PHOTOGRAPHY
Paranoiac Contradictions
Isolation plagued by paranoia is explored here. While I struggle with not only identity, but social anxiety, the use of duplicating individuals to simulate the idea that they are 'all watching' is implied that it is simply a delusion fragmented by ones own mind.
– St Columbas, Strathmore VIC
ARTICLE
Her daughter for evermore
I find her old coat in a box under the stairs. I run my fingers over the cream coloured fur, I can see how tall I was through where the spots of grime are placed. She had a habit of letting it stain. If I could ask her now, she would respond by telling me it was proof that she lived, that I was there with her. She made a habit of reminding me that I was there, that I was a part of her life, that she was happy for me to be there.
I remember how she used to sing to me. Soft lullabies that lulled me into dreams and shouted lyrics that were too joyful to care for a rhythm. It was music that we shared, we still share it now. I remember her voice. I remember what it sounded like when she yelled at me. Her words were watery and dripping with disappointment. Maybe if I told her that I’d tried to fix it, she would’ve softened her voice. Her words were soft when she told me, ‘You’ll always be my son’. Her son didn’t wonder which dress to put on, which pair of heels could complete the look. I was always trying to be her son.
I remember feeling cold. It was winter, but it felt colder inside than it did out. Tears stung my face for what had felt like forever.
‘You’re a bleeding heart, Ron. You fill yourself up with everyone else’s pain, leaving yours to spill out the cracks,’ she told me once. We had been sitting on the floor of the bathroom and my gasps had finally died out.
I miss her poetic monologues, how she made crying sound pretty. My fingers find the spot on the shoulder of her coat, this handprint is larger than the rest. I almost laugh at the hues of pink, starkly contrasting against the cream.
I had been experimenting with colour the day I found her on my bedroom floor. She had sobbed through her broken apologies, similar to the way I had when she sharpened her voice against me. I hadn’t thought to wash the pink off my hands before I patted her shoulder. It was more evidence I was there. I sat beside her against the end of my bed for the rest of the day, just chatting. We were both wounded then, she was confused and betrayed, I was devastated and misunderstood. They were only flesh wounds, destined to be healed in time.
She took her time to come to terms with it and it was acceptance she gave me. I had spent forever trying to be her son. We talked for hours upon hours on how to apply this and where to buy that, I think it was then that I stopped trying to be her son. Stopped trying to be something I was not. I was safe in her arms.
I hum the tune she started a few years ago. It’s unfinished and not everything links up quite right but it reminds me of her. It reminds me of us. Chaotic, seemingly opposing forces that when put in the right tune, turn out to be in beautiful harmony. I fold up her coat and the memories that dye the fabric. I miss her.
– Chloe Schaller, Year 10, Avila College, Mount Waverley, VIC
DIGITAL MEDIA
Equality for all
An interview of various students and teachers focusing on three questions:
- What does equality means to you?
- Do you think your life has been affected by the way you look? Why? Why not?
- If you had a choice to change, what would you do and why? Why? Why not?
What am I aiming for? I am aiming to reach a broader audience, showing them that gender, nationality, sexuality, disability doesn’t identify who you are as a person skill, personality, and person in general.
Question 4: How do you think this will impact future events/ do you think it’ll get better/worse?
An interview with 3-4 students for at least a minute each on these questions.
– Anjela Zotos, Year 10, St Francis Xavier College, Beaconsfield VIC