That question lingers quietly in lecture halls, group chats, Centrelink queues, and midnight thoughts. Whether you're picking a major, chasing a job, navigating a relationship, or just figuring out how to afford groceries this week, uncertainty shadows us like a familiar stranger.
Ambiguity isn’t always chaos—it can be potential. It’s the in-between space where things are still taking shape. This issue of Catalyst leans into that space: the hazy, the undefined, the could-go-either-way. We invited our writers and designers to dwell in the grey, and what they’ve created is a comforting reminder that not knowing is a valid place to be.
Inside, you’ll find stories that wrestle with identity, change, direction, and indecision. Some offer clarity. Some don't. And that’s the beauty of it—this issue isn’t here to give you answers. It’s here to sit with you in the questions.
We hope you find something in these pages that feels like a soft place to land when life feels a little up in the air. Or at the very least, a reminder that you’re not the only one figuring things out as you go.
Warmly (and with just the right amount of uncertainty), Manaal, Megan, and Dilushi.
"Ambi-Sand' by Orion He
Photographs by Huda Shehzad
Adrien Marks
Call it a dilemma, call it what you want.
I’ve never been still. Have I ever wanted to be still? Depends. Still as a person without a compass of surround sound booming, a rattle. Yes. Still as an environment, I plant the same tree I see pass away? No. I was only meant to see the tree being born, us both as a child, both with life. My environment needs to change, or I won’t. It’s simply how I am. Call it a dilemma, I do too. I see physical change as personal change, as a light I can’t replace unless I find a new home for it. I fear stability, I fear a life without living every life. Leading to losing layers of personality with layers of friendships I lost myself. But I couldn’t lose myself, that’s why I did it. I wanted the wild, the circumference of mediocre change, each change leaping off a cliff with glee once I accepted it. Then I? Did I? I found a little maturity? Was it with 22, who could know? I stopped wishing my life would be different and just started wishing it would be easier. I didn’t want to say hi to another prettier blonde girl who broke all dumb stereotypes. I could be pretty but not around all these new people who never had time enough to figure me out. I wanted to find one place, even if it was the cemetery that was oddly calming at 5pm. A place that wasn’t home but felt like it. Realising change comes with the banner of never truly having a home, never forming a heart as no one really got to touch it. Maybe a little bit of prediction would be nice. Maybe if I could lose a little of that ambiguity, I could have a life I understood a little better.
Creative Writing by Adrien Marks
Design by Dilushi H Prasanna
Nithya N Nagaraja
In Betweens
Benchmates
February 28th
My nerves tighten as I enter the lecture hall and tens of eyes immediately look up to run a scan. I quickly make my way to the chair closest to the board, unstrap my laptop and open it on the desk, making sure my face is submerged by the screen. The empty space around me makes me an easy target for observation, so I feel exposed.
There are about 3 minutes left before the first Algorithms class of this semester, and I’m eager for this scattered focus to be on the lecture instead of potentially me. New blood keeps filing its way into the hall and I repeat the ritual, but I hear the chair creaking next to me and I turn to see you settling in. You point to my laptop and exclaim that you have the same one, I ask you what version GPU yours is, you ask what I play, and I ask where you’re from, before we’re drowned by the voice of the lecturer.
May 30th
Two days before our last submission, I’m typing away the last few details about the benchmarks on the report and I see the notification bubbles crowd my phone screen. I slide the bar down to see several messages from you asking questions about the assignment. I answer them and we exchange pleasantries. We make plans for after the stress ends but I know they won’t make it to life. I utter a silent prayer we share another class again next semester.
Neighbours
December 8th
We’re introduced at a family event, and we instantly hit it off, never giving the conversation a break. I’m surprised by how well-behaved you are and how much you’ve given a thought to the world around you. I observe how earnestly you listen to my animated dialogue. There is a hopeful warmth of summer in the air.
December 26th
I make sure I pick out my best outfit and wear a hint of nonchalance in my deodorant, you might like it. I arrive at the mall, eagerly look around and see you hunched over a table. I walk on over and wave, we exchange pleasantries and then spend the most regular looking day one could’ve ever seen. But they can’t see the many loaded undertones, over-analysed phrases and small details I’m now suddenly and highly aware of. We’re definitely not friends anymore.
Creative Writing by Nithya N Nagaraja
Design by Dilushi H Prasanna
Nithya N Nagaraja
Out of Sync
They say you're a collage of all the ages you've ever been – at 27, you simultaneously exist as your 16, 17, 21, 24, and 25-year-old selves, all pictures in one collage. I've never felt this truth more acutely than I do now, drifting between versions of myself depending on context and company.
When I'm with my nephew, the responsible adult in me dissolves as I lose myself in Cocomelon's vivid colors and finger-painting masterpieces, my hands sticky with paint and joy. I become a child again, singing nursery rhymes I thought I'd forgotten, finding wonder in the simplest things. The years between us collapse, and I rediscover parts of myself I thought had been left behind.
Yet at work, I transform the moment students address me as "Ma'am" – suddenly embodying an authority figure wrapped in knowledge and experience I sometimes don't feel I possess. I stand straighter, speak more deliberately, and wear my age like a necessary costume. Inside, I'm often that nervous first-year college student, wondering if someone will expose me as an imposter who doesn't belong.
The mirror compounds this confusion. People routinely guess I'm five years younger than my actual age, their surprise at learning the truth both flattering and disorienting. "You'll appreciate it when you're older," they say, not realizing how this persistent disconnect makes me feel like a tourist in my own life.
When offering friends advice, I'm surprised by the evolution of our concerns a lot. Gone are the days of adolescent "he-said, she-said" dramas, replaced by conversations about impossible rent increases and workplace politics. It's disorienting to realize we've arrived at this stage of adulthood—none of us feeling qualified to carry our current age.
We exist in this strange limbo: feeling ancient when confronted with incomprehensible new internet slang, yet painfully young and unprepared when watching the evening news, wondering when the real adults might step in to fix everything.
Perhaps this is the universal secret of growing up: no one actually feels their age. We're all just improvising, carrying each version of ourselves forward into new decades. The calendar keeps moving, but inside, we remain these cranial collages—simultaneously too young, too old, and rarely ever feeling just right for the number of candles on our birthday cakes.
Creative Writing by Nithya N Nagaraja
Design by Dilushi H Prasanna
Anisah Abdul Halid
You're Doing Fine
Music fills the room as laughter and chatter intertwine with each note. There are at least three sunset lamps bouncing different colours off the wall, with people gravitating towards them like moths to lights.
“I don’t think you can visualise what it means if robots were built with faces! They’d have eyes… and a nose… and lips! They might even look like you!!” Olive starts to sound slightly panicky at this topic, but Theo can’t help but to feel a tiny bit amused.
“That’s exactly why they should. People might abuse them if they’re treated carelessly,” Theo contests.
“That’s kind of flawed logic. It’s like if… If I said th-that…” A beat passes as Olive appears stuck on her rebuttal. There doesn’t seem to be anything she can say. They exchange a look that tickles them both into laughter. Her eyes are watching him grin at her, as she nervously grips onto her cup.
“It’s okay, you’re doing fine,” his reassurance paints her red. He turns around to his friend tapping him and says something that Olive can’t make out.
“I’ll be back,” he whispers, as he’s pulled off with someone else. She’s left alone with nothing except her red cup that has been viciously nibbled on.
To be completely frank, all she can think of and recall from that heated “should robots have faces?” conversation, is his glaring gaze and line of reassurance, “you’re doing fine.” Well, at least it was meant to sound reassuring. But, she just can’t figure out what he means. Was it obvious that she tripped over her words as they refused to leave her mouth? Maybe he was just being nice… or thinks she's a total klutz. She tries her best to recall what else was said to piece together that sentence. She’s recalling the drink she sipped on and the people who had also filtered in and out of the conversation. Nothing is truly sparking any “aha!” moments, just more confusion and wondering.
After refilling her drink and bumping into other friendly faces, she’s quite sure he was just being nice. Yet, it’s something about the way he had said it and the looks they exchanged that keep her wondering if it was more than just a nice gesture. Their paths don’t cross after that, but Olive begrudgingly lingers on those three words for the rest of the night.
Creative Writing by Anisah Abdul Halid
Design by Elisa Tran
Janine Sequeira
I sat with my older self for coffee
What's For Lunch? Anisah Abdul Halid
Florence was a relatively decisive, clean-cut person. She knew her favourite nail colour, what outfit to wear in the morning, what to say in awkward situations. Though, as her hunger grew, a question bounced around that she was unable to shake: What’s for lunch? Her uni campus had eight places she could grab a quick bite from, each as good as the next. Maybe that was the problem: when you’re hungry everything sounds good.
Passers-by wandered past her, holding takeaway boxes filled to the top with noodles, or thick sandwiches wrapped in decorative baking paper. Her eyes stalked each dish, until it landed on a smaller box. Not a take-away box, but a lunchbox. It sat next to a stickercovered laptop, in front of two girls deeply in conversation. The lunchbox was smaller than the laptop, and covered with small, familiar butterflies. Florence knew she had seen it before but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was only when the owner flipped the lid open, that the interior of the lid revealed small little stars that Florence had only seen in her primary school bag.
The air seemed to shift around Florence, time taking a leap back. Back to when her little fingers fumbled to tie her shoelaces and when she could barely see over the sink to wash her hands. Everynight, she’d rummage through her bag (that was far too big on her) for a lunchbox that was half-full, half-empty. The lunchbox wore bright blue butterflies on its exterior, with small glow-in-the-dark stars hiding inside of the lid. Her mother would clear it of sandwich crusts, half eaten fruit and wrappers. Florence thought about how her mother would make lunch for child-Florence everyday, never doubting what was for lunch and expecting a lunchbox full of foods to get her through her (oh so) tiring school day.
It was a wave of nostalgia with a mix of homesickness that essentially drowned Florence, as the lunchbox on this stranger's table stared straight back at her, almost mocking her lunchbox-less decisions. Florence made one more round around the campus before settling on an assortment of different bites; half a tuna melt, handful of dumplings and a small brownie. Though none of these really seemed like the right choice. Perhaps the right choice was hiding in a butterfly lunch box filled with a homemade sandwich by her mother.
Creative Writing by Anisah Abdul Halid
Design by Caitlyn Nguyen
Olivia Jones
On Our Love for the Morally Ambiguous Character
I was in my eighth week of kindergarten when I received the coveted “Prize of the Week”: a pair of green plastic scissors. They cut in awkward, squiggly lines and had a little dinosaur on the front. They also were not rightfully mine. You see, I received my allotted prize in week three, meaning Ms R had made a mistake. Enamoured by the prospect of two prizes instead of the standard one, I said nothing. For the following three weeks, I was racked by a guilt so unbearable that my only escape was a tearful confession to Ms R on the final day of school.
This was my first real tussle with morality, the prickly principles of right and wrong that tell us to ridicule The Little Mermaid’s Ursula and champion its legless heroine, Ariel. The concept is simple – good vs evil. But what happens when we account for Ursula’s tragic past? She may have been corrupt and power-hungry, but what if this wasn’t a result of malice but misunderstanding? Does this lessen our condemnation?
It's questions like these that give birth to morally ambiguous characters. Take Villanelle, the psychopathic antagonist of killing Eve (2018), or the messy titular protagonist of Fleabag (2016). On paper, both women are undeniably “bad” – one a
Design by Caitlyn Nguyen
Logan Wolfrhamn
For Clarity's Sake
Everyone is busy. Everyone’s schedule looks like a can of Alphabet Spaghetti thrown against a painfully plain, white, rental apartment wall. You’ve got unread messages. The group chat for weekend plans is full of “uh, maybe?” Clear and concise communication is the only solution against ambiguity among friends. An unreliable reputation is corrosive. What can you do to be a better communicator?
Be honest.
You have assignments due, family commitments, and other life stressors. Sometimes it’s just not a good time to socialise. It may not be the best time for you to go out clubbing because you’ll need the next day to recover, but a lunch or dinner wouldn’t throw off your schedule. If you will be late, tell your friends ahead of time. If you don’t want to go, tell them it’s not your thing. You’ll be happy to go to different event in the future.
Explain your time limits.
Uni runs on a schedule, and so do you (probably). Let your friends know early what your availability is, and tell them quickly if something changes. When things do change, putting your heads together can help find a solution. Your friends will not begrudge you for wanting to be ready before 11:59pm on the due date. If you need to leave by a certain time so you can get enough sleep, no good friend will judge you for it.
Be direct with what you need.
Don’t overcomplicate what you’re saying. If you want or need something, say it. Friends want to help each other. If you need time to yourself, that’s not a problem. If you don’t know when you’ll be done, tell them.
Photography by Huda Shehzad
Adrien Marks
Patched
Amber always had this intuition, she thought before she acted upon anything. She didn’t just think, she pondered, about every possible outcome.
She didn’t mean to be attracted to such fixation, but she was. She mouthed the words that came out of Lucas’s mouth the very first time she met him.
He was an ordinary blonde boy; she teased him for not growing up simply because he was born with hair as ash as a mountain top snowfall. He was predictable, but he said the right words, held her when it mattered not when she wanted it. She knew what she wanted was never what she needed, as she never knew what was best. Even when she was the only one who understood.
Lucas came out one day, out of a hole she didn’t realise she had dug for him. She didn’t predict that one, did she? She thought she understood what people wanted because people always seemed the happiest around her, they flung their arms over her short shoulders when she wasn’t even halfway up the football field. Then Lucas left her, not because Amber cared that his swing swung both ways. She didn’t care, but I don’t think she knew that was the problem. Lucas looked in mirrors for acceptance, for words. She gave him happiness but never gave him possibilities. She pretended nothing ever changed, so maybe Lucas would stay the same. Subconscious change could lead to physical change.
Amber always had this intuition, she thought before she acted upon anything. Amber only had intuition so she could control every situation possible, twist the subtext to change the subject.
Amber never predicted the future, she was just a little bit of a control freak, just like her mother. She thought that if she could know her future, she could change it, make it, not break it. When she lost Lucas, she lost herself a little. As much as he was just a boy, she understood most of herself around him. He matched her rhythm. And she lost him before she found hers.
Ordinary boy knew his future. Amber didn’t. Amber was only scared. She knew the future, but she could never see it.
Composition by Adrien Marks
Photo by Brock Wegner on Unsplash
Logan Wolfrhamn
What's Next? The Ultimate Question
If you’re in your final or penultimate semester, it’s not too soon to start thinking about what comes next. Obviously, going straight into your dream job is the ideal, but we’ve all read the job listings. X number of years experience in the same or related field. Experience in a new program. It’s ridiculously competitive. There’s interviews, police checks, applications that go nowhere but an automated rejection email… So what do you do with your time once you’ve graduated but that dream job isn’t quite in reach?
Further study
Don’t just think a bachelor’s or master’s. You can upskill with short courses. Check out your community pages, like your local library. Look online, most are only a few hours a week. Have you checked out RMIT’s free short courses? Pick a city, search their university and free courses. There are free certificates out there waiting to be found. It’s another thing to add to your resume.
Volunteering
I know, I know. Volunteering is working for free, but don’t discount it. Donating your time and energy in the right place is valuable. Think about your skillset and where best to apply it. It all reinforces the customer service and team player parts of your resume.
Working adjacent to your field
It is easier to find work from work. Long periods of unemployment are a hassle when pulling together your current skills for a resume. Take a detour, make some money, and keep applying for the job you want.
Work for yourself
Depending on your area of study, you can be self-employed or freelance. Start small and use websites like Fiverr, Upwork, or Guru. You can work with clients outside Australia if that’s your forte. If you speak another language, use that to your advantage. You’re building a portfolio to boost yourself, and you’re setting your own price.
