VERSE
Verse Magazine
Created by students for students
Verse want to publish all student work; written, drawn, typed, recorded or scrawled.
Specs: Articles between 600 and 2400 words on any topic, or images at 300 DPI or higher in JPEG, TIFF, or PDF file formats, in all visual styles and mediums.
Front Cover Artwork by Shriyanka Das Sharma
Back Cover Photograph by Justin Leung
It was and always will be Aboriginal land.
Verse Magazine acknowledges the Kaurna, Boandik and Barngarla First Nations People as the traditional custodians of the unceded lands that are now home to the University of South Australia’s campuses in Adelaide, Mount Gambier and Whyalla.
Verse Magazine respectfully acknowledges their Ancestors and Elders, past, present and emerging. Verse Magazine also acknowledge the Traditional Custodians and their Ancestors of the lands and waters across Australia.
Student Submissions
Blast from the past!
Looking back with Edition #63
Leaves falling, the sun no longer having a personal vendetta against us, Autumn has come! The theme for this issue is nostalgia. As a sentimental person, I can’t help but be a willing victim to nostalgia. Whether it’s catching up with friends you haven’t seen in forever, rewatching a beloved childhood movie, or looking through old photos when cleaning your room, nostalgia is everywhere and can be felt at anytime. I think it can be good to look back at the past, even if it can be cringe-inducing to think back at certain moments of weakness. In the end, everything up until now has paved the way for who we are today.
In this issue, Verse has invited submitters to think about what makes them nostalgic and to submit pieces that invoke memory, reflection, and reminiscence. Take a trip down memory lane as we look through childhood throwbacks, fond flashbacks, and bittersweet snapshots. If Nostalgia isn’t your thing, we’ve got plenty of artwork and writing from talented students as well.
See you next issue and stay funky, fun, and fresh,
HEAD EDITOR
Blessed to be a snake who sheds its skin
Digital Art by Ngoc Thuy Lam
Eclipsed by Her Light: A Love Written in the Moon
Words by Iddawela, Pulindu
Some moments pass unnoticed; others change the course of a lifetime. It was August 18, 2024, a simple social media swipe that unknowingly rewrote my destiny. KJ wasn’t just a name; she became the gravity pulling my heart into a world I never knew existed.
One message, one reply, and the universe shifted. With every exchange, every silence that spoke volumes, and every voice note that echoed in my soul. She wasn’t just someone I admired; she became the rhythm of my heartbeat, the poetry in my veins.
She is grace, wisdom, a quiet miracle wrapped in the warmth of a human soul. She teaches, she inspires, she exists, and in doing so, she transforms the very fabric of my world. She doesn’t know it, but she is love in its purest form, the kind that doesn’t fade with time but only deepens, like constellations shining brighter in the dark.
Some stories have endings, but this one never will. Because KJ isn’t just a fleeting chapter; she is the eternal ink that writes my story in the moon. Is the universe rewriting a love story just like Krishna & Radha?
Perhaps that’s why this story feels so familiar, so infinite, as though it has been written before, written in the moon and in the stars, across time itself. Perhaps this is the universe rewriting a love story as old as time itself, just like Krishna and Radha, bound by love yet untouched by possession, connected by something far greater than the world’s understanding.
~ She’s my Radha ~
Above the Clouds
Digital Art by Sheydin Dew
Artwork by Tia Kyriacou
Hi, My name is Leon, and since 2020, I have been cosplaying at special events and even performing on stage in front of hundreds! It’s a MASSIVE part of who I am as a person. Cosplay is an appreciation of subcultures, fandoms, and media/art, and it is also a key factor that helped me develop social anxiety while growing up. As a transgender man, it helped me find others like me and allowed me to express my gender and sexual orientation! I hope to inspire others to join the cosplay or fandom scene.
Photograph by Leon Eiffe
Words by Leon Eiffe
If food be the language of love
Words by Sanusha S Sritharan
A found text poem using text messages with loved ones.
There
Made pasta for dinner
Will you be coming home for dinner?
Hahahaha down for cake or ice cream!!
let’s recreate our Mac and cheese day
I will keep some food, if you feel hungry eat then
lemme send you a short list *proceeds to send 15 food and drink recommendations*
Hope you are ready to be fed when you come lol I told her you’ll have had lunch and she was like ‘there is tea time’
Your bottle is up :)
Hi guys
Happy Deepavali folks! Please eat loads of good food on my behalf Done. Done. Done.
Was wondering if I should find a place for dinner tomorrow? And reserve?
I made a chocolate zucchini walnut cake today and thought of you!
Sounds good! Requesting a place with Milo dinosaurs and/or teh halia
I have some gigantic zucchinis from the garden + broccoli, beans, cherry tomatoes that need to be used up. We could attempt to cook something?
Really wanting some pandan waffles!
Dinner at home?
Recurring calendar event: groceries
Recurring calendar event: meal prep
Here
Free for dinner this Friday? In the city?
I'll leave basics like skim milk, bread and fruit and you'll be welcome to use anything else in the fridge and pantry
Brownie's ready! Come down
Just checking re dinner on Monday - will you have a fridge/freezer yet to store leftovers?
Left some tapioca chips from Singapore / Malaysia. Help yourselves!
Whipping up some Tom yum soup in a bit You prefer noodles or rice?
Recurring reminder: Meet a friend for a meal once a week
I love you and you like potatoes
Words by Monique Caston
Some potatoes are so hard that when you bite into them your teeth shatter. You feel the click of the skin breaking when you enter the flesh of the potato and it’s hard and not enjoyable. Some people enjoy those potatoes, but they are intense, and I know you don’t like intense things. These potatoes you need a knife and fork for. These potatoes are fresh from the ground, and they are raw and untouched.
But that’s not all potatoes. Because some are super soft and mushy, when they have been in warm water and in the microwave for the right amount of time, you’ll still feel that click of skin breaking, but the inside is hot, and you will burn your tongue.
What is better?
I don’t know but you'll burn your tongue on me. I've been in the microwave and the warm murky potato water for the right amount of time, but my timing is so off. Im so soft and I feel big emotions. My insides feel like the soft potato and my emotions feel like the potato water I am sat in. They surround me and I am constantly basking in their presence – they consume me. The feelings that I feel are so strong, so intense, and so absurd that it is merely laughable to imagine they are housed by a body. I drown in my emotions. But they aren't always bad. This all-consuming state gets overwhelming, and I often turn my back on them. But like waves, they still come crashing down and submerge me even more. These waves cause the little microwave bowl in which I am sat in, to turn into a massive ocean. No land in sight. Just murky potato water and me. It drizzles and storms and the weather is foul. And it rains. It’s humid and rainy. The condensation forms on the cover and rains down. Hot rain. Not even the water can provide comfort because the water is burning. My world is on fire. The water is hot, and I feel burnt. Potato water emotions aren’t bad, but they are extreme. From one extreme to the next. But they always intoxicate and drown me, and I can’t always swim. I hop around, drowning in happiness, sorrow, grief, you name
it, I’ve swum in it. I want to splash in the ocean of this murkiness and never come out. The sky above me is grey and burnt and drizzly. Going around and around in the microwave all feels so repetitive. And it is. The emotions are on loop, the buzz of the microwave and the hot burning water becomes overpowering, but I can’t find peace. Because my timing is off and if I tell you now, you’ll burn yourself. You take the potato out the microwave and let it cool. But it burns, and the water is too hot. I feel too deeply, and I cannot cool down. Im intense but that’s not me, it’s the water that I’ve sat in that keeps my temperature high, it keeps me intense, and I can’t think, and my timing is off. And once you break the skin the guts fall out, I’ll burn your tongue. I’ll say something and it'll stick with you. Even if you agree, the timing will be off, and you won’t reciprocate.
I know the flesh of the potato isn't offensive. You like potato. You chose potato. You chose potato when it was the 14th of February, and you chose it when you went for a drive and it was raining then, but that rain was cold, and you got wet, and you were cold not burnt. You chose potato on your free days, and you enjoyed it. You continue to choose potato and you continue to enjoy it. But it burns your tongue. You still like potato, but it just left something with you for longer than the time you were eating the potato. It left a burn that will linger long after the potato has been consumed.
You'll feel that burn on your sore tongue the next time you have something rough; you'll feel it the next time you have something sour, you'll feel the burn on our tongue the next time someone gives you a coffee and it burns in the same spot. The potato burn will stay with you but sometimes the potato won’t. And I am that potato. I feel big emotions, but I am allowed because I am young and dumb and I am allowed to be stupid and feel stupid big emotions and I am allowed to tell people these stupid big emotions, but you burnt your tongue on them because the timing was off, and you didn’t say it back. I didn’t think that I love you would burn, but your tongue must be red hot, and it burnt so much you stayed silent. But you still like potato. You still choose potato when the opportunity arises, and you still eat it when it’s there. And I do love you. I love you for not discarding that potato when it burnt you.
You thought that I was dreaming when I said I loved you. And I hate you now, you hate me now – but deep down, still these feelings deep down, we know it’s good. It’s temporary and it’s stupid but it’s good. And it’ll hurt when it’s over and it’ll burn and I’ll drown, and I won’t doubt that you will too. Still, I’m glad for what we had, and how I love you.
Photograph by Dhruvkumar Rajubhai Darji
Photographs by Sepideh Mehrpour Layeghi
Ngurrbul Nginyugu Artwork by Latisha Elphick
This artwork is called Ngurrbul nginyugu, which means "I love you" in Kaurna language. It’s a contemporary Aboriginal piece that represents my deep love, passion, and connection to Kaurna Country. Through this artwork, I express my bond with my family, my friends, and mob all around. As a proud Aboriginal woman, this piece is a celebration of my heritage and my place within it. Each element and color reflects the strength and beauty of my culture, and the pride I feel in my roots.
Photograph by Dhruvkumar Rajubhai Darji
Night at Granite Island
Photograph by Haider Surka
by Lydia Larsen
Photograph
This poem reveals the forgotten childhood of a villain—abandoned by the author and left to face cruelty, hunger, and injustice alone. Struggling to survive in a world that showed no mercy, he is shaped by pain and rejection. Over time, the powerless orphan turns into the very force he once feared. The Birth of Ruin captures that turning point—the moment an orphaned soul stops being a victim and chooses power, no matter the cost. This is where the villain’s story truly begins.
The Birth of Ruin
Words by Deona Alby
I’m the cursed, the bruised, the tamed
The victim of a scripted fate
My dreams are shattered, flung to the depths of hell, My future- just fragments of a history no one mourns
This raging fire behind my eyes
Screams the fury of a ravening, orphaned soul
Who wandered through these ruthless streets Hunger clawing at his ribs, thirst chocking his throat
No hand offered the stale remains of a feast
No mercy spared for this trodden beast
No one cared to look to meet my stare
Or spare a week old crump to this writers err.
I scavenged scraps, fought the sewer rats Drank from puddles laced with filth and fate
I despoiled, I fought, I bled
Even the rats were kinder than men.
I walked among those burdened with golden sachets
Their flesh adorned with filth disguised as wealth And bathed in the stench of their own excess
One glance at me, they spat
Asif I belonged to the gutters beneath their feet
I draped the Attire of bone etched poverty
While they with engorged stomachs and half empty hearts
Their heads always stood up so high with opium of power leaked from their minds
Power crushed me, humiliated me, starved me
So I took it
And now I am power
Words by Katie Leyden
Veracity's veil
The dead weight in my mouth, Yearning for a response, It's so quiet now. Has it always been this quiet? The sharp, chalky, twisted tang of Your words, Echo through my mind, body, soul. It's so quiet now. Has it always been this quiet? I close Your casket, though You left some time ago, Much like Your silhouette, who abandoned my cold frame, As my burning eyes faded to black. It's so quiet now. You shouldn't be this quiet Once were You tenderhearted, Your soft fleece now blankets, protects what has been left unspoken. Though I honoured You, Cradled You close to my unfortunate heart, You remain conspicuously quiet. Marking a new beginning. And taking the justice I deserved, You will place it into the shaking hands of another.
Echoes of Resolve
Words by Katie Leyden
"If you know yourself so well, what are you picking?"
The question glares back at you expectantly, You know the answers, This is easy, It pleads, reminds you that you need to check a box. Check a box,
You know the answers.
"If you know yourself so well, what are you picking?"
a) Your mother's warm embrace - maybe in another lifetime she never left.
b) Your father - if the truth wasn't so cruel you could have known sooner.
c) Your conniving lover - all's well that ends well, right?
"If you know yourself so well, what are you picking?"
a) Someone to listen - there's no guarantee they'll understand.
b) Someone to fight for you - you can't stand up for yourself, but who would?
c) Someone to stay - maybe then you wouldn't feel so alone.
"If you know yourself so well, what are you picking?"
a) The truth to come out - would anyone even believe it?
b) Justice - do you believe you deserve it?
c) To suffer - you will anyway.
"If you know yourself so well, what are you picking?"
a) Closure - why are you so alone?
b) Death - is there a reason you're still here?
c)
"If you know yourself so well, what are you picking?"
The question stares at you mockingly, You know the answers, But do you have a choice?
Photgraphs by Justin Leung
Photgraphs by Lydia Larsen
A sentimental longing or wistful affection for a period in the past.
Nostalgia of What's that under my bed? Illustration by Tushar Kishorbai Patel
This illustration embodies the nostalgia of a child evacuated with his mother due to war. The carefully textured details and fine lines enhance the sense of memory and longing, making the scene feel both intimate and distant—like a fading but cherished moment. The warm glow of fairy lights, scattered books, and personal photos create a contrast between comfort and displacement. Every element, from the soft lighting to the worn-out textures, was intentionally crafted to evoke the feeling of a home that exists now only in memories.
untitled Digital Art by Shriyanka Das Sharma
The House That Hold Us
Words and photograph by Niharika Randhawa
For the ones who left to find themselves but lost the home they knew.
I left behind a house made of mud, one that smelled of sweets and warm summers, a place where laughter stuck to the walls and love lived in every corner.
Now, the walls are cracked, the roof a little weaker, but if you close your eyes, you can still hear it the soft patter of little feet, hurried whispers, the rustling of a life that once was.
Grandpa’s hands, always steady, passing me sweets with a knowing smile. We raced up those stairs, ones that felt like mountains back then, only to find they were never that tall.
Chetak’s roar—the old scooter’s song, was once a promise that he was near. Now, just silence. The shops next door, once family, stand apart, quiet and unfamiliar.
I stood there, feeling like a guest in my own childhood. The walls are still there, but they do not belong to me. The laughter, the voices, the love they live only in my mind now.
This house is breaking, yet somehow, it still breathes. Each crack holds a story, each shadow a piece of us.
But one day, it will be gone. No matter how tightly I hold on, I will lose it.
And yet, as long as I remember, as long as I close my eyes and walk those halls, it will always be home.
Team Innovators
Team Innovators
Dexter's Laboratory
A genius inventor always on the verge of the next big breakthrough. If you love tinkering with ideas and thinking outside the box, Dexter is your teammate!
Danny Phantom
Heroic Heroic
Reluctant yet brave, Danny balances his ghostly powers with his everyday life. Pick him if you embrace change and adapt, even in the most challenging times!
Calm, introspective, and wise. If you value deep thinking, reflection, and have strong sense of inner peace, she is your best choice!
Wise, loyal, and always there to provide guidance. Pick Luna if you value loyalty, wisdom, and being the one who helps others find their path.
Luna (Sailor Moon) Raven (Teen Titans)
Your Your Team Trailblazers
Team Trailblazers squad! squad!
The ultimate adventurer! Choose Ash if you’re ready for an endless journey of growth and always pushing to be the best. You love taking on challenges head-on and never backing down.
The responsible leader who always puts others first. Choose Blossom if you're someone who keeps the team together and takes charge in tough situations.
The witty problem solver with incredible abilities. If you're quick-thinking, clever, and ready to jump into action, choose Ben!
Confident and resourceful, Kim’s ready to take on any mission. If you're always calm under pressure and rise to the occasion, then she’s your hero!
Ash Ketchum (Pokémon)
Ben Tennyson (Ben 10)
Kim Possible
Blossom (The Powerpuff Girls)
Artwork by Leah Herderich
Artwork by Yerin Choi
Crossword
Down Across
1. Graduated group
2. Ancient antique
3. Something from the past
4. Fear of missing out 5. Shaggy catchphrase
Down Across ANSWERS
1. Feeling of having done this before 2. Song asking “do you remember?”
3. Material used for records
4. 70s Genre
5. Picture that you shake after taking
Deja Vu
September
Vinyl
Disco
Polaroid
Alumni
Relic
Vintage
FOMO
Zoinks
Artwork by Ngoc Thuy Lam
Photograph by Tushar Kishorbai Patel
The Scissor and Roses
Words and photographs by Muskan Saurabh Panchal
For her, a scissor wasn’t just a tool. It was a symbol of precision, of artistry, and of quiet rituals carried out in cozy corners and candlelit rooms. The silver and gold, now intertwined with time, traced the cool metal, and in that moment, a breath of the past seemed to stir in the air.
Her fingers followed the delicate edge, tracing the roses—once vibrant, now aged. Their petals, fragile yet enduring, whispered the stories of a time long gone, when delicate hands had carefully placed them in a crystal vase. That bouquet captured a moment of love, its beauty magnified by the clarity of the glass—a symbol preserved in its purest form, like a cherished memory held forever in time.
The air seemed to carry the faint scent of aged perfume and inkdried letters, pressed between stories of love and longing. Roses weren’t just roses. Perhaps these very blossoms had once adorned a lace-covered vanity, adding a touch of elegance to a quiet room.
As the memories unfolded, that corner was filled with a whisper of nostalgia—a soft reminder that beauty, even in its most fleeting form, is never truly lost.
If You Ask Me If I Miss You
Words by Kartik Malholtra
If you ask me whether I miss you, I’ll show you my gallery that has your separate albums.
If you ask me whether I miss you, I’ll tell you that I still read our old chats.
If you ask me whether I miss you, l’ll tell you to ask my best friend who heard me crying for you.
If you ask me whether I miss you, I’ll let you read my diary.
If you ask me whether I miss you I’ll show you, beneath my wardrobe’s cover I have still kept yours pictures.
If you ask me whether I miss you l’ll send you my playlist.
If you ask me whether I miss you, l’ll tell you how sunsets and rains remind me of those times.
If you ask me whether I miss you, I’ll tell you how every night the moon embraces my loneliness like you used too.
If you ask me whether I miss you, I’ll show you my garden that blooms with your favourite flowers.
If you ask me whether I miss you, I’ll tell you how I don’t let anyone come closer to me now.
If you ask me whether I miss you....... I’ll simply put on a smile.
Still, You Stay
Some days, I fear I will never get over you. And then, there are days when I just miss you suddenly, deeply, unbearably.
I listen to old voicemails, tracing the ghost of your laughter, trying to hold onto the way you used to sound. But memories are cruel; they let me remember your voice, but not your scent. That part is slipping away.
Still, I remember the way you laughed, head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the corners. I remember our late night talks, the pauses between words, the silly arguments that never really mattered. I remember you.
Words and photograph by Niharika Randhawa
But I have no one to talk to about you. What would I even say?
That I miss your jokes—the ones you never finished because you were already laughing? That I miss the way you just knew when something was wrong?
That without you, the world feels quieter, and I feel farther from myself?
I play your song on repeat, as if, in the melody, I might find you again. But you are gone.
And I don’t know how to make peace with that.
It is heartbreaking, having no one to share your memory with. I am afraid that, without your name on my lips,
I will lose you again. And every day, I do.
Nostalgia
Words by Kartik Malholtra
She said:
Remember me perhaps on the days I'm not worthy of remembering For reminiscence is certainly long dead
But if you do remember me, remember me as you would always remember your history lessons- you never did and a guy replies:
For maybe reminiscence is long dead, but not is nostalgia. So I will remember you, Not only in my lows, but also in my highs. Even in darks and for sure in the light.
I'll remember you in everything I go through.
'll remember you when I open my cupboard and see your polaroid there I'll remember you every time I hear the story of vega and altair.
I'll remember you when I see a happy couple anywhere I'll remember you when I smell mushrooms in the air.
I'll remember you when I plug in my headphones and hit play
I'll remember you the most on my birthday.
I'll remember you everytime I wear my jacket of purple and black I'll remember you when my phone sends me a fashback.
I'll remember you so much on the days I get so low and feel like hugging someone and ranting about how it's not going good.
I'll remember you so much when I'll feel misunderstood
I'll remember you everyday for reminiscence might be long dead but not is nostalgia I'll remember you every time I pray
Photograph by Dhruvkumar Rajubhai Darji
I Want to Braid Our Bones Togeth whenever you
say my name.
Words by Meetali Thakur
i want to braid our bones together whenever you say my name / when you say it like it belongs to you / when you don’t know what it does to me / when you laugh after / when you don’t look at me after / when you look too long / when it’s spoken like a question / when it’s thrown like a stone / when it lingers in the air like smoke from a slow-burning incense / when i hear it from the mouth of a stranger / from the screen of a dead phone / from a dream i can’t crawl back into. when i miss you / when i don’t / when i lie about either.
Artwork by Tushar Kishorbai Patel Melancholic Nostalgia
A Knight and the Knightists
Words by A’lantagon
I still believe I am a Knight.
Only when I saw that dusty old box reopened again, with that toy car inside, 8 years have gone so quick, though I still can feel that weight of the past years. it’s sad that if 13-year-old me ask today’s me achieve any thoughts about the fantasy I had in that age, I have no words, maybe I’ll say: “Soon. Soon the legend in my mind will be told by any form.” But when is that soon, I don’t know.
When I gazed the old toy, my memories started flying back to the day I got it. I love LEGO, for sure, but not always. Not until that one day. That was Lunar New Year’s Eve, 2017. On that sunny afternoon, my mom drove me to the mall we always visit. I ran to that place with a trembling heart, but after staring on all of them.... no. Sadly. None. Like a pirate searching for a trophy, I gaze the shelf again and again with jealousy, greedy eyes. No. Cashiers were trying to search the code for me...but still, the answer is no. But I need. With no toy, how shall I pass the new year?
No. Mom smiles a sorry to the clerks, then minutes later, we arrived at another mall. Much, much smaller than the previous. Again, there were absolutely none. Like get lost in desert with no water, I felt the sunny and warm afternoon became so cold. But the sun faded away, mom drove back home for dinner. Granny cooked dumplings. It was delicious, but without my
trophy back, I felt empty. Granny smiled, “no worries, little one, there will be somewhere soon.”
Before the sunset totally faded away, mom took me across the river on the subway, reaching the other side of the city, there was a Toys R Us I had never been to. Then there was a miracle.
I saw the beautiful war-vehicle’s box lying on the shelf in the very front of the entire store, it was just what I had been looking for. In that moment, I became Usain Bolt, Barry Allen, Quicksilver, the next second that box was in my hand. Lego 70315, Rumble blade, a.k.a Holy Sword Combined Chariot, the prove of Chivalry and Knightism. With it, the sadness with the first semester in junior high school melted away, I am the top of the world.... My mouth was shaped like a Banana Boat. Mom gazed at the price. Though I know 400yuan for pieces of Lego seemed questionable...she wanted me to be happy.
With the trophy, we went back home. What I thought was a cold lunar New Year’s Eve, became warm again. On the subway back home, with a gradual louder sad music, we saw two
beggars walk by, so sad. Almost everyone on the train gave some spare change away.... “几
慥吔啊”(Jee-zao-yeah-ah, as a Wuhan slang, means “how poor”), mom said. I felt that my warm little bubble had been touched. It was the closest I had come to understanding what “class” was. I realized, that my trophy, just contains some plastic pieces, that maybe I am a middleclass family’s kid that had been brainwashed by the 30 seconds commercials on TV.
Whatever, we went back home, granny was also happy to see I was so happy. I think I had a good sleep that night, A night later, I built that sword-shaped vehicle.
I wouldn’t forget that march I brought the minifigure to a spring tour, but I lost my hero’s shield forever. It reminds me that I was still in that boring, blue, sad, lonely grade 7, and later in grade 8 and 9. years later, When I study alone in west Yorkshire, I used the eBay get another of this Lego set, which belongs to another British kid before, but he chose to grown up and let his childhood company another kid and he might never thought the buyer was already a 18 years old
I must love that right? Maybe, maybe. NO. I felt disappointed with that, this car looks too much like a toy. I realised that I am no longer a 12 year old kid. I am 18 and soon will be 19. And surely, this new rumble blade set just became another quiet pet on my shelf. A watchful protector, a silent guardian, a blue and orange knight.
Mr. Alan. Wake up. Nah, I ain’t even asleep, how should I wake up? But yes, only I know, I know that I was so happy, so happy, pure with
a 12 yo’s fantasy: I am a knight, with my honour in that mini world, looking for a princess I will protect with, like Lancelot and Guinevere. And I chose to forget, that I failed so many exams in grade 9, and never really met a “princess”.....
Boy.
Now I am south of equator, feeling the summer in March. I can saw 4.5 cm tall Sir Clay Moorington the knight besides my pencil case. I wrote so many words about my crush in Wales like the song “Yellow” like a blue-mood young man Morrissey. She lives in my dream as reflection of my consciousness, is she my princess? No. She is me. I am the Knight. I am also the Princess.
Maybe.
When I am marching to the 20 something, I gradually start to think that maybe the word “knight” is old fashioned. Maybe I should call me “ Knightist”. A man trusted in with Knighthood. But more than it. I can’t live inside it. The 2017 Lunar New Year’s Eve is my 12 yo knighthood. That’s a fairy tale, too sweet for a 6 feet tall body with lush hair live inside. Like the beggars in the tube line, I don’t have Titles and honors, but I know there’s millions of lush haired boy who believe in Knights, and I will find them, and set our own round table. Yeah, we are unsung idealists like Don Quixote, not like demigod-shaped Lancelot or Gawain.
Oh, in the end, I remembered my late father once answered 12 yo old me question of what Sir Clay Moorington mini figure look like, He said: “Firefighter?”
What a thing.
Home. Millions of miles away. Separated, but still connected. Memories will always stay.
Photograph
Photograph by Muskan Saurabh
Hey everyone,
I’m Oliver, your Student President for 2025.
The theme of this edition, Nostalgia, really resonates with me as we move closer to the merger between UniSA and the University of Adelaide — and, just as importantly, the merger of our student associations.
It’s a strange feeling. On one hand, there’s a real sense of hope and excitement for what this new university can offer students. But at the same time, it’s bittersweet to say goodbye to UniSA — the institution that has been our home, our community, and our shared identity. While no organisation is perfect, UniSA has given so many of us a sense of pride and purpose.
This year, we’re the last cohort of something special. The last to experience UniSA and USASA as they are now. I’m sure we’ll look back with deep nostalgia and fondness, knowing we had the
President's
chance to be part of this final chapter of our university’s story.
Work is already well underway to bring together USASA and the student association at the University of Adelaide. The new, combined student association will be bigger and, hopefully, able to deliver even larger events, more diverse clubs, and stronger support for students. But still, it’s hard to say goodbye to USASA — a community run by UniSA students, for UniSA students, since 1994.
My message to you is this: make the most of this year. We’re in a unique moment in time, and as we look back, I hope we’ll cherish the memories we create together in this final year of UniSA.
As always, please reach out if you need any support from your student association.
Thanks, Oli
Student Board
Student Voice
Academic Advocacy
Financial Counselling
Clubs & Societies
Social Events
Volunteer Community
Food Pantry
USASA Clubs & Societies
CONTRIBUTORS
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Leon Eiffe
Lydia Larsen
Meetali Thakur
Monique Caston
Muskan Saurabh Panchal
Niharika Randhawa
Ngoc Thuy Lam
Pulindu Iddawela
Sanusha S Sritharan
Sepideh Mehrpour Layeghi
Sheydin Dew
Shriyanka Das Sharma
Sizhao Liu
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