Kaavya Jha
23 February 2018Authors
Growing up, my childhood had been relatively whitewashed, with my family immigrating to England a little before my second birthday. I was anxious about whether or not I would be accepted by my extended family, the majority of whom I had no memory of. What if nobody could understand my heavily accented Hindi? What if nobody even wanted to talk to me?
Since the early eons of the internet, wacky and wonderful curiosities have managed to weasel their way to the core of our online experience. For late teens and early twenty-somethings, viral phenomena like Rebecca Black’s nasal singing about days of the week, or Crazy Frog’s downright painful “ring ding ding daa baa”, seem ingrained into our collective memories. But today, with the online world more intertwined with our daily activities more than ever before, it feels like the one-hit wonder has gone missing.
WATCH: Cost of living policies
Sport is an integral part of Australian national identity. Some of our proudest moments as a nation have been Ian Thorpe’s swimming success in the 2004 Olympics or the triumph of Australia in 1983’s America’s cup, and our sporting star players ascend to become national heroes.
The Ethics of Making an ‘Election Budget’
At a first glance, the 2019 Australia Budget looks too good to be true—the first surplus in forever! Tax cuts, which is basically free money, for everyone! Cash payments! Amazing!Until, of course, you realise that the federal election was announced for May 18. There’s no doubt that many elements of the coalition’s budget are designed to appeal to voters and keep the current government in power, but is this a cheap ploy with dubious ethical considerations?
You’ve been dreaming of Europe for a while now. The culture, the art, the history. The cobbled pavements squeezed between grand buildings from another era. The locals with their cute accents and ability to pull off funky hats. The fresh bakeries serving up almond croissants to go with a shot of espresso, with not a flat white to be found.
It’s the start of a new year. Returning students promise themselves that they’ll study earlier in the semester. Freshers undergo self-reinvention that inevitably boils down to an unflattering haircut.
The night sky is overcast and starless. You’re uneasily aware that nobody else is home and curl up inside a blanket in an attempt for comfort and reassurance. You shiver; the air in the shadowy room is ever-so-slightly too cold for your liking. You draw yourself closer, preparing for the imminent disaster about to occur, and hit the play button on Netflix. Surely that’s the best way of a watching horror movie, right? Maybe not.
I am a hoarder. On the cluttered shelves above my desk, among stacks of loose paper and magazines, miscellaneous trinkets and nametags, I have a mason jar filled with twelve tubes of rainbow glitter from a dollar store in Brunswick.
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