Mirror Mirror

My best friend slept over on the weekend and we watched The Prestige.  I ended up crying at the end because of the dark and scary bits. My best friend had to hold me and hug me. After he fell asleep, I was too scared to fall asleep. I had to distract myself with Reddit and Instagram until I started thinking about other things and not people getting their fingers chopped up and drowning. We tried to watch Whiplash together a few months ago. I couldn't get through the first half an hour because it was too intense. The next morning, I realised I do like The Prestige. I liked talking about it, discussing what happened, how messed up the characters were. * Alex posted on Facebook that he had been published in RMIT's Catalyst magazine. I saw it and thought: hey, why don't I do that? I pitched a piece I wrote for Theories last sem which was my mistake. Somewhere in the background conversations of this degree I have heard that it is not a good idea to pitch something

Being a ballet teacher in the months of June and July means exams. My students needed to be ready. I needed to be ready. The principal of my dance school, my boss, was the examiner for my Level 2 ballet exams. In my three years of teaching ballet, the Level 2 ballet exams have been my boss's opportunity for criticism. 'Loren's kids had much better posture than yours.' 'You really need to work on their stretched feet.' 'Your improvisation music was too complex!' This year, she pulled me over at the end of the exams. I braced myself. 'Thank you for working on those Level 2s arms!' Sometimes it's the bad stuff that sticks with me--a splinter in my mind (as coined by my best friend). This time, it was a good splinter. A colourful sprinkle. * When demands and expectations of me are high, the high school Dux inside me shrieks...quietly. She gets quieter every year. After I got a Credit for my excerpt of Mutable Air, Cardinal

I'm in Essay Project, listening to Allegra speak about her respect and appreciation, as a second-generation immigrant, for Australia--the country that granted her Russian side of the family safety and hope. My dad is from Vietnam. His family immigrated to Australia when my dad was a child, somewhere between the 70s and 80s. I would hear about the Vietnam War in pop culture as I grew up, particularly American pop culture. I never heard the dates. I never put anything together. My realisation has been gradual, and even now, I don't even think I fully understand what my dad went through. I don't feel a strong connection to my Asian heritage. I have never been to visit my mum's family in Indonesia, or visited Vietnam. I can't speak Indonesian or Vietnamese. People my whole life have approached me and started speaking Chinese and every time I have to explain, with my very Australian accent, that I don't speak Chinese. I met my best friend online, through a

It's Semester 2 2017. I see Stud Park Shopping Centre in Rowville. Chocolate frappes in the middle of winter. The beep of the tag on the Eastlink. I hear Bad 4 Us. * I feel the ice-cold bus stop bench outside Springvale station. I feel a Rubik's cube in my hands, twisting and turning, solving and unsolving. I hear me: 'I just want a new friend.' I hear you: '...You win. No matter what happens, you win.' * I feel the scrape of a hedge as I climb out your window into winter. My pink scarf--a hand-me-down from my cousin--smells different. * I smell the Essence Camouflage Foundation I bought at Chadstone. I still see the marks. * There are parts I don't see--gaps and hollows like lines in blackout poetry. The Really Bad 4 Us parts.  * It's Semester 2 2019. I'm at a dance teacher staff meeting, flicking through my phone looking for good French-themed pop songs. Spotify--Playlists--July 2017. I see a bright yellow cover