Month: December 2014

The definition of Life

by Erin Rose I recently spoke to a friend who was having what I consider to be close to a melt down, over one of the most commonly asked questions for twenty-somethings in my generation: what the fuck am I going to do with my life? I for one was crippled by this questions some years ago, before I found music, before I found a lot of things.

Writing to Remember

by Amy Galea For a time, I had forgotten that I am the happiest version of myself when I’m noting down what happens in life. When I have a space to record what I’m seeing and feeling about events (that are never simply events, but people, life, things, colours) and the bits and pieces that I am reading, listening to, watching, experiencing. There is something about levelling them in words that makes life feel less like a film on fast forward. I found myself thinking this last night as I waited for roadside assistance on the corner of my street. What I had intended on being ‘a quick trip to the grocery store’ ended up being an hour sitting on the ground next to my car, alarm buzzing and conscientious neighbours asking whether I was okay. I was okay. But I didn’t have a NRMA membership and when the man finally arrived, I also found out that I needed a new battery. My quick trip to woolies ended up costing me close to half a grand, but that wasn’t the only …

This is what a feminist looks like

By Hannah- Rose Yee It was a man who first taught me what feminism was. I was in second year at university and I thought I knew everything. I was taking my first ever gender studies course, which cross-listed with my English major (somehow), and which I thought, based on the text list, would be a semester spent discussing Virginia Woolf novels and Sylvia Plath poetry, but ended up being 13 weeks talking about all the ways that women have been well and truly screwed over by the literary, cinematic, historical, governmental, social – you name it – establishment since the dawn of time. I ended up learning a lot, because I went in cocky and self-assured (I’d read Mrs Dalloway before, well, when I say ‘read’, I mean, I had read The Hours), feeling pretty certain that this was an ‘easy’ subject I’d be able to coast my way through. It ended up being the worst mark I ever received at university. And all because I had no idea what feminism was when I …