Words by: Marla Sommer Art by: Therese Dias
I was 12 when my parents bought what is now our family home, nestled in between beach and parkland. I remember being the first to slide my hands across the sold sticker; while my parents were busy adulting, I was already picking my room. It never occurred to me how much being at that one auction would shape what I’d come to know as home.
… A House is Not a Home
Words by: Kate Zhang
When I walked into the Chinese restaurant opposite Coles in Caulfield Plaza, its owner June Wang greeted me with enthusiasm and asked me what I would like to order.
“Which one do your customers like the most?” I asked Mum Wang, flipping through the menu.
“It’s a difficult question,” she replied. “Everything on my menu is created by my customers. They said to me: ‘I want to have eggplant pot.’ And then I tried to cook some for them to taste. They told me: ‘Oh, it’s delicious!’ Then I add it to the menu. Every dish was created in this way. So, my menu is filled with what my customers like.”
… Mum Wang’s Private Kitchen
Words and art by: Madeleine Galea
I used to think I was my interests,
favourite things,
books, quotes, colours, foods,
the idiosyncrasies that others could see,
the things that had come naturally,
the things I had done,
now, I’m not sure.
I feel like a grain of sand
washing around in the ocean,
trying to gain traction,
to form an island all of my own,
Instead, I’m blown from coast to coast.
never quite mine,
roving right into rivers of righteous irritation,
trying to find myself among cohorts of lost souls,
trying to build my home in a hurricane.
Instead of me are the fragments of what people have left behind,
those I admired,
people I have loved,
the way I cook my eggs and order my coffee,
my own reflection,
and maybe it’s not such a curse,
to find yourself lost
Words by: Angel Tully Art by: Brooke Stevens
Flashback to February 2021: I have just finished the best summer of my life. Year 12 is over, lockdown is over, all my friends have just turned 18 — we are thriving. After riding this high, and discovering all the joys of being independent and venturing into adult life, I knew I wanted a change; a big one at that! I could have gotten a funky new haircut, or maybe reinvented my wardrobe, but no, I decided at the ripe age of 18 that I wanted to move out, all on my own.
… The Fear and Freedom of Leaving Home
Words by: Xenia Sanut Art by: John Paul Macatol
I wake up to butterflies. Paper butterflies circle the ceiling above me. With the butterflies, photographs hang from thin strings. They mark the places I’ve been, the friends I’ve made and lost, my family — whether they be in the room next to me, an ocean away, or looking down at me — either from heaven or from those photographed moments in time
… That HomeWords by Elizabeth Seychell
As someone who’s lived in Melbourne their entire life, I can’t imagine ‘home’ being called by any other name.
Words by Ragina Hong Art by Victoria Mangano
To all those trying to make Melbourne their new home,
Words by ANONYMOUS
I learnt to switch off whenever I was caned, because the pain was only temporary, and little by little, I started to resent my mother.
Words EMILY BURKHARDT Art STEPHIE DIM
For the most hardcore of vaporwave enthusiasts, the first rule of vaporwave is don’t talk about vaporwave…
A little under a year ago, I was diagnosed with coeliac disease. This devastating announcement seemed like the end of the world to me – a die-hard fan of pizza, pasta, pastry, cake, biscuits, scones…you get the idea.
Esperanto Magazine 