The Student Diaries | Tertangala 2020 Issue One

THE STUDENT DIARIES THE TERTANGALA

2020 ISSUE 1 UOW’S FREE MAGAZINE BY AND FOR THE STUDENTS AND ALUMNI OF THE UNIVERSITY OF WOLLONGONG

THE TERTANGALA TITLE MEANING: A proper noun translated as: “smoke signals”. The name originates from the language of the Wodi Wodi people of the Dharawal nation. Some suggest the name was chosen to parody the industrial nature and atmosphere of the City of Wollongong.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF COUNTRY: We respectfully Acknowledge the Dharawal people who are the Traditional Custodians and First People on the land on which we operate. We pay our respects to their Elders both past and present and make an effort to include the voices of First Nations people in our magazine as they hold the memories, the traditions, the culture and the hopes of an Indigenous people.

DISCLAIMER: The University of Wollongong accepts no responsibility for this publication

DISCLOSURE: The views expressed in this fine publication are those of the authors and the editors, and made by and for the students of the University of Wollongong and do not necessarily reflect those of the University of Wollongong

EDITOR’S PROLOGUE Caleb Connolly | Tertangala’s Magazine Editor Pandemics, Pandemonium and Protests have marked the first half of 2020 and continue to. Amidst it all, a coterie of students and alumni from your university have made a magnificent effort to author pieces which comment and reimagine these moments for our reflection and contemplation. You will find these literary works to be both stirring and captivating, alluring and inspiring. We hope this year’s first issue will allow you to escape from the material world, even if just for a moment, and to appreciate and enjoy the thoughts, perspectives and musical recommendations of others. This is a bold edition borne out of a defining moment in our lives and in the history of the world.

Kal Slater | The Tertangala Coordinator It has been an extraordinary past few months. Through what has been a year largely of great challenge, it has been a privilege to be part of an organisation documenting these unprecedented times. The Student Diaries edition contains reflections, thoughts, and recounts of life in the year 2020 as lived by us, UOW’s students. The style of the magazine is simple, we have opted for a clear-cut black and white design that focuses the reader’s attention to the words on the paper. We hope for this edition to serve as a brief but fascinating time capsule into an era that will no doubt be recorded in history as one of the most significant lived through by our generations.

Contents | Student Diaries Issue The Student Diaries’ Playlist: — Quarantunes

Poetry & Prose: — The Mud Campaign — The Trip To Wagga — Ambush — Field Notes: Mangroves

#BLM: — I Can’t Breathe — Police, or Provocateur? Observations and Notes from a Sydney BLM Protester

Notes From the Students: — Coping With University & COVID-19 — A Letter From The Outback

Quarantunes: A Playlist to Isolate To Mask Off – Future Stayin’ Alive – Bee Gees Bored – Billie Eilish Keep Your Hands Off My Girl – Good Charlotte Don’t Stand So Close To Me – The Police Life’s a Trip – Jimmy Jr Supalonely – BENEE, Gus Dappeton Catch My Disease – Ben Lee No Vaccine – Renz Benz, SB THA Prophet Goodbye, for Now – Adam Cassanova Kiss Me Thru The Phone – Souja Boy, Sammie In My Room – Frank Ocean Dancing On My Own – Robyn Everyday Is So Empty – Beetyl Down With The Sickness – Disturbed Burnin’ Up – The Jonas Brothers Work from Home (ft. Ty Dolla $ign) – Fifth Harmony Caught a Lite Sneeze – Tori Amos Temperature – Sean Paul Medicine – The 1975

— Compiled By Grace Crivellaro.

The Mud Campaign On the banks of Krabi is a depositional no mans land Between dense shrubbery and brackish water The mangal gap, saliferous and temperamental Scattered with ocean debris on disputed sludge the unwitting host of a daily war The crustacean battalion prickle with hostility Valiant in exoskeleton armour Scaling the treacherous terrain with precision They defend for their primeval bloodline Surviving on the flat for millennia The mudskippers approach on agile pectoral fins Protruding eyes scan the battleground Strategising their warfare, calculated and aggressive They are the malevolent guerrillas of the intertidal zone ensuring dominance through siege and skirmish The battle surges at the raising of the dorsal flag Troops charge through the viscous field The flat is the front line Opposing forces tangle in combat Mudskippers launching, crustacean slicing Amphibious fish flip and twist, gaining moisture and momentum Holding a deliberate inhale, adapted for dominance

Crabs dart backward on limbs tactful and tactile Retreating to hardwood shelter But defence is futile The opportunist feeder drags a prisoner into the silty trench Decapitating the arthropod enemy The mudskipper platoon, fatigued but victorious Devours the enemy but spits out the head A tropæum of the carnage Darkness brings a temporary armistice A halt in the sedimentary war machine Until the mud campaign recommences Bloodthirsty and unrelenting All to resist their coexistence — By Hannah Burden.

Trip to Wagga Wagga Bree and I are on a drive, observing the gold mossy fields and rocky sublime.

Passing wheat-like grass, hunched over stone gutters.

It curves like a hokusai wave, with grace iconic of the Australian terrain.

Chapstick stains, the water bottles's rim. As it falls, eyes observe the outback grim. Highways dressed in crimson dirt and wombat skins. Lonely telephone poles, begin their elderly limp. Trapped in the dry fields they once pierced with a virile kiss.

Brown shrubbery and eucalyptus trees shaped likebent cutlery, bloom in my country. In the dryness of spring, as steadfast as the humidity.

Alas my phone drips between the gaps of my honeytanned fingers, like liquid-tart. Melting under the summer suns of the land down under.

In the distance, we are blessed with stillness constant.

I spot the tops of pom pom trees, pawns and queens, carefully arranged across the checkered fields of green. No kings, they compete for water it seems.

The flat clouds sail through. Suddenly the hills of the horizon become a sea of blue, and the sky makes room for Selene's desired lune.

The last of the red star's might, sets the tips of pine trees alight. And shimmer does the towering aerial, resting on a passing hill. Gazing at dusk, awestruck like some maiden of a Casper Friedrich still.

Its night, all that burned today is quiet. Wagga is covered in a blanket of soot. All that remains of where the city laid, are fallen stars. They brightly twinkle from afar. A yin trying to impress its heavenly yang which lies above.

— Jodi Glenn Smith.

Ambush How does it go?

That’s it, It starts as Jo Gazes out onto the open desert of South Sudan. Everything shimmers orange; as though a mirror for the sun itself.

Pushing through the condensed waves of heat his eyes focus on the single bush opposite the camps canopy. Only the top of the bush can be seen, few burnt brown stems sprawled on top of the orange mound.

Where could it be drawing water from?

Yes, that’s what he thinks to himself before Jo refocuses on his mother’s last words. ‘Wait. Wait for them to stop. Count to ten Jo, then take Kuach and run. They won’t wait for long.’

‘Wait for them to stop, wait ten seconds then take Kuach and run.’ The condensed words ring around Jo’s head on loop. He can see his mothers face before him, the tears running down her strong cheeks, her nostrils flared, and pain filled bloodshot eyes looking down. Tears roll down his cheeks and the image overtakes his own face.

‘Ahh!’ Jo silently shouts as he’s tugged off balance, something dragging his arm over to the right, shaking It vigorously. Reeling back, he pulls free

and instinctively brings both arms up around his head; only to hear his younger brother whisper into his ear. ‘I heard something Jo.’ Jo quickly places his hands back by his side and looks at his brother. Kuach’s big brown eyes stare up at him, perfect replacements for his mothers.

Sand grinds against Jo’s bare hamstrings as he slumps down to the same level as his brother.

‘What is it.’ he whispers.

‘I heard something Jo.’ ‘What?’

‘I, I heard something Jo.’ ‘WHAT did you hear Kuach!?’

‘Something. I don’t know where it came from.’ ‘It was one of the other people.’

‘No, not them. I heard moving.’ ‘there is lots of other...’

‘It wasn’t one of them. It was moving behind us.’

Digging further into the coarse sand Jo shimmies back upright and cranes his neck around the camouflaged cover, scanning the vast dessert.

‘Wait where are they?’

The road is 100 meters away, from their vantage Jo can make out the faint outline cutting through the dessert.

‘Nothing coming, nothing there’ he says, ‘But’.

‘It’s nothing.’ Jo states. Kuach’s lips puff out in a pout, but he nods in acceptance, and they both go back to sitting in silence. ‘you have to wait. Wait for them to stop. Once they are stopped count to ten Jo, then run, take Kuach and run. They won’t stop for long.’ Jo looks down the long line of people huddled in the camouflaged dug out. There has to be at least twenty.

A soft mechanic rumble starts sifting through the air, breaking Jo’s thoughts. Next to him Kuach starts twitching, muscles tensing, getting ready to stand. Sensing his anxiousness, Jo take his arms, his hands, holding them down, trying to compose

him. The soft rumble grows louder, turning into the unmistakable roar of a car engine. Jo peeks out to the highway, seeing a cloud of dust running towards them from the west. This is it.

He grips Kuach tighter and tenses his legs, ready to move. ‘Wait, wait for them to stop.’

The words of mum ring in his mind. Wait ten seconds, then take Kuach and.... ‘ARGHHHH!’ a scream comes from the other side of the canopy and two, tall women jump up. One of them scuttles over towards the brothers, stumbling on the loose sand. Muffled screams and horrendous grunts make their way over from where the two women leapt up. Jo looks past the women stumbling towards them, transfixed on the second lady who has begun running towards the highway.

She is sprinting impressively fast, her long strides gliding over the difficult terrain, her dhuku flittering in the wind behind her.

A defining crack bursts from the truck and Blood shoots out from the back of her hip; her own momentum flinging her to the right. But Jo’s too slow to look away, seeing the women lying on the ground, arms and one leg thrashing while the other sits in a spurting fountain of blood, pinned to the sand.

‘EEEERHK.’ What the fuck is this?

A squealing knee size boar rushes past Jo’s leg and into the cover of their canopy. following its path with his gaze he sees it screech its way through everyone. Jo’s ears are filled with the screams, but it doesn’t matter he thinks – they can still leave.

He quickly scans the chaos and spots that Kuach is somehow two feet from him. He lunges forward to grab him, but as he does the boar sprints through; a sickening crack rattles through Jo’s left arm, and he is flung back.

It doesn’t matter, with his right arm he pushes himself up and scoops in Kuach, dragging him over. But Kuach resists.

‘Kuach we need to go!’ Jo shouts into his ear. But it doesn’t help. He forcibly drags him over to the edge so he can see the car approaching.

‘The Boar.’ Kuach finally replies.

Jo sees that he is transfixed on the beast as it runs behind them. ‘that’s fine, keep watch.’ he says as he keeps an eye on the ever approaching dust cloud.

‘Wait, look! It’s going back.’ Kuach exclaims, Jo snaps his head around and sees as the boar dives into the bush.

‘Good’ he exclaims, swinging his head back around and ‘OH FUCK.’ The dust has settled; the car is stopped in its spot on the road.

‘WE NEED TO GO! WE NEED TO GO!’ he screams over and over but Kuach won’t turn. One by one, everyone else leeks out from the other side of thier shelter, taking turns avoiding the puddle left by the tall lady from before. Jo picks Kuach up and runs for it; he screams in his ear, he punches his ribs, kicks him in the quad. One of his kicks lands, caving in Jo’s leg and making both of them into the sand. Digging hi face out of the sand Jo only has enough time to see the car speed off.

‘How could you!’ Jo shouts, as tears and sand blend into mud on my face. Kuach looks at him - ‘We couldn’t go, It was a hambush.’

Pretty funny right?

— By Jack Haddrick.

Field Notes: Mangroves

Artisans of life, I’m told. Nurseries. We boat past branches, pluck the leaves from their stems, coat them with our saliva, taste the dense crystals of sea-salt along their undersides.

Echo each other: oh wow, excretory, filtering the ocean fresh in this outcropping.

Gliding past roots like stilts. Like ghostly fingers, hands spread to welcome or rebuff.

Irradiating light on emerald water. We jostle shoulder to shoulder in the dinghy, kaleidoscopic glimpses of the ocean floor, listening to the song of waves on rubber.

Moving from the boats, we spread out, notice what emerges when we’re motionless: openings in tree-bark with crab’s legs poking out. Mudskippers’ hopscotch.

Question our feet crushing snorkels with each rushed and reckless step. Feel the queasy sink of feet through mud, the pulse and flow— turbidity, salinity, buoyancy. Can we ever fully understand the intuitive force of salt? Of vacuums, vulnerability, of fillable voids? Is the water’s surface iridescent as an

x-ray? We watch a floating seed drift by, finned, yielded and fruitful. We study this intertidal zone and marvel that life could possibly thrive here.

— By Lisa Crofts.

The Tertangala Acknowledges the Serious and Ongoing policies, actions and symbols which continue to oppress, exclude and imprison Black and Indigenous people in Australia and around the world. Such historically inherited prejudices and practices have continued to persist, often at the distressing expense of Black and Indigenous peoples’ precious lives. #BLM | George FLOYD | RACISM |Incarceration

For Australia, the 434 Aboriginal deaths in prison and police custody since the conclusion of the 1991 Royal Commission into such Aboriginal deaths shocks the conscience of us all. Global movements like Black Lives Matter demand not only our attention but compel us to reflect, act and make positive and inclusive reform which not only guarantees ethnic and racial equality but seeks to heal the deep wounds of our harrowing past.

I can’t breathe I can’t breathe You’ve heard me say it A million times Lord, you know the Hopes for the helpless Surely you will hear their cries and comfort them I’ve cried so many tears I’ve heard their pain Every time they fall I’ve seen them go… Viral But what about the ones that were not filmed The racial actions that were not captured Allowing them to carry on Like nothing is wrong What about those families That went back and forth Asking about justice What about us Hearing a 51-year-old SCREAM that he’s ready to die Through a protest Just sent chills down my spine

Because it shouldn’t come to this, it’s 2020 Why are we protesting about #BLM in 2020?

I can’t breathe Please remove these shackles you have on me This bent down knee crushing my neck Please set me free Release me from this injustice Why should the colour of my skin determine my worth Determine if I LIVE or DIE … by YOUR hands Yes YOURS, because YOU ARE THE OPPRESSOR Just let me be Let me live the rest of my days So I can see myself graduate Or better yet Live to see my kids grow old Living happy and bliss You know I’m not bulletproof I can’t breathe While you’ve got that gun pointed directly at me

I can’t breathe I’m being held in custody All this because of police brutality Who are we supposed to call Who’s protecting us Who is keeping us safe The change starts with y’all The change is the system The change has to happen Because until then WE CAN’T BREATHE — Sepiso Munalula.

Police, or Provocateur? Observations and Notes from a Sydney BLM Protester “To serve and protect” From an early age, we are all taught that the police are there to serve and protect us. They are meant to provide safety and security to society’s most vulnerable. And yet, in recent times, the entire institution is being questioned. Following the death of George Floyd, roughly two weeks ago, protests have flared up across the globe.

These peaceful protests have seen the label of ‘policing’ change to be the ‘provocateur’.

When you go down all the avenues…

For years, the Black Lives Matter movement in the USA had been criticised by the media, elected politicians and the alt right. Taking a knee… raising a fist… remaining silent during the national anthem… were all demonstrations of anger towards an unjust system. Yet this criticism shone a light on these protests through huge media attention where justice was rarely won.

When George Floyd was murdered in broad daylight, the final spark was lit. Having exhausted all other avenues in the past and fuelled with anger the result was a global movement, rising up against oppression.

We share the same story…

Australia. The ‘lucky’ country. Colonised just like the United States of America. Incarcerating people of colour at similar disproportional rates.

432 and counting. This is the number of Indigenous deaths in custody since the 1991 Royal Commission into this exact issue. When the final words of George Floyd, “I can’t breathe”, spread to Australia, it couldn’t resonate harder.

One of the 432 was a young man in Long Bay Jail. David Dungay Jr. His final words… “I can’t breathe.” He died at the hands of six correctional officers over a packet of biscuits and yet no justice has ever been served. Just one of the 400+ stories that left families, mothers, sisters, brothers and the like mourning for justice and fighting a system that is built against them.

By no means is this a system failure…

Police officers, for decades, have been above the law because after all they are allowed to investigate themselves. Far too often police officers have been seen as a moral citizen and when a murder is committed very little will stop them from being remanded. In fact, in 2019 when Kumanjayi Walker was murdered, the officer was

granted bail and given permission to leave his town of residence. At the same time, Indigenous Australians will be remanded and held in detention centres for as little as unpaid fines. This demonstrates how the current system is built against society’s most marginalised and protects those with power.

Anger is justified…

Having seen the viral footage of George Floyd’s death many Australians were rightfully angry at the excessive force and brutality used by the police. For far too long the system has protected the actions of the police. When Mr Floyd died at the hands of police the spark was ignited again for Australia. Rallies of solidarity for George Floyd and against black deaths in custody were growing by the thousands each day via Facebook events, as Australians began to educate one another on the similar stories and history that we share with America.

Marching illegally…

Firstly, it is not a protest if you need to ask the police for permission. During a global pandemic the NSW Police attempted to stop thousands from attending the Sydney rally. The police took the rally organisers to the NSW Supreme Court on

the grounds that this mass gathering would break the states public health orders. The initial injunction imposed on the rally was overturned by the court of appeal, making the Sydney protest legal at the last minute.

Regardless of whether the injunction was overturned or not, people by the thousands had already shown up and were not going to deterred from peacefully marching in solidarity. On Saturday 6 of June, NSW Police went from serving and protecting, to provoking crowds.

Police or Provocateur…

The police appeared to be unhelpful from the beginning. Firstly, they wanted to provoke a peaceful movement. As mentioned above, they took the protest to court to make it illegal, they disrupted the transport network prior to the rally and came in with a heavy iron fist. Knowing that thousands would be gathering at Townhall, the police decided to shut Townhall station. This disrupted people’s travel plans.

An iron fist…

In my view, the police wanted to be seen. Having forced people into walking from near by stations they knew that their operation would not go

unseen. Bordering streets were lined with riot police 4WD, the mounted police unit stood tall and above the growing crowd and with side alleys lined with the riot and public order squad. It was impossible not to miss them.

As the rally began to move, you could see police wanted to show off their numbers. The streets were lined by coppers, refusing to take a knee.

Overwhelmed by the number of demonstrators, the police chose to wait it out.

Herded like sheep…

Towards the end Police cornered protesters at Central Station. A number of factors were clear of this tactic were clear from early on. The police had disrupted the transport network, shown their numbers and waited us out. Having finished in Belmore Park the obvious route home for many was now Central Station. Transport for NSW had set up metal barriers to slow down the process of demonstrators leaving and entering the station.

This was, in my view, a way to provoke the peaceful crowd because as people begun to leave many in turn were left to wait.

A true system failure…

Sydney’s public transport could not cope with approximately 50,000 people all leaving from the one station. As the police realised that the ‘departure’ process was going to be slow, they brought in more riot police and begun to kettle the protesters further into the bottle neck. When people were stuck at the only entrance and the station’s capacity was at breaking point the police begun to move up on protesters and begun to provoke them further. Physically unable to move and at risk of creating a stampede within central station the demonstrators tried their best to slow down the advancing police.

Becoming the Provocateur…

This dirty tactic used by NSW police was impossible for peaceful Sydney siders to avoid.

Regardless of the fact of one attending the rally or simply commuting home the police were now going to have their way. Impossible to leave at the click of a finger hundreds were left as police pressed themselves upon the state’s citizens.

Move! MOVE!! Lines and lines of riot police provoked and started using violence while hundreds moved peacefully into station.

Ticket barriers on one side and cops on the other…

When the shouting started, the violence started. It couldn’t be blunter, but the citizens of NSW could not move into Central Station safely. A move on order physically wouldn’t work and it would only provide police with an excuse to step their tactics up a notch. Protesters were sprayed with capsicum spray. Police released the spray into minors… those already injured… and a crowd that was at the mercy of the provocateur.

Being the bigger person…

We were not going to become puppets for the provocateur, but rather wait them out and use peace. Those that were left simply sat down and waited the police out. The news had caught the police using violence, street medics were providing much needed first aid to victims of capsicum spray and with people waiting for trains regardless the demonstrators just sat and waited the provocateurs out.

— By Toby Thompson.

Coping With University And COVID-19 When 21-year-old Mai set off to study abroad in the UK, it was supposed to be the 7-month trip of a lifetime. She was home within 2 months.

Maigan Webster jetted off to the University of Leeds in January, a trip she had been saving for and planning for years. When Covid-19 reared its ugly head, students were unsure whether they would be sent home, and Mai was adamant she was going to stay.

“We got an email on the Sunday from the University of Wollongong saying that we were fine to stay, and then the following Wednesday we got an email saying that we needed to come home immediately. I had three days to pack,” Mai said.

After Covid-19 was declared a global pandemic, study abroad courses were suspended, and students were ordered to return home.

Mai was devastated.

“My only life goal was to study abroad. I’ve wanted it since I was in primary school, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I worked three jobs to get there. So, when people ask me if I’m going to go back, I had

to try so hard to get the money for 6 months, I could never afford to go back soon” she said.

There was such a short amount of time to prepare for her flight home that she was forced to leave unopened belongings behind, and even things from home.

“We had nowhere to give all of our stuff, so we basically just left it in a laundry basket in the kitchen. I even left stuff from home, because I simply could not fit them.”

Upon landing at Sydney airport on March 28th, Mai was then taken to the University of Wollongong’s student accommodation, Campus East, where she would quarantine for the next two weeks.

It was during her stay here that Mai was informed that a number of people she had interacted with at a farewell party at Leeds had tested positive to coronavirus.

Attempting to book a Covid-19 test, Mai was told by multiple people that they wouldn’t test her because she had no symptoms and wasn’t a healthcare worker, regardless of her recent travel.

Eventually, one doctor agreed, and Mai returned a positive result. Out of the 40-something students

from the exchange program, 35 of them tested positive for coronavirus.

Being diagnosed with coronavirus was an emotional rollercoaster for Mai, who was constantly taking phone calls from the government, NSW Health and different parts of UOW. “I had 7 phone calls before 10am, and I had to tell the same story to every single person. It was like, I’ve finally stopped crying about it and it was so exhausting, But the government checked in on me everyday,” Mai said.

During quarantine, the only social interaction she had was when her mum would come to Campus East and stand outside her window while they spoke on the phone. Her mum dropped off bedding and Mai’s laptop, and even some of her favourite foods. Campus East was also very receptive of the situation, sometimes bringing her lactose-free treats and doing the best they could to make the most of a bad situation.

Mai has been very reluctant to tell people about her Covid-19 diagnosis as she felt embarrassed and had received bad reactions from the people she did tell, even after recovering.

“One of my close friends was like, ‘do not come near me’. Even acquaintances wanted to see me, but she didn’t. As if being Covid-19 positive could ruin a friendship,” Mai said.

Mai has since recovered and is doing well physically and is still healing mentally from the ordeal. She completed her studies for the semester back in Australia, despite being four weeks behind all the other students and whilst recovering from Covid — By Emily Murphy.

A Letter From The Outback In January, I was in Brussels, on a UN Youth trip.

It was the day the European Parliament was set to pass the Brexit deal. We were there to watch the final debate and vote on a monumental shift in global history. Looking back now, the history of that day has been vastly overshadowed by the situation the world is currently in.

I grew up in Fitzroy Crossing, a small town in the very remote Kimberley region of northern Western Australia. From around the age of seven, I have been fascinated and passionate about telling peoples stories and of social and economic justice. I’ve always been interested in politics and how it shapes the world around us. At the end of high school last year, I made the decision to, in 2020, pack up my life and move to UOW. I now study Journalism and International Relations.

It was three weeks into my new university life when the uni decided, in my opinion, rightfully so, to transition online. I found myself on a flight back to WA that Saturday. The atmosphere on the flight from Sydney to Perth was taut, face masks were being worn by over half of the passengers.

This wasn’t a regular commercial flight, rather an evacuation exercise. A few days later, the Western Australian government closed the state’s borders.

I flew from Perth to Broome; my parents own a house here, but live and work in the health sector in Fitzroy Crossing. The Kimberley has a lot of venerable Aboriginal communities, so I wanted to be overly cautious that I wouldn’t transmit the virus. I went into two-weeks of self-isolation in Broome with family friends delivering food to the front doorstep to me.

At the end of that self-isolation period, the WA Government imposed more travel restrictions in my region, which made travel over local government borders against the law. Those restrictions are still in place, and I remain in Broome, unable to see my family who lives in the next council area over.

I am certainly doing okay, and I am incredibly fortunate to have a family that can help support me. By no means am I, personally, struggling to get by like so many other students are across Australia.

When the university decided not to go back to oncampus delivery for Spring Session, I did have some mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was very keen to get back to Wollongong and get back on campus, and I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to do that. Those feelings, however, were

overshadowed by the need for us all to make sacrifices to hopefully eliminate the virus in Australia. These are just my experiences, I have no doubt that many people will feel differently.

Yes, there will hiccups along the way and staying online won’t be easy. The time zone difference means that I now have a 6:30am tutorial one morning, but I am counting my blessings.

Australia, along with New Zealand, is the envy of much of the world right now. Letting go of the excellent work we have done would be a grossly irresponsible thing to do.

This isn’t the way I had intended the start of my university life to go. Hopefully, I’ll see you on a bustling campus in 2021.

— By Dylan Storer.

CONTRIBUTORS: THE EDITORIAL TEAM: Caleb Connolly Kal Slater

THE SUBMISSION AUTHORS: Dylan Storer Emily Murphy Grace Crivellaro.

Hannah Burden Jack Haddrick Jodi Glenn Smith Lisa Crofts Sepiso Munalula Toby Thompson