Intercultural Collaborations - Josh Peterken

It's the first week of September 2017. Melbourne is alive with excitement. Melbourne's little brother, Adelaide, a ten hour drive away, buzzes with their own two-team rivalry. It's four weeks until the AFL Grand Final and the future is filled with possibilities. There are 36 possible combinations for that last week of glory, and everybody holds their breath. To the outsider, it seems barbaric. Most outside of Australia have never even heard of the Australian Football League, and those who do struggle to comprehend the size of it. Even many people in Australia don't understand it. How can one gain so much joy from a ball being kicked between two big sticks? Week one comes and goes in the blink of an eye. Just like that, two of the eight teams are eliminated. Essendon and Port Adelaide fans prepare for the long summer ahead. Many of them go through a grieving process, for a year that has been wasted. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. They console each o...

I have always thought of Hong Kong as part of China. I was somewhat surprised to hear that people in Hong Kong, however, do not consider themselves as such. Later, I also discovered that while this is true, many of them do consider themselves to be Chinese. This distinction between whether Hong Kong is part of China or not is so great that it has led to one of the most common examples of the Mandela Effect. For anyone unfamiliar, the Mandela Effect is a phenomenon of collective false memories, named for many people believing that Nelson Mandela died in prison in the 1980s, even though he went on to become the President of South Africa a decade later and only died five years ago. It is common for people to believe beyond doubt that Hong Kong is a separate country, becoming independent in 1997 when in actual fact sovereignty was handed over from the United Kingdom back to China. In light of the fact that the people who live there do not consider themselves as part of China, I suppose thi...

“It’s nice to spend time together like this.” Her words rolled toward me, but I barely registered them. The sand in Barcelona was so warm, so soft. Growing up, we never got to see the ocean. How many times had Tess and I been to a beach together? I could probably count it on one hand. “Jacquie, are you even listening to me?” “Mhmm,” I said, the slight sound coming right back to my ears in the ocean wind. “You’re not, are you?” “Sorry,” I said, “just thinking.” “About?” “Doesn’t matter.” She wouldn’t understand. Tess wasn’t one for the introspective.   After three days enjoying the beach warmth, the feeling of business was finally beginning to fade. Even on the plane over, a paranoia hung over me that I should be doing something. Household jobs, dropping Sarah off at soccer practice, taking a shift that I knew I couldn’t handle. God, when was the last time I’d watched a movie just because I wanted to? “I should call mum, check up on Sarah.” “Jacquie,” Tess sai...

I had a lot of fun with the renga exercises we did in class recently. It was a nice change to not worry so much about the direction of a piece and just write something without any pressure. I'm sure a few other people enjoyed that too, because somehow the character of my story became a bird. I don't know if it gets much worse in terms of thematic changes. The story was initially about one of feeling at home in a new place, even if you aren't familiar with it, similar to my own experience moving from Adelaide to Melbourne. By the end of the story, I struggle to find a coherent theme without salvaging. Possibly it could be read with a theme of overcoming adversity, with the bird succeeding in taking the metal can. Or a story about seeing things from a new perspective? I'm not entirely sure. I wonder how the bird character came to be. Was it just a bird metaphor gone wrong, or the piece up until then just severely misread? Did somebody just decide to completely change the ...

Prompt: What can and can’t you ask somebody that you are interviewing? When we try to get an understanding of somebody’s habitus, is there anything that is off-limits? How do we find those boundaries? “How many people have you fucked?” “Excuse me?” I ask them. My eyes bulge out, but they look at me with so much confidence. Like they’ve asked this question a million times before. “How many sexual partners have you had in the past?” They ask me again but reframing the question. I stutter in space for a few seconds. “D-does it matter?’ “Well no,” They say with a sly smile, “I’m just curious is all. Curious about you.” I don’t want to answer, but I feel being quiet would be somehow rude, despite the question. “What do you think?” “I dunno, you seem like the kind of ‘sex after marriage’ bullshit preacher sorta person,” “The fuck?” That audacity. Something began to brew in me, I push it down further. “So, am I right?” “I don’t think you need to know, how is it relevant?”
They gi...

Prompt: How long do you need to spend in a place to understand it? When does a place become “home”? Sometimes you know where your home is, even if you’ve only been there once. That was what it was like for me. My family lived in Perth for the majority of my childhood. Sixteen years in a city I never felt like I understood, even though I grew up there. Sure, the sights were familiar. I knew where everything was. It was a comfortable childhood of familiarity. But it never felt like home. Just now, we’ve crossed the border between Victoria and New South Wales. Mum and dad have done it many times before. Not me. This is the first time I have been in New South Wales. The road trip to our new state has taken almost a week. We are tired and frustrated with one another. 
Something changed within me as we crossed the border, looking at the sign which reads “Welcome to New South Wales”. Somehow, I knew this was home. It would always be home to me. The state where my mother grew up, where my c...

This piece is the product of an interview with Saaro. Due to the fact that the task included being a reluctant interviewee, I didn't gather heaps of information but did manage to get a few gems which have inspired this piece. My tactic throughout the interview was to be as specific as I could with the questions and to have many different questions prepared. One of the most fascinating facts I learned was that the first poetry Saaro wrote was about an imaginary cat in primary school, which inspired this piece. I wanted to explore childhood moments which influence a desire for creative writing, as well as the self-doubt that can creep up when sharing one's own work. The piece has been written with an intention to blend the themes and styles of Saaro's writing and my own, particularly through the use of both prose and poetry. My Cat When Mrs Konheim told all the second-graders that they would be writing poetry, Ena imagined running to the library and picking out a bo...