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

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

Fake It ’Til You Make It 

Writer: Surbhi
Artist: Mon Ouk

My first experience with a fake orgasm was watching a moaning Meg Ryan, aka Sally, throwing her head back in a New York deli and chanting “yes, yes, yes!”. The first time I pulled a Sally myself was a few years back, under the expectant gaze of a partner who asked if I had finished after a few minutes of rock ‘n’ roll, and I giggled awkwardly and nodded. 

Fake It ’Til You Make It 

Anatomy Class

Writer: Alice Wright
Artist: Emilia Bajer

When it comes to sex, we all know what feels good. What belongs where for things to *happen*, however we want it done. But is that all we know when it comes to our sexual organs, or our bodies in general? 

Australia is finally playing catch-up on sex education in schools, and we’re starting to learn the ins and outs of our bodies and minds. But I’ve finished school, and a while ago now. I definitely wasn’t taught a lot about my anatomy then — so how and why should I learn it now?

Anatomy Class

Picking Up the Pieces

Writer: Gabriela Fannia
Artist: Fletcher Aldous

If you’d ask anyone what ‘love’ is, you’ll mostly get positive, cute-yet-cringy definitions of it. But ask someone who just went through a major breakup, and they would give you a whole new set of gut-wrenching definitions of ‘love’. No matter how long, how serious, or how intimate the relationship is, a heartbreak is still a heartbreak. The level of ‘pain’ is (arguably) relative, but that’s not the point here. The point is, it is something we would choose not to go through if we had an option at all. In extreme cases, many don’t believe in love anymore, just as darkness is the absence of light, that solitary feeling after a breakup is the absence of love. 

Picking Up the Pieces

PSA: Vibrators are in, and so is loving yourself 

Writer: Marla Sommer
Artist: Rini Pradhan

Once, I saw this TikTok that summed up some desires we all feel at one point or another. It made me realise that many of us are in the same position. That position, my friend, is not the infamous 69 or the fabled “committed relationship” — it’s the single life. But all of this shouldn’t matter because what you don’t see is the sheer power every individual has to live out this desire for themselves. And it has a name: 

M-a-s-t-u-r-b-a-t-i-o-n. 

PSA: Vibrators are in, and so is loving yourself 

Diary of A (Former) Tall Poppy

Words by: Natasha Schapova
Art by: Stephanie Wong

Childhood. A blissful, almost utopian time in nearly everybody’s life, defined by happiness, purity and obliviousness. A time sprinkled with the belief that anything is possible, allowing us to swim in the wild and ornate potion of our imagination. We were assured that we could do anything that we set our minds to, and we embodied this mantra in every response to “what do you want to do when you grow up?”.

Diary of A (Former) Tall Poppy