A House is Not a Home

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

A Eulogy to my Work Wife

Words by: Clara Yew
Art by: Jessica La

We were both young when I first met Karen. People tend to think I’m being sarcastic when I tell them my favourite co-worker was named Karen. Like this is some poorly constructed joke about the people who scream at 19-year-olds at the register when they tell them that a discount on one shelf does not in fact apply to the entire store. No, Kaz (as it was sometimes quicker to call her in the Christmas retail rush) was a delight to work with. 

A Eulogy to my Work Wife

The Harsh Realisations of Growing Up

Words by: Daisy Henry
Art by: Stephanie Wong

Being in your twenties is a confusing time. Graduating from Year 12 feels like it could have been mere years ago and the idea of people you know getting engaged or owning property seems absurd — surely we’re too young for that! Yet as I think about it, my valedictory was six years ago, some of my friends are in long-term relationships and a lot of young people are already saving for house deposits.  Um, when did everyone turn into grown-ups?

The Harsh Realisations of Growing Up

How I Got Here: A Recipe

Words by: Felice Lok
Art by: L. Ching

I love writing, but I didn’t always realise I did. It must have begun when my uncle would return from Sydney every Christmas and pull beautifully wrapped storybooks out of his denim satchel for me like Mary Poppins. I soon fell in love with the touch of textured paper under my fingers as I diligently sounded out the ‘big words’. When I was 12, my mum sent me to an English tutor who left me in tears after every lesson because my stories were simply not interesting enough. In hindsight, I have both of them to thank because my stories were, in fact, not interesting at all. This tutor had made me realise it wasn’t that I lacked great ideas, but that writing was a skill I had to patiently practise in order to captivatingly convey what I wanted to say. When I reached uni, I began watching Gilmore Girls and started living vicariously through the protagonist, Rory Gilmore, who inspired me to study journalism. All these people (real and fictional) made me realise the value of words. Through words, I get to read the most interesting stories, pen thoughts to paper when I am anxious, and shamelessly share carefully crafted puns with my friends. For me, words are a vehicle for self-expression which have become a significant part of who I am. 

How I Got Here: A Recipe