Arts Advocate: Literary Journal—Vol. 1, Issue 1

The Inaugural Literary Journal of UNSW Arts Society

ContentsWhat is the Arts life? by Roydon Ng ........................................................ 3

Man is the Mountain by Xin Chew ........................................................ 4

Mass Transit by Cam Kennedy ........................................................ 4

Wanted by Xin Chew ........................................................ 6

Tentacle by Blosia Sun ........................................................ 7

The Most Beautiful Girl in Town by Sharon Wong ........................................................ 8

Mary Harvey-Collings ........................................................ 8

Milly Denson ........................................................ 9

The Pit by Dileepa Dayananda .......................................................10

Theo Crutchley-Mack .......................................................13

The Guides by Will Main .......................................................14

UNSW Sydney by Bruce Wang .......................................................15

Columbia University by Bruce Wang .......................................................16

Compiled by Carla Zúñiga-NavarroDesigned by Cam Kennedy

The UNSW Arts Society represents over 6000 undergraduate students within the Faculty of Arts & Social Sciences. We represent the four teaching and research schools of Arts & Media, Humanities and Languages, Social Sciences and Education. Our students are interested—and interesting—with diverse passions and ideas, talents and creativity. But instead of just telling you, why don’t we show you?

3Arts Advocate — The Literary Journal of UNSW Arts Society: Volume 1, Issue 1, 2015

What is the Arts life? A collection of #Artslyf posts by @RoydonNg

What is the Arts life?A collection of #artslyf posts by @RoydonNg

4 Arts Advocate — The Literary Journal of UNSW Arts Society: Volume 1, Issue 1, 2015

Mass TransitBy Cam Kennedy

You know your plane will—barring any delays—arrive at 2335 at Gate 12.

I may arrive tonight, but if I arrive at all, it’s more likely that it will be in the early hours of the morning. I know where I am going, as you do. But I am less certain of my route; of my arrival.

Your safety is imperative to quite a lot of people; their livelihood depends on it.

My life is inconsequential to those I’m trusting—a word I use loosely. If they were in any danger of being caught by the US Coast Guard my life would be thrown away without a moments hesitation.

You have uncertainties, sure; but even if you don’t know how much of it you’ll need, you have some money.

Your laptop, your camera, your iPad, your passport, your souvenirs; all of it carried on your shoulders. And you have to lug it all from your hostel to the airport—via the L, Lexington Ave Local, Flushing Express and the Q48.

As I have done daily since my father’s passing, I walk to the highway, only much faster. I have nothing to carry with me—physically. I savour the landscape; the clear blue sky colliding with a hundred shades of green, the scent of rosewood with sweet undertones of apricot, the rhythm of dry grass crunching underfoot. This routine had replaced my religion.

The trains and planes and buses are filled with faces you don’t know. Whirling. You talk to no one, look at no one, notice no one.

I see many faces in town I hope to never see again. Martín, the butcher, who so often convinced his own customers that I had the perfect spices to enhance his

Man is the Mountain by Xin Chew


meat; Jorge, who grew up next door to my mother; Paula, whose classes I never had the pleasure of attending; and Javi who came every summer to buy our granadillas and avocados. I hope for the prosperity that they have. More than that, I hope to find new people just like them.

On the bus to Playa de Rosarito I know I should sleep but instead I’m listening to conversations. Several young children are calmed by their parents. I try to imagine my own mother’s voice.

I meet my guide just off the highway near Popotla. I walk with him to the public wharf where I meet the dozen or so people sharing this single-engine, wooden boat headed to California.

Now that you’ve arrived in San Francisco it’s time to think on your feet. You discover the trains have stopped. You take a taxi to the centre of the city. On the way you panic. It’s going to cost too much. You won’t have enough left to pay for a room. Can you get to your car from the city? The trains have stopped. Is there a bus? You search online. Two buses will get you within a few blocks of your car. The first runs hourly. Next one is in 45 minutes. It will take every cent you have to get to your car. It’s 2:00 and you’ve been awake for 26 hours now. You must be vigilant. Your most cherished worldly possessions weigh on you. They make you a sitting duck. You get off the bus. One stop early. You can’t run for the connecting bus. You miss the bus. It runs hourly. You’ve heard stories about this area. You must be vigilant. You’re cold. You’re exhausted. You just want to go home. Where’s home?

My eyes and lungs itch from the sulphuric fumes. The salty ocean wind whips my hair and dries my skin. I gag on the acrid scent of vomit. Twinkling in the distance, the lights of San Diego make my heart flutter. I gaze out over the ocean and dream. I know where my home is. But what will I call this place? Is it a home too? Can I have more than one? Do I want more than one? Do I even have a choice?

Man is the Mountain by Xin Chew


WANTED:

Loquacious, licentious lady, max height five foot four. Mid twenties to early thirties. Couquettish, cattish, cat-eyed and curvaceous but with skinny legs and skinny arms. Size eight to ten in Australia, two to four in Murica.

Show name sounding like the plethora of creamed, dolloped cakes found in hipster cafes, but her true name must be Prue. Prudence on paper. Wanted: Prue, licentious lady, max height, five foot four. Must be at equally ease at a King’s Cross or Newtown toy shop selling odd-shaped anatomical pasta and odd anatomical books as she’d be in fancy eighteen dollar beer and whisky

places, in the fascinator-clad champagne-sipping crowd of ladies at the Royal Randwick races.

She must be able to talk pretty. Must be able to enunciate ‘ma’am’ and

‘sir’ and mind her Ps and Qs. This lady of the night, a real lady by day. Girl with a pearl earring paired with eyeliner that sweeps out and flutters like thin blackwinged birds beating into a blood-dimmed southern sunset. She must be

mouthy; soft mauve lips matching her soft areolas, soft mauve lips shutting and opening, she must observe out loud – You’re the type they call a small town

boy. You’re the type they call skinny. Her words must both offend and make amends (You have a PhD in something obscure and boy, you’re smart but no

Einstein yet), and her words are witty (Paint me like one of ya French girls – a la ‘Titanique’); she must, after all, be a muse to artists, a muse to a madman like

yours truly.

Wanted: Prue, licentious lady, max height, five foot four. Must have a face and body that you’d want to paint, a demanding madam for mad men

(my lips and hips ain’t that big. Your blending is INADEQUATE). Straight wide teeth that glimmer, a beauty mark prettily placed on the hollow of her hot

cheek. Surefire, hellfire, this lady ain’t a lackey. Her voice must be wispy like her woody perfume. She must speak in musical rhythms, in improvised

patterns, bluesy. They call it the blues because it smelts into sad music, stirs something in the soul and heart, and god these words sound swanky but god you know it is bliss. A voice from a woman you’d want to woo. You’d want to bring her flowers. Even when her beauty mark turns into a lesion and her curls are shaved, revealing a gleaming egg-shaped head, you’d want to bring

her flowers. She must be the type of gal who only secretly likes receiving flowers. Must pick and stroke the papery petals of bloody roses and jewel-

toned orchids, wave a moisturised hand and order you (get me a fag and talcum powder and then, murmuring perhaps to you, perhaps to the yellow faces of flowers, melanoma’s a drag darling, but you know our Southern sun). She’s the sort of woman other women hate (a look at her photograph and your sister

calls a spade a spade - wide-eyed high-heeled bitch). But you must want to bring her flowers. You put them where she’d jumped in front of a Toyota on George

Street that knocked her breasts flat, roughened up the rouge on her lips and ripped her red belly so that it opened like a ruby door, flapped on a hinge of skin. You’d want to put snow-white flowers on her coffin; watch pockets of

cloud blossoming on a mound of grass, five foot four long.

Long days ahead. A long search for a new muse. IMMEDIATE START WANTED NEEDED.

NEEDED: Prue, licentious lady, max height five foot four CONTACT: 0211435930

By Xin Chew


Tentacle by Blosia Sun


By

Mar

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arve

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The Most Beautiful

Girl in TownBy Sharon Wong

I‘…people think it’s all I have. Beauty is nothing, beauty won’t stay.’ - Charles Bukowski, The Most Beautiful Woman in Town

Unless they were blinded by storyand time, they say, she wasthe most beautiful girl in town.Skinny armed, and loud mouthedso her neighbours in the next villagecould hear her wails of indignation.Her shrieks of screaming laughter fromunder the cover of canvas roofswould echo down the muddy tracksto valleys of frozen rivers that wouldrun clean again in spring. To stand at the corners of the cliffsand scream to set the echoes runningto the other side and back infleet-footed sandals, she’d laughwith time at her feet.

II‘She had a temper that came close to insanity, she had a temper that some call insanity.’ - Charles Bukowski, The Most Beautiful Woman in Town

The call of the city, an agitatingwhine of gear-mouthed wolvesand serpentine concrete,dragged her away from crumbling cliffsto promises of the bittersweet gloryof riches and overhead lamps.An ebbing flow of tranquillity frommorning calls of traders and closing night marketsbartering for that one last edge. Years later she would remember the morningscreen of cigarette smoke and sinewed coughs,wishing that it was all she rememberedas the infection of regret wouldblacken the wasted curbs of her mind.She’d bury further into yellow snow and phlegm,delight colouring her screams as she entered the sleepless world oflights and greetings and curious food – Better not to know what’s in them, they say.A skinny face bobbed in smoky promisesbefore a scowl crawled across in flickering shadowsof the dancing moth performing by the fire,hungering for warmthwith each undulation.


III‘She gave herself away without knowing it.’ - Charles Bukowski, The Most Beautiful Woman in Town

A kiss goes out of sight and out of mind for him, down city sewers,and countless more are painted black by rot.For her, their first time is her first,the bouquet of gasping weedspulled from some abandoned backgardenshe’d keep in the plastic cup by her bed,red turning brown under flickering lights.Skinny arms cradling faded heads to her chest,the roots are filaments,decayed string, broken fingers,knotted skin and dirt,sucking sparingly at teats of soilgathered from dry dormitory lawns.She’d remember that first kissagainst memories of cold crumbling brick,till the memory of her other first,when his steely jawed head lay cradledagainst her skinny breast, his sunken pipes of greyed lungs breathing in the shrunken innardsof the cheap cigarette. Her eyes are clouded in the tiny room, as the power is cut into darkness.

IV‘The night kept coming and there was nothing I could do.’ - Charles Bukowski, The Most Beautiful Woman in Town

All the sensibility in the world is gone;She lodges a frozen footfurther on the track of browned butter,slicing open and meltingaround the sweaty limb as it plunges downinto the valley of mud. She’d traced this road once,but now with the wailing bundle on her heavy backshe traces scars of memories:Rotted trees and dusty snow upon yellow needles of hay.Her breaths are sharper, now. Ground is reclaimed, sluiced by rain,roads she had lost in her wanderingsfar from the echoes and the valleys.Rounded arms and a trilling giggleare all she can show, now, as she yearnsto stand again at the edge of the cliff,her back turned to the mud-walled villa.She’d stare, rounded arms opened wide inall the tragic adult dignity of the child that once stood there.But she knew she’d drop her arms and turn,back to the mottled grey face of the steel-jawed man whose shadow she’d shrivelled in,carrying the bundle to the crumbling cliffs where its wails echoed down to valleys of frozen springs and forgotten rivers. And they sayshe was the most beautiful girl in town.

By M

illy Denson


The PitBy Dileepa Dayananda

She lies, shivering, at the base of the pit, the pointed tips of her pale feet fastened into the mud. Rotting leaves and milk tipped spider eggs cake beneath slate toenails, binding her to the base of the moonlit ochre space. Tapered beads, clear and bulbous, trickle downwards along the translucent membrane. Her skin quivers as a breeze, ripe with the gold-dusted seed of a blooming wattle, licks at glazed droplets from atop her withered frame, consuming what heat lingers around her still. The pit is shallow. Wet warmth. The porous roots of ancient blue gums, broken and tattered, protrude from the clay of its walls. They reach towards her, stunted and sightless. She embraces herself, bones buckling, as the wind picks up speed, slipping through a carapace of dulling hair. Withered titian bleeds from atop her rain soaked scalp and into the pores of her earthen confine. Droplets continue to fall from above the curtain of misted black. She releases a greying tongue from behind her air-cracked lips, the flesh-formed mollusc twists, unrestrained, probing. Icy bead meets heated meat as the drop steams against her tongue. The fluid form darts back between the fissure between her lips and settles, quiet and-fulfilled.

Time passes. The sky is snuffed. The curtains recede, drained, as specs of dust nestle into a darkened sky and ignite. The nocturnal ovum lies above, silver light leaking from its nucleic form, bathing the pale skinned girl inside the pit. Paper slits snap apart. Moist eyes peer from freshly formed openings and latch onto a fluorescent orb. White light seethes, clawing into dilated pupils. Inhale.


***

The sky remains as he arrives, wet and black and sleek. Tiny legs attached to tiny segments, black forcipules drip. The centipede descends the wall, limbs oscillating as he leaks down to the base of the stagnant hole. He reaches the bottom and she is starring into him, her gaze met by a tiny eyeless mask. He cocks his head as yellowed antennae whip carelessly through the air. Air is pushed through her flared nostrils, he twitches as his legs begin to move. He crawls towards her and stops at her feet, tasting with his touch for an echo of her mortal gesture. Lungs heave as he writhes. Conformation. He scrapes at her feet and begins to climb, black legs scratching. He reaches the cap of her knee and stops, his body curling into itself. The blackness atop her knee grows, an image caught in slicken pupils. Her lashes droop as she succumbs to his weight. Exhale.

She wakes, arms and legs and skin and hair lost in black. Black of her nails, the Moon pales, hidden behind cloud. She collapses her arms, wrists snap. Her spine unfurls backwards, arched, opposed to a foetal mal-affliction. His weight lies empty, undone on the naked cap of her knee. Her eyes scurry across the darkness, searching for his black within hers. A faint clicking is syphoned into the folds of her ears as he scuttles behind her. The dying pink of an earthworm, bitten off at the head, is swallowed into his mouth unseen. Fluid oozes.

***

It falls before it is noticed, behind peripherals. Leaf and quill descend, erratic. Collision. Shell shattered it lies in tatters, bone jutting from feathered wing. Warble. Chirp. Scream. Newly unwound vertebrae twist and drag her neck as the girl faces the space behind. Face frozen, she examines the mass of sinew and monochrome plumage. Feet uproot, clay cracking, as she pulls at her weighted body. A tiny magpie is reflected in the porcelain of her crown. Her vocal chords resonate from behind her closed lips, soft sound vibrates through the flesh of her neck, as she examines the avian child. The magpie calms, oral quakes dampen till faded as her swollen cooing fills its thumbprint lungs. Girl and Hatched connect within the space, inquisition binds eyes and breath and pulse until each is still, silent and alive. The magpie opens a yolk stained beak, its head rising. She reaches down towards it, nimble fingers surround the broken chick and rise. Inhale.

***

He clambers down from atop his perch at the rim of the hole and returns to her. He moves, hidden by her newfound fixation, and climbs up numbed haunches. He reaches her back and ascends the bony corrugate. As he reaches her neck his twin tongues gag, flailing silently, on the scent of feather and female fused. He watches as she caresses her thumb against the white-black babe. Watches as she stares into it’s fragile skull, into the pink beneath its head. Watches as bleached hand raises brittle bird to breast. As tiny beak bites down on supple teat. As pearlescent milk drips


from darkened tips, given. Stolen. Thick fluid, green and vinegar, leaks towards seething mask and fills the space beneath his antennae, hot.

***

The magpie whistles through crusted lactate, its head resting in cupped hands against her deflated bosom. She lays it down in the dirt between fallen foliage, it’s chest rises and falls. She digs her feet into the kiln, warmth seeps into the ground, her veins melding, blue. She lowers her head. Exhale.

***

Black on grey, Viridescence glares through his eyeless head. Sanguineous forcipules peer through pierced-pink scalp. Fluid oozes.

***

The silence suffocates as she struggles to wake, air is pulled into lungs. Her ears twitch, scratches and shrill chirpings cascade beneath fractured slumber. Capillaries thrum beneath closed lids as pressure builds. Her eyes flick beneath folds of skin. Time passes. The faded noise whispers Eyes unveil and she sees him. He lies atop its lifeless form, his entirety curled, against the dripping hole intruding its tiny skull. Forcipules stretch wide, risen to peaks. Inhale.

A head that is hers is thrown back, hair thrashing against the blades of her shoulders as she unhinges her jaws. Lips break, dry skin tears apart as red surges down white. Pulses contort within lungs and expunge, vocal chords flicker. Her voice. Unleashed. The sound fills and consumes, shrieks and wails and screams synchronise within the space and empty it. The roots that surround, submit and splinter. Clay heats and hardens, steam rising from her throbbing soles. Her neck snaps as she faces the woken black. Antennae whir and her hand appears above them, clasping them together, useless and blind. She flings his body across the space, a sharp squeal escaping his frantically airborne form. His body collides with the wall and he sinks to the bottom, underbelly exposed, his legs slowed and writhing. Her voice withdraws as she is extinguished, immolated in salted tears. Her body slumps against the floor.

***

She stares at the broken bird, her eyes desiccate as tapered beads, clear and bulbous, trickle downwards along the translucent membrane. She pulls her body in, the pointed tips of her pale feet dig into the dried mud. Skin quivers, breezeless, as she curls into herself. Faded clicking enters the folds of her ears as he scuttles behind her. He climbs up numbed haunches and reaches her back, ascending the bony corrugate. He reaches her neck. Her mouth hangs slack, gaping and cold, as he crawls inside her. He is within and she is without.


The obsession with grime and decay is a consistent theme in Theo’s work.

Since living and studying on the coast Theo has become fascinated by the detrimental affects of nature on manmade structures, and is drawn to the fragmented histories of abandoned vessels and wrecks. Theo finds these forms of ruins to have a poetic effect on the sense of place which he connects with by spending many hours drawing and painting on location.

“These ruins have a profound effect on the atmosphere of a landscape and it is this which I attempt to capture within my drawing.”

By Theo Crutchley-Mack


BUT BRIGHT BEAMS BROKE OUT ACCROSS THEIR FACES AS THE YOUNG ONES WOULD SHOUT IN YOUR

EAR, TRYING TO GAIN SOME INSIGHT INTO WHY THE TALL WESTERN BOYS WERE

WALKING TOWARD THEIR VILLAGE.

The GuidesBy William J Main

Writer’s note: The Guides was written about a UNSW Global Village trip to Nepal in December 2014. Seven UNSW undergraduate students travelled to a village in the Gorkha region of Nepal to teach year 3-6 students. The trip culminated in a trek through the Himalaya on the famous Annapurna Circuit, the site of an avalanche which had killed 43 locals and trekkers three weeks prior to our arrival.

Ganesh and his pasty compatriot Navid had taken it upon themselves to guide us up the mountain in search of some whiskey, Coca Cola, and clear spirits for the girls.

It was our last night in the tiny village of Arupokhari-6, in the central Gorkha region of Nepal. There would be dancing, ceremonial drums, and drinking later that night. We had just come from a dreadful show by a stoned witch doctor. Luckily, he dispelled us of our demons to bless us before the coming hike through the Himalaya. Lord knows we needed a drink. We ran along the tops of mud walls holding together dusty plateaus of terraced corn, bean, and wheat fields, darting past a smattering of mango and banana trees in a grove lining the road.

‘We go left now’ Ganesh said with quiet confidence, jogging up the uneven dirt road toward

the unending false ridges in the distance.Ganesh’s piercing green eyes belied the

cheeky grin on his face. The ten year old had masculine features of someone twice his age – big hands, broad shoulders and an air of coolness which exuded calm and control. A mop of black hair splashed in quiet accord with the streaks of dust adorning his crumpled white shirt. We had already seen his athletic prowess in full form. In school that day, well-worn rubber sandals hung loosely from his sturdy, grimy feet as he ran up a wall and flipped over a would-be attacker in a game of tag.

‘Hurry, it gets very dark soon,’ added Navid.Navid lacked that basic, cool confidence

of Ganesh but made up for it in a blustery omnipresence which we found made for a useful translator. Chubby and quick-witted, he wanted to be a doctor. He dominated his year six classroom, in the type of way that a gifted student bored with his colleagues so often does. Racing through English lessons and handling our maths lessons with embarrassing ease, we were impressed and annoyed with the bullying twelve year old.

So we hurried.Deep scars through the road’s surface

reminded us of the bumpy seven hour ride to town, as well as the hour and a half vertical trek from the end of the bus route to the village. Seb, Mikey, Jack and I followed the switchback toward the top. The three of them were Sydney private school boys before coming to university, comfortable in their own skins and interested in seeing the world. All had done extensive adventuring in Southeast Asia, with Mikey and Seb each claiming Vietnam as his own, telling self-aggrandizing drunken war stories over cards at night. Jack was a bit quieter and observant, having done a similar volunteering trip in India some years past, and having accomplished the somber honour of trudging the Kokoda track.

We quickly caught up with the boys running ahead, and uncomfortably absorbed the enthusiasm

of the schoolkids who had seemingly camped on terraced clifftops above and below to shout their earnest adulations at us. More children, dressed in their ruffled British-styled blue school uniforms, ran out of every direction and joined us in our procession up the hill. The K-6 Bairabi school crest adorned a 6 point star proudly sewn in golden thread on their left breast. Two middle aged women who doubled as teachers in the school joined them. The kids ran up to us and held our hands, fumbling for the headlights on our heads.

Their hands and faces filthy with the day’s battles, the kids were certainly not dressed in their


UNSW Sydney by Bruce Wang

Sunday’s best. But bright beams broke out across their faces as the young ones would shout in your ear, trying to gain some insight into why the tall western boys were walking toward their village.

‘WHAT YOUR MOTHER NAME?’‘Alice,’ I offered for the thirtieth time today.‘OOOOH.’‘WHAT YOUR FATHER NAME?’‘Frank,’ with a sigh.‘OOOOH.’‘WHAT YOUR MOTHER NAME?’Somewhere off to the right of the path the

sun started to set. Kilometre-high brown terraced cliffs framed this impossible landscape, rising from the freezing river below. Along ridges you could see the hint of a light or two turning on, barely betraying the isolation of these villages which dotted the valley. Four rows of these ridges lined to the left, and six to the right. Lumbering with hulking shoulders in the distance shone the white-capped crests of the Himalaya, with peak Manaslu holding court. Rising 8,163m as the eighth highest mountain in the world, Manaslu sports a death toll of over a dozen and a face usually sartorially shrouded by

cloud. Burdened with school kids tugging on our

shirts and trousers, we eventually reached the shop a good thirty minutes later.

‘Bye! Bye!’ the horde of excited students scampered home. Ganesh and Navid as our guides.

Turning away from the road and toward the shop, I thought of the previous volunteers who come every few months to help teach them or build them a retaining wall. It explains the functional coolness of the adults and the formality of the students, fully embracing a cultural and language wall between us, despite the mutual interest which had brought us together.

‘Namaste’ - we bow to the divine in you, the common Hindu greeting of the area.

The shop was built from three cubic units off to the right of the path. The two on the right had long been shuttered, piled high with old crates, recycled soft drink bottles, and noodle packets. The shop’s sparse shelves danced in the glint of the candelight, revealing two bottles of Coca Cola, a fair few Gill Marry whiskeys, some Tuborg beer, and a mix of pens, razors, and other small comforts.


Mikey had, in his usual charity, run ahead and purchased one of the final three bottles of coke the shop had.

‘What? I was thirsty!’‘We needed it for mixers you idiot! How

else do you think we’re going to drink this shit? Sometimes Mikey, you’re one of the most selfish guys I’ve ever met’ Seb grunted.

‘Calm down mate, who cares’ Jack countered.I fell somewhere in the middle.We bartered down what we could from the

shopkeeper as her daughter, a fourth year from the school, bagged our supplies for us. She wore a meek smile and worked with Navid to translate for her mother in the limited English she had.

In all, we walked away with the remaining two bottles of Coke, three small bottles of whiskey, and three long-necked Tuborg beers for under $A10.

As a thank you to our ten year old guides, we bought two small chocolates for each of them for their hour long services. Each happily accepted, and a payment had been reached.

‘Shit. She shorted me 400 rupee,’ I turn back inside.

After five minutes of embarrassing haggling, I emerge from the shop with red cheeks, after realising that she had, in fact, given me a 500 rupee note instead of the 100 I had mistaken. Bartering is an art here, an art in which short-changing a customer doesn’t often appear. Shopkeepers tend to go for the jugular from the get go, ending with a price double that a local would pay, but still totally acceptable at a buck fifty for a bottle of whiskey.

‘Dhanyabad’- thank you.And we’re on our way back down.‘Ganesh – do you like the guides?’ I queried,

studying the way he danced down the rocks toward the village in the choking darkness.

He wrestled the bag out of my hands.I chuckled. ‘No really, I can carry it!’‘Nooo’ he slipped with consternation.‘Why not?’‘I want to be guide.’‘Oh!’ the lightbulb went off in my head.‘So when do you start training for guiding?’ I

prodded.‘What?’‘When will you start going on treks with the

Columbia University by Bruce Wang


GOATS, CHICKENS AND DOGS RAN ABOUT TACKLING EACH OTHER AND CARRYING ON. CHILDREN PLAYED IN THE DIRT WHILE THEIR MOTHERS’ PREPARED DAL BAT FOR DINNER.

local guides, you know like Raj?’‘YES!’‘No, how old when you start?’‘What? NO!’This conversation wasn’t getting anywhere.

But what was remarkably clear was that this kid carrying a few kilos down a hill in silent confidence knew the path his future would take as well as each overturned stone in the ankle-breaking darkness in front of us.

The guides who the next day would take us to the Annapurna Circuit and beyond were the pillars of his future, and his athleticism and poise would take him out of this village to Everest,

Machhapuchhre and beyond.He smiled and ran ahead.From the intermittent electric flicker you

could still make out the leaning metal-sided huts. Goats, chickens and dogs ran about tackling each other and carrying on. Children played in the dirt while their mothers’ prepared Dal Bat for dinner.

I walked behind a bit, slowing my pace to absorb some of the sweet smell of the air before retiring to the cramped cabin of the room where we were staying for some drinks.

The villagers understood life in a much more practical sense than anyone I had met in the western world. In the earnestness of their work came a deep peace. You could see it in the landscapes, the pace of life, and in the faces of the children. It was apparent in the deep folded creases of the faces of grandmothers with quadruple-pierced lips and ears.

The goat whose slaughter we had witnessed earlier that day lived a calm life to his final breath. He knew his neighbours - the dogs, chickens, and ox. He knew the family preparing him for our dinner that night, who reduced him to a bowl of spiced curry.

Not that these people don’t know trouble – 10 years of civil war had ensnared Nepal from 1996-2006. A frail old woman slept out of doors in one house, weeping and coughing all night. We –

and I’m sure she – had seen the cremations on the bank of the river at Pashupatinath.

But so far removed from anything else, from the commotion and scandal of Kathmandu to the tourist haven of Pokhara, the village stood simple in its ways. There was no urgency of time, nothing looming large over what you could see. This plane of structurally incomplex existence deeply calmed my mind, with nothing but the morning ahead and its chores looming larger than the cragged peaks abound.

I stopped for a moment at the side of the road, and took a deep breath of the aromatic swirl of jasmine, incense, and goat. The Milky Way gently cut through the mist enveloping the hills, exhaling its breath of light on the hillsides. Faintly lit cliff faces caved away into the snarl of the peaks beyond, a road we’d be following the next morning.

And so we turned back to that cobbled dirt path toward the drunken principals and teachers of the school, toward our ceremonial farewell drum circle.

‘Fast walk!’ Ganesh flashed a smile and barked.

‘Yeah! The principal is very funny when he is drunk and dances!’ Navid laughed.

‘Fast walk!’The guides don’t like to repeat themselves.

Turn page for

Campus Guide

Art Society’s Guide to UNSW

School of Social Sciences

Level 1 Morven Brown Building

The School of Social Sciences has an impressive record of training students to lead in the disciplines of economics, political science, international relations, criminology, sociology, anthropology and social work. The school is linked

with international scholars and research communities in order to contribute expertise on a wide range of fields.

School of Humanities and Languages

Level 2 Morven Brown Building

The UNSW School of Humanities and Languages provides courses within the fields of humanities, linguistics,

literature and country-specific studies. Students can find courses that align

with their creative and cultural passions, in a school that is renowned for its

interdisciplinary collaborations.

A Guide to the Faculty of Arts & Social Sciences (FASS)

By Allison Taylor & Wisruthiy Shankar

The Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences is comprised of four schools which specialise in different disciplinary fields. It connects leading scholars with passionate students, in order to develop a new generation of innovative and forward-thinking individuals. FASS offers a range of degrees and courses within each of these schools.

School of the Arts & Media

Level 3 Robert Webster Building

The School of the Arts and Media (SAM) provides world-class training

facilities and pioneering teaching methods in order to lead in the field of creative and performing arts. The School showcases its diversity by

supporting a range of creative activities including drama and dance performances concerts

and film screenings.

School of EducationLevel 1 John Goodsell Building

The School of Education relies on a research-based approach in order to train and prepare teachers and

educational professionals of the future. The relationship between research,

training and collaboration that forms the foundation of this school is one which ensures that student engage with the wider community and an

advanced research program.

Compiled by Carla Zúñiga-NavarroDesigned by Cam Kennedy

Important Numbers Health ServicesUniversity Health Service ...................................... 9385 5425UNSW Psychology Clinic ..................................... 9385 3042Prince of Wales Hospital ....................................... 9382 2222St Vincent’s Hospital ............................................. 8382 1111Royal Prince Alfred (RPA) Hospital .......................... 9515 6111Alcohol and Drugs Information Services ............. 1800 422 599

Mental Health and Personal SafetyNSW Mental Health Access Line ...................... 1800 011 511Life Line ................................................................. 13 11 14Kids Help Line (5-25 year olds) ......................... 1800 551 800Salvo Care Line .............................................. 1300 363 622Suicide Call Back Service ................................ 1300 659 467Beyond Blue ................................................... 1300 224 636Grief Support ................................................. 0406 021 057Gambling Help ............................................... 1800 858 858NSW Rape Crisis ................................................ 9819 6565Domestic Violence Hotline ................................ 1800 656 463

Emergency ContactsUNSW Security ......................... 9385 6000 / 1800 626 003Police, Fire, Ambulance ................................................... 000

Places to Be, Things to See

By Carla Zúñiga-Navarro

Library LawnThe library lawn is the place to meet up,

sunbathe, loudly boast of your summer holiday travels and soak up the relaxed atmosphere. On summer days you’ll be

lucky to find a spot, but even when its cold the proximity of the coffee cart (arguably the best coffee on campus) will keep the

students flocking. A good spot to pass the time between classes at Matthews

and while taking a “study break”

The QuadThe Quad is the perfect location if you

like being close to food (try the blueberry bagels from the Quad café), stationary (W H. Smith), and textbooks (the Bookstore,

located downstairs and next to a handy ATM). Pro tip: the pharmacy has really nice staff and cheapest energy drinks on campus.

RoundhouseAh, the Roundhouse. Site of many post examination, pre-examination and just general Wednesday afternoon drinks. When you think of the typical university experience, you think of the Roundhouse, but don’t let that cliché exterior fool you – the Roundhouse is also the site of lazy catch-ups on sunny days, the maker of pool champions, the home of university parties and concerts and site of infamous Bingo tournaments weekly.

WhitehouseIf the Roundhouse is the home of parties, the Whitehouse is definitely the home of FASS students. With its overflowing punchbowls filled with delicious cocktails, its hipster bar staff, endless supply of board games and on point music selection, the Whitehouse will be your new home away from home. And did I mention pizza?

The RegeThe Rege is the satisfying after dinner snack. After every party, every stressful day and after everything else, the Rege is where you will find your crowd. Bad karaoke aside, the Rege is the real hub of student life, conveniently located just past the McDonalds and soon to find its way into your heart.

It’s not always easy being an Arts student, so it helps to know some sneaky shortcuts and handy tips to conserve money and make the most of your uni experience.

Sleeping spots Grabbing some well-deserved shuteye between classes doesn’t necessarily have to be awkward or uncomfortable. The library has a multitude of nooks and crannies to tuck yourself away in. Check out Level 3 of the library for beanbags or the higher levels which are typically quieter and thus perfect for a power nap.

Free foodArc is an ever-generous entity, always ready with free food for poor students. Check out the Arc website for details on where and when the Arc street team will be setting up their next fuel stop. Areas frequented by the team include the Main Walkway, Basser Steps and Library Walkway.

Free condomsThese are readily available at the Contact Office, located opposite Arc at the Basser steps.

Microwaves Microwaves are a thing of beauty for those of us who don’t want to fork out money for a meal or wallow in the desolation of cold lasagne. Luckily there are many not-so-hidden spots that are microwave hubs.Lower campus – Law Library, BlockhouseMiddle campus – Opposite Quad room G042Upper campus – Matthews Level 1 near Food Court, Level 3 Lowy Cancer Research Centre, International Students Lounge in John Goodsell Building.

Getting an espresso? Go to the Library Coffee Cart. Getting a latte? Maze on lower campus. Mocha? Coco Cubano. Lost your tastebuds and feeling impoverished? There's a 7-11 on Barker St. I'm also partial to 22 Grams on High Street if I'm in the area.

Jordan Daly, President

Where do you go for a cheap meal?IGA or Subway: Saskia Hopman, Arts Gala DirectorIndian place in the Mathews Arcade: Harry Thomas, Sponsorship DirectorWander outside of UNSW onto Anzac Pde and have a look at what’s about: Tina Giannoulis, Creative Careers Fair DirectorFind a microwave and cook some Indomie Mi goreng: Maja Siezcko, Designer (Ed’s note: May lead to malnutrition—as Maja experienced first-hand, 3 times)

If you’re cashed up—or having a Tinder date on campus—where can you find the best food?Stellini’s for lunch, Biblio for breakfast: Sharon Wong, Creative Careers Fair DirectorStockmarket and Yummba are both especially good for vegetarians and vegans: Erin Bailey, Arts Camp DirectorWhitehouse, Bar Navitas: Will McLean, Arts Camp Director

Where is the best coffee on campus? The café inside the AGSM building—near Gate 11: Tina

Giannoulis, Creative Careers Fair Director I love the Coffee Cart but the café above The Quad Food Court makes better chai lattes: Saskia Hopman, Arts Gala DirectorI can only find non-bottled iced coffee from the Quad Food Court: Sharon Wong, Creative Careers Fair Director

Places you recommend to study other than the library.Above the Roundhouse: Harry Thomas, Sponsorship DirectorColombo: Will McLean, Arts Camp DirectorThere’s a quiet area between the Matthews Theatres and FM Assist which plenty of has couches and power points: Jordan Daly, PresidentMorven Brown courtyard. There are power points. Outside: Tina Giannoulis, Creative Careers Fair Director

Places you recommend to sleep other than the library.The courtyard near the colleges just off Basser steps: Sharon Wong, Creative Careers Fair DirectorUnder the trees around Physics Lawn: Will McLean, Arts Camp DirectorSecond floor of the Science Theatre is a good nap spot with several big couch benches: Roydon Ng, IT DirectorThe benches at Pool Lawn: Maja Siezcko, DesignerOn the trains and buses to uni: Saskia Hopman, Arts Gala Director

What lecture theatre is the hardest to find?Matthews: Harry Thomas, Sponsorship DirectorSir John Clancy: Maja Siezcko, DesignerAnything to do with the Old Main Building: Tina Giannoulis, Creative Careers Fair Director (Ed’s note: More like Old Maze Building)

Any interesting electives you'd recommend?Introduction to Astronomy: Carissa Tong, Marketing Manager Criminology: An Introduction, Bodies and Interfaces, World Religions: Harry Thomas, Sponsorship DirectorContemporary Approaches to Cinema, Publics and Publishing, Working with Image and Sound: Tina Giannoulis, Creative Careers Fair Director

Where is your favourite place to hang out with friends?Max Brenner and the Roundhouse—best places when it rains: Sharon Wong, Creative Careers Fair DirectorNaked Lady Lawn: Tina Giannoulis, Creative Careers Fair DirectorIf the weather is temperamental, head to the lower levels of Tyree: Jordan Daly, PresidentWhitehouse—games and punchbowls are ace: Erin Bailey, Arts Camp DirectorThe bar. Duh!: Maja Siezcko, Designer

What is the best way to meet new people? Arc Volunteering. I went overseas with Global Village. I had never met the people I went with until the start of last year. It was an amazing experience and trip: Saskia Hopman, Arts Gala DirectorAt society events and in tutorials: Carissa Tong, Marketing Manager

Hidden away in a glass cage surrounded by Mathews and Clancy, Tropical Green is my go-to place to eat. Just like the Vietnamese street stall staples they serve, it’s cheap and delicious. I often tackle Basser Steps for my fix of prawn rice paper rolls with peanut dipping sauce.

Cam Kennedy, Secretary

I really enjoyed Terror and Religion and Understanding Human Rights which are both Law subjects. I learnt heaps in both.

Saskia Hopman, Arts Gala Director

Edited by Cam Kennedy

How to be a Highly Functional Arts Student: Advice from those who’ve gone before you.

Arts AdvantageWe set up Arts Advantage, a set of

seminars that draw on our aims to create networking opportunities and a better understanding of Arts coursework. Aptly named to provide our students with advantages over their peers, each lecture targets a current yet divisive topic, so students are given deeper and more relevant insight into their studies.

Careers Workshop

MayPub CrawlJust before exams start, head on an epic adventure with the friends you made in class and at other Arts Soc events. Be warned though our President will likely drag us to either the Strawberry Hills or Haymarket Hotel after midnight.

JulyPop Up PicnicYou won’t know where, you won’t know when. Okay, we’ll let you know eventually...

AugustArts Advantage

Careers WorkshopThe Careers and Education portfolio run workshops for students and staff to consider new issues and debate hot topics. Workshops give students the opportunity to become aware of what is happening locally and globally. Arts Society members get to meet other students who have interests in similar areas, as well as guest speakers from relevant industries—making professional connections that will be useful for future career goals.

FebruaryO-Week Pub Crawl

MarchStart of Semester PartyJoin us on the first Wednesday of semester to mingle with new and existing members. Booze and barbecue will be on us, so all you need to worry about is how to shake the hands of all your new friends without spilling your drink or dropping your sausage sandwich.

Arts Advantage

Arts Camp: Fass and the Furious

Arts Camp is not just for freshers to learn the wicked ways of university party life, but also to allow them to network with fellow Arts students and expand their understanding of the various career directions within the Arts community.

AprilWhitehouse WednesdayHeld at the Whitehouse —by far the most hipster place on campus—punch bowls and jugs of beer will keep conversation going. It’s an time when members can chat to the portfolio and executive of the society and become involved more in the running of it.

Arts GalaArts Gala is Arts Society’s night of nights. It’s your chance to dress up and swap those drab uni clothes for a fancy frock or suit. The Arts Gala gives you an opportunity to socialise and let your hair down with friends after a stressful semester, full of exams. It is a fun filled night which gives you a chance to engage with the broader Arts Society community. So why not get a group of friends together and form a table for this years Gala. It is sure to be a phenomenal night!

Whitehouse Wednesday

SeptemberCreative Careers FairArts students took the initiative and decided to run their own careers fair after noticing a gap in career advice specifically for Arts and Social Science students at UNSW. This gave students a better understanding of the pathways to employment and set up networking opportunities to connect with professionals.

Arts Advantage

October

Harbour CruiseOver 2015 Arts Society members

will be presented with a myriad of opportunities in which they’re able to explore a variety of career directions and experience how awesome university life is. After spending the year meeting and establishing friendships with fellow Arts and Social Science students, the Arts Cruise is the way to tie off the year with your fellow Arts Soc mates and having the most amazing time possible.

Events CalendarContributors: Ahmad Daef, Allison Taylor, Aneesha Satyendra, Cam Kennedy, Saskia Hopman, Vanessa Liaw, Will McLean

1.FM AssistFM Assist should be the first point of contact for all new and first year students. It provides advice and assistance for Facilities Management (FM) questions. It lends a hand with:• student IDs• room and building access• travel concessions• parking permits• lost property• public transport info

Location: Level 2, Matthews BuildingOperating hours: 8am-4:30pm, Monday to FridayPhone: 02 9385 5111Email: [email protected]

2.Student CentralStudent Central supports all students from enrolment to graduation on a range of areas spanning university processes and development services. Help can be provided on matters of:• enrolment• personal details• documents• fees and loans• results and assessment• graduations• academic transcript• program change

Location: Lower Ground Floor, Chancellery Building (next to Library Lawn)Operating hours: 8:30am-5pm Monday to Friday, except 10am-5:30pm WednesdayPhone: 02 9385 8500Website: www.studentcentral.unsw.edu.auEmail: [email protected]

3.Careers and EmploymentCareers and Employment aims to link students to professional environments in order to gain a competitive edge in the graduate pool. It offers:• annual careers expo• employment skills seminars• interview preparation• resume help• career advice• jobs and volunteering

opportunities

Location: Level 2 East Wing, Quadrangle Building (opposite Arc on the Basser steps)Phone: 02 9385 5429Email: [email protected]: www.careers.unsw.edu.au

4.Student Development International (SDI)SDI offers academic and cultural assistance to international students from enrolment to graduation, in order to create an enriching and rewarding student experience.

Location: Ground Floor, John Goodsell BuildingPhone: 9385 5333Email: [email protected]: www.student.unsw.edu.au/international

5.Student Participation AdvisorsStudent Participation Advisors are a team of professionals who have many years experience in supporting students through general study and personal matters to achieve their academic goals. They offer support with:• getting organised• academic issues• navigating UNSW• wellbeing issues• settling into life at UNSW• any issue impacting

on your study

Location: The Hub, lower ground of the Morven Brown building – opposite Boost JuicePhone: 9385 9365Email: [email protected]: https://student.unsw.edu.au/advisors

6.University Health ServicesUniversity Health Services provides quality medical and health services to students, staff and visitors of UNSW. It offers appointments with GP’s, home visits on campus and first aid, as well as self-help resources on drugs and alcohol, mental health, sexual health and infectious diseases. Professionals available include male and female GP’s, psychiatrists, pathologists and orthopaedic surgeons.

Location: Ground Floor East, Quadrangle BuildingOperating hours: 8:15am-6pm, Monday to FridayPhone: 02 9385 5425Website: http://www.healthservices.unsw.edu.au/ Email: [email protected]

7.Student Equities and Disabilities Unit (SEADU)SEADU recognises that bright students come from all backgrounds, and that academic potential should not be affected by financial circumstances, race, religion, gender, sexual identity or disability. Educational and support programs are offered to any student facing difficulty based on these factors in order to promote an inclusive, diverse and multicultural campus.

Location: Ground Floor, John Goodsell BuildingOperating hours: 10am-4pm, Monday to FridayPhone: 02 9385 4734Website: http://www.studentequity.unsw.edu.au/ Email: [email protected]

8.Counselling and Psychological Services (CAPS)CAPS provides confidential and free services to all UNSW students, creating a safe space wherein students can reflect on their circumstances with a trained professional and find methods of resolution. Some areas CAPS specialises in include:• counselling for individuals• orientation and

transition to uni• motivational support• peer mentoring• personal skills

development workshops• self-help resources• psychological services• anxiety and mood disorders• advisory services• stress management programs• staff consultancy

Location: Level 2 in the Quad building, opposite Arc on the Basser stepsOperating hours: 9am-5pm Monday to FridayPhone: 02 9385 5418Website: 02 9385 5418Email: counselling@unsw. edu.au

system requirements & services, finding their way around, making friends and feeling part of the university community.

Phone: 02 9385 2289Website: https://student.unsw.edu.au/peer-mentoring Email: [email protected]

Peer MentoringPeer Mentoring aims to support new students by linking them with senior students in their faculty. Mentors provide assistance and advice in order to make the transition to uni as smooth as possible. Students learn to adjust to the teaching style,

9.The Learning CentreThe Learning Centre is an incredible facility which aims to develop and enhance academic skills of students at Kensington campus and COFA. Services run include individual writing consultations, academic skills workshops and conversation classes. They provide a range of online aids including referencing and plagiarism resources.

Location: North Wing of the Chancellery BuildingPhone: 9385 2060Website: www.lc.unsw.edu.au Email: [email protected]

10.UNSW BookshopThe UNSW Bookshop is the ultimate destination for all course texts including course notes, course readers and prescribed texts. It offers a broad range of texts varying from academic and professional titles, to works of literature, biography, cooking and travel. As well as selling UNSW and general merchandise. If an item is unavailable, the bookshop can order titles.

Location: Lower QuadOperating hours: 9am-6pm Monday to Friday, 10am-2pm SaturdayPhone: 02 9385 6622Website: www.bookshop.unsw.edu.au

11.Campus SecuritySecurity services is the first point of contact for any accidents or emergencies, and maintains a 24 hour presence for the protection of people and property, and prevention of crime.

Location: Security Office at Gate 2, High StGeneral Contact: 9385 6000Emergencies: 9385 6666

Written by Allison Taylor and Wisruthiy Shankar

Map by Cam Kennedy

Documents

Arts Advocate: Literary Journal—Vol. 1, Issue 1