSKI

So, by the time you’re reading this, I’ve finally graduated. I keep finding myself wondering what exactly other people were doing in their 20s and curious about what I should have already achieved by the time I turn 22.

I’ve definitely made a good start with my first significant milestone of completing my bachelor’s degree. Looking forward, I have two more important life events that almost feel like they’re approaching me at a highspeed rate. One being my Master’s in Digital Communications that I am actually really excited about and the other... turning 22.

I’ve always felt a sense of pressure to set myself up to be someone my siblings can go to for help, support or advice. A Macedonian upbringing kind of does that to you as the oldest sibling (especially when they’re seven and fifteen years younger than you). I know it’s probably an unhealthy amount of co-dependence, but it’s still something I want to be able to do for my sister and brother as they grow up. So, I can’t help but place these ridiculous expectations of achieving some tangible milestones in my 20s more than any other point in my life.

And look, it’s not the number I have a problem with, really, but more so the recent realisation

that everything after 21 feels like important groundwork. Whether it be building a career, making general life plans, improving my skills, travelling or moving out of my parents’ place. I don’t know what steps to take first. I know all of them need to happen at some point, but... what do I even start with?

Some people say to work with lists, I like lists too, but I get extremely overwhelmed when it comes to life goals. The tasks I want to work on start to go round in circles like “what comes first, the chicken or the egg?”

Do I save up for a car or spend money on driving lessons because I am STILL on my learners?

Do I move out of home or wait till I have a car first?

Do I look for work a reasonable distance from my parents or move closer to where I find work?

Do I live at home and save before moving out with my partner or just try to start living independently?

Do I save up for travel or save up for a car??? Will I ever get a car???

Maybe someone wiser than me is reading this chuckling, knowing exactly which decisions to make first, but for now, I’m still stuck in a comparison loop. Social media is probably the culprit for making it all look so easy. I know I can’t study forever, and apart from finding work, I never really know which milestone to reach for next. Everyone my age and everyone I look up to seems to just know what steps to take next, and I can’t help but feel like a baby animal learning how to walk.

Will 22 be the age where I find my footing and finally grow up?

‘DROPP the MOPP’

The Difficulties of Online Learning and Academic Misconduct

WRITTEN BY ANONYMOUS

Complicated. Many things have been complicated in the past 12 months at QUT. Students have certainly had an interesting time navigating new ways of studying.

The struggle of trying to figure out why someone is doing Mathematics in the Law Library.

The struggles of being enrolled internally while only having access to external lectures and tutorials, as QUT does not have the capacity to teach the number of students enrolled in classes internally.

The struggles of isolation, and missing seeing your friends in person.

The struggles of not being able to celebrate submitting your exam with a ceremonial Long Island, or five.

The largest struggle for many students has been the inability to collaborate and discuss their units with their peers.

“Why would I come into Uni to talk with students when I’m forced to be external?” We ask ourselves. “I’m not paying for the train or campus parking if it’s only to talk with my study group. We can just talk in the group chat.”

The new world of post-Covid learning has created a complicated world for students. The above statement may seem like an entirely rational thing for students to do in the future of online learning. However, that thinking may find students in breach of QUT’s MOPP for collusion.

The MOPP definition of collusion itself is complicated, vague, and difficult to understand.

5.3.6. (e) Collusion

Collusion involves unauthorised collaboration on assessment items with any other person/s. Collusion includes: working with others to produce an assessment item where such collaboration is not specifically authorised in the assessment requirements sharing completed answers to summative assessment items, where it is reasonable to expect that the material will be submitted for assessment by others

sharing detailed examples of work related to assessment items, where it is reasonable to expect that the material will be submitted for assessment by others.

QUT’s current definition of collusion is diametrically opposed to online learning. If you were to talk with your friends and study groups about assessment in person, you have

not colluded. You could go so far as to read your assignment aloud to another student, and you likely would not breach the collusion provisions in the MOPP. But, if you were to have the same conversation online, through social media or another service, the University could find you guilty of collusion.

Covid-19 has placed students into a position where many cannot risk coming to University due to the associated risks. Many cannot be bothered to go into Uni because they don’t have in-person classes, so travel is an unnecessary expense. Students rely on online communication to achieve any sort of ‘university experience’, and QUT is aware of this, evidenced by the shift to online learning. These same students may be found guilty of academic misconduct for writing down their non-academic misconduct collaboration instead of talking in person.

QUT needs to amend the MOPP to accommodate for the shift to online learning and make explicit what behaviours constitute ‘collusion’. While the government has told universities that classes can return in their full capacity, it appears QUT has made up its mind and shall continue to rely on online learning. QUT cannot continue in good faith to hold students to the same standards of pre-Covid learning when the world and University have been made so complicated.

Of course, if you’re found guilty of misconduct and fail your class, you have to pay to retake the unit, which is more money in Margret Shiel’s pocket. But that’s another conversation…

RUBY SEDDON

Swallowing the Universe with Trent Dalton

WRITTEN BY TOM LOUDON

When Boy Swallows Universe was published in 2018, its author, Trent Dalton, was known for the flowery prose of his feature articles. Well regarded in the world of journalism, his debut novel put him in another spotlight entirely. One year — and 140,000 sales — later Dalton had four Australian Book Industry awards, a second novel on the way, and glowing reviews in the New York Times and Washington Post. So, it was a surprise when the QUT Literary Salon announced Dalton as a guest speaker last May.

The teenage protagonist of Boy Swallows Universe, Eli Bell, lives a remarkable lifeone soon to be immortalised in a sold-out stage adaptation by Queensland Theatre, and a small-screen adaptation headed by Joel Edgerton. In about 450-pages Eli navigates domestic violence, an international drug syndicate, and an infatuation with an older woman. But perhaps the most remarkable part

of his life is the fact that it is based on Dalton’s.

“When I was in grade six my teacher told my dad at a parent teacher night that she was convinced I was going to become the leader of an outlaw motorcycle gang,” Dalton later tells me, when after I ask how his life has deviated from his expectations.

“It’s certainly turned out a lot different.” I’d been to a Lit Salon before and was familiar with the format; six readers, six pieces, a small crowd. On this particular night it was seven readers, seven pieces, and a healthier audience. Among the art students and introverts, Dalton’s straightforward style and labrador energy stood out. As his desire to personally meet everyone in attendance became more obvious, this energy became infectious. When I finally caught him, he was on his way out. But there was plenty more of Dalton to go around.

“Oh Tom! Of course,” he says like he’s known

me for years. When I ask if I could get in touch with him for an interview, he loudly shouts his personal email address and one of my coworkers commits it to memory.

When I do email him, his auto-reply defers me to his publicist at HarperCollins, who insists that “Trent is on a deadline” and “not doing any media commitments”. Half an hour later, Trent replies to my original email with his personal phone number, and asks me to text him any questions.

Dalton doesn’t feel like he needs to be managed. “It’s from my twenty years as a journo. It’s that idea that if you can’t sit down at the desk and write for eight hours as a journalist you lose your job. And then the mortgage doesn’t get paid and your kids don’t go to school. These are very powerful motivations and I try to look at any fiction writing I do in exactly the same way. So, I usually start at about eight o’clock and I’ll go right to twelve. Eight to twelve are my best writing hours — I love those writing hours. I don’t really need any convincing or any external encouragement to do it because I feel like I’m the luckiest bastard on earth and I try to recognise that every day.”

Dalton had come to the Lit Salon as a QUT alum and a Brisbane native. When I ask him about Brisbane writing specifically, the event is still firmly in his mind.

“I just had the pleasure recently of going ... to see the incredible creative writing students at QUT do an open mic storytelling night where they read stories about Brisbane from their own lives, and it was the most inspiring thing I think I’ve seen in a year and some of the most incredible stuff I’ve heard come out the mouths of young writers.”

“I can’t wait to see what’s ahead for those young writers I saw.”

“David Malouf, massive inspiration. Matt Condon, who’s a dear friend of mine, his work, particularly on Brisbane crime has been hugely influential. Kris Olsson — who was actually my QUT creative writing tutor — she was deeply influential in the fact that she got me my first writing job and that I wouldn’t be possibly alive without her.”

He talks about writing from his life, and I glean a little more of the real-life story of Eli Bell. Half of Boy Swallows was “too close to home”, and Dalton came close to losing control. But he stresses that our role as writers is to speak with our own voices.

“Whether we let people know that we’re writing close to home or not is a different story. “And for me doing that was extremely, deeply cathartic, and it was that or drinking straight Burbon every Wednesday night. For me writing a 100,000-word novel is much healthier than that. I think it’s important for us to mine the things that are troubling us. And I think I’ll be digging down into that quarry of emotion for the rest of my life, because just because I wrote some of that stuff in Boy Swallows Universe doesn’t mean I’ve sorted it all out and I look forward to processing that in the future.”

“Not to sound like a Bruce Springsteen song or anything but when I was growing up ... you don’t think of anything like what has happened to me as possible or for you, because there’s this invisible wall keeping you away from that and that’s called the outer suburbs of Brisbane. If you don’t know what’s beyond that invisible wall you don’t know that certain things exist.”

“That’s not just me being writerly or anything that’s just a fact. I thought for all money I was headed for the G James Glass and Aluminium factory on Kingsford Smith Drive because that’s where a lot of my mates went to work and that’s a good life and it pays well and you can buy a nice house in Bracken Ridge with a job like that and I was ready to go down that road. And I reckon I would have been happy enough. But I’m just so glad I saw some other things and I got to exactly where I think I belong.”

Underneath Dalton’s approachable, energetic exterior is a complicated person, characterised only in part by past trauma. Dalton has never stopped learning and has never lost his enthusiasm for life, which is — if anything — his biggest secret.

“In life and in writing – be enthusiastic. Enthusiasm is the most underrated human emotion,” Dalton implores.

“I’m talking about the fricken way you get out of the bed ... I’m talking about the way you treat your friends and your relationships and the way you listen to music and the way you look at birds flying in the sky and the way you talk to your mum on the phone. But particularly the way you approach your writing. Because what comes from enthusiasm is curiosity, and what comes from curiosity are answers. All the answers come when you’re enthusiastic.”

“[I think that’s been] the thing that’s gotten me where I am today.”

But where he is today is not Dalton’s final destination, as he continues to grow up every day.

“Be careful not to lose yourself in your own fricken head. When you meet the love of your life and you’re in the kitchen cooking dinner and they’re talking to you about the important things that are in their head, don’t be in your head thinking about your fricken story! Make sure you listen to them and you open up to them and you remember that there’s a whole wide world out there that exists beyond your brain and your own little story bubble.”

“I’m actively learning those things as we speak.”

Read the full transcript of our interview with Trent Dalton on our site, including his thoughts on QUT’s young writers, his secret song lyrics, and his advice for young and emerging writers.

Does Austral Syndrome, or Are We Just Inherently Prejudiced?

WRITTEN BY ELLA BRUMM

Have you ever achieved something you’re really proud of and wanted to share the news with others around you only to be cut down a few pegs for ‘bragging’? This feeling is rather common in Australia, due to Tall Poppy Syndrome.

Tall Poppy Syndrome is the cultural phenomenon of criticising, resenting or bringing down high achievers, usually by jealous people, when they begin to rise above the expected standard of society. The name of the syndrome derives from the presumption that poppies should grow together and if one begins to grow taller than the others, it must be cut back to match the size of the rest.

Australia has a particular issue with this occurring on an interpersonal and national level. Whether you achieve a seven in an assessment, land a highly sought-after job, or receive virtually any award for your achievements, the chances of you being met with comments that point out any flaws or downplay your success or simply having your hard work being attributed to luck is rather high.

As Australians we are quick to dampen someone’s success if we feel threatened by our own achievements. We do it to colleagues, friends, family members, and peers. It’s an unfortunate part of our culture.

There is a long list of famous Australians who the media and general public have teared down for supposedly getting ‘too big for their boots’ or not fitting the role society has pushed them into. Bachelor fans may recall one of the contestants on Matt Agnew’s season, Abbie Chatfield. At the time Abbie was a 23-yearold confident woman who knew what she wanted and went for it. However, the media and Australian public viewed Abbie in a less colourful light. While the producers and editors of the show didn’t help her PR, the media painted her as a villainous sex-crazed diva who only cared about winning rather than finding ‘true love’ (the show’s ‘apparent’ intention). Abbie was trolled relentlessly for being ‘too sexual’ ‘too confident’ and ‘too honest’. Despite claiming her own right in the influencer domain, she continues to receive criticism about how she portrays herself

through her Instagram. Maybe it’s not just because she grew a large following within a short time and had a quick path to fame that she was cut down. Could there be something more to her mistreatment than just Tall Poppy

Within the sporting world, Adam Goodes was cut down much further than the other incredibly talented AFL players who didn’t subscribe to the unspoken Australian value of downplaying your success. Goodes was a marvellous player who demanded respect and attention when he walked onto the field. As his career progressed, his talent was broadcast to the masses and he gained even more fame. Unfortunately, what came with that was a sea of opposition fans booing him directly every time he played. He was berated and abused on and off the field during his career, causing him to drop out of the game altogether. Was Goodes vilified for being ‘too good’ of a player? Or was this racially incited? The answer becomes quite clear when the mistreatment of Goodes can be traced back to when he performed a celebratory war cry after kicking a goal during the Indigenous round. This was seen as provoking the crowd and taunting them by throwing an imaginary spear into a cluster of Collingwood fans.

Even Australia’s darling, Ian Thorpe, couldn’t escape Tall Poppy Syndrome. Supporters began to expect too much of Thorpe and when he fell short, Australians had their scissors sharpened ready to cut him down. But was this in response to our high expectations of the swimmer or the speculations surrounding his sexuality?

It seems that many famous Australians have been victim to Tall Poppy Syndrome but

interestingly the ones who are vulnerable to this cultural phenomenon are women and minorities. Maybe it wasn’t that these Australians were rising above the rest. Maybe we just didn’t like seeing Abbie express her sexuality so openly because it contradicts conservative values of how a woman should act. Maybe it wasn’t that Goodes was too talented and proud of his athleticism, maybe it was because he’s Aboriginal and Australia remains deeply racist at its roots. Maybe we didn’t like seeing Thorpe embody anything short of the burly ladies’ man persona that we so quickly place on male athletes.

Maybe Tall Poppy Syndrome is the cause of why these celebrities were mistreated by the media, but I think we selectively choose the ones we want to see fall and tear them down by the identities that make them who they are. It is already hard enough in our society for minorities to reach the same level as others who are afforded unearned privileges for being male, white, and straight, but to cut down the few who have made it big whilst battling prejudice is barbaric. We shouldn’t be proud of having a culture that aims to play down each other’s success, we should be celebrating one another, especially those within the BIPOC, LGBTIQA+ and feminist spheres.

Swimming Together

WRITTEN BY HANNAH HASSEN

I am adorned in a dark blue sheet. Next to me lies a man I’ve been seeing for a very long time. Longer than I should have. The blue is clinging and touching every part of us, like the water in a current that shouldn’t be fought. It’s night time and we’re in our room we’ve created together, nobody else can see us as we’re both in the inky blue. We can barely see each other. You, Steven, are not even looking at me, but I’m drowning.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY PETER ROBORG-SONDERGAARD

I toss and I turn whilst I’m naked and beside you, you’re naked too but you’re still and asleep. I just had another argument with you, but only in my mind. I promise. In the dark you look hardly recognisable and your features cast shadows that make you unapproachable and ugly. I can’t prod or touch you, I can’t say “please wake up” or “can we talk?”. Or I don’t love you anymore.

I make small ‘o’ shapes with my lips to pull in more air, and it eventually fills my chest until I’m so full of air my chest feels like it might burst. I cry and I imagine my tears are big and blue, like how I would have coloured them in as a child. Pools and pools fall out and I use my fingers to try and push them back in, but I’ve done this before and they’re blue like the blue we’re swimming in so nobody can see them, not even you with your eyes closed so tight. We are completely opposite even now! Yours have no no crinkles, no signs of distress. We are drowning together, but not really. You are somewhere else, somewhere oblivious, dull and safe. It is in this moment, as I feel inexplicably tethered to you, I realise that there is no knife or hands or scissors that could set me loose.

I don’t want to be with you anymore.

I turn my attention to the silence that occurs when one finds themselves in a vast, blue coloured arena with no audience. I notice how small and inconsequential my life feels here. You made me so small. Our bodies are two crescent moons facing each other against an ink blue backdrop, with

nobody around to say “wow, how magnificent you both are!”. I remember when the adoration of our friends was enough for me. “You guys are so good together!”

We must look like those old psychiatric ink patterns with the fold right down the middle. Except that our fold is deeper than most and we are not symmetrical if you were to observe us closely. We are out of sync, and there are still things I haven’t told you yet.

I resent you.

Every night we take a swim in this exact ocean. It’s become so familiar to me that I suspect we will eventually die here. We have sex, we sleep and we wait for the light to remind us that it’s time to leave the warm blue only to return again the next night, and the next, and the next.

I reach across the navy blue sheets we are lying in and I tenderly push my toe up against the back of my husband’s leg, “Good morning you”. Steven smiles, still with his eyes closed, and reaches for my hand. I intwine my fingers over his and say that I love him.

WRITTEN BY JARRAH L BARTON

The first step in picking

Everyone’s favourite berry Aggregated drupe: the container.

I needed a container to put you in Something to preserve Sealed away for freshness So as to not bruise.

When choosing strawberries

For picking, just do what feels natural Look every time, for flushed red ripe

I chose you; did you know?

I picked you, Jupiter

I gravitated toward You from across the fields Of green and brown and Black space. Jupiter Your swirling reds said You might be ready.

How To Pick Strawberries

You’ll notice when they’re ready for you, Take off your sunglasses

They are larger, full, whole.

A whole person with a whole life Gently twist the stem between Your fingers and pull.

I watch your fingers You pull on me You ask me if I’m sad. Sadder for loving you? No! Never! Sad that our strawberry Isn’t ready?

Maybe it isn’t the right season.

I can wait, little strawberry.

Peter Pan Syndrome

- A Collection of Poems

Content warning: this work deals with topics of suicide, grief, self-harm, gender dysphoria, transphobia and includes profanity.

by Alex Rich

WRITTEN BY ALEX RICH

hyacintho luna

5th of May 2020

He bleeds in blue

Like one of those sanitary pad commercials

Where they can’t be bothered to show a monthly occurrence

For 52% of the population

We don’t need to see that We are ashamed

Was he ashamed?

Was he ashamed of the way he felt

The way he grasped the knife

The way he burned the people around him

Before plunging himself into the ice?

What could have been Burns like a raging house fire in my gut Vintage polaroids smouldering at the edges

Pictures of you as my date to the semiformal

A lifetime ago, two years ago

Now you have a date with Anubis

Maybe you’ll play chess

Do you remember me?

Wherever you are?

Whisper your secrets to the bay leaves

Place them on the grave That he shares with another Cover them with the dirt

Barely overturned

Light the candles

Lay the crystals

Pour the water Sing fucking hallelujah

Just don’t play Wake Me Up When September Ends

5th of May 2021

Dye my hair atomic turquoise in the bathtub

Bleach stains on the shirt he gave me

Clean the sides with steel wool and pure fucking tragedy

He is not your publicity stunt

He is not your election campaign

He is not your cautionary tale

He is not the green heart on your Instagram story

If I burn my own house down, is it arson?

Is it a knife if I hold it by the blade?

I bleed in blue.

WRITTEN BY ALEX RICH

argr

Someone else stands in the mirror

Reflective chrome coating applied to fragile laughter

Gaze travels down to her chest

Hey asshole, my eyes are up here I stare into them, my pupils contract She is all I can see

She will be present until the day I die Play her up with winged eyeliner and red lipstick

Streaks in my foundation, smudged mascara

Don’t worry It’s a stylistic choice Goth god Trickster Aesir

Janus, tranny, shemale, argr

Someone else stands in the mirror

Dysphoria painted over shapeshifters and decomposition

Gaze travels up to her eyes Windows to the soul splitting like frozen plastic

She whispers, you are oracle and king And I am the unwelcome outcome.

To my dear beautiful daughter,

I’m writing you a letter. That’s right, a good old-fashioned letter. I have a confession to make. I didn’t like you very much at first. You were just this annoying little blob. You smelled nice, most of the time. But you didn’t seem to have much interest in me. Which I of course found vaguely insulting. It was just you and your mum against the world. Funny how some things never change.

So, I cruised along, doing my thing, acting the fool, not really understanding how being a parent can change you. I don’t remember the exact moment everything changed, I just know that it did.

One minute I was impenetrable, nothing could touch me. The next, my heart was somehow beating outside my chest, exposed to the elements.

Loving you has been the most profound, intense, painful experience of my life. In fact, it’s been almost too much to bear. As your father, I made a silent vow to protect you from the world, never realising I was the one who would end up hurting you the most.

When I flash forward my heart breaks. Mostly because I can’t imagine you speaking of me with any sort of pride. How could you? Your father is a child in a man’s body. He cares for nothing and everything at the same time. Noble in thought, weak in action.

Something has to change. Something has to give.

WRITTEN BY THOMAS ELLIS

The Need to be Busy

WRITTEN BY HOLMESY

In high school, I was the kid who had their hand in too many jars. I have worked a parttime job since the ripe age of fourteen. I had multiple extra-curricular dance classes inside and outside of school, as well as commitments to the drama and music departments. I always had my hand up for extra seminars/courses/ camps/exchanges, be it for leadership, maths, or science. I was culturally involved with my community, always hosting exchange students, and going on exchange myself. While, I was very lucky to have these opportunities, I suffered regular habitual burnout.

Then when high school finished and these opportunities ‘went-away’, my life slowed down. I took a gap year and worked at a Donut King. I stopped dancing and being involved with the community. I spent five years never having a moment for myself, this was my year to chill the hell out. That’s when I discovered it. I felt this innate need, that bubbled inside of me and ate away at my confidence to make life decisions. It made me anxious, I felt as if I was wasting my life away and it took me to a very dark place mentally. It was a compulsion; I needed to be busy. Once I had come to this conclusion, I was so determined for the gap year to be over, so I could get busy at university.

And that’s actually exactly what happened. I spent my first year at university as a nineteen year old, studying two degrees, working three jobs, volunteering five hours weekly and attending regular dance classes. Needless to say, I was busy! It was not a ‘hang-outwith-your- friends-all-the-time’ busy, it was an ‘activities-that-will-contribute-towards -my-future-career’ busy. I liked the feeling of productivity, almost like I was constantly working towards future success. However, I discovered some things were lacking in my life. I had no time for family or friends. No time to use the money I worked so hard for. Low and behold, I fell back into my routine of habitual burnout, suffering chronic stress and depression, unable to get out of bed some days. So I had to make a change for myself!

I quit two of my three jobs and decided I was fine living off of Centrelink, like every other poor university student. I cut down on the hours I spent volunteering and the time I spent at the dance studio. I scheduled weekly meetups with my friends and family, and I researched the hell out of burnout to ensure I could overcome the dangerous habit.

Even now, after I have completed my first three week placement at a school, whilst working thirty hours a week at my hospitality job, I am still plenty busy. I recognise my growing level of stress, see the symptoms of burnout manifesting stronger as the days go on, but I cannot help feeling the need to be busier.

I am still learning and finding balance that will give me that productive feeling, without stressing me the fuck out! Knowing how to have a healthy balance, to live in the present and not for the future, is one thing, but enacting this concept is proving to be a challenge. You may say that we have a complicated relationship, this innate need to be busy and I. However, I will get there one day. I am just going to take some baby steps.

The Space I Take Up

I’m 11 years old when I realise that I take up too much space. Mum takes me straight from school to buy an outfit for my impending Confirmation at St Mary’s Catholic Church. One of eight girls in the church group, I’m the only one that hasn’t been able to find a pretty dress to fit my large frame. For me, a young girl with heavy breasts that developed far ahead of their time and hips that demanded sizes from the women’s section in department stores, I have slim chances of finding anything that didn’t resemble either a grown woman’s bridal gown or a large, sequined garbage bag.

In mid-1990s Bundaberg, formal fashion item choices in my size outside of the bridal boutique are limited to the polyester-filled racks at Millers Fashion. I flatly refuse to try anything from these ‘old people shops’, so I watch my mother dive into the back of clothing racks at Target, trying to reach an elusive size 16 dress. We don’t find one.

I leave that day with a dark grey, floor length polyester skirt and a modest, long-sleeved black top. I hate it, and in all the photos that day I make sure my mouth twists in a sad scowl so that everyone knows it. Mum tells me not to worry - the outfit makes me look slimmer. That’s what matters is unspoken, but it sits heavily in the air between us.

* * *

When I’m 16, I realise I’m ugly. I’m washing my

hands in the bathroom of my friend Carly’s house. She’s throwing a party; there are boys from school here, Nirvana songs on repeat, and warm bodies that stop just short of touching. It’s 1997 and I’ve perfected the art of deflecting attention from my bulky frame by wearing an oversized Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt, baggy jeans, silver Doc Martens, black nail polish and box-dyed black hair. A strong I totally don’t care what you think vibe.

I hear Carly’s voice through the wall between us – she’s in her room doing her makeup with our friend Taylor, who’s got a similarly large body to my own. You might be fat Tay, but you can change that, she says matter-of-factly. At least you’re not ugly like Emma. You can’t change ugly.

I see myself reflected in the mirror above the sink, but there’s something new there now, a crookedness in my nose, one eye slightly bigger than the other, blotchy freckles in a sunburst across my forehead. I poke at the new geometry of my face, and it fills me with shame. Not only do I take more than my fair share of space in this world, I’ve tarnished that space with this asymmetry, with these blemishes. It takes me another 16 years before I question my place in this world.

* * *

At 32, I have a seven year old daughter who slips into the bathroom while I’m drying myself from

WRITTEN BY EMMA NAYFIE

the shower. She examines herself in the mirror, frowning. What are you so grumpy about? I ask. I’m not very pretty, she tells me, and it feels like a slap across my face.

When I ask why she thinks she’s not pretty, she tells me that she’s fat, her arms are too big, her stomach too soft. I could summon a multitude of platitudes in response, but all I can manage is to pull her close and hug her tightly.

So many of us spend our lives feeling not beautiful, just shy of pretty. There are unwritten rules on the space we hold in this world, and our culture demands payment from anyone that fails to conform to the elusive optimum standards of size and beauty, regardless of how fickle and shifting these standards are.

I am angry; at the world, for starting to shape my daughter in its image, at myself for all those times I’d criticised my own body with my daughter in earshot. For criticising myself at all. I know this has to be the moment things change.

* * *

I start by throwing away the magazines I’ve collected over the years; hundreds of pages of diets that promise to help me burn belly fat, products to help transform my skin, burst my capillaries into smoothness, laser away soft edges and suck flesh from the stubborn pockets of my thighs; so many ways to erase all

the colours of ourselves that have bled outside the lines of a bland, uniform ideal of a woman.

I find an online community of women who are rejecting this pressure to conform. They call themselves “fat acceptance activists” and their bible is a book called Health at Every Size by Lindo Bacon, PhD. “Once you consider the extent of the magical thinking that tends to be tied in to the fantasy of thinness,” he says, “you can understand how threatening it is to consider the idea that you may never get the thin body you crave. It means that you never get to become the person you want to be.” His words stick to the walls of my heart.

I read Naomi Wolf’s The Beauty Myth. She tells me that “a cultural fixation on female thinness is not an obsession about female beauty but an obsession about female obedience” and once

I’ve read that I can’t unread it. Each bite I take is an act of protest.

* * *

I am 33 when I find myself sitting in my doctor’s office, sobbing into a tissue as he records my responses to the K10 Anxiety and Depression Checklist. My blood pressure was through the roof, and the depression so severe I spent several days at home in a near-catatonic state before my husband insisted on taking me to the doctor.

I need you to think about losing some weight. He says it gently, but I immediately bristle at my GPs suggestion that my mental health issues can be solved by weighing any less than I do. I am protective of my body and will not stand for being told that it is in some way faulty or unworthy of respect. He shrugs, not wanting to get into a confrontation. Perhaps some exercise then?

Later, a friend suggests my size could be put to good use in the gym, so I begin training for powerlifting and strongwoman and they’re right. My physical strength surprises me at first, and people around me begin to admire the weights I can move not just in spite of my size, but because of it. My depression and anxiety scores improved steadily, and I find myself discovering reserves of self-esteem within myself that I had never experienced before. There’s a saying in the gym that “weight moves weight”, so as my proficiency in weight lifting increased, so do the numbers on the scale.

* * *

In four years, I add 30 kilograms to my frame and I do it unapologetically. Convinced that the fantasy of thinness is designed to oppress those that believe it, and buoyed by the community of strong women I train alongside, I grow in ways

not always visible on the bathroom scales. Over those years I come to believe that the space we take up isn’t really a physical ideal, rather it’s the promise of power, for which we relinquish what power we already hold within ourselves.

I gain weight in rebellion against the beauty fantasies that hurt women around the world, from women in India who scar their faces with bleaching creams in the quest for lighter skin, to Asian women who have surgery to re-configure their eyelids in order to make their eyes appear rounder. I gain weight to show my daughter that it does not define my worth as a woman, as a human being.

My stomach grows, along with my breasts, my hips, my thighs. After years of trying to whittle myself down to a smaller space, how strange and wonderful it feels to see my flesh stretch not in shame, but possibility.

* * *

I am 37 years old, my eyes squinting at the stark brightness cast by the hospitals florescent lighting. The nurse tells me the sleeve gastrectomy surgery has been successful, and I’m being moved to my private suite. The pain is intense, so the nurse refills my intravenous pain medication and soon after the cool sting begins to travel through my veins, I drift off to sleep wondering if I’ve made the right choice.

READ THE FULL MEMOIR ON QUTGLASS.COM

ART BY ALISHA DAVENPORT

ART BY ALISHA DAVENPORT

I Hate Myself When I Am

Like This:

These works are part of a series exploring the emotional and intimate weight of words. Through fragmentation, tessellation and digital layering, the works proclaim inner thoughts without explicitly giving them away, revealing the side of myself that I am ashamed of.

Inclement Weather

WRITTEN BY CIARAN GREIG

The raindrop landed with a soft thud on Mara’s shoulder. For a moment she stared at it, transfixed, as the water absorbed itself into the fabric of her jacket and bled across its fibres.

“Of course, most couples organise a back-up venue in case of inclement weather.”

Cleo, the venue manager, peeked down at the suede-detailed wedges on her feet. Mara had noticed Cleo’s wedges when they first arrived at the Elderflower Estate moments ago. The shoes were impeccably, impossibly clean –especially for a woman who supposedly spent her days traipsing around an outdoor wedding

venue. Mara imagined that Cleo had a supply of baby wipes stashed somewhere on her person, ready to smudge away any hint of mud.

Inclement weather, Mara thought. She felt another raindrop sink itself into the hair on her crown. The sky above them was aflame with leaden clouds. Craig, her fiancé, squeezed her hand.

Cleo led them up a leafy, winding path. The marquee appeared suddenly, standing alone in a wide clearing. A mass of gumtrees and pine guarded it overhead. Behind the trees, a line of ragged mountains carved out the space

FICTION

ALISHA DAVENPORT, 2021

between the valley and the clouds. Mara could hear birds nearby, squawking and singing in the trees. The scent of the earth floated thick in the air: dust-like from the rain. It reminded Mara of the creek she grew up by. The smell of it always made her feel like she was playing witness to a whole, beautiful eco-system at work.

Craig, usually quiet and unimpressed, flashed Mara a quick smile. Cleo pointed out a eucalypt nearby, where a sleeping koala rested while hugging a branch. Mara felt a laugh bubble up inside her. There was something about the delight of it all. When had she ever seen anything so simple before? So pure?

Mara closed her eyes for a second. Was it just a second? A milli-second? A minute? When she opened them, the venue manager was zipping open the entrance to the marquee and Craig was helping her part the clear plastic sheets that held the front piece together.

Mara squinted at the marquee, her eyes struggling to adjust. It was as if her brain didn’t know how to focus on the mass of thick plastic in the midst of the trees and the mountains and the wildlife. Something about it felt off. She looked at the trees and then back to the marquee. It was ghostly in its transparency, absurd in its clean lines and pointed corners.

In her peripheral vision, Craig waved his arms, mouthing something to her. Come on. Mara hurried in to join them.

Inside the marquee, everything was perfect. It was exceptionally, profoundly clean. The plastic filtered the light flawlessly. Quiet and temperate.

“We can accommodate just about any seating layout you’d like,” Cleo said. “Bridal table at the top, through the middle, circular tables – ”

Mara looked beyond the confines of the marquee. She could see a large clearing in the distance, slightly overgrown. Scraggly. “Could we sit outside?”

Cleo scrunched up her nose. “We could look into it for you.” she said, drawing out the last syllable. “I wouldn’t recommend it, though. Who wants rain ruining their hair on their big day?” Cleo smiled, then tilted her head.

Mara paused, then smiled back, “right.”

*

They booked the venue, eventually. Mara paid the deposit herself, watching the funds disappear from her bank balance in an instant. None of it felt completely real. As spring slid into summer, she found herself spending more and more time talking about the wedding with friends, family, colleagues. She felt like she was always talking about the wedding. She wanted to stop talking about the wedding.

“It’s not that I don’t want to get married,” she explained to Craig one night, through a mouth full of Pad Thai. The useless standing fan they had propped up in their living room squeaked urgently and the air in the room was thick with warmth. She wiped a layer of sweat off her forehead. “It’s just all this wedding crap. I’m over it.”

The summer before the wedding brought fire: hot and wild, spreading across the country like a rash. They watched the flaming maps on TV, noticed how the fire skirted around the hinterland near their wedding venue. Mara found herself waking up frequently in the small hours of the morning, so sure that their whole world had collapsed into grimy ash. It was strangely comforting: those first few, transient minutes when she could believe that nothing else existed in the world but herself and Craig.

*

The flames never reached the boundary of the Elderflower Estate, after all. But the world soon shifted again. The wedding, scheduled for early April, was cancelled anyway. The whole globe seemed to be cleaving itself apart, limb by limb.

But, despite all of it, Mara couldn’t help but feel light. Everything gone. Nothing left. Just Mara, just Craig. She thought of the trees in the Elderflower Estate, imagined them exhaling slowly. All alone. At last.

Mara was on her knees, ripping out weeds in the garden, when Cleo called in a huff.

“You must be so disappointed,” Cleo said, sighing. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”

“Yes, of course,” Mara said. With her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, she let Cleo’s voice fade into the background as she examined the weeds in her hands, ripped from their roots. She hated the sound they made as she tore them from the earth. It was a scream, low and short, like tearing tendon from bone.

That night, Mara and Craig lay still in their bed. Craig sighed about the work ahead of them: rescheduling the date, reorganising time off from work, the cost of it all. Mara thought again of the greenery of the Elderflower Estate, the bowing branches, the perfect leaves. She remembered the marquee, immense and plastic. She imagined a huge gust of wind sweeping down the valley and blowing the marquee away. Whoosh.

She was a moment away from sleep when she heard the rain. It was soft at first, then stronger. It asserted itself on their roof, insisting on being heard, sounding like huge sheets of water crashing down on their rickety little house.

Mara shuffled out of bed and watched from the back deck as the rain battered down on the garden.

She ambled into the yard and laid herself down on the grass, feeling the blades tickle the inside of her ears. She closed her eyes. She let the rain trickle down the side of her neck, let it fall in between her fingers.

An Interview about QUT’s Digital Future with Professor

Kevin Ashford-Rowe: Pro ViceChancellor (Digital Learning)

WRITTEN BY EM READMAN

For many students, some of the biggest questions that have come out of the last eighteen months are about who is at the forefront of QUT’s online strategy and what they are doing. It’s not an easy question to answer at first glance. The staff that students interact with on a daily basis are their unit teaching teams, library staff, and HiQ staff. While these people are responsible for content access and delivery, the digital strategy falls into the hands of Professor Kevin AshfordRowe. He’s the QUT Pro Vice-Chancellor (Digital Learning), and his work is centred around designing QUT’s learning experience into the future. As a writer for the student newspaper, I was surprised (and glad) that my request for an interview with one of QUT’s higher-level executives was not only accepted but encouraged.

Kevin holds a Bachelor (Hons) of Economic and Social History from the University of Hull, a Postgraduate Certificate of Education from the University of Exter, a Masters of Professional Studies from the University of New England, a Masters of Education from Edith Cowan University, a Graduate Certificate of Multimedia from UTS, and finally, a Doctorate of Education from the University

of Woolongong. In a professional scope, he has worked in the professional streams as a Director at Griffith University and ACU, before starting at QUT as the Pro Vice-Chancellor (Digital Learning) in January of 2019. It’s clear from this resume that Kevin has had an extensive academic career with a core focus on digital learning and student experience, which has also exemplified his publication history.

Kevin and I met for a coffee to discuss aspects of his career at QUT, what his work does to directly benefit students and what is in the pipeline for QUT in an increasingly digital environment.

For students that may not know where you fit in QUT’s leadership team, what does your role do for students?

Kevin: I am the Pro-Vice-Chancellor (Digital Learning). I lead the Learning and Teaching Unit which is comprised of the Student Success Group, which support student success and focusses on degree completion; the QUT Academy of Learning and Teaching, focusing on student feedback and the development of staff capabilities and policies; and, the Digital Learning Portfolio, which supports QUT’s curriculum design as well as digital

transformation. My role is grounded in supporting academics and students, framed in the focus areas of curriculum and technology support. Essentially, my role is dedicated to developing the success of the QUT teaching and learning communities.

Which project are you proudest of from your time at QUT?

Kevin: I am proud of the digital transformation in learning and teaching that we are facilitating. We have developed a digital learning framework, working closely with students and academics. This digital learning framework will help inform what our QUT education experience will look like in the future.

What part of QUT’s Digital Future are you most looking forward to providing to students?

Kevin: I believe that QUT is transforming its learning experience for a digital world. Our transformation has to be world-class, and I would envision that QUT will be a university that will continue to be acknowledged for an excellent learning experience in the digital age. Editor’s note: It’s hard to find a copy of the Digital Learning Framework, which is understandable as it’s a staff document. However, I obtained a copy and essentially, it is a criteria sheet-style document aimed at staff to assist with the design of their learning experience. The framework includes 18 guidelines, an explainer of why they matter, and a delivery checklist, some items being essential and some being recommended. These include things like ensuring accessibility of resources, creating a value-add online environment, and employing the concept of authentic assessment.

Your portfolio was massively important last year, supporting QUT’s mass exodus of on-campus learning due to COVID-19. Which aspects were most challenging and complicated, and which brought the most rewards?

Kevin: There was the challenge of shifting a predominantly campus-based university to an online experience. And with it came a number of challenges like, how do you enable students to learn in an online space when physical spaces have been established as the standard? That said, I don’t think that we are operating in a ‘new normal’ and many of the challenges that we’ve faced in supporting our students preceded COVID-19. Many students have been challenged with attending campus, and for a number of reasons whether they relate to the need to work or to support others etc. I think that the experiences of the past eighteen months have forced many universities, including QUT, to look at who and where our students are and to ensure that we are maximising their ability to access their learning experience both on and off-campus.

Which aspects of online teaching enhance learning for students from your perspective?

Kevin: One of the greatest advantages of online learning is that it can enable students to have access to their learning at the times and places that best suit them. COVID-19 showed us that students and staff still value the opportunity to collaborate and communicate with one another. This means that we need to provide the same opportunities for this collaboration in the virtual spaces that we do on our magnificent physical campuses.

One of the largest criticisms I have seen from the digital age of learning is that online delivery modes enable cheating and academic misconduct. Do you think this is an accurate critique, or a critique of teaching tactics not being optimised for digital learning?

Kevin: I believe that whether online or on campus, better assessment design can and should be the way in which we seek to minimise breaches of academic integrity. I believe that in my role I need to work closely with our academic teachers to support the design of assessments that are more personalised and engaging, so students are less inclined to cheat...

A lot of your personal focus regarding academic misconduct is focused on the concept of ‘authentic assessment and learning’. Do you think authentic assessment and learning is the future of QUT curriculum development?

Kevin: Authentic assessment is important, but it is not one tangible entity, it’s a theoretical framework. Authentic assessment means replicating realistic working experiences and bridging the gap between study and employment. This expectation for learning and assessment is explained further in the QUT Real World Learning 2020 Vision, which outlines the aspirations of the university. We’re already implementing these strategies, and many teaching staff are as well, but we’re increasing education on these frameworks to our lecturers and tutors so that they can understand authentic learning and assessment and employ it themselves. It can’t be a bolt-on, or a band-aid solution, so we have to educate as much about the benefits of this approach as possible.

Digital learning for you holds a focus of ‘access,’ providing flexibility and opportunity in new ways for students. Do you believe ‘access’ is being held at the forefront of QUT’s digital L&T strategy?

Kevin: There are two phrases that frame our approach, and they are ‘student access’ and ‘student engagement’.

Our strategy is to engage through using technologies that increase the student’s ability to access their learning experience.

Ultimately, it’s important to understand that learning in a digital age is not necessarily a matter of just technology. It is much more about understanding the ways in which students can be best enabled and supported to learn and then think about how the technologies can be used to facilitate that experience and support their learning journey.

At the end of our conversation, I thanked him for his time, and he thanked me for mine. It’ll be interesting to see the future of QUT’s digital transformation and where it will leave students in 2022 and beyond. Quite often, university upper-executives are a mystifying thing to students. We don’t often hear or see them until they’re handing us our parchment and sending us on our way. I felt valued after our conversation, that my questions and suggestions mattered. While it’s important to hold scepticism for the university’s plans, it is reassuring to know that some of the leaders of QUT are willing to join the dialogue.

PHOTOGRAPH Y BY EMILY HANSELL

I tho ught o f you the other day, as I brushed my teeth and stared into the mirror, willing the green bags under my eyes away.

I thought of you while I struggled to find something nice to wear too, and again, and again, when I kept tying and untying my hair, trying to make myself look like something other than the mess that I felt.

I thought of you, and you came. How kind. You came to hug me tightly, tightly. So tightly I forget how to walk without you-r grip, on my belly, hips, thighs... How kind of you to embrace me so.

When I was eight, I loved to visit the toy section at Target. You could lose me there for hours, among the glitter and the plastic. Above all, the Barbies were my favourite to look at. Feet glued to the ground, eyes roaming, I would carefully consider which ones would be the best to add to my collection. Quite the curator,

You can be anything!

It must be love. And how you must love me if you hug me as if you can never let go. Surely, the pleasure is all mine. WARNING:

I would examine the clothes and accessories the dolls came with, and study their hairstyles, wondering if I could somehow replicate their tiny braids on my dolls at home.

READ THE FULL PIECE AT QUTGLASS. COM/BARBIE

ARTWORK BY SARIAH SKETCHES

ARTWORK

Your work could be in the pages of Glass Magazine!

We love celebrating and publishing the work of QUT Students and Alumni. Our online submissions are always open and our print edition submissions open as advertised. You can find information about the submission themes and how to submit to Glass on our website, qutglass.com/submit , or our Facebook page @qutguildnewspaper.

We accept writing of all genres. We take poetry, opinion pieces, essays, satire, fiction, recipes, reviews and more. We also take illustrations, collages and photography. If you have any questions, feel free to get in touch with the editorial team to discuss.

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APOLOGY TO GENERATION LIBERTY

The Queensland University of Technology Student Guild Staff (“the Guild”) extends an unreserved apology to Generation Liberty for the Guild’s rejection of an application to hire a stall at the QUT Gardens Point Campus on Market Day 2020 and stating the reason for this was that the brand of Generation Liberty did not align with the values of the Guild.

PAUL CLAYTON - GENERAL MANAGER QUT GUILD

Editors

Em Readman

Ella Brumm

Tom Loudon

Christina Simonoski Designer

May Lyn Chew

Contributors

Thomas Ellis

Hannah Hassen

Jarrah L. Barton

Alex Rich Holmsey

Emma Nayfie

Ciaran Grieg

K. Marie

Jack Roylance

Pipier Weller

Claudia Pilbeam

Sam Hope

Sariah Sketches

Emily Hansell

Zac McMah

Annonymous

Alisha Davenport

Peter Roborg-Sondergaard

Ruby Seddon

Em Readman

Tom Loudon

Christina Simonoski

Ella Brumm

Oilivia Brumm

Trent Dalton

Jacqui Scheiwe

QUT GUILD