Verse Magazine Edition 63

Edition 63 Free

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.

Website versemag.com.au

Facebook @VerseMagAdelaide

Instagram @VerseMagazine

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.

F R OM USASA 4

Editor’s Letter

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Spotify Playlist

40 Quiz 44 Crossword 62 Presidents Letter

Student Submissions W R IT T EN

V ISUA L

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Eclipsed by Her Light

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Bitten

Blessed to be a snake who sheds its skin

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Leon Eiffe

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Above the Clouds

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If food be the language of love

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Photographs

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I love you and you like potatoes

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Untitled

20 Ngurrbul Nginyugu

25 The Birth of Ruin

22 Photographs

26 Veracity's veil

23 Night at Granite Island

28 Echoes of Resolve

24 Enchanted Confinement

38 The House That Holds Us

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48 The Scissor and Roses

28 Untitled

50 If you ask me if I miss you

30 Photographs

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36 Nostalgia of What's under my bed?

Still, You Stay

52 Nostalgia 54 I want to braid our bones together whenever you say my name.

56 A Knight and the Knightists

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Untitled

Untitled

42 Returning 43 Untitled 45 Untitled 46 My Sweet Nostalgia 53 Photographys 55 Melancholic nostalgia 58 Home 61

Symphony of Seasons

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.

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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

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A Spotify Playlist

Hello, Goodbye The Beatles

You (Show Me Where My Days Went) Wallo ws

Summer’s Over Jordana, TV Girl

What Once Was

Her’s

Pictures of You

Drugdealer, Kate Bollinger

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Above the Chinese Restaurant

Laufey

Sunshine on a R ainy Day

Christine Anu

Just Like You Used To Jalen NGonda

Let’s Go Back Jungle

Losing You Solange

Listen Here!

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Blessed to be a snake who sheds its skin

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Digital Art by Ngoc Thuy Lam

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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.

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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

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Artwork by Tia Kyriacou

Bitten 12

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.

Words by Leon Eiffe Photograph by Leon Eiffe 13

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 :) Happy Deepavali folks! Please eat loads of good food on my behalf Done. Done. Done.

Hi guys 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!

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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

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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 16

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.

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Photograph by Dhruvkumar Rajubhai Darji

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Photographs by Sepideh Mehrpour Layeghi 19

Ngurrbul Nginyugu

Artwork by Latisha Elphick

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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.

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Photograph by Dhruvkumar Rajubhai Darji

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Night at Granite Island

Photograph by Haider Surka

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Enchanted Confinement

Photograph by Lydia Larsen

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The Birth of Ruin Words by Deona Alby

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.

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

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Veracity's veil Words by Katie Leyden

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.

Untitled Ink & Digital Artwork by Ayla Smyth 26

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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?

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Photgraphs by Justin Leung 29

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Photgraphs by Lydia Larsen

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USASA Pantry Fuel your studies with free & low-cost fruit, vegetables, bread & pantry staples USASA.sa.edu.au/Pantry

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Join the USASA

Be part of a community, make friends, have fun &

Find your purpose!

Register to be a USASA Volunteer at: USASA.sa.edu.au/Volunteer

USASA Volunteer Community

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AA sentimental sentimentallonging longing or or wistful wistfulaffection affection for for aa period period ininthe thepast. past.

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@ar_tee1990

Nostalgia of What's that under my bed?

Illustration by Tushar Kishorbai Patel

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untitled

Digital Art by Shriyanka Das Sharma

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.

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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.

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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.

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Team Innovators

Choose Y Heroic

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!

Raven (Teen Titans) Calm, introspective, and wise. If you value deep thinking, reflection, and have strong sense of inner peace, she is your best choice!

Danny Phantom

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!

Luna (Sailor Moon)

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.

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Your squad!

Team Trailblazers

Ash Ketchum (Pokémon)

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.

Blossom (The Powerpuff Girls)

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.

Ben Tennyson (Ben 10)

Kim Possible

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!

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Artwork by Leah Herderich

Returning 42

Artwork by Yerin Choi

Untitled 43

Crossword Crossword

Down Down 1. 1.Graduated group Graduated group 2. 2.Ancient antique Ancient antique 3. 3.Something from the past Something from the past 4. 4.Fear of missing out Fear of missing out 5. 5.Shaggy catchphrase Shaggy catchphrase

Across Across 1.1.Feeling Feelingofofhaving havingdone donethis thisbefore before 2.2.Song Songasking asking“do “doyou youremember?” remember?”

3.3.Material Materialused usedfor forrecords records 4.4.70s Genre 70s Genre 5.5.Picture Picturethat thatyou youshake shakeafter aftertaking taking 1. 1.

1. 1.

2. 2.

2.2.

3. 3.

4. 4.

5.5.

5. 5.

1. Alumni 1. Deja Vu 1. Alumni 1. Deja Vu 2.

Relic 2.

September 2. 3.Relic 2. 3.September Vintage Vinyl 3. Vintage 3. Vinyl 4. FOMO 4. Disco 4. FOMO 4. Disco 5. Zoinks 5. Polaroid 5. Zoinks 5. Polaroid 44

ANSWERS ANSWERS Across Across

Down Down

Artwork by

by Ngoc Ngoc Thuy Artwork Thuy Lam Lam

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My Sweet Nostalgia

Photograph by Tushar Kishorbai Patel

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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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.

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Still, You Stay

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?

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.

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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

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Photograph by Dhruvkumar Rajubhai Darji 53

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.

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Artwork by Tushar Kishorbai Patel

Melancholic Nostalgia 55

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

trophy

13-year-old me ask today’s me achieve any

back, I felt empty. Granny smiled, “no worries,

thoughts about the fantasy I had in that age,

little one, there will be somewhere soon.”

I have no words, maybe I’ll say: “Soon. Soon the legend in my mind will be told by any

Before the sunset totally faded away, mom took

form.” But when is that soon, I don’t know.

me across the river on the subway, reaching the other side of the city, there was a Toys R Us I

When I gazed the old toy, my memories started

had never been to. Then there was a miracle.

flying back to the day I got it. I love LEGO, for sure, but not always. Not until that one day. That

I saw the beautiful war-vehicle’s box lying on

was Lunar New Year’s Eve, 2017. On that sunny

the shelf in the very front of the entire store,

afternoon, my mom drove me to the mall we

it was just what I had been looking for. In that

always visit. I ran to that place with a trembling

moment, I became Usain Bolt, Barry Allen,

heart, but after staring on all of them.... no.

Quicksilver, the next second that box was in my

Sadly. None. Like a pirate searching for a trophy,

hand. Lego 70315, Rumble blade, a.k.a Holy

I gaze the shelf again and again with jealousy,

Sword Combined Chariot, the prove of Chivalry

greedy eyes. No. Cashiers were trying to search

and Knightism. With it, the sadness with the first

the code for me...but still, the answer is no. But I

semester in junior high school melted away, I am

need. With no toy, how shall I pass the new year?

the top of the world.... My mouth was shaped like a Banana Boat. Mom gazed at the price. Though

No. Mom smiles a sorry to the clerks, then

I know 400yuan for pieces of Lego seemed

minutes later, we arrived at another mall. Much,

questionable...she wanted me to be happy.

much smaller than the previous. Again, there were absolutely none. Like get lost in desert with

With the trophy, we went back home. What

no water, I felt the sunny and warm afternoon

I thought was a cold lunar New Year’s Eve,

became so cold. But the sun faded away, mom

became warm again. On the subway back home,

drove back home for dinner. Granny cooked

with a gradual louder sad music, we saw two

dumplings. It was delicious, but without my

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beggars walk by, so sad. Almost everyone on

a 12 yo’s fantasy: I am a knight, with my honour

the train gave some spare change away.... “几

in that mini world, looking for a princess I will

慥吔啊”(Jee-zao-yeah-ah, as a Wuhan slang,

protect with, like Lancelot and Guinevere. And

means “how poor”), mom said. I felt that my

I chose to forget, that I failed so many exams in

warm little bubble had been touched. It was the

grade 9, and never really met a “princess”.....

closest I had come to understanding what “class” Boy.

was. I realized, that my trophy, just contains some plastic pieces, that maybe I am a middle-

Now I am south of equator, feeling the summer in

class family’s kid that had been brainwashed

March. I can saw 4.5 cm tall Sir Clay Moorington

by the 30 seconds commercials on TV.

the knight besides my pencil case. I wrote so

Whatever, we went back home, granny

many words about my crush in Wales like the

was also happy to see I was so happy. I

song “Yellow” like a blue-mood young man

think I had a good sleep that night, A night

Morrissey. She lives in my dream as reflection of

later, I built that sword-shaped vehicle.

my consciousness, is she my princess? No. She is me. I am the Knight. I am also the Princess.

I wouldn’t forget that march I brought the Maybe.

minifigure to a spring tour, but I lost my hero’s shield forever. It reminds me that I was still

When I am marching to the 20 something, I

in that boring, blue, sad, lonely grade 7, and

gradually start to think that maybe the word

later in grade 8 and 9. years later, When I

“knight” is old fashioned. Maybe I should

study alone in west Yorkshire, I used the eBay

call me “ Knightist”. A man trusted in with

get another of this Lego set, which belongs

Knighthood. But more than it. I can’t live inside

to another British kid before, but he chose

it. The 2017 Lunar New Year’s Eve is my 12 yo

to grown up and let his childhood company

knighthood. That’s a fairy tale, too sweet for a

another kid and he might never thought

6 feet tall body with lush hair live inside. Like

the buyer was already a 18 years old

the beggars in the tube line, I don’t have Titles

I must love that right? Maybe, maybe. NO. I felt

and honors, but I know there’s millions of lush

disappointed with that, this car looks too much

haired boy who believe in Knights, and I will

like a toy. I realised that I am no longer a 12 year

find them, and set our own round table. Yeah,

old kid. I am 18 and soon will be 19. And surely,

we are unsung idealists like Don Quixote, not

this new rumble blade set just became another

like demigod-shaped Lancelot or Gawain.

quiet pet on my shelf. A watchful protector, a

Oh, in the end, I remembered my late

silent guardian, a blue and orange knight.

father once answered 12 yo old me

Mr. Alan. Wake up. Nah, I ain’t even asleep,

question of what Sir Clay Moorington mini

how should I wake up? But yes, only I know, I

figure look like, He said: “Firefighter?”

know that I was so happy, so happy, pure with

What a thing.

57

Home.

Millions of miles away.

Separated, but still connected.

Memories will always stay.

58

Home 59

Photograph by Yi Shin Aw

60

Symphony of Seasons Photograph by Muskan Saurabh Panchal

61

President's Letter

Hey everyone, I’m Oliver, your Student President for 2025.

chance to be part of this final chapter of our university’s story.

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.

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.

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

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 62

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C ON TR I BUTORS Ayla Smyth Deona Alby Dhruvkumar Rajubhai Darji Frankie Legaspi Haider Surka Jessie Showell Justin Leung Kartik Malholtra Katie Leyden

@mera_ki_00 @_.dhruv. @fruichus / @fraangipanis @surka_haider @jessieshowell / @jessieshowelldesign @just_tin @kartik.malhotra12 @katie.ley

Latisha Elphick

@talentedtidda.art

Leah Herderich

@leahlikespaint

Lavica Wu

@lavicawu

Leon Eiffe

@link_yys

Lydia Larsen

@kitanna0710

Meetali Thakur Monique Caston Muskan Saurabh Panchal Niharika Randhawa Ngoc Thuy Lam

@musskanpanchal @niharikarandhawa13 @jadieandhervividinnerself

Pulindu Iddawela

@pulindu__iddawela

Sanusha S Sritharan

@alsogoesbysanu

Sepideh Mehrpour Layeghi Sheydin Dew

@sepiiidee_mp @sheydedart

Shriyanka Das Sharma Sizhao Liu Tia Kyriacou

@tia.scribbles

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@yi.shinn_

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