swine 2022 issue 03 – transition by swine

swine

issue 03 • 2022

transition

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print editor Zoe Sorenson print@ssu.org.au

••• news editor Jessica Norris news@ssu.org.au

media credit Engin Akyurt, Emma Bjork, David Clode, Julia Craice, Vladyslav Dukhin, Adele Easton, Karine Germain, Benjamin Gerraty, Dan Grinwis, Jordan Heath, Ryoji Iwata, Jason Leem, Christian Lue, Valentina Nicola, Elliot Ogbeiwi, Aaryan Pujara, Sophie Robertson, Daria Shevtsova, Brigitte Tohm, Kate Trush, Bethany Zwag

designer Adele Easton designer@ssu.org.au communications officer Nikitha Neelakantan comms@ssu.org.au ••• with thanks to

••• our extended team Daniela Abriola, Amira Akhtar, Madison Bryce, Molly Davidson, Deanne Jeffers, Zara Kernan, Jessica Murdoch, Sophie Robertson, Eli Rooke

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our talented contributors

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how to submit If you’d like to contribute to future print editions or get your work published on our website, please reach out and get in touch! www.swinemagazine.org/contribute editor@ssu.org.au

contents

Zoe Sorenson

Editor’s letter

Zoe Sorenson

The bridge

Waiting for the record to flip

Pivot

Transience

Moments.

a wake

Fallen feathers

The gods say death is a fool’s errand

Cold feet

Charlene Behal

the first day of the last month of autumn

Jarryd Worland

Affirmation

it’s been a while

Colossal clam

An interview with an Activities Officer

On being yourself

Tamar Peterson Jessica Murdoch Ivan Ong Anthony Vezzu Evelyn Lee Adrian Dixon Eli Rooke Amira Akhtar

Fatima Hanif Sophie Robertson Zoe Sorenson Deanne Jeffers

acknowledgement of country

The team at swine magazine would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri People of the Kulin Nation, who are the Traditional Owners of the land on which the Swinburne Student Union’s offices are situated. We pay our respects to their Elders, past, present, and emerging. We also respectfully acknowledge Swinburne’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students, staff, alumni, partners, and visitors. We extend this respect to the Traditional Owners of lands across so-called Australia. We recognise that sovereignty was never ceded. This land always was and always will be Aboriginal land.

NAIDOC stands for National Aboriginal and Islanders Day Observance Committee, and NAIDOC Week is a celebration of us as a people, what we have done, and current important affairs. There is a lot of history to NAIDOC Week that I suggest everyone reads into to understand. For me, though, NAIDOC Week is a special time. It feels special because it’s a celebration of cultures that I am a part of, as well as a great way to bring up and discuss important and current issues. More than that, it’s a time of reflection for me. I think about my family, what they have been through, and our connections. They are all a part of who I am and what I represent today. Darnell Stallbaum First Nations Representative Swinburne Student Union (SSU)

National NAIDOC Week is held across Australia in the first week of July each year to celebrate and recognise the history, culture, and achievements of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. NAIDOC Week is an opportunity for all Australians to learn about First Nations cultures and histories, and participate in celebrations of the oldest, continuous living cultures on earth. We need to move beyond just acknowledgement, good intentions, empty words and promises, and hollow commitments. We need to Get Up! Stand Up! Show Up! Information taken from the ‘National NAIDOC Week 2022’ website (https://www.naidoc.org.au).

meet the team

Adele Easton (she/her), Designer Something new that I’ve been trying out this year is strength training. It’s taken some time for me to adjust to the new routine and it’s been a huge transition, but I’m enjoying the way it makes me feel and all the improvements it’s had on my life. My very unofficial goal is to get to the stage where I can comfortably open jars by myself. Then, I’ll totally not be waiting for that perfect opportunity when someone can’t open their jar of pickles to swoop in for my time to shine. Zoe Sorenson (she/her), Print Editor I can map out the different phases of my life by looking at my hair. There was the long hair for about sixteen years (with brief variations, such as the side part, the high pony, and the loose bun); the undercut; figuring out how I actually liked styling my undercut; the Sonic-theHedgehog blue; the pastel pink; the two years of hair growth as I took advantage of the fact that no one could see me during lockdowns; and, now, the brilliant purple-pink-orange sunset that makes me smile every time I look in the mirror. Each change was nerve-racking, exhilarating, but why not make that leap? I mean, it’s only hair. Jessica Norris (she/her), News Editor Sometimes, the words ‘change’ and ‘transition’ are used synonymously. Yet, for me, this is far from the truth. Change is an external force – one that we often have no control over. Transition is our personal, unique and mindful experience of growth as individuals. Transition is taking a leap of faith, making new friends, dating, travelling, making mistakes, learning and getting to know yourself. We transition away from what’s holding us back into whom we really are. This issue has encouraged me to see that people are not products of change, even though sometimes it feels like that. They are so much more. People are products of their growth and development through change. Without transition, change is just time passing. 8

Adele Zoe Jessica

editor’s letter Zoe Sorenson

Hello! Isn’t the passage of time wild? Somehow, we’re already halfway through the year. More than. On a personal note, I’m now one semester away from graduating uni and entering the ‘real world’, whatever that means. It’s a little…daunting, if I’m honest. The contributors to this issue seem to be drawing from similar experiences to mine as they explore transition. There’s a lot of uncertainty: What happens next? How do you find direction, whether in your career, your relationships, your sense of self? Do you even want all those things, or are they just the expected next steps? There is so much distance between you and the bridge you’re one day expected to cross, and with this uncertainty can come the pressure, the denial, the avoidance. It can be intimidating trying to face all of that. So, I found it really reassuring to read this issue and see that so many people feel just as lost as I sometimes do when I consider the future. In a different way, it was heartening to read the creative nonfiction pieces of people who have been where I am and taken long and winding paths to get to wherever they’ve found themselves now. 10

As scary as the unknown can be, there is also something exciting about the idea of what might come next! Transition is inevitable; changes happen all the time. If one transition doesn’t fit you so well, whether you realise this immediately or after years and years, you can always transition again. There isn’t a final destination for you to reach for anything in life, no place you’ll get to and know that you’re totally done, and that’s okay. (This is something I’m still learning, myself.) As always, our contributors have found such interesting ways to interpret these ideas. Read about the betrayal of friends, the pursuit of new directions, the grief after loss, and the turning of seasons. Some people embrace transitions and others turn away from them. There’s something for everyone, no matter what changes you may be going through or where you are on your personal journey. I hope that when you get to those bridges, whatever they look like for you, you’re able to cross them and do that on your own terms. Happy reading, Zoe :)

the bridge Zoe Sorenson

I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. That one over there, up ahead. No, I’m not dawdling. What makes you say that? I’m walking at a perfectly acceptable pace, thank you very much. Just because you walk as if the world is ending doesn’t mean that the rest of us do. What? Of course, I’m not procrastinating because of what’s on the other side. That’s ridiculous! I’m fully capable of facing the consequences of my actions, inevitable as they are. Obviously. I’m just…enjoying the stroll, is all. It’s a lovely day out, and the river makes for such delightful background noise. I could stay right here forever… Oh, I wouldn’t really. Why are you so suspicious! Honestly, if you truly wanted me to hurry up and get to the other side, you’d be better off just leaving – I’d probably be there already if it weren’t for you. It’s almost like you don’t even want me to cross the bridge. You know what? Just for that, I’ve decided I’m not going. Have fun with your bridge. I’ll be at home. 13

waiting for the record to flip Tamar Peterson

The thrumming of fingertips can be heard on worn sleeve edges from the constant back-and-forth of decision-making. Seeking the right sound, track, and record for this moment, mood, and lifestyle is becoming the bane of her existence. The click and whir as the record player kicks into gear leaves her staring at perpetual circles. If only the mundanities of life would mesmerise her in the same way, rather than being stuck in the sounds of a record that has been left playing for far too long. The glass of red trembles as the first song consumes the space, this unsteadiness mirroring the shakiness of her legs during this season of transition. A time when she has been left watching others outgrow her whilst she waits patiently for the sun to plant kisses on her cheeks. Praying for an epiphany to come in her slumber, leading her to a life of fulfilment. The record player murmuring eerily in the corner of the room craves to be flipped, waiting for someone to notice the absence of music. The temptation to follow the sitcom way of living almost consumes her as she finds herself chopping carrots to the bass of the next song. The cubicle that comes with the city view, the mortgage that comes with the two storeys, the friends that come from drinking too much; they will taunt and seduce her from the insecurities within. For perhaps these sounds in her life could bring comfort, replacing the fear that comes from following an alternative groove. Why would she flip the record when the first side will do?

Anticipation and fear for what the other side will bring come rolling in. Will her feet fall into a steady rhythm? Or will she be left dancing with no one to catch her as she falls? The choice to run against the grain gives her a glimpse of freedom, an equal glimmer of disappointment. This unnerving thought leaves her reaching for her phone, the ultimate escape and the greatest ‘reality’ check. Highlight reels reflecting in her glassy eyes compete with the urgency to take a different path. The flick of her finger across the screen cements the easiness of their way of living, the same cookie-cutter lives with identical smiles plastered on different faces. This evening has given her every excuse to drain her glass but has given her not one to flip the record again. The white noise will serenade the circles she will continue making while she fumbles with the light switch, ready to start all over again. 15

pivot

Jessica Murdoch

Hands grip the steering wheel, the blue skies and sunshine through the windscreen forecasting a beautiful day. As I cruise down the main road, I mentally check off each item to ensure I’m ready. First week of lessons planned. Resources set up. Each day’s photocopies neatly labelled in piles. I’d even taken the time to clear my desk. There’s nothing like the smug feeling of a new year’s organisation. I’d met my class at Step-up Day last year and, although there are going to be a couple of behavioural challenges (there always are), they are a sweet and enthusiastic bunch. It’s a new year. A fresh start. After six weeks of sleep-ins, it can be difficult to get out of bed. Feeling fresh at the beginning of the term usually gives me enough of a boost to make it a little easier. Packing my lunch the night before – and only pressing the snooze button once – means I’m ready to walk out the door without a rush. Being on time makes me feel like I’m starting the day on the right foot. I smile brightly back 16

at the attendant at the drive-through window as she passes me my coffee. As I drive the rest of the way to school, I wait for the normal bubbles of first-day excitement to appear, but the heavy weight in my chest seems to have other plans. I start giving myself a friendly pep-talk. ‘You’re ready for a fresh start! You’ve got a whole sparkling new year ahead of you!’ A whole year. The weight drops into the pit of my stomach. I feel my eyes fill up with tears. Uh, maybe it’s time to rethink this... For as long as I can remember, when anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, the answer was easy. ‘A teacher!’ I always replied. It seemed like the perfect fit, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so. I’d spent weeks organising my little brother’s birthday and it had come off without a hitch. One of the mums tells me, ‘You’re a natural. Maybe I should hire you to organise my kid’s birthday party!’ I puff up with pride. Whenever the neighbourhood crew was over and I was in charge of deciding what to

play, we would set up a school. I would take attendance, correct their spelling and stamp miscellaneous worksheets that I’d scrounged up. ‘I wish my teacher was like you!’ one of the littlest ones would say. ‘This is much more fun than real school.’

I did end up walking away from my job as a teacher. I spent twelve months away completely, contemplating the potential of never going back, of leaving behind the life I’d been building towards for as long as I could remember.

Being quite a bit older than my siblings meant I could easily fall into the role in real life too. ‘You’re not actually my teacher, Jessica. Stop telling me what to do.’ Sometimes the assistance was welcome, sometimes it was not.

Rather than it being an ending though, with some distance, it feels like it was just a turning point. A reminder that, at any time, you can make a different decision and choose which direction you want to take your life in.

The only time I’d received a less-thanenthusiastic response about the idea was from my year ten maths teacher. ‘A teacher? But you could be anything!’ she’d said incredulously. I’d laughed whenever recounting that story; it somehow just confirmed for me that I was making a noble choice.

Because, in the end, I did go back. On my own terms. I finished my undergrad, have started a Master of Research, and now I work a couple of days a week as a casual relief teacher. I’m so excited that I’ve found a balance that works for me – and I feel excited that I’m excited about the possibilities of the future now.

People generally seemed so convinced of my ambitions that, by the time it came around to selecting year twelve subjects, I didn’t really consider anything else. And, honestly, once I started my university course, I didn’t have a moment of regret. I loved the subjects. I loved the research. I loved the placements. Learning about how children learn was fascinating to me, and the practical experience in classrooms just confirmed that this was exactly what I wanted to do.

It was empowering to discover that I don’t have to have my whole life planned out, and that I can pivot at any point and make a different choice. I don’t have to stick with something just because I’ve already invested a lot of time into it. Perhaps that’s something that you may need to hear too.

So, what had happened? How had it all flipped so completely? All I knew was that it had been a slow creep. More meetings. More checklists. Less time. Stressful moments just layering on top of each other, until the well had suddenly burst. ••• I wrote this three years ago, sitting in my first writing unit of the Media and Comms degree I had just started. 17

transience Ivan Ong

Conscious of our transience Transition to the unconscious Fleeting is the moment Transiting to a new destination Where am I? Going nowhere Going somewhere Going forward based on my conscience Where am I going? What am I doing? Why am I here? Never go never know Final destination – Where? Final thoughts – What? Final actions – Why? Do what is right – How? Transit-i-on To somewhere Transient moments I will be me when I get there

moments. Anthony Vezzu

No minute became a Moment without you there to share it. Grasses, sodden on the winter mountains, walked over sightlessly, became stalks of the Earth’s vast skin, observatories for the insects, the nerve fibres of God, if you were there to see them with me. A city footpath, shoe-scuffed and lifeless as a headstone, became a blood vessel of culture’s corpus, an inhalation teeming with all the possibility of frosty night air, an invitation to intertwine hands and skip in unison to the pulse of Life and to the current of our Spark, if you were there to hold me with your eyes. And you were there. You were. But, for so long, I had to wait for you to return, so that you could make my minutes into Moments again. And, in all that time I spent waiting, something awoke inside me, like sweet rain breaking through the forest’s canopy at long last, flooding and renewing the thirsty soil. After waiting for too long a time, a new Light began to glow within me, like the ardent electricity of neon signs guiding weary city dwellers back home. After holding my life still for you, stopping its breath lest it inhale anything but your scent, I finally learnt something. I never needed to wait for anyone to make my minutes into Moments at all. 21

a wake Evelyn Lee

She begins at dawn, slipping on his steelcapped work boots and goat-skin gloves. She floods the engine twice before realising her mistake. On her third try, the chainsaw starts. The dogs stay at the edge of the yard, watching her. Blisters form on her palms where the gloves have worn thin. She likes the physical discomfort, likes to feel the bodily weight of what she is doing. Later, she will sit in the lounge room with the lights off and remember his fingertips at her mouth, the taste of eucalyptus and earth. The felled blue gums are ghostly in the growing dusk. She treads carefully, as though this will somehow soften the damage. She kneels and runs her hands along their smooth trunks, taking her time with each one. She won’t move them, won’t harm them further. She doesn’t want them gone, not completely.

fallen feathers Adrian Dixon

Content warning: This piece contains nongraphic descriptions of violence and death. Tommy let out a content whistle, dismissing his armour with a flick of his wrist and a swirl of magic. He sheathed his swords before they, too, dissolved in a shower of golden particles, dissipating into the air around him. As the creature in front of him began to be absorbed into an artefact held by Natalia, he felt a tap on his shoulder. His dutiful apprentice, Carla, stood there with her hand raised in a fist and a grin on her face. ‘We did it! Hellcat and Songbird, the best duo there is!’ Tommy smiled as he bumped his fist against the metal of her gauntlet. ‘Yeah, we are. You’re starting to get good at this.’ ‘All thanks to you,’ Carla replied, adjusting the orange scarf around her neck. ‘There’s no better mentor around.’ ‘Yeah, except all the other better mentors.’ He gazed at her affectionately. ‘Our little Songbird is ready to fly the nest.’

Carla went to respond but became distracted as Natalia approached, her eyes narrowing to a glare. ‘Our quarry is sealed,’ Natalia said simply, holstering a pistol. ‘Jasmine has the artefact. These…things have been sighted at a harbour town I frequent, so we’ll head there next. We should get going soon.’ ‘Yeah, we should,’ Carla growled through gritted teeth as she left, making sure to graze Natalia on the way, too roughly to be an accident. ‘What’s her problem?’ Natalia scowled. ‘Your old rep, probably. And, you know, the whole “I hope you suffer alone for all eternity” thing when you first abandoned me,’ Tommy deadpanned. ‘We all make mistakes.’ ‘I know. But I messed up and sheltered her too much. She’s still learning that the world isn’t black and white, and that people are complex and rarely one or the other. Grey morality is new to her. She’ll come ‘round eventually.’

winced as the sound reverberated through the base. He and Natalia had decided to give their relationship another go and mend the issues that had forced them apart. Tommy pondered whether Carla’s reaction stemmed from the affections she had long harboured for him, or her hatred of Natalia. Probably a bit of both. Natalia, who had witnessed the whole thing, sent Jasmine in to talk her down, knowing that Carla had a soft spot for her. Natalia then grabbed Tommy’s wrist and led him to her room. ‘She better.’ Natalia came closer and snaked an arm around Tommy’s waist.

‘You’ve changed,’ she said, sitting him down. ‘Don’t start,’ Tommy sighed.

‘Natalia? Being affectionate? My, you have changed,’ Tommy chuckled, embracing her in a hug. ‘One of these guns is still loaded, Swifthand. Want to find out which?’ ••• ‘Are you serious? After everything I’ve done for you? I’ve known you longer than her!’ ‘That doesn’t entitle you to me, Carla. Look, I’m sorry. Like I’ve told you before, I love you, but as a sister. Not like that. You’re still incredibly important to me, no matter what.’ ‘She ditched you when you needed help the most!’

‘You’re guarded,’ Natalia pressed. ‘It’s almost like you won’t connect with anyone anymore in fear of another…incident.’ Tommy remained silent. Of course, Natalia had picked up on this; she had lived similarly for many years, her steel walls only buckling after months of his dogged efforts to reach out. ‘I want to help you, Tommy. I know I’ve been unsupportive and unpleasant and even a bit heartless in the past, but I do care for you. Tell me what’s on your mind.’ Tommy turned his head to hide a minute smile. For Natalia to acknowledge, let alone admit, such things meant that she really did care, that she really did want to make amends. He turned back to her.

‘Lala—’ ‘Don’t call me that! I hate you. I hate you!’ The young spirit-seer stormed off, closely followed by the slamming of her door. Tommy 24

‘Carla idolises me, obviously. She’s come onto me for years, way before the first time we saved the world together. I didn’t mind it so much when we lived together, and she was nowhere near as persistent. I think seeing

us get back together pushed her to try to “claim” me or something. After you-know-what happened, I got scared of losing anyone else. But then Carla was blessed with her spirit-seer powers, we’re back to saving the planet again, and I feel torn between wanting to protect her from the cruelties of this world and needing her to find her own way. I’m trying my best, but any words against her and she just freaks out! She hates being denied, even if it’s for her own good.’ ‘Her own good, or yours?’ ‘…Both?’ ‘If you consider her your sister, treat her like one. Be open.’ ‘What would you know about being open?’ Tommy muttered. He shut his eyes immediately in regret. Natalia was different now. ‘I’ve treated her like a sister for seven years, Natz. I know what’s changed, but I don’t know how to approach it. She’s shutting

herself off from me at the moment, too. I feel like I can’t help as much as I want to.’ ‘Let’s wait and see what Jasmine can glean from her then,’ Natalia said. ‘For now, put your obnoxious optimism to good use. For your sake, as well as mine.’ ••• Flames swirled around the clearing in the encampment. Lifeless bodies were scattered around the place. In the centre of it all, Tommy knelt next to one of the fallen, shaking them fiercely. Tears stung at his eyes and his throat felt tight. ‘Come on, come on. Get up! Get up, please…’ It had been just him and Carla against a mass of enemies. When he heard the crash of a gate behind him, he spared a moment to look around only to see Carla on the other side, her hand resting on the lever. ‘Carla? What?’ ‘I’m sorry. If being a hero means dooming others, I…I can’t.’ Before Tommy could question her any further, Carla disappeared, the flash of her scarf the last thing he saw of her. He returned to the fight, but his mind was clouded by a wave of thoughts as he began to be overwhelmed by the number of his opponents. In hindsight, she had been acting rather strangely over the past few days. After an unfortunate event involving a mage’s questionable actions with very genuine but misguided intentions, Carla had gotten upset over the difficulty of their solution to dealing with the scared fugitive. She had left long before the others, returning solemn, cold, and 25

distant. Tommy was reminded of what Jasmine had managed to pull out of Carla after their dispute from weeks ago. ‘She’s lost faith, Tommy. In the world. In heroism. The nuance has caught up to her and she’s struggling to process it all.’ Even though Tommy had been losing ground from fighting with rushing thoughts clouding his focus, he had stalled long enough for his friend Bjorn to arrive and help. True to his paternal nature toward the team, he stepped into the fray to receive a blow meant for Tommy. Seeing the closest person he had to a father fall to the ground had sent him into a frenzy, cutting down all in the vicinity. As Tommy’s shaking slowly waned, bent over Bjorn’s body, he knew it was too late. In one day, he’d lost both a father and a sister. ••• ‘I just wanted her to grow outside of my shadow,’ Tommy whimpered, a few weeks after Carla’s sudden departure. ‘But when she needed me most, I completely pushed her away.’

she’s my sister, Natz. I love her. I want to save her. I’m going to try.’ ‘I know you will,’ Natalia said softly. She was never soft. ‘And I won’t stop you. Just don’t forget why we’re here. To save the world – again – at any cost.’ ••• Tommy led his team into a cavern, the last reported position of one of the gods they were hunting. He made an effort to pretend not to know which god exactly. Coming into an open clearing, they found it empty save for markings on the walls and the telltale remnants of recent occupation. ‘You won’t find them here,’ a voice said from behind a rock. Everyone unsheathed their weapons, preparing for battle, as a figure stepped out. Tommy’s glare deepened when he saw a bright tangerine scarf peeking through the darkness. ‘Go,’ he said to the group behind him, not taking his eyes off the spirit-seer. ‘This is my battle and mine alone.’ ‘Tommy—’

‘We all make mistakes,’ Natalia responded, rather dismissively. ‘Natalia.’ ‘What else do you want me to say? That we can save her? I know you hold your friends higher than anything else – her, especially – but our mission is to stop the gods. Having been tempered by one, she’s a threat. Not only that, we don’t have the time. The path forward is clear.’ Natalia was as pragmatic as ever, but she was right. Tommy exhaled. ‘I know. I know. But 26

‘Go.’ He heard the hesitant footsteps of his team retreating, waiting until they were gone. ‘Well, Carla, it’s just you and me, all alone. Just like you wanted, right?’ ‘I just wanted you to notice me…’ ‘Carla, I notice you.’ He also noticed her spirit magic was a burning orange instead of their normal comforting green. ‘You were literally my roommate. I know the type of books you keep under your bed! How can you say that?’ ‘Everything I did for you—’

‘Doesn’t mean you get to run off and ditch people like a toddler having a tantrum. You are the reason Bjorn is dead. That his kids no longer have a father. You think the sacrifices of heroism are hard? It’s a far cry better than the consequences of whatever the hell you think you’re doing! It’s not heroic, I’ll give you that clue free of charge.’ ‘What’s the point of being a hero if you can’t save everyone? At least with these powers I can prevent them from suffering.’ ‘By binding them to a soulless god, which is hundreds of times worse, you idiot. Look, I’m sorry, Carla, but the hard truth is not everyone can be saved. Being a hero isn’t as black and white as you wish it to be. I understand why you’re doing this, and, yes, it has merit. But think of the long-term effects, how many people you’ll hurt. There are better ways to do this. Less harmful ways. Please, Lala. Come back. Let’s properly talk. I miss you.’ ‘You wanted me to fly the nest.’

‘This isn’t what I meant.’ He stared his former apprentice down, who responded by unsheathing her glaive. With a disheartened sigh, golden particles began to form within his hand and upon him, signalling the summoning of his gear. He wordlessly lifted his sword and pointed it at Carla, narrowing his eyes. Even empowered by a god, there was no contest between them. Having trained Carla from the ground up and sparring often, Tommy knew her like the back of his hand. The mere thought of what he had to do left him feeling empty and hollow. But he had a duty to uphold and friends to protect. He had sworn that oath long ago. Effortlessly sidestepping the lunging girl that was once his sister to let her crash into the cavern wall behind him, Tommy steeled himself and cast his hesitance aside. ‘You will be remembered for the friend you once were. This, I promise.’

the gods say death is a fool’s errand Eli Rooke

Content warning: This piece contains references to drowning and implications of suicide. Your time is running out. You can feel it in the way you’ve been trying to count sunsets. Trying to figure out which one is the last so it can be important. This sunset, the one you tell yourself cannot be the last because it doesn’t feel right, sinks behind the ocean horizon. You think about the time, long ago and far away, when you watched a burning sun foolishly end itself. It dragged a galactic sea into its orbit and the waves rose to the embrace. They knew that this was the end, as far as ends go, and welcomed the sun to its death.

You had watched the salt water hiss and the steam cry until the sky was red with blood and fire and you knew of nothing else. Nothing could have saved the sun from drowning. Its eons of wisdom did not grant it sanctuary. It sank to the depths without ceremony or burial. It had always thought it was capable of more. Nothing can save the son from drowning. You know that, as you watch the last of the light fade away from you. There is nothing special about the final one. You step into the waves, and the salt winces at the cuts on your feet. You have walked so many lifetimes and the water welcomes the weight. You do not feel like a fool when the ocean engulfs you. Though perhaps that is how they will remember you. A son that had forgotten he was made of fire.

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Remote aviation (drones) is one of the fastest-growing industries globally, and new applications are being discovered daily. Did you know that you can now obtain your Civil Aviation Safety Authority (CASA) remote pilot licence and also gain 12.5 points towards your higher education

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Places are available in Terms 3 and 4 and are strictly on a first-come, first-served basis. To enrol, contact your Course Coordinator and reference AVF10001. For additional information, please contact Siobhan at ssleater@swin.edu.au

cold feet Amira Akhtar

The cold weather is never gentle to me.

When I was younger, I’d get headaches from the simple thought of a five-degree day.

Watching the tree in the front yard lose its leaves

and the sidewalk fill with puddles through the window

has left me feeling very alone.

the first day of the last month of autumn Charlene Behal

Content warning: This piece contains themes of grief and reference to the death of a pet. mum heated me a cup of coffee as i sat on the kitchen bench. it’s a weird thing, grieving what hasn’t been lost yet. ‘is it time?’ it doesn’t matter how it happened, it wouldn’t change the fact that i’d never see him again when i came home from work, smiling warmly at me. he’d never go for another walk again, or zoom around the backyard for no reason. he’d never put his head on my foot so that he could lie down, asking me for tummy rubs. he’d never get excited when visitors came over, wagging his tail and running around. i’d never see his sixth sense, when he knew papa was coming home before anyone else did. i’d never get to hold his face, stroke his fur, kiss his forehead, hold his paw. it wouldn’t change the fact that someone who had been there for 12 years of my life was never going to come back. how am i supposed to prepare for that? tears flowed out of me the whole day. they warmed my face and kept running. 32

when i came back inside, the coffee was cold. ••• the day after you left, the sun was shining so brightly, and i thought about how you loved to bask in its warmth, your eyes closed on the concrete as you smiled, absorbing its rays. you must be there now, enjoying the sun, finally free from pain.

affirmation Jarryd Worland

1. ‘A statement or sign that something is true.’ 2. ‘The act of saying yes or of showing that you mean yes.’ Cambridge Online Dictionary For me, this wasn’t a word that sat within my Vocabulary of Jarryd book until this time last year. It popped up while I was attending an amazing Ally Awareness training session, where I got to learn where every label sits under the umbrella of the queer community. A lot of this content was very familiar to me, but it helped to cement it. Rumour and speculation turned into fact and truth, and a few myths were happily dispelled. Affirmation – or, in this context, gender affirmation – is to affirm the gender identity that you select to be yours. A statement that you are you, you love who you are, and no one but you can choose that for you. Coming out of that training, I didn’t feel the need to question my gender identity. I was a White, cisgender, pansexual person, making friends and allies with every interaction you could have in a COVID world. Except, I wasn’t feeling as secure as I thought. I don’t know whether it was a voice, or a feeling, or something intangible that just seemed to say, ‘Are you sure about that?’ Little did I know at the time but that was the start of my journey towards my own gender affirmation as a paragender person. I suspect that you, dear reader, sit somewhere along this journey that I am on. Maybe at the beginning of questioning your gender identity and finding the right labels that work for you, or you’re someone who has completed a large portion of it and are happily living a life where you can be you. Or maybe you’re in a position where you don’t feel the need to question 34

your identity, that you’re happy as you are, and that’s completely valid too! And, perhaps, some of you may be where I am right now, freshly affirmed but still facing challenges as you try to reunify your life. With an identity, recently fitted and glowing for the days ahead of you, but encountering resistance from some folks. Resistance to a change that is happening in front of them, or at least to the recognition that you’ve been liberated from a shackle of your past. Of course, there was more to it than just suddenly deciding to jump into a new gender identity. In fact, there were three main things that rattled me enough to make me consider this change. The first, on reflection, was gendered assumptions. Anyone that has had a class with me would know that I like to contribute to any open discussion, with cameras on and mics at the ready. I have no trouble jumping into a presentation and talking for hours, if need be, about any topic I feel engaged with. But during a discussion in a lecture early in 2021, I got called out on how I act, publicly. ‘@Jarryd Worland Why do you use heart emojis in your messages? You’re not a girl, you know, at least try to be more manly.’ I mean, my first reaction was to burst out laughing! It didn’t really bother me then. I just spammed heart emojis in this guy’s DMs and was publicly like, ‘For you, my dude, you get all the heart emojis!’

He He

y e h

The y

But as I reflect on that moment, I realise how that act right there was a form of prejudice, that someone high and mighty felt that an action went against their ingrained gender stereotypes. I was entitled to be hurt by that, even if I didn’t feel much about it at the time. It’s okay for me to reflect back now and feel differently. The next thing was more of a reflection on my personality than a single event. I am someone who always wants to do right by everyone. I think of others before myself and, if anyone suffers, I want to help them. But with that shouldered responsibility, it’s very easy to be manipulated by a person, a cause or a hero. In my case, that meant a lot of self-degradation channelled from the media I was consuming. The last decade has brought to light a lot of hurt that’s been caused across history and continues today. Some small amount of justice is being served for victims of domestic

violence, sexual harassment, and assault, for victims associated with being on the wrong end of male privilege. I know my allies would always be supportive: ‘Jarryd, you know you haven’t done anything wrong. You don’t need to blame yourself.’ It’s true that putting yourself down and wallowing in guilt helps no one, especially yourself. But there’s no doubt that when the socials, news sites and blogs you read all generalise that you, a male person, belong on one part of the spectrum and that you must carry the responsibility and the blame for what has been done to others, it can feel like a heavy burden. Maybe it’s not fair to feel it but it was a valid feeling, one that I couldn’t shake. And it ties into the last pillar that cemented change for me, the role of ‘patriarchal privilege’. For me, I define it as both tangible and intangible actions, labels, and expressions that put me squarely as a ‘guy’. You’re a guy, so 35

society grants you these titles and exceptions: ‘Good morning, Mr Worland.’ ‘Excuse me, sir, I have a question.’ ‘Can I have all the guys over here and girls over there?’ My internal reaction was, ‘Um, excuse me, I’m not a guy!’ And there it was. An aha moment of, ‘Woah, wait a minute...Is this me questioning my gender identity?’ I got a sick feeling every time something like this happened, generally covered up with a more automatic and conditioned response. I would never quite call it out because I didn’t know what was right, or what was me. I was content to remain as I was because I couldn’t define what else I could be…yet. I couldn’t define me. All I knew was that I wasn’t a fan of being called ‘mister’ and ‘sir’. It didn’t feel right having people assume my safety in public because of my appearance. Even being afforded a privilege that I didn’t feel was deserved felt awful because it was designed to segregate and maintain the heteronormative binary. I felt stuck. I knew that ‘male’ wasn’t sitting right with me as a label, but what could I turn to? My gender expression was very masculinefocused with a bit of curiosity here and there, but I didn’t feel like I qualified as female in 36

the general sense and I didn’t feel non-binary enough to be non-binary. (An incorrect notion, I realise now, but these are thoughts and feelings I had, which, dear reader, you may also relate to.) I did my research to find a label that could fit the description of my experience. It wasn’t until a conversation I had with my gender diverse sibling that I found paragender, perhaps something that fit what I was feeling. Paragender: The feeling of being very near one gender, but also partially other genders as well. If you think of gender as a wider spectrum, I wasn’t sitting on the binary One or Zero but more outside of it entirely, and not even in only one place. I feel masculine, but there are other parts of me that sit in femininity, androgyny and other places that have no labels. Paragender. Paraboy. Yes, this feels better, this more accurately portrays my thoughts and feelings on how I see myself. I feel like I could go back through my life, pick

out the parts of me that help suggest that a mannerism, an emotion, a reaction does fit more in this gender label. Do I feel okay with this now? Yes. Is the world ready to know? I’m not sure. I still have questions. I know I need my allies; I need friends to be okay with me. Could my family be okay with me? Is this a rebirth of my life, or the next chapter of it? How much am I going to change? When does my life change? For me, the answer to that last question was December 25, 2021. On Christmas, I decided to come out online, with a recorded video on my socials, for the world to see. And the world in response, much to my surprise, was ready to support me. It’s six months later. Six months can be the longest of times or it can be no time at all (or, in COVID Time, it can equate to at least five years) but, for me, so much of the path I’d had in front of me has been covered. I feel affirmed. My close circle loves me and cares for me. I always smile at the euphoric experience of my pronouns being used correctly, when a friend doesn’t see me as ‘a guy’ but as Jarryd: the wholesome pansexual

paraboy. And you can’t deny the euphoric experiences you can give yourself, where you stop yourself from executing your original, gendered programming and realise, ‘Wait a minute, I’ve got something else to say instead.’ My journey isn’t over, and perhaps it never will be over. I might start a fresh journey in a different direction towards a new affirmation. I’m grateful that I will always have that support behind me, and my heart goes out to you, dear reader, if you’re in a position where you don’t have that support in finding your own affirmation. As I await to see what the next six months has laid out for me, I’m reminded of what I said back on Christmas night, as a symbol of the wholesome positivity I felt then, and that I still do now. Hi. My name is Jarryd, I’m a Paraboy, and I use He/They pronouns. Nice to meet you. Not a bad Christmas present to give to myself.

it’s been a while Fatima Hanif

it’s been a while since i cracked my pen open or relentlessly typed into my notes or since pages ran out but my words and thoughts gushed and gushed like waterfalls hitting the ground it’s been a while since agitation took the best of me or since misery and i were the only company since furiously tapping on my phone’s keyboard was my only solace as i waited for the peace to come it’s been a while since i wrote these unfinished strings of words these irregular, irrelevant stanzas loosely hung together with no meaning to be given except melancholy, anguish and unbloomed chances it’s been a while since my search for meaning encompassed all other searches or since my body feverishly ached for purpose since my limbs waited to be anything but numb scared to lose everything to my mind’s circus i don’t know how long it’s been but it’s been a while it’s good to know even if it’s just for a little while 39

colossal clam Sophie Robertson

The constant echoes of chatter and footsteps bounced off the pavement and filled the space, bellowing. The doors slid open, beginning the chain reaction to see who could reach the escalator first. As per every other day, congestion became a nasty side effect of this movement. Eager ones made a run for it, the rest more cautious. The slow waddle-and-shuffle mob was larger than usual. She wanted time to pass by just a bit quicker today. It was to be disposed of. After patiently waiting for the crowd to dissolve around her, she needed another stalling excuse. A pick-me-up. Handling her warm, sweet beverage, she found a spot to sit. Out of the way, with a view to watch the world pass by. Stillness seeped into her toes, the balls of her feet, her ankles. Heaviness, slowly rising. Time slowed down. The gentle sigh of the wind is dancing through the cold scaffolding. Look up, see it glide and slip between pockets above. The rumble of movement, below. A pair of kind arms surrounds her, the chaos drifting away. Soothing sands shift beneath her, listening: It is talking back. A large body, so open and rippling like waves. The ends of the earth meet and give life to the most ancient being in the universe. So large that there remains a constant movement of many. Together, they make a wall of sound. 40

It is always open to everyone, hinges far away from the centre. Cave wide to the heavens, a calling of grace, open! open! open! The inner trinkets gently gleam in golden sunlight – glinting down on white circles. Only a few are actually seen, unbeknownst to the casual observer. Many simply run off, untrained to notice the unnoticed, to see the unseen. How strange that a clam so large has so few pearls. It’s not a shame, no. More so a rarity that they even exist in the first place. One would be more than enough. To find her pearl is her wish. To hold its polished, round frame. To weigh down her hands with pure whites of light, a filling glow that brightens even the darkest of nights. Forever unnoticed, they sit. Waiting for one to stop and look. To stare down at and pick up the hidden treasures of the colossal clam.

an interview with an activities officer Zoe Sorenson

swine magazine is part of the Swinburne Student Union (SSU), which plays a pivotal role in representing the student voice. Overall, the SSU advocates for students’ welfare and academic needs, provides important services, and hosts a variety of events. Each issue, we like to take some time to chat with current office-bearers so you can get to know them and better understand the roles they play in representing you. The theme of this issue is transition. Adjusting to uni life is a pretty relevant transition for us here at Swinburne, and events and connections with others are really important in supporting first-year students during this time. With that in mind, our Print Editor Zoe Sorenson spoke to Activities Officer Aaryan Pujara about his role, his involvement in the SSU, and transitions he’s experienced in his own life. ZS: Hi Aaryan, thanks for chatting with us! How did you initially get involved with the union? What was that journey like? AP: I started studying at Swinburne University in 2019. Since then, I have been very active in the community and working in the areas of welfare and advocacy for Swinburne students. I started volunteering with the union; meanwhile, I was also involved in various clubs and leadership programs at Swinburne. In 42

2021, I got my first position on the SSU as the Environmental Representative, and in 2022 I contested and won the position for Activities Officer. ZS: What does it mean to be the Activities Officer, exactly? What does your role entail? AP: The main role of the Activities Officer is to make sure that the services and activities offered by the union are being served to everyone according to their needs. It is my duty to make sure that everyone gets the opportunity to attend breakfast, grab a free barbecue lunch, or attend any university event, and that they feel included and respected. ZS: Why do you think it’s important for students to be able to connect with one another and attend events? AP: University life is about so much more than just studying; it’s about meeting new people, making new connections, learning new things, and exploring what university has to offer to students. It is important for people to network at university, as it not only leads to new friendships but you also get to know who you are studying with and how you can help each other. We also offer a number of online events that range from trivia nights to LinkedIn

networking workshops to student consultancy workshops, which also provide students with an opportunity to learn more and take a break from studies. ZS: This is your second year as a representative on the SSU – what has been a highlight so far? Is there something you’re really looking forward to over the next semester? AP: Over the course of the last two years, we have seen university shutting down and reopening again and again; we saw a time where we were not getting any new international students on campus, compared to now where we are getting so many international students on campus, which is great. I’m really looking forward to meeting new faces over the next semester and helping out more and more students in every way possible. ZS: What’s a piece of advice you’d give students wanting to involve themselves with the SSU? AP: Being involved with the union is great, as it not only gives you the opportunity to meet new students but it also has a really good impact on your résumé, as you can showcase that you know what it’s like to work in a team and volunteer for a community.

start would be how to manage your studies and your units to have a balanced study load over the semester. Study planners are very flexible and can be moved around as long as you’re meeting prerequisite requirements and dividing your core units and electives properly. Fitting them in over the course of three or four years can be very helpful. ZS: What’s a transition you’ve experienced in your own life recently, big or small? AP: I grew up living with my family in India for the first eighteen years of my life. The biggest transition I’ve ever experienced was moving from India to Australia in 2019. Not only was there a culture shock, but I also had the challenge of living by myself, making my own living, working towards student welfare, and managing studies at the same time. It was a bit hard for the first six months, but the people that I have surrounded myself with since the start have been very helpful and have always been there for me at every step of my life since I came to Australia. To find out more about the students representing you and the range of services the SSU provides, check out https://ssu.org.au

Being involved with the SSU is not just about contesting for a position; students can get involved by volunteering as well, which is a great starting point to lead up to more opportunities in the union. ZS: This issue is all about transitions. Is there anything you wish you’d been told when you first started at Swinburne? AP: Something that I feel would’ve been more beneficial if I had known it from the 43

on being yourself Deanne Jeffers

nothing but a postcode with never seemed to be an effective way of making friends for me. At nineteen, beyond school, I wasn’t so shy. I found friends under bright lights on dark nights. Working in hospitality, I experienced strangers baring their souls, and there was less judgement than in the halls of high school. Most nights were filled with live music or friends or dance parties. It meant that I didn’t always feel lonely, the same way no one feels eternally happy. I was dazzled by the illuminated evenings, the spirits flowing over fervant conversations, the eclectic people that filled the world.

It’s curious how we experience emotions through time, an everchanging narrative of events that shape us, small and large, obvious and obscure. My first experience of loneliness was in school. I moved at the start of the final two years of both my primary and secondary education. With each change, I felt my universe tip on its side. I discovered that moving schools was nothing like how it seemed in movies and books, and that two years was not enough time for a shy person to find their place in a new environment. Being crammed into a portable classroom with twenty kids I shared 44

Back then, the bars in the Dandenong Ranges were small, the community even smaller. Still, some nights, the bars could be packed from wall to wall and I would feel like the loneliest person alive. The crowded bodies under waves of thumping music and disco lights would look dangerous and distorted. Even on the good nights, once the sun came up and idle bodies went wherever they went during the daytime, I went home and wondered what I was doing with my life. When I first set foot in a university around that same time in 2015, I had a lot of grand ideas. I knew that I wanted to be a journalist, principally because journalists are paid to write and to know lots of things. I sought varied experiences, and journalism provided a lot of opportunities for a storyteller. It shook me when the first words that came out of my lecturer’s mouth were that many of us would never see the inside of a newsroom and that, if we did, we’d have to work hard and know everything from day one. I remember the quiet, disheartened sighs of a few hundred

fresh-out-of-high-schoolers. I remember why I flunked out and chose life instead. I didn’t think I would be enough. It was easier to slip between the cracks during that time than it was as a teenager. Leaving university, I became free to explore different jobs, enrol in short courses, move around, travel, volunteer, and meet people from all walks of life. I went on to do what people in their twenties were supposed to do: I went on dates wearing too much makeup and danced in nightclubs with my friends. I made my own doctor’s appointments and drove myself there. But, as life got busier, my independence became an excuse to be non-committal. Not finishing a course meant that I could never fail. Moving away meant that I didn’t need to form deep bonds with my community. Partying could be a temporary distraction from the present I was living. As a child I used to make blanket forts and hide in cupboards, but growing up left me no place to hide. I was too big now and my phone, once only a toy symbolic of adulthood, rang out constantly. If my life at the time were a building, the structure would have certainly not been maintained. The windows would have been darkened with dust and the garden would have been messy and overgrown. It felt uncomfortable but not like the end of the world. We don’t really grow up as much as we grow into ourselves without discipline and self-belief. When I was twenty-one, I returned to university to study writing and editing. Following your dreams can be a lonely road, but being around people interested in the same things I was kept me engaged. This experience planted a seed that grew to show me I had a thirst for knowledge that had gone unrealised when I was younger but was now free for me to explore for the rest of my life. Despite

having grown up feeling out of place, I found that committing to something I enjoyed set me up for success. I volunteered writing newsletters, fixing websites, and pursuing what interested me as much as I viably could on a student budget. Following my dream led me to education, and education to further opportunities. I can call myself a writer now. I spend five days a week in a newsroom, despite the hardline stance of my first university lecturer. Even during the hard weeks where I feel more like a paper mill than a person, I can smile because I am passionate about what I do. In these moments, the versions of myself who’d felt lonely in nightclubs and in classrooms smile with me. More than the job and the feeling that comes with doing what you’ve always wanted, the moment I knew I’d found the place I truly belonged was the first time that someone in the company said to me with absolute sincerity, ‘Finally, someone who studied writing!’ In my experience, only the bold proudly admit that they want to be writers, and many will call them dreamers. Your dream won’t be a burden to the right people. Let go and experience the world, which is at your feet. Do it, because you never know when someone more important than you will be saying, ‘I’m so glad you’re here, just as you are, with all that you’ve done.’ With all your experiences, both good and bad, you will be the right person in exactly the right place.

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