YOUNG WRITERS’ COMPETITION 2005

STORIES ABOUT YOUNG PEOPLE COPING WITH DIFFICULT TIMES © Copyright Transcultural Mental Health Centre, 2006

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, facsimile, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Director, Transcultural Mental Health Centre.

First published in 2006 by: Transcultural Mental Health Centre

ISBN 1 74080 085 0

Additional copies may be obtained from the: Diversity Health Institute Locked Bag 7118 Parramatta BC NSW 2150 AUSTRALIA

Phone 61 2 9840 3800 Fax 61 2 9840 3755 Email: [email protected] Website www.dhi.gov.au/tmhc

Suggested Citation: Through my eyes - Young Writers’ Competition 2005; stories about young people coping with difficult times. : Transcultural Mental Health Centre, 2006.

Design & typeset by: www.loveitdesign.com.au

Printed by: Salmat Print on Demand FOREWORD

The 2005 Young Writers’ Competition Through My Eyes provided young writers an opportunity to creatively express their concerns, thoughts, feelings and experiences about issues that directly impact young people living in a multicultural society. The competition was open to all young people, not only those from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds. In this way, the competition challenges all people to think about the effects of mental health and cultural diversity on families and young people in Australia.

An initiative of the Transcultural Mental Health Centre, the competition has blossomed into an inter-agency project with Mental Illness Education - Australia and the Schizophrenia Fellowship of NSW. Between them these three agencies offer information, mental illness resources, multilingual resources and school education programs in NSW.

From across NSW 365 young people, aged between 12 and 19 years, entered this year’s Writing Competition with the overall theme of “Young People Coping with Difficult Times”.

Entrants were asked to write on one of two topics:

1. Write about a young person (could be yourself) coping with mental health problems either personally, in their families or with their friends. 2. Write about the experiences of a young person from a non-English- speaking background who is living in difficult times, either in Australia or overseas.

Coordinated by the Transcultural Mental Health Centre [www.dhi.gov.au/tmhc] together with Schizophrenia Fellowship [www.sfnsw.org.au] and Mental Illness Education Australia [www.miea.org.au]

 TRANSCULTURAL MENTAL HEALTH CENTRE

Transcultural Mental Health Centre (TMHC) is an acknowledged leader in transcultural mental health promotion, publication and resource development, clinical service development, and education and training.

TMHC is a statewide service that promotes access to mental health services for people of culturally and linguistically diverse (CALD) backgrounds.

The centre recognises the significance of cultural and linguistic difference in mental health issues and uses a whole-of-lifespan approach, involving work with children, adolescents, families, adults and older people.

MIE-A (NSW) OVERVIEW

MIE-A (NSW) is an award-winning, not-for-profit organisation whose principal objective is the implementation of a mental health awareness presentation, INSIGHT, which aims to encourage an awareness of mental health issues and to promote better understanding, particularly amongst young people, about mental health in relation to increasing mental health literacy and resilience including the ability to recognise specific disorders, know where to seek information, treatment and support, identify risk factors and causes, dispel the stigma which so often slows down recovery or prevents early help-seeking.

The INSIGHT presentation is conducted by trained presenters who have personal experience of mental health problems and disorders, either themselves or as a family member, friend or carer. The presenters’ personal experience is incorporated throughout the presentation, which encourages participation using activities such as role-play, discussion and brainstorming.

The INSIGHT presentation is supported by the NSW Health Department, NSW Department of Education and Training’s Student Services and Equity Program and the Catholic Education Commission’s Student Welfare Program.

 SCHIZOPHRENIA FELLOWSHIP OF NSW INC

Schizophrenia Fellowship is an established and well-respected mental illness charity with the vision of “A society in which people with mental illness are valued and treated as equals”. The Fellowship pursues that vision through advocacy for better funding and services, education and awareness raising across the community and the provision of innovative services for people with mental illness and their families.

Education and training are provided through the Fellowship’s Remind Program which provides trained consumer (people with a mental illness) and carer speakers to schools, universities and other organisations. The speaker program is complimented by a School Education Kit containing lesson plans and information for teachers and teacher in-service training.

THANK YOU

The coordinators greatly appreciate the time and support offered by staff from schools, TAFE colleges and youth welfare organisations in promoting the competition and encouraging their young people to enter.

They would also like to extend a special thanks to the members of the judging panel for the time and effort they devoted to reading the entries and for the difficult decisions they had to make.

The judging panel:

Pamela Riley Janet Cousens Maggie Gray Milissa Deitz Phillippa Venn-Brown Helen Sowey Fiona Robards Raewyn Proctor Marianne Webb Paula Abood Sussan Omar Therese King

 1ST PLACE

CATEGORY 1 CATEGORY YOU’RE NEVER ALONE

FRANCESCA KELLY • 15 yrs St. Scholastica’s College

Part one: Too Far To Save over. Through the doorframe she came back into her seat at her desk. Her eyes were a reflection Whereupon she began to write . . . of the outside world and when she stared into the mirror, the image in Every opportunity she gets she will ask her eyes wavered. But she hung on to be excused to go to the bathroom. to that composed look, the thing that Every time she receives a held her in one piece and stopped the “yes”. questions. The look she made her She will leave giving no mask. Steadily she walked out the indication that she knows anyone cold tiled bathroom and made her in her class. Walk straight to the way past the concrete columns and up bathroom, heading to her hell and the quiet stairs. Her legs led the way, heaven. never faltering, quick and purposeful. Stepping through the “Good, legs, good,” she doorway into the cold tiled bathroom murmured in her mind. she quickly glances at her reflection, “Idiot,” said the voice. keeping that image in her mind. She But she didn’t agree or turns right and makes her way to the disagree, what would be the point? fourth cubicle down. Finally, at the end of the corridor, the It is the fourth down door stood ajar and she made her way every time.

 She goes inside and quietly “Suicide,” it whispers, “the easy way closes the door, locking it so that out.” it might shut her in. She begins to But she ignores the voice. She’s doing rock herself, from side to side; her it for her own good, isn’t she? eyes vacant and empty, seeing an “I am,” she thinks, blocking the words unfocused tiled floor. Sometimes she that are being whispered into her ear. breaks and starts to cry, and the tears begin to form, she’ll switch off again, She’s in the classroom, and eyes vacant and unfocused. she’s been happy for seven days! Finally realising her moment Seven days to zero tears, seven days is over, and that it is enough, she of the weight being lifted and carried dabs her eyes with the cheap toilet by someone besides her … seven days paper, stands up and straightens her of happiness. uniform. She unlocks the door and “She’s back in the cold walks out; already she knows there’s hardly anyone out there because each tiled bathroom again, time she would listen intently waiting rocking and crying” to hear if there were people about. She passes the other cubicles and turning Today is the day she breaks to her left, she makes her way over down. She didn’t want to, but now to the three basins and stares into the she knows that something small could mirror … trigger the tears. She looks away, blinking furiously to stop the flow of She’s back in the cold tiled tears, but her eyes keep filling up and bathroom again, rocking and crying. she really wants to run out of the room She doesn’t realise that she’s doing but she doesn’t want the attention. this at least four times a day. She doesn’t need the attention she She’s started to lose all notions of anything would receive. other than crying, and verbally abusing “Be happy! Just be happy,” herself. she cries tearfully in her mind. But “Stop crying, please stop crying,” she the voice just shuts her out, closing weeps. around her mind. If it had a mouth it “Coward!” comes the voice. would be smiling. “Coward!” She looks up at the clock, and She has switched off to abandon her sees that it is only five more minutes emotions and pains, so she doesn’t have to till she can escape. She couldn’t think, feel, taste or know. care less about class; she needs to be One thing manages to creep into her alone. mind … death. “Pack up girls, you can leave “Suicide,” sneers the voice. now,” the teacher says. “No, death,” she replies stubbornly. She was already packed; she

 had packed twenty minutes before. She weaves her tales She grabs her bag and quickly strides Not knowing out, ignoring the calls for her to wait. Her tearful heart expresses words Down the stairs she goes and makes That is without her way past the concrete columns A doubt and into the cold tiled bathroom. So very Very “She doesn’t want to hear Truthful, They show a world those voices, constantly You do not know. grumbling in her head, A world that rages within her head telling her their problems” And in her heart it plays A mournful tune. She continues to ram herself into the Whispering the deeds cubicle walls, crying silently, one hand That want to be done. over her mouth to stifle the moans, Every step she takes closer which she manages to suppress. She Others and their pains prevent her. doesn’t want to hear those voices, Hurting herself she lets others live constantly grumbling in her head, Free of pain. telling her their problems, never The battle constantly wages leaving her alone, always speaking, Who wins? never quiet. She doesn’t want to feel She doesn’t know, this way, she wants to be happy… I don’t know… “I want to be happy. Please Yet. be happy. Just be happy,” she screams in her mind. She wants to scream out Part two: Beginning loud but her hand stops her. She’s at home now. School The voice listened silently, from a finally finished after a very long day. distance, knowing she was too far to She is sitting on the balcony, off the reach or save, second storey. She sits on the old metal chair, slowly rocking herself on What do you see? the uneven legs. Her eyes are intent You see a girl on the scenery before her. She’s not Normal and happy. really watching but replaying her day, Level and reassuring. her week, her life. Tears begin to form Strip all that away and she’s and she blames it on the sunlight. But Scared shitless, with she knows it’s not true. False appearances, She continues to stare at the Totally angry and desolate scenery until she hears movement And very unsure. behind her; she turns slightly just In her fantasies so she can see (whoever it is) out of

 the corner of her eye. She sees a tall tiny morsels, that she lifts with either black silhouette on the ground and a fork or spoon. She chews and then attached to the shadow is her mother. repeats the action. Staring at her daughter, she wonders She’s left the indifferent but why she keeps coming up here, never spectacular world behind. moving … “Darling? Want to come She wonders whether her inside?” grandmother sees colours, the vivid Her daughter slowly shakes textures of the surrounding world. her head. “You don’t,” says the voice. Her mother tries to lighten “Yes I do!” she replies the situation by saying, “You remind indignantly. me of your grandmother, you know The voice replies with an that,” grinning with grim humour. image of a sneering mouth. Her daughter just shrugs She just shrugs and no reply and continues to stare at the horizon. is made. He mother looks out also and sees the blazing sunlight glinting on the Her mind starts to wander and buildings around their apartment. she doesn’t hear the call of “dinner”, Her daughter, however, sees a dull so her mum climbs halfway up the hot sun, casting shadows onto the stairs and yells out, grey buildings. Her mother sighs “Sweetie, it’s dinner time!” inwardly, turns around and walks off, and walks back down. leaving her daughter and her silence She gets up and stretches, behind. taking her time. She walks down the stairs slowly and purposefully. “The voice replies with She makes her way past the living a sneering mouth. room, and as she passes she sees She just shrugs and no her grandmother sitting in the chair, reply is made” staring out and looking at the scenery before her. She’s alone and she thinks. She stops, and decides to She thinks of the comment walk over; she stands in front of her her mother made about her and her grandmother and kneels, so that she grandmother. Her grandmother, who may be able to stare into the once- never moves from an armchair that lively eyes of her grandmother. She faces the window. She is a senseless searches her face for a flicker of living shell. She doesn’t even murmur recognition, a sign that she might or move her eyes. When they call see her granddaughter staring into “dinner” and bring her food to where her face. A smile creeps up and her she sits, she eats on her own. Slowly grandmother loses that lost, distant and precisely cutting up her food into look she wears. Her eyes crinkle at

 the edges, and she stares in return. pale and red, from being rubbed by She again searches her grandmother’s hands wanting to stop the flow of face, but this time she’s looking at tears. And under her eyes are bags so the facial expression, imprinting it dark that it’s a wonder make-up could in her mind. There might never be have covered it up! another chance. She’s happy (for the “What have I become?” her second time) and so with that emotion best friend whispers. “What have I coursing through her body, she replies become?” with a smile of her own. Adriana doesn’t answer, she just wraps her arms around her and At school: rocks her, murmuring to soothe her dearest friend. Adriana advances to her “I’m sorry,” comes the muffled friend. voice from within her friend. “I’m so, She is sitting on the steps, so sorry.” knees up, head in hands. Adriana releases her arms She hears her say, until she is just holding her an arm’s “What have I become?” breadth away. Adriana moves and kneels in “Don’t be sorry,” she replies, front of her, and her friend raises her “just tell me so we can talk and go head up, and looks at her straight in through it together.” the eyes. Adriana leans forward again and hugs her tightly, while her friend, her dearest sister, begins to cry uncontrollably.

From inside comes the voice,

Don’t ever let go of me, Don’t hold me, An arm’s breadth away, “Adriana knew that girl Don’t ever say before her was always “Leave” gorgeous until today” For forever I’ll Always stay. Don’t forget me, Adriana knew that girl before Don’t murmur my her was always gorgeous until today. Name without care, Today she sees the almond eyes Don’t disappear expressing so much pain that Adriana From me, has to cover her mouth in shock. She For forever I’ll sees the once-clear brown complexion, Always be there.

10 CATEGORY 1

DANGEROUS 2ND PLACE MIND GAMES

KATIE SANDBROOK • 15 yrs Heritage Christian School

For one year I thought I had four of It was those reckless friends of mine the best friends. Their names are Ana, who manipulated my thoughts and Mia, Dee and Si. Friends I thought feelings when I was weak. What I were going to stick by me. Friends I was doing, what I was feeling was thought would last. Friends I thought what they wanted. I thought they I could count on. Boy was I wrong. were the only way to live. I thought they were helping me become the When I first met them I was going person I wanted to be. They weren’t through a hard time. I thought real people. They were inside me. In they were helping me get control. I my head. thought they were helping me get happy. I thought they were helping Ana was the Anorexia telling me the me get what I wanted. Instead, it was lies. I thought I was fat. I thought the four of them getting what they I was ugly. I thought I wasn’t good wanted. They were feeding me lies. enough. I thought that the only way Lies that I wanted to believe regardless to get perfect was to get thin. And of what anyone else told me. I thought the only way to get thin was by not if I believed what they said, did what eating. Learning to say no to food. I they told me to do, then I’d be happy. also knew I had to do lots of exercise. Then and only then would I have real Every spare minute I had I spent in control. I’d be perfect. physical exercise running around,

11 doing crunches, doing star jumps, on Mia if I gave in. If I ate something burning the fat. she was always there to help me bring it back up again. Whenever I did eat I looked in the mirror, pinching all the fat something I always filled up with guilt all over my body. I deeply wished I could and shame. Guilt because I’d given in. grab a knife and cut it all out. Shame because I let Ana down. Here Ana was helping me get thin and there Inside the magazines were pictures of I go throwing it all away. At least Mia thin models. Thin actresses. Everyone stopped me from gaining weight. was thin and beautiful. Beautiful because they were thin. The tears rolled down my There was one time, I was so angry cheeks slowly as I envied how pretty they with Dad. I couldn’t believe what he looked. How perfect I thought they were. was saying to me. It hurt, an emotional pain raced through my mind. It was an “I was starving for instantaneous reaction. Without thinking I went to the fridge and opened it. The perfection. I was dying first thing that caught my eye was the to be thin. But I had king-size Mars bar sitting in front of the to lose weight” iced coffee. My hands reached out and I grabbed the two of them. I opened the chocolate and ate it all. I opened the bottle and drank it all too.

The sudden realisation of what I had done came when I could feel my binge. I had to get rid of it. Quickly I ran to the A sharp pain stabbed me in the stomach. bathroom. I leant over the toilet. I put I bent over, wishing it would go away. I my two fingers in and kept pushing deeper knew I needed food but I couldn’t give in and deeper. Suddenly I felt the binge come yet. I wouldn’t give in yet. out. Out the mouth it went and in the toilet it ended up. I felt much better as …23…24…25…slowly and painfully I flushed my guilt away, bulimia was my I made my way up to 50 crunches. friend too. Afterwards, I did half an hour on the exercise bike. The one thing that kept me from being happy was Dee. She was the I was starving for perfection. I was dying Depression that told me other lies. She to be thin. But I had to lose weight. There made me believe I was hopeless. That was always Mia if I gave in … I was useless. I thought I was nothing. There were times I believed I should Mia was the Bulimia that I could count give up. Sure Dee doesn’t sound like on if I did give in. I could always count a good friend but I got used to her.

12 It was normal for me to be depressed and deeper the ‘real’ pain got unbearable. all the time. Normal wanting to die My eyes started to fill with tears. I cleaned every other day. What I didn’t realise my wrist and covered it so no one could was that by trying to kill that pain I see. I walked away thinking I had left my was actually bringing more. hurt and pain in the tissue. I felt better as I’d cut away the pain. Self-injury was my “I casually looked at most dangerous friend. everyone else’s arms. For a long time I knew there was No one else had scars something wrong. I knew it wasn’t on them like I did” exactly normal.

The alarm went off and I slowly opened I watched my friends as they ate their my eyes. Every day it was getting much lunch. They all seemed to be enjoying it, harder to get out of bed. I sat up and talking and laughing. No one checked the looked around my room, I just couldn’t calories. No one looked worried. They ate face today. I just couldn’t. I saw on my every bite. I sat there waiting to see if they desk a box of tablets. It was open and I were going to run to the toilets. No one remembered I took a handful the night did. before to try to end my life. I started crying as it struck me that it didn’t work. Going to the movies was always fun with I really was hopeless. I took the rest and friends. That night I stood there and went back to bed. I lay there wishing I realised I was the only one with a long- could die in my sleep. Close my eyes and sleeved top on even though it was warm. never open them again. I casually looked at everyone else’s arms. No one else had scars on them like I did. I’ll always be reminded of Si. The scars I started to wonder if I was the only one. on my arms will always be there from The only “abnornmal” one. After all, the times he and I would pull out the cutting isn’t exactly considered a normal blade. Si was there when I needed to thing, is it? punish myself. And when I felt angry or when Dee would influence my But I wasn’t ready to admit to thoughts, when everything was too everyone that they were right and I much. If I ever got that way I knew was wrong. That I did need help. I I could just pick up something sharp was scared of people turning on me and watch my troubles flow away. if I told someone. I was scared of taking off the mask and revealing the I had to get rid of this pain somehow. I real me inside. I was scared of facing had to cut. I got my knife and brought it what was really going on at home. I to my wrist. Slowly I made a cut. I kept didn’t want to let my “distractions” on cutting and making the cut bigger. The go. As long as they were there I blood started to pour out. As I got deeper didn’t have to focus on anything else.

13 But the one day I finally told someone What if other people knew? Who else was one day I’ll never forget. knew? No one was supposed to know. It also made me wonder if I had lost I was out of breath as I got to school. enough. If I was still fat. If I had lost Running to school was really a good too much. thing. I put my bag near the classroom and went to get a sip of water from the That was when I realised that no bubblers. I leant down and took the tiniest matter how much I would lose it sip. As I stood up straight I started to feel would never be enough. I would never dizzy. I just ignored it and walked over achieve perfection. Never be that to the steps. I was about to go down them magic number on the scales. I would when I heard someone calling my name. I never be happy with the number. No turned around and felt like I was falling matter how low it would get I’d never backwards. I quickly grabbed hold of be happy with it. And I’d never get the rail to stop me from falling. Coming control from a number that would just towards me was the school counsellor. A keep going lower. million thoughts ran through my head. I wondered what he wanted. He took me to It was then that I realised that those his office and I sat in a chair opposite him. “friends” of mine maybe weren’t He looked me in the eye and asked “How friends at all. It was then that I realised much more are you planning to lose?” I had to eat. I had to stop throwing up. I had to stop cutting. None of it was getting me anywhere. Well, it was getting me somewhere; but that somewhere was the hospital.

As I see it, the thing to getting better is to take things slowly. Just one day at a time. There will be downs but there will also be ups. Nothing will happen overnight. It will take a long time but “He looked me in the I just got to take it one day at a time. eye and asked ‘How It’s been 64 days since Si left. Fifty- much more are you seven days since Mia left. Dee comes planning to lose?’” and goes. There are some days with her and some days without her. Ana is That was the question. The question still here though. She still tells me lies. that really made me think. It was a I try not to believe her. It’s hard not to. question that brought more questions. But I have realised that they aren’t the It made me wonder how he knew. best games to play. I’m ready now to This was supposed to be my secret. stop playing them.

14 CATEGORY 1 EQUAL

CHINESE SPELT 3RD PLACE WITH A CAPITAL “C”

NICOLE NG • 12 yrs St. George Girls’ High School

I watch as Josey strides down the She jeers sarcastically, pulling my bag off street with the Girls. Aussie Girls. my shoulders and running away. I try Fashionable Girls. Popular Girls. Not to run after them but a crowd blocks my chinese girls like me. Occasionally, way. They stop to admire something through the shop window. I know that it would be no use chasing after them so I walk quietly back “Aussie Girls... home. Popular Girls. Not By the time I get back home it is chinese girls like me” already 5.00. My parents hear me come through the door and make their way Then one of Them sees me. She towards me. They see me as tired as whispers to the Others, pointing in yesterday and many days before. My my direction. They burst into a fit of father ushers me to a seat. giggles. Then Josey casually strolls over to me. The Others follow Her. I “yan-yan!” he cries. “Why are you so can see Sonya, a smug grin plastered late!?” to Her face. Then Josey talks. I sniff in return. Midwinter was “What a coincidence we meet here, Jenny!” coming up and the house was cold.

15 “It must be those girls again, heh!? I wasn’t looking forward to school the Well, I need to talk to that principal of next day. My father was ready before I yours,” he tells me sternly, ignoring knew it and we hopped into the car. my protests. I watched as the trees and cars flew My father coming to the school to past me. At the speed we were tell the Principal about the Girls travelling at right now we would be at would only make matters worse. The school in less than two minutes. Principal favours the Girls, especially Josey, I told father. But he didn’t listen. The thought made me shudder. The Instead he piles up a bowl of rice with wind made me sneeze. My father satay chicken and tells me to eat up. handed me his grey, striped scarf. I took it gladly, teeth chattering.

We arrived at school fifteen minutes before the bell. More than enough time for father to see the Principal. Although I am scared, I lead him through the maze of corridors, to the Principal’s office, occasionally “I stare at the rice beckoning for him to follow. He walks into the room and I wait sitting on one and wonder what the of the chairs outside. Girls would be eating right now” The chair smells faintly. Faintly like an old dictionary. A pile of magazines I stare at the rice and wonder what the sits next to them to occupy people Girls would be eating right now. waiting for the Principal. I looked at these magazines and found out that Probably Aussie food. they were more than a month old. I found this quite unusual for someone I imagine what it would be like to like the Principal because he is a very eat fish and chips every night. Or fashionable and stylish man, always shepherd’s pie. Or lasagne. The updated to the slightest changes in thoughts made me dribble onto my fashion and gossip. chicken. Suddenly, the scrape of wooden chairs “Hurry up and eat your dinner,” inside the office reminds me that father father roars. I stuff everything into my is still in the room. At a violent twist mouth with a pair of chopsticks then of the doorknob I am facing a man I go to my bed. I fall asleep without who looks like father but his face is all brushing my teeth. churned up and he is so angry that I

16 can almost see the steam emerge from her cheeks. Only then do I realise that his ears and nostrils. I lead him back something has happened to father. to the car in silence. He thanks me and I drop everything onto the ground, says bye almost too softly for me to half-running over to my mother. hear. I walk to my first classroom in She tells me something through her silence. tears then collapses onto the cement walkway. A couple of people carry her on a stretcher and place her beside my “An ambulance is parked father. I stand there confused at what outside the unit. Mother was going on. Luckily, a neighbour is standing outside, fills me in on the details. hands over her face” “When your father returned home this morning, he was very angry. He told your mother that the principal didn’t care whether or not you got bullied. He told your mother that your school had no respect for chinese people and you should change schools. Then Our first class on Tuesday morning is he suddenly had a stroke and your English. The teacher is a woman and mother rang the ambulance. Now that she believes in stomping out racism. your mother will need to go to the So I am protected for a little while. In hospital too you are better off staying class we are told that we have a speech with me than being home alone.” due tomorrow and the topic is “Let’s stomp out racism”. Everyone groans. I stand there for a while, not knowing what to do. The neighbour takes me to Nobody had remembered to do it. The her flat and shows me the bedroom I bell rings for second period. It is Maths am to share with her young daughter. and I cannot see the Girls. Maybe “Thank you,” I whispered. Then I They’re talking with the Principal trudged to the room. right now, I think. Or maybe They’re wagging school and now They don’t I open up my English book. I squint to know about the speech. Which means read what I have written and wonder that I have a chance to represent why my handwriting was so messy. A my class this year! The day finishes drop of water smudges the ink on the quickly and I rush home to meet my page. I am crying. No wonder I think family. my writing is hard to read, I think. Then I recall that I have a speech An ambulance is parked outside the to write. A speech about racism. I unit. Mother is standing outside, hands think back over what had happened over her face. Tears streaming down today. Father dying on account of me.

17 Mother fainting on account of father. I A few days ago, I had still envied realise how much my family loves me. blonde Australian girls. For being Why should we stomp out racism? I pretty. For having a culture which know only too well. Then I begin to they could be proud of. prepare my speech. “‘Excuse me, I’m For the first time in my life I am eager Chinese and proud of it to present my speech in front of the class. Although I didn’t volunteer so back off’” myself to go first, I did anyway because the teacher decided to make us present our speeches alphabetically according to our last name. My last name is Chan and I am the person at the top of our roll.

I make my way to the front of the class and I hold my hands behind my back, But after my father died, I know that ready to speak. The teacher rings I too should be proud of my culture. I her little porcelain bell. A noisy beep should be able to stand up to people is heard from the stopwatch of the who are racist against Chinese and say, timekeeper. A short silence follows. ‘Excuse me, I’m Chinese and proud of The teacher is looking at me intently. it so back off.’

So I say: After my father died did I know that Chinese is spelt with a capital “Yesterday my father died. C. My name is spelt with a capital J. My father and mother’s name begin He died because of me. with capitals because we should be treated equally to Australian people. He died of a stroke. We should be treated with respect because Australia is a multicultural He died because he was angry that country, full of different nationalities no one respected the Chinese culture. and where everyone should be treated OUR Chinese culture. CHINESE spelt with the same respect. All our names with a capital C. should begin with a capital letter. All My father cared about me. I remember our cultures should make us proud. that only yesterday did he give me his No culture should be teased about. own scarf to wear because I was cold. Racism SHOULD be stamped out. And now that I realise that he had cared about me it is too late because It took me too long to realise that he is already dead. I should stand up. Only when my

18 father died trying to tell me this did order of the roll). I paid close attention I consider. to all of the speeches and stared when Josey and all the other girls filed I hope that none of you will make the into the classroom during Vanessa’s same mistake as me. So let’s stamp out speech. all the racism in this world. Stamp out racism and let us all realise that our When Vanessa’s speech ended names should be spelt with capitals. the teacher asked the girls for an I hope that you can hear this daddy. explanation for being so late. They Thank you.” didn’t have one. Then she asked them to present their speeches. They didn’t When I had finished I could tell that have their speeches. Then Sonya jeers the whole class was quite astounded at me. “I am sure that JENNY has a at my speech. After a while the teacher speech for you, Miss.” started to clap slowly and the rest of the class followed her, the noise Unexpectedly the teacher retorts getting so loud that the teacher next back, “Well Sonya, Jenny has actually door came in angrily to complain. presented her speech. It was a Then the teacher asked for the time fabulous speech and I have chosen to and jotted something down. let her represent our class in the grade public speaking tournament. I am so concerned that you did not hear her present her speech. Now go back to your seat before I give you another week’s worth of detention.”

I still remember the days I envied Josey and the girls. But now that I can stand up for myself I do not need to envy people who are racist, bullies, even if they are fashionable. “After a while the teacher started to clap slowly Anyway, I got to represent the grade, and the rest of the class zone, region AND state for public speaking. I am sure that if my father followed her” was still alive he would have been proud of me because I stood up for She looked up, shifted her glasses myself and because now I know a little and asked for a volunteer. how to spell my name correctly. Everyone volunteered, surprisingly. I know how to spell YOUR name So in the end they had to say their correctly. AND I know why we speeches in alphabetical order (in the should stomp racism out of Australia.

19 EQUAL 3RD PLACE EQUAL VERGING CATEGORY 1 CATEGORY ON REALITY

LONIE PIZARRO • 14 yrs Blaxland High School

“No excellent soul is exempt from a The world was whirring past so fast; mixture of madness.” – Aristotle my head was spinning, dancing with the stars. My body thrumming with Grey. That’s all I remember from adrenalin. The road ahead stretched my visits to the centre. Grey walls, out before Alec and me … endless. grey wire fence, grey blankets, and Alec was speeding, we’d just been to grey people. Grey. It shouldn’t have the local footy match and our team mattered so much. I wasn’t the one had won, so we’d had a few drinks. It who had to stay there – Alecto was. was illegal for both of us – Alec being But it did. Matter I mean. But like I seventeen and me only fifteen – but said, I didn’t go there often. I had to what the hell? make my own way there by bus – my parents refused to go at all. Then the lights appeared.

Wait; there was one other thing I They say you see a white light before remember – daisies. Growing all over you die. That’s what Tina, the the grass, just like the ones in the park nineteen-year-old girl in the car we we always used to go to. But we don’t hit, must have seen. go there anymore either. I guess I should go back a bit further, explain Suddenly, Hell didn’t seem so casual why… everything. anymore.

20 Alecto spent one year in a juvenile I surveyed the room before me, a detention centre. I spent one year disarray of shirts, comics, CDs and feeling like death wouldn’t have other junk. Pretty much like it had been such an evil fate. Selfish of me always been … well, maybe a bit I suppose … after all, Tina did end up messier. dead. But hey, can’t do nothin’ ‘bout that now. “I suppose it is much more comfortable to be mad and know it, than to be sane “I became insane, with long intervals and have one’s doubts.” – G.B. Burgin of horrible sanity.” – Edgar Allan Poe “Dinner!” called Selene, her voice Swish, thump. I hummed along to the echoing up the stairs. Selene is my music blasting out the CD player, as I mum, but I hadn’t called her that since flicked mindlessly through one of the the accident. Same with Dion, my dad. gazillions of comics that lined Alecto’s Our family kind of broke that day. bookshelves, before discarding it carelessly. Huh. Broke.

“Go on, Sis. Ask. Check up on me like My own light tone surprises me – and I know you want to.” sickens me. Ripped apart is more like it. My sixth-grade teacher once I fixed my gaze on my brother’s pale said the only thing that when broken face, resisting the urge to brush the cannot be fixed, is an earthbound loose black curls, so like my own, out body. She must have been on some of his eyes. serious drugs that woman. I’d laugh to see her meet my family, then she’d “I don’t ‘check up’ on you bro. I be eating her words. just … “ “I hated dinnertime “Make sure I take my drugs like a good little boy and don’t spin into a world nowadays. Ever since Alec of philological chaos and depression?” got back a month ago...” Alec smirked. Alecto held the door open for me and I glared at him. Depression had never we made our way downstairs, dread been a funny subject and it sure as hell filling the pit of my stomach like acid. wasn’t now that Alec had it. I hated dinnertime nowadays. Ever since Alec got back a month ago … no, “Come on Eris, don’t worry ‘bout it. it was before that. I’ve hated dinner Look, I took my meds and I’ve done ever since Alecto went away in the my homework … I even tidied up a first place. It used to be happy, if not bit!” slightly boring, listening to Dion drone

21 on about lecturing at the university, pass the beef to Alecto, but he already sometimes throwing in a funny story had some. Sneaky bugger. I pass the about how yet another student had beef instead to Selene who had just stuck a whoopee cushion on his chair. finished piling carrots onto her plate. The food was set out. I had survived Or listening to Selene fuss about yet the first move. another goon starting work at the office. And then they’d ask us how “I trust everyone had a nice day,” said their beloved children’s days had Selene, her eyes on her plate. “Yes,” been, and I’d say fine (as usual) and I replied automatically. Dion grunted Alec would start on about the latest and I looked up expectantly at Alec, teacher who’d put him on detention. who was looking stonily down at his It was nice. vegetables, like they’d committed a heinous crime against him. I resisted the urge to smirk, but aimed a little cough in his direction. Selene and Dion hadn’t said a word. Not that this was unusual. I hardly ever heard my parents talking to Alecto anymore. After what he did … what we did. “That’s what I started to Although I did often hear Selene pleading with Alecto late at night. I think of dinner as: could never quite hear what Selene a game of chess” was saying, apart from the odd “please” and “not fair” and “try harder”. Now it was a weary, exhausting experience. The only places I ever felt When I dared ask Alecto what he and at home in our house now were in my Selene talked about on these midnight room and Alecto’s. Anywhere else ‘rendezvous’, he just smiled and said, felt like a doctor’s waiting room; cold, “She speaks in hope that someone will heartless and sterile. The dining room answer, yet in her heart she knows that was no exception. the answer will never come.” I hate it when he goes all cryptic on me. I sat down in my chair, across from Selene, with Dion next to me and “Well,” said Alec, shooting me a nasty Alecto next to Selene. Then we began grin, “we were asking our biology our game. That’s what I started to teacher if we could get a batch of live think of dinner as: a game of chess. frogs in and open ‘em up to look at It was all about avoiding, outwitting their still beating hearts, and examine and outmanoeuvring the opposition. the food digesting in their stomachs.” Selene passed the sprouts to Dion, Dion gave me the beef, I leaned over to “Selene!” I cried, my voice portraying

22 all the shock and disgust I felt. Selene “Some dinner ... I enjoyed the sprouts and Dion looked up from their plates; most.” apparently they’d been having a quietly intense conversation about My head jerked towards the door counselling or something. “No! where Alecto was standing. That’s ... that’s inhumane! How can you even think of doing something “Don’t DO that!” I cried. He never like that?” used to be able to sneak up on me.

“You do this every time Shows how “Distracted” I am nowa- Eris! Try to scream days. and shout your “Sorry.” He made his way to the bed way through life!” and sat down. I refused to look at him. The last question I directed at Alec before swivelling to face my parents, “Don’t be like that Eris. I was only hoping for some support, for a reason having a laugh. I thought you’d for them to just talk to Alecto. I be proud of me, seein’ as how I opened my mouth for another attack don’t ... you know ... laugh so much when SLAM! nowadays.”

“Stop! You do this every time Eris! I had to admit, it was good to see that Try to scream and shout your way twinkle in his eye. Back when he’d through life!” been in the centre, I used to think he’d never laugh again – what with all the I stared at Selene. drugs that had been forced down his throat. At first he’d just stare aimlessly “When are you going to realise into space, not eating, not sleeping ... you’re going to have to get over these But then, slowly, he came back to me – things! I am so tired of ... of everything! like I always knew he would. He said Leave the table!” he’d always be there for me ... If he broke his promise I swear I’d go mad. Speechless, I slammed down my knife Funny that. He was the depressed and fork and stormed to my room. one.

“Though this be madness, yet there “It’s all falling apart bro,” I whimpered, is method isn’t.” – Prince Hamlet, “everything. You, me, our family.” William Shakespeare “Nah it’s not. You just need a bit of I threw myself down on my bed and time to adjust. You’ll move on, I know glared at the ceiling. you will. You’ll never completely be

23 over IT, but you will get on with your Honesty is the best policy, but insanity life. You’ve always been the strong is a better defence – Steve Landesberg one.” Selene and Dion were whispering but When we remember that we are all stopped abruptly when Alecto and I mad, the mysteries disappear and life entered the room. stands explained. – Mark Twain “Ah, yes, Eris. You’re ... your After school I walked into Alec’s father and I have been talking and bedroom, sighing at the dozens of we’ve decided you need to ... to see comics tossed haphazardly on his someone. For your own wellbeing bed. you know ... and ... and talk out your feelings a bit ...” Selene trailed “Hey sis.” off.

I jumped. Alecto was standing in the “What? No, no, I’m fine. You’ve been doorway behind me. I looked at him; talking about this behind my back?” I it was a warm day and yet he was was appalled. wearing a black jacket. “Darling, no, we just think that it “Why are you wearing a jacket?” I would be best for … for everyone.” I was starting to panic now. couldn’t believe it. They were acting as if everything was my fault! Like “No, you can’t do I was the one who needed to see a this to me! I won’t go! shrink! I WON’T GO!” “No!” I said, as anger that had been “Relax Eris, I haven’t slit my wrists or building up for over a year now, anything,” He proved this by pulling swelling, swirling, and suffocating me. up the sleeves and showing me his Suddenly I found myself screaming, forearms. “No, you can’t do this to me! I won’t go! I WON’T GO!” “I mean, it’s not really necessary, is it?” “Eris! Stop blowing everything out of proportion and listen to us!” I stared silently, confused. He smiled sadly. Even Dion was yelling now.

“But you wouldn’t understand. Not “I don’t need to go?” I was on the yet anyway. Come downstairs. Mum verge of tears by now. and dad are talking in the living room.” “Don’t need to go?” Selene thundered.

24 “Where were you just then, hmm?” the day I found out my brother had died in that car crash. The doctors say “In Alecto’s room! What’s wrong with I am schizophrenic, that I have been that?” for over a year now. Mum and dad explained to me that there had never “What’s wrong with that? You’re been a detention centre. That every always in there with the music on full week I used to get on the bus and go blast, talking, flicking through stuff, sit in the old park for an hour. The one making a mess. You hardly ever talk with the daisies. to us anymore!” I miss Alecto. I still see him now and Alecto was in the again, but I’m not supposed to talk corner, shaking his to him. He doesn’t mind, he’s just head gently fulfilling the promise he made me; that he’d always be there for me. Just “Well you don’t talk to Alecto like I knew he would. And I’m finally anymore!” I screeched. Selene and starting to get on with my life, just like Dion went still. he knew I would.

“Well, at least not in front of me! Author’s note – all characters were You’re always having these whispered named after Greek gods and goddesses conversations at night but in front of for symbolism. These names spoke me you just ignore him! You wouldn’t strongly to me. even visit the detention centre with me! It’s like you were so ashamed of Eris – dark sister of Eros. Goddess of him you forgot he exists!” chaos and discord, Eris loves confusion and conflict. The room was silent. Selene was crying, Dion looked stricken, Alecto Alecto – one of the Erinyes (‘Children was in the corner, shaking his head of the Eternal Night’) – Alecto – gently. Neverending, the Unnameable. “Eris ...“ whispered Selene, “Alecto is dead.” Selene – Goddess of magic, spells, enchantments, solutions. Animals “Too much sanity may be madness. – horses. Moon Phase – Full, Element And maddest of all, to see life – Water. as it is and not as it should be!” – Miguel de Cervantes Dionysus (Dion) – God of religious ecstasy and wine, accompanied always I used to think the day of the car crash by satyrs and nymphs. The force of was the day my entire world came life in all growing things. Deity of crashing down. But in truth, it was vegetation and fertility.

25 1ST PLACE

CATEGORY 2 CATEGORY SILENT TEARS

ANDREA WHITE • 17 yrs Eden Marine High

I kept waiting for the yelling to start but it never came. Just quiet questions “I watched her face which I could barely answer. Not tonight and saw years that I’ve ever found it easy to talk etch into her forehead about private stuff. But tonight was almost instantly” almost impossible. I feel like I’ve let her down and that’s the last thing I too. I saw him struggle to understand wanted to do. Hurt her more. I sat not only what Mum said but also the on her bed and cried like a baby while meaning behind it, like any thirteen- she sat beside me and soothed with year-old would. He looked at me like her hand and voice. In many ways he hated me. He could never hate I am glad she knows, but I wish that me more than I hate myself. Hate all could have come without the pain of the torment that swirls inside my and worry it has caused. I watched head. Hate that I don’t know how to her face tonight and saw years etch deal with it. Hate the marks on my into her forehead almost instantly. It wrist that started all of this tonight. doesn’t make me feel better knowing what I am doing to her. Then she I cut myself. called Bailey in after we’d said all that we could and she told him what was I cut myself because it hurts and going on with me. I watched his face, creating physical pain almost makes

26 the pain inside go away. I cut myself the window. She saw the plate in my because the things I feel inside are so hand, watched the right hand sweep painful that talking about them makes the sponge around to reveal my secret. me want to die. Not really die. But Seven cuts on my left wrist. Not deep, there are times when everyone faces but ugly and raw. She looked like their feelings and wants to run from she’d been slapped as she laid down what they see. For me those feelings the tea-towel and abandoned the threaten to burst almost every day. I dishes to a cold, soapy fate. can listen to Avril and Ashlee and feel someone else has problems too. I can She knows they weren’t a suicide watch Homer and forget for a moment attempt. I know this because she that I am in pain. I can even laugh, told me. I also know she feels she spend time with my friends, and show has failed as a mother, because she the world what a normal seventeen- told me that, too. She said it all in year-old I am. But in the still of night the absence of tears. Not because she when there are no distractions except didn’t want to cry but because, I think, for my thoughts and the scamper she has run out. The pain was written of the possum outside my window, all over her face, her feelings caught everything takes over. It makes me in her throat each time she spoke. She feel like I am drowning and that will didn’t say a word about my father but be the only way to take the pain away I know she thought it – that I would forever. What stops me is knowing do the same one day, that she would how much pain that will bring to my have yet another gravesite to visit on mum and brother. And as much as I those ‘special’ days each year. Part of find him annoying and frustrating and me wants to be with Dad and Dylan, damn good at being thirteen, I love him and don’t want him to go through what I am. And so I cut myself. “But in the still of the night when there She called it ‘self-harming’ – the nurse are no distractions... kicking in. She knew straight away, as everything takes over” soon as she saw the marks on my arm. We were standing at the sink, washing dishes. I washed while mum dried and Bailey deepened the grooves in the lounge. We were talking like we always do – about everything and nothing. Something about a CD I want. I wasn’t thinking about hiding for once. Didn’t even think about the sleeve pushed high up my arm, until I saw Mum’s face in the reflection of

27 wherever that is. But for the most As she held me, she talked about part, I don’t want anyone else in my ruining my skin, the scars, the long- family to go to any more funerals or term effects of walking around having counsellors. Guilt keeps me alive to explain your long-sleeved shirt in some days. summer, or the reasons behind the scars to friends and boyfriends. She thinks I think about a future when the reality is I can’t bear to think beyond next week. Once again the tears plip- plipped onto my thigh. The balled- up tissue in my hands disintegrated into flakes on the carpet as snot hung from my nose like a stalactite, threatening to drop on my toes at any second. I didn’t care. All I wanted was my mum’s arms to never let go, for her soothing voice to rock me to sleep, to be a baby again instead of an “I wanted ... to be a adolescent with adult’s expectations I could never live up to. baby again instead of an adolescent with We made plans that night for code adult’s expectations” words and check-ins and counselling. We hugged and I cried and she made When my own tears had subsided jokes about being eligible for a wet she asked me quietly what I used. T-shirt competition thanks to the My weapon of choice. Needles, the drenching I’d given her. I saw the backs of those funny little badges pain in her eyes that had been there with the smart-arse sayings on them, for years, but there was something nail clippers. Things I know will hurt new that I couldn’t identify until enough, but not so much as to cause weeks later. Mistrust. Of me, I guess. gushes of blood or to need stitches. But mostly of herself. I hate that she For then everyone would know. And doubts her abilities as a mum, more this was my secret. Even Bec doesn’t than I hate my feelings and more know and she does it too. There is than I hate myself. I still want to cut no camaraderie to be found in the act myself, but the trust I owe Mum and of hurting yourself. I don’t do it for the growing hope I have for my future attention or to try to be cool. I’m not stops me. It’s only been a few months one of those girls. I do it for private but I’m getting there. If nothing else, reasons, and let’s face it, if I could I’ve figured out that the best tears are talk about why I did it, I probably shed on someone’s shoulder. And wouldn’t. they should never be silent.

28 CATEGORY 2

SEPIA MEMORIES 2ND PLACE & FORGOTTEN PHOTOGRAPHS

SASHIE HOWPAGE • 16 yrs Baulkham Hills High School

June 25th 2002 Dear Kitty, “I did a tremendous You have a special name – I felt it juggling act with my fitted. A name is everything to me. My grandfather named me – and as a tribute to HSC and what was an my youthful and blissful ignorance, I only obvious family crisis” found out his meaning – the true meaning – of my name last year. I’m leaving for obviously never be ‘fine’ – he never really Europe soon, for a few weeks before uni was – but we are moving along as well starts again. I’m going back to Poland, as we could possibly hope – as a family. even if I am sixty years too late, because I I knew that we would eventually pull have to go back and understand, now that through, but that path was so difficult. It I have begun to accept. I can’t believe that got to a point that I didn’t think I deserved it was that one event that shaped my life to live; I thought that I had been given an – quite literally, decades before I was to be unfairly large chance at life. I’ve realised born. it is time to move on, but I never want to In terms of events and memories, forget some of the things I learned through last year was by far the most eventful of the pain. More than anything, I matured. all – at least for me. I did a tremendous Here is my story. juggling act with my HSC and what was an obvious family crisis. Poppa will Love Anya.

29 I look up to see my mother as unobtrusive as I can. As I adjust inhale, showing her polished teeth the mirrors, I convincingly mimic through her flaking Revlon rouge, as my mother’s ritual scolding before she momentarily closes her eyes. I a car journey: “Now, remember – no feel oddly comforted to know that distractions”. she is suffering too. The doctor, with My attempt at testing his bespectacled balding head tilted the overall mood has worked to one side and his legs crossed, spectacularly. However, all three of watches my grandfather talking while us have already realised that no one his pen slowly scrawls unintelligible is in the mood for jokes. So, as I pull dots and crosses. For me however, out of the darkening parking lot, I it is unbelievably difficult to sit find that already I am distracted. It here listening to a doctor effectively has something to do with the fact decimate any stability or calm that I that I know only a serious reason that had managed to salvage during my will unsettle my mum enough so that final year of school. He comes to she will refuse to drive. There is also the conclusion that poppa does not reason why my grandfather is now have ‘memory-related disorders’ but holding a prescription note for anti- is sinking slowly into the abyss that depressants. is mental illness. He is sinking with absolutely no one there to save him. At home, I endure the silence that is Not even I can. comfortably instilling itself in our family. I can see the conversation at the height of trivialness. We pretend to be impressed or disgusted with the immigration minister’s blatant attempts to ignore the questions thrown at him by the apparently frustrated newsperson. My father thinks social consciousness of the “He is sinking with international issues that affect absolutely no one humanity are of utmost importance. there to save him. “Once you know where the problem is, Not even I can” it is up to the rest of us to provide the resources to improve the despairing Mum gives me the car keys, situations in this world. Think about pretending as though she would like the Millennium Goals, the power of nothing better than to instruct her the UN … imagine, if we followed inexperienced driver of a daughter, the Kyoto Protocol … what would on this weekday after work. Entirely happen ...” instinctively, I do not object and I am not listening. I have no instead I readily cooperate, being understanding of what exactly was

30 affecting my grandfather, let alone alone with this deteriorating shadow Third World poverty, ozone depletion of a once-resilient man and I refuse or terrorism. For once, Dad’s formula to believe that taking the small white didn’t work – you don’t have pills that lie on his bedside table will ‘resources’ to set depression right. No save him. How do you delete the pain amount of ‘United Nations’ power of memories that echo the brutality of could help my poppa. That was the reality? Memories only become what frustrating and cruel irony of it. they are because we remember the emotions, more than the experiences “For the first time, themselves. At the same time, the answer lies in the fact that I am I am alone with this stubbornly refusing to accept that my deteriorating shadow of healthy grandfather has mental illness. a once-resilient man” I was so convinced that it was rare, and that a disorder such as schizophrenia was a thing of the movies, along with ‘shrinks’ who sat on revolving soft leather chairs. Depression, so horrible and destructive, in my perfect world of loser boyfriends, gossiping and teenage rebellion, was something that would not affect a normal family I mumble some pathetic like ours. However, it did, and I am excuse along the lines of my HSC sitting here next to poppa, troubled study and my parents swallow it by the fact that I feel scared. Scared like the food they are eating. In the of the lingering, constant, confused silence, I feel angry with my parents hopelessness that stops me midway in and myself for remaining so oblivious laughter, or at any other moment my to the turmoil that is eating this clever mind has time to wander. Perhaps it is man from the inside out. A more likely the disconcerting fact that my parents explanation would be that, like me, are incapacitated by their sense of they are completely immobilised by loss as well. Or maybe it is because their grief and don’t know how else I am scared of what my friends are to react. Pushing his bedroom door thinking, because I do not want their open to see his shrunken frame oddly sympathy. I know they care but it crouched on the quilt that my late seems to worsen my feeling of utter grandmother made, I know that more powerlessness. I am drifting in a planet than any amount of drug, he needs us. of medical jargon, unbearable silences How can any amount of ‘Cipramil’ and I’m desperately seeking answers stem the icy deluge of depression? I to questions that scare me. I am too imagine it to be something like a badly unsettled to voice these questions – I tuned radio. For the first time, I am feel it will somehow confirm, without

31 doubt, that our family has already 1938’. Curious, I turn it over and am lost the battle with this unseen force. surprised to see a beautiful lady and Because I know we have to fight it a young child and although the sepia together and we far from it. tone of the photo has faded, I can see her porcelain skin and her eyes “Although the sepia tone adoringly watching her daughter. The girl’s hair is neatly parted to the of the photograph side, a ribbon in her hair and a small has faded, I can see her white dress on her small figure. I look porcelain skin...” inquiringly at my poppa, wanting to know who these beautiful people are, but his eyes are closed. A single tear falls into the crevices of his withered cheek, his hand now squeezing mine. It scares me, yet I do not call for my parents.

‘Anya,’ he whispers to me.

I tell him that I am here. He shakes his head and smiles, weakly. I am somewhat confused as I watch him reach under his bed, his stiff fingers obviously searching for something. The number of times I had He sits up with a small tinderbox heard the horror stories at school, in in his wrinkled hands, opens the libraries, on excursions, in debating dented lid and gives it to me without speeches and I still cannot begin to looking inside. There, cushioned by grasp the fact that my grandfather a simple handkerchief, is a dull gold was one of those emaciated, degraded, wedding ring and a long pink ribbon, sunken-eyed men. Again, I try to which I recognise immediately from talk to him. It is a slow process, but the photo. Almost impulsively, I am with every passing night, he seems to making an endless list of possibilities improve. Slightly. I take one of his with each conclusion ending at the hands in mine, thinking of something same inconceivable idea. Poppa is to say to him. He does not resist, silently waiting, watching me. I check and instead, does not seem to notice. the photo and find what I already In his other hand, a small piece of knew would be there, on the woman’s paper falls elegantly to the ground, finger. I sit down next to him, and this yet he does not make a move to time, he puts his arm around me and indicate he cares. I notice a date holds me tight as he always used to. scrawled in paling blue ink, ‘19th April His hands are warm and it comforts

32 me. I always knew that grandpa got married ‘late’ but I am stunned that he already had a family – and never told anyone. I am hit with the realisation that I would have never been born had it not been for the war and the Holocaust. I wonder if my grandmother ever knew that her husband had already had a child. Almost as suddenly, I am disgusted with what humans have done, so “Would I throw my body angry that my grandfather has had to suffer for more than half of his life, onto a barbed wire fence? bearing such a heavy burden. I am If I was desperate... saddened by the fact that he chose who knows?” not to share it, and therefore buckled under its overwhelming weight, I know that detention centres knowingly falling into the abyss of are the ‘civilised’ world’s concentration depression. At the same time, I do not camps. History, as poppa always said, think he could have told anyone – he is repeating itself and we just sit here, was trying to escape from that past like the rest of the world did sixty years he wanted to forget. With the photo ago, letting it happen. I saw today, in the in my hand, I help my grandfather to newspaper, a blurred picture of a boy my his feet. We have to tell my parents. age, his chest and arms covered in blood As we shuffle towards the door, he from wounds that will scar him forever. tells me that he named me. I smile – I Would I throw my body onto a barbed already knew that. Then, he whispers wire fence? If I was desperate … who ever so softly, knows? What makes me so angry though, “Her name was Anya too.” is that the wounds hidden in his mind will continue to bleed well into old age. He will June 27th 2002 be doomed to go down that same difficult Dear Kitty, path that poppa went down. Would you Last night, on the news, I saw a push it into the furthest, deepest part of picture. I was forcibly reminded of that your memory and live life constantly black-and-white picture of those withered running away from anything that will men in Bergen Belsen, whose despairing remind you of events in your past? As I eyes penetrated mine. This time, it was in learned, that is an impossible race to win. colour – a boy with large eyes and a shirt They are suffering and we need to stop it. too big for him, peering out from behind I’m leaving Australia tomorrow barbed wire. Although I don’t know who – I’ll write again. he is, or if he still has a family, I know where he is. Nauru. Love, Anya.

33 3RD PLACE

CATEGORY 2 CATEGORY BITTERSWEET MEMORIES

JESSE KING • 17 yrs Avondale School

She sits as if she has become part of her Why? chair. Barely moving, barely reacting to anything around her. Only the She could at least show some empathy, very extremities of her body actually by letting her voice take on the mood move: Her fingers, as they type on of the things I tell her. I don’t speak of the keyboard; her mouth, as it opens optimism, I don’t speak of confidence, to ask the same old monotonous and I definitely don’t speak of questions; and the wattles on her chin, emotionless things. which bounce out the questions in jolly unison with the motion of her Is she mocking me? mouth:

“What’s your date of birth?” “There is something off-putting about the “Have you been a patient here before?” upbeat manner in which she speaks” There is something off-putting about the upbeat manner in which she As we sit there, peering through the speaks. It rings of optimism and hole in the glass that separates us, I confidence, yet it is distant, and totally start to wonder what’s going through without emotion. her mind. How could she not feel

34 something for me? After all I’ve been here because I thought I might try. through … I don’t want pity, I’m afraid of pity … but I could do with After a good twenty minutes, a gentle some understanding. Here comes young nurse greets us. Why am I that sing-song optimism again: here?

“So, do you have any plans to harm Put it this way: I wish I wasn’t here … I yourself?” wish I wasn’t anywhere.

Spoken like a true travel agent. I think “Do you have any plans to harm she’s in the wrong job. She should yourself, Jesse?” be striding up to wannabe tourists browsing travel brochures. She That’s better. should use the Optimistic-Confident- “I want to put you at ease” rubbish on This nurse gets the tone right. Concern, them, not me. She should let her jolly rather than confidence. Sympathy, wattles do the polka for them, not for rather than sing-song. The question me. still annoys me, though. I tell her that I’m not quite at the planning stage … “Why am I here? Put it yet. this way: I wish I She looks at the underside of my wasn’t here... I wish left arm, lets fly with her hands and I wasn’t anywhere” grasps it, genuine worry registering in her face.

“What happened here?” she asks, pointing to the scratches my cat gave me last week. I assure her that they are feline handiwork, not human handiwork.

I wouldn’t have the courage to do that to “So, you have any plans to travel myself… Wimp… Coward… Fag! overseas?” About three psychiatrists, and a dozen My mum and I are shunted off to a bed nurses later, my mum and I learn in the corner of the “New Arrivals” that: section. “The adolescent ward of the hospital Why the bed? I’m not sick. I haven’t doesn’t cater for over sixteens … overdosed or anything. Although, I came unless it’s a medical emergency.”

35 It’s strange. Here I am, asking to be put Guy”, so the whole segment centres away from something I haven’t done. on homosexuality.

There is only one option left: The psych As if I need the TV to remind me of it. hospital in Newcastle. No, Mum’s heard bad things about that one. A Carson and I are very different. He rough place … full of uncontrollable acts like a woman … I don’t. But he rage, sadness, and discouragement … doesn’t care what people think … I do. A bit like me. That’s why I’m here. But, as the psychiatrist says, “It’s a safe place.” “Tell me why you’re depressed, Jesse.” Ben, the psych nurse, doesn’t even The only place I can be safe from myself. glance up from the paper he writes on. ********** He’s heard it all before … the Mum and I have really made a day confusion and fear about the sexuality, of this. We spent the morning at the resulting in the self-loathing, the counsellor’s… The afternoon at the loss of confidence … the suicidal hospital … and now the evening at the tendencies … psych hospital. It takes an episode of “OC”, and an episode of “Rove Live”, I’m just another insecure fag to him. before I even get called away from the waiting room TV, for an analysis by No, I don’t have any immediate plans the psych nurse. Ironically, tonight, to kill myself. Rove is interviewing Carson Cressley, the star of “Queer Eye For The Straight Yes, I am getting to the stage where I might make some. “Carson and I are very No, I don’t hear voices talking to me. different... he doesn’t care what people No, people on the TV don’t talk to think... I do” me.

No, God doesn’t talk to me …

I’ve talked to him a lot, though, asking questions like: “Why me?” and “Can’t you just wave your wand, and make me normal?”

36 We’ve established that I’m not patients, about my age, doesn’t want schizophrenic … just checking. to go to sleep.

“So, how do you feel right now?” “Who are you?” she asks roughly.

My answer seems to throw him a little: “This is Jesse, who’s just arrived here,” “Nothing … I don’t feel anything.” Bob stands in for my dry mouth.

Pain can make you forget how to feel. “Well, you can stay up and talk to me … ‘cos I’m not going to sleep.”

“Gena, you’re going to bed right now.”

“He can stay up and talk to me.”

“That’s not going to happen, Gena.” “Such a dark place... Gena immediately disintegrates the ward has an into a whining, blubbering mess. unmistakable She remains defiant, and the nurses eeriness to it” virtually have to carry her to bed.

Such a dark place. The fact that it’s What’s her story? Where does she get all night-time does contribute, but the her anger? ward has an unmistakable eeriness to it. A female nurse leads me through Bob leads me into one of the 4-bed the corridors, up to the nurse on duty: rooms. My bed is the closest to the Bob, a jolly old man with wattles. door. Bob tells me that two of the other beds are occupied, but I can’t see Not again! them in the dark.

The nurse introduces me in a way that Who are they? Why are they here? Should I’ve never been introduced in my life: I be scared? “Bob, this is Jesse ... and he’s feeling suicidal.” “Try and get some sleep,” Bob tells me. Now I really want to die. You’ve got to be bloody joking! But Bob is very friendly and reassuring, and I feel more at ease walking the As the night wears on, I drift in and corridors with him. Gena, one of the out of consciousness. At one point

37 I see Bob bring another arrival into “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest” the room, to take the last remaining the same way again), I am directed to bed. When he passes by, the stink of the dining room. The breakfast choice marijuana drags the air around me to isn’t exactly five-star, but I worked out the ground … I can hardly breathe. long ago that this is no resort. Resorts need decent lighting, for a start. Here, Now I can’t even doze. it isn’t much lighter in the day than it is at night. It isn’t until morning that I lay eyes on two of my fellow inmates, I don’t Having secured myself a bowl of rice see the third until later. They are both bubbles, I am faced with the dilemma middle-aged, as far as I can tell. One of where to sit. I get this strange is a nervous, jittery little man with a feeling that anyone I try to sit with moustache. The second looks like a will shun me, because I’m not weird tall mad scientist, with wiry hair enough for them … or maybe because springing out from beyond his I’m basically the only one in the room receding hairline, and a sinister, toothy without cuts up my arms. grin to go with it. Neither of them looks particularly approachable. I’m the odd one out, even in a psych ward. Where do I belong? “I’m the odd one out, I end up moving to the table with even in a psych ward. only one other person sitting there, Where do I belong? ” I’m certain that his person is a transsexual, or someone similar. This person looks like a young man, but he’s wearing make-up, lipstick and eyeliner. We don’t say a word to each other the whole time. What could we talk about? Well, we possibly have some common ground to share in our experiences. Who knows?

After breakfast, I go back to bed. It’s the only place where I feel remotely safe. I decide that I have to get out of here. I can hardly bear it any longer. It’s just too dark, too eerie, and too tragic. After being handed my pills and a tiny cup of juice from behind the An old male nurse comes in with a medication window (I’ll never look at pen, paper and clipboard, and asks me

38 and helpful, he sees that I’m lost in this new world, and does everything he can to make me feel comfortable. He’s a derro, he’s a pothead, he’s living a dead-end life, but none of that can hide the heart of gold within. He shows me his favourite CD, by Bob Marley’s son. He shows me how to fill out an “He...clasps my hand application for release, not realising that, as a voluntary admission, I don’t in his. In that moment, need one. But I still appreciate the I wish every good thing in thought, and I tell him that. the world on him” If only there were more people like him. how I’m feeling. There’s no way I’m going to tell him how I really feel. I When I talk to the psychiatrist, I tell him say “Not bad.” I see my name written I’m feeling “so much better”. What I on the paper. He takes his pen and really mean is, “Let me out of here, for writes “Not bad” next to it. I nearly God’s sake!” He decides that the best laugh out loud. Why the hell does he solution to my depression is to raise bother? the daily dose of my medication to double what it was. It’s a quick fix. Of I now know that the new arrival in the course, it won’t fix anything … there’s bed opposite me is a bearded, middle- no medicinal cure for homosexuality, aged white Rastafarian. The concept or self-loathing. of a white Rastafarian is new to me, but he seems to have all the right When Mum comes to pick me up, ingredients, apart from his skin colour. Aaron is the only person I say goodbye His hair is dreadlocked, he tells me he to. He asks my name one last time, is a Bob Marley fan, and, judging by and clasps my hand in his. In that the odour, and his complete lack of moment, I wish every good thing in short-term memory, he’s quite partial the world on him. If only I believed to pot. His name is Aaron, he tells me, in a god, I would pray for a shower before asking mine. He has to ask me of blessings on him. He deserves more again every five minutes or so, because than what life has given him, and the he can’t remember it. last thing I say to him, before I leave, is: “Good luck, Aaron.” Aaron is an unexpected ray of light in the darkness of the ward, and I quickly His response is something I will never realise, to my surprise, that he is forget: “I’ll find it, Mate.” possibly the nicest person I have ever met in my life. Friendly, approachable, If he can find it, then maybe I can too.

39 SILVER AWARDS Category 1 (Age 12-15) Claire Johnston, 13, Manilla Central School; Romona El-Hadi, 15, Trinity Catholic College; Monica Kovacic, 14, Green Point Christian College; Ainslie Jones, 15, Hunter School of the Performing Arts; Lauren Keating, 15,

Category 2 (Age 16-19) Min-Zhui Lee, 16, James Ruse Agricultural High School; Sarah Mackey, 19; Adam Vidler, 17, The Armidale School; Nicola Santilli, 16, ; Jennifer Kelly, 17, Kingscliff High School INFORMATION PACKAGES Information packages were disseminated through community health centres, welfare organisations, schools and TAFE colleges in an attempt to reach as many young people as possible and to provide opportunities for classroom discussion about issues relating to mental health and cultural diversity. Entries were received from 104 different schools and organisations across NSW:

Abbotsleigh Birrong Girls’ High School All Saints Catholic College Blaxland High School Armidale High School Bossley Park High School Australian Islamic College of Sydney Burwood Girls High School Avondale High School Camden Haven High School Baulkham Hills High School Camden High School Bega Valley Christian College Caringbah High Bethany College

40 Central Coast Adventist School North Cherrybrook High School North Sydney Girls’ High School Cherrybrook Technology High School Northlakes High School Christian Brothers College Our Lady of Mercy College Crestwood High School Our Lady of the Sacred Heart College Dubbo School of Distance Education Eagle Vale High School Pendle Hill High School East Hills Girls Technology High Penshurst Girls High School Eden Marine High Plumpton High School Pymble Ladies College Fairfield High School Quirindi High School Forestville Montessori School Quondialla Central School Forestville Public School Rosemount Outreach Program Rosemount Youth and Family Services Glenaeon Rudolf Steiner School Shoalhaven High School Green Point Christian College Sir Joseph Banks High School Gymea Technology High Heritage Christian School St Andrew’s Christian School Homebush Boys High School St Catherine’s School Hopetown Special School St Columbas High School Hunter School of the Performing Arts St Euphemia Greek Orthodox College St George Girls High School James Ruse Agricultural High School St John the Evangelist High School Kaleidoscope (Adolescent Mental St Philips Christian College Health Team) St Piau X College Kesser Torah College St Scholastica’s College Kiama High School Strathfield Girls High School Kingscliff High School Sydney Boys High School Lake Munmorah High School T Philips Christian College Lambton High School TAFE Macquarie Anglican Grammar School The Armidale School Manilla Central School The Canobolas Rural Technology Manly Selective Campus High School Marian College The Illawarra Grammar School The Riverina Anglican College Trinity Catholic College Trinity Catholic College Meriden School Ulladulla High School University of Sydney WAAT Mount Saint Joseph Warialda High School Willoughby Girls High School Nambucca Heads High School Wollumbin High School Narrabeen Sports High Newcastle High School Yanco Agricultural Health School

41 COMING SOON! TranSCRIBE YOUNG WRITERSʼ COMPETITION 2007

> Aged 12-19 years? > Live in NSW? > Want to win great prizes? > Want to creatively express YOUR thoughts, feelings and experience about issues that affect young people? > Look for information at your school or contact TMHC 9840 3800

2

THROUGH MY EYES YOUNG WRITERS’ COMPETITION 2005

Coordinated by the Transcultural Mental Health Centre [www.dhi.gov.au/tmhc] together with Schizophrenia Fellowship [www.sfnsw.org.au] and Mental Illness Education Australia [www.miea.org.au]