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On Breakups, Rejection and #NoBoyfriend2026 Dear dating diary, I recently became single for the first time since entering my 20’s and it has truly been an eye-opening experience. I’ve had to flirt with people at the club, reject people simply because I’m not interested, and learn to be truly comfortable on my own. The life of a single woman in her early 20’s is foreign territory to me, but I’m loving it and learning how to navigate the treacherous waters of dating. Breaking up with someone is not an easy thing to do—it takes a lot of courage to figure out if it’s the right decision. However, as someone who recently ended a four-year relationship, I’m here to tell you that if you’re considering breaking up you should 100% just do it! It’s horrible in the moment, but God does it change you for the better! Instead of spending all your time stressing about your relationship and how to fix it, you get to focus on yourself, your friends, and your own life. Once you go single you genuinely start to glow. My friends and I joke that a siren went off the moment I became single. I never got hit on when in a relationship, but in the first week of being single I got hit on 3 separate times. All those fears I had about ending the relationship and never being able to love again disappeared instantly. They were instead replaced by overwhelming love and care from those around me, alongside this feeling of excitement for what was to come. A common thing people do after becoming single is download a dating app. There’s no shame in this, it’s very normal to crave something to fill the space that your newly-founded singleness has granted you. However, I urge you to reconsider this reactionary response. Once becoming single, one of my very dear friends declared that the theme of this year is #NoBoyfriend2026. After careful deliberation I have decided that she is right—let’s spend a year without a boyfriend! The rules are simple: you can flirt with, kiss, or hook up with whoever you want. We’ll even allow you to get a girlfriend/partner. Just no boyfriend, and certainly no situationship that is essentially a boyfriend that won’t commit! The mentality of #NoBoyfriend2026 is honestly genius. I don’t know about you, but sometimes it feels like I’m so obsessed with the idea of getting into a relationship that it takes over my life. #NoBoyfriend2026 means that, when you walk into a room, you’re no longer immediately looking around to check out all the eligible bachelors. You’re free from the pressure of impressing in conversation and can truly let go and be yourself. When you go out, you instinctively prioritise having fun with your friends rather than trying to meet someone. It is completely and utterly freeing. The best part of #NoBoyfriend2026 is that you can’t lose. For example, the other day I got rejected by a guy who was in the middle of asking for my Instagram because I told him to “shut up” after he quoted Austin Butler at me. It was most certainly a humbling experience that once would’ve left me feeling embarrassed, but I left that interaction with a smile on my face. Firstly, it’s frankly hilarious that someone got so hurt by being told to shut up that they rejected me. Secondly, I didn’t even want a boyfriend anyway and clearly it wouldn’t have worked out! Rejection is no longer terrifying, as it feeds into my goal of not wanting a boyfriend. The only real way you can lose #NoBoyfriend2026 if you end up getting a shitter of a boyfriend. Therefore, it is necessary that you set your standards so ridiculously high (as you deserve) that only the best can slip through the cracks. All this to say, if you do end up getting a boyfriend in #NoBoyfriend2026, it isn’t the end of the world. As long as he’s worthy of you, here's to your budding new relationship! If you do end the year single, then you’ve achieved your goal. It’s a win-win situation! If I’m being completely honest, despite the clear logic of #NoBoyfriend2026, I deep-down still want a boyfriend. Isn’t that a horrible mentality!?! Am I not comfortable enough in my own company to accept the challenge of remaining single for the whole year? I have an incredibly fulfilling life surrounded by wonderful people PLUS I’m far too busy for a boyfriend. But I still want one and even #NoBoyfriend2026 can’t change that. I’m going to try my best to adhere to the mindset of #NoBoyfriend2026… but perhaps not the reality. Lesson: Being single is awesome so stop obsessing over relationships. It’s cringe and you are so much more than your romantic life.

TO LIVE AND DIE AT MT SMART STADIUM As Ardie Savea tackles folk in Japan, and Tana Umaga prepares to help coach the All Blacks, the plug has been pulled on Moana Pasifika. An admittedly shaky experiment in Pacific-lead rugby union has come into financial troubles to the tune of $10,000,000, leaving it unable to compete in the Super Rugby Pacific competition after this year. As a fan, it was not hard to see something like this coming—disappointing results, talent moving elsewhere, and competition in the Auckland Sporting world made the team a tough sell, and the money drying up seems to be the final blow. They have said they’re looking for investors, but who has $10,000,000 just secretly lying around? I don’t. That would be ridiculous. Obviously, our beautiful national sport is not the only important thing happening in our sea of islands, so let's journey further out and track some interesting happenings on the island of Papua. The government of Papua New Guinea and the Papua New Guinea Defence Force (PNGDF) have had an interesting relationship over the decades. The largest war in the Pacific since World War II was fought between the PNGDF and the people of Bougainville, who began a struggle against foreign mining companies that transformed into a brutal war where Bougainville sought independence from PNG. In the midst of this war, PNG Prime Minister Julius Chan attempted to use foreign mercenaries to secure a quicker victory in the hopes that it would help him in election season. $36,000,000 was needed to pay for this, with cutbacks from several ministries having to be actioned without a full-cabinet vote in order to meet that number. A blockade around Bougainville and increasingly violent tactics by the PNGDF brought the war to a crisis moment, with the Australian government’s steady stream of military support (short of boots-on-the-ground) also bringing public condemnation from internal anti-war groups. This came to head with the ‘Sandline Affair’, named after the company who supplied Julius Chan with the mercenaries. After the failure of these mercenaries to change the outcome of the war, head of the PNGDF Brigadier General Jerry Singirok publicly denounced the mercenaries' involvement. A military revolt began on March 16, 1997 that saw the mercenaries disarmed and arrested. This marked a low-point for PNG, with their war on Bougainville now also tied to a huge corruption scandal and a loss of trust from the PNGDF. While the Bougainville war has ended, the independence struggle continues, with the island of Bougainville still in talks with PNG to this day. This left the relationship between the PNG government and the PNGDF fundamentally changed, even almost thirty years after the Sandline Affair. The current Prime Minister of PNG James Marape has assumed the portfolio for defence after its previous holder, Dr Billy Joseph, has been accused of interfering with recruitment and misusing his authority over military personnel. Opposition MPs accused him of using soldiers as his own personal security and hiring several nepo-soldiers from his home district. Since then, an investigation has been launched into the allegations. Several soldiers left their post in protest after four were accused of breaking their code of conduct by releasing footage of over-aged men being recruited, and a protest by military personnel took place in Port Moresby on April 14 that involved blocking roads near the Murray Barracks. Marape has done his best to assure that those who blew the whistle on this will be protected until the investigation is complete, and it's unlikely this event could get anywhere close to the Sandline Affair. But as Bougainville independence moves forward, Australia prepares to further integrate with the PNGDF, and PNG deals with outbreaks of violence both internally and across the western border, the memories of those fateful events in the 90s are most likely at the forefront of James Marape’s mind. The other half of the island, occupied West Papua, has seen a further escalation in violence since the last issue covered the attacks in Dogiyai. According to the United Liberation Movement for West Papua (ULMWP), a refugee camp in Kembru, Puncak Regency, was attacked by the Indonesian military, starting with a bombing campaign from 4 attack helicopters at 5 a.m. on April 14. As of writing this, the ULMWP claims 9 have died, and that military actions continue to be carried out in Puncak. The Indonesian government has also deployed more security forces to Dogiyai after the civilian road-blockages were cleared, and according to Antara, “the National Police headquarters has deployed 148 personnel to Central Papua Police, including 100 paramilitary officers, 10 intelligence officers, 20 criminal investigators, 14 internal affairs officers, and four inspectors.” Indonesian Human Rights Minister Natalius Pigai has urged an investigation into the violence in Kembru, but this is not the first time these kinds of bombing campaigns have taken place in this region. As more civilians are displaced and more Indonesian soldiers are sent to these areas, it seems like there is no plan for actual peace between the indigenous peoples of West Papua and the Indonesian government.

Reading cinemas have been closed for seven years. Two generations of Vic students have started and finished undergrad only knowing a dead building in the heart of Courtney Place. At long last, that’s about to change. Reading requires earthquake strengthening, and doesn’t have the money for it. After dragging their feet for a laughably long time, they’ve finally sold it to developers PrimeProperty, who will lease it back to Reading under the moniker of “The Court.” Reading Cinemas will still be the venue’s star attraction, but it will no longer be the only thing the building is designed around. That said, PrimeProperty Development Manager Guy Aharoni is happy to admit the name change is partially because “The Court” sounds better than “Reading Cinemas 2.0.” It’s a refurbishment and a refreshment, but not a rethink. There will be some tweaks, though. One is to let more natural light into the building. There will be a large new entrance on the Wakefield Street side of The Court, allowing light to filter through. This is because Prime’s goal is to make The Court an all-day destination, rather than something more evening-focused. PrimeProperty is negotiating with potential tenants with an eye for establishments open at most hours. Aharoni says the aim is to get some bigger ticket tenants first, then work around them. “You build around the bigger tenancies because there are more constraints with them, and the smaller operators get what's left over,” said Aharoni. “Because if someone's got an idea which takes up a quarter of the floor, then presumably they'll be paying a lot more to take up said space. The more you take, the less there is available for somewhere else.” “So we're trying to have the right tenant mix to both complement the cinema and have a venue which people go to throughout the day and evening.” Given the sheer number of hospitality and retail outlets which have closed in Wellington over the past few years, one could be forgiven for expecting tepid interest. While admitting how interest could be better, Aharoni says they are still fielding plenty of inquiries. “My ideal scenario is to draw in some brands and operators that we don't have in Wellington. But it's a little bit more challenging in this current economic climate. We'll see how it all pans out.” A big part of the anguish over the loss of Reading was how it was a third space. You could go there and exist in the bottom-floor communal area without spending any money. The only other major third space in Wellington was the city library, which closed at 7pm. Aharoni says that aspect will be coming back, though its size may be reduced. “We do have a communal space in the centre in the current plans. It's not so much a food court because that’s a bit of a dated concept, but we do have a similar sort of communal area in the middle. “We're hoping the ground floor becomes a lot more of a destination in itself than purely a support for the cinemas.” There’s plenty of work still to do as the building is brought up to code, but the aim is for The Court to reopen in mid 2027.

Penelope Scarborough the bus stop on courtenay place knows your secrets it watches girls pop the nights like pills new world wine oh so cheap & delicious hates the way kids drop night ‘n day vapes down the back of the benches like their disposability might make the cancer less permanent feel the way the trees here are hungry for wind skeletal veins always scratching the night but it’s late now – the roads are empty the kind of night that sits rotting on your skin when you’re wide awake and your lover is not the dark swallows each unnamed body & for a moment you forget where you are – but it knows you’re there by the bus shelter bathroom passed out eyes rolling up to the dopamine of moon & stars hollow heads lolling unbalanced against bus poles and all the dead mosquitos floating around you don’t say a word don’t try to wake you so it doesn’t either. The walk home through Cuba will be lonely the moon presses its fingers into your cheeks and tells you to stay cold. you take your sweater off to feel the rain on your back and wonder if the others will still be here in the morning supermarket cigarettes I had a dream about you smoking in the supermarket you threw an apple at my chest and it split down the middle before hitting the tiles looked like my heart fell out my rib cage and rolled toward your feet you laughed & stubbed your cigarette into it The bottles in aisle three were singing out But you reminded me, you don’t drink so we stole paper cups and let muddy water leak in from the ceiling pretend-pouring wine for a forgotten anniversary You set fire to the checkout before dark stolen nicotine-patches melting into your skin then threw me the matches told me to light a candle so you could watch it all burn down beside me I woke up wondering why we never call this love but for now I’ll fall asleep in your arms again you’ll take the batteries from the smoke alarm so I can dream of you and I in another supermarket warm and grey, older and sober

Eleanor Thorpe I sit in a wooded glen tucked beneath Salamanca Terrace. Tall karaka trees surround me; kawakawa and other shrubs strain for light in the undergrowth. Tradescantia—an invasive weed and conservationist’s never-ending foe—sprawls across the forest floor. Before me, emerging from three unceremonious storm water pipes, flows Te Awa o Kumutoto. Her bank offers a kind of sanctuary, a whakatā (break) from the hectic bustle of my university day. I am only a hundred meters below campus. Above me, I hear the raucous laughter of some students heading to class. Soon I will go too. For now, I sit and recharge while Kumutoto steadily flows on. It would be obvious to say that wai māori (freshwater) is vital for life. It underpins everything: food, energy, waste, survival itself. We rely on it constantly. And yet, in Pōneke, awa are strangely absent. Where are they? And who is looking after them? The city is, in fact, threaded with some seven hundred kilometres of awa. Only about sixty kilometers remain visible in daylight. The rest—ninety-seven per cent—have been diverted, buried, or culverted. We still use them—they are exploited for drainage—but we have hidden them from view. We rely on awa to faithfully carry on flowing, yet to most of us they areforgotten. In te ao Māori, wai māori is not a “resource.” Awa are tūpuna to be respected and cared for. Awa are integral to whakapapa, to identity. Their significance is demonstrated in the whakataukī “Ko au te awa, ko te awa ko au. I am the river, the river is me.” The colonial imposition of pākehā systems bulldozed through this understanding. Te Awa o Kumutoto is one of the many awa in Pōneke. Her story is one of resilience in the face of change and damage. Once a long-flowing, life-sustaining awa, she now lies mostly buried. Sitting here, I try to imagine what Kumutoto was like two hundred years ago. Her course is shaped by the Wellington fault. She ran for two kilometers—from Pukehinau Ridge (just above what is now Victoria University), down through the valley (where cars now zoom through the Terrace Tunnel), before turning right and emptying into the harbour. Rimu, tōtara and hīnau rose high along her banks. The forests would’ve housed an orchestra of birds: the screeches of kākā, peeps of pīwakawaka, laughter of tīeke. Tuna, kōura and other ika would have glided in her clear waters, slipping between stones and roots, the nooks and crannies of the forest stream bed. To understand what changed, you have to understand the settlement of Pōneke. In the 1820s, following conflict from the Musket Wars, Ngāti Mutunga, Ngāti Tama, and Te Ātiawa migrated south from Taranaki, settling across the Kāpiti coast and into Pōneke. By the late 1820s, Ngāti Ira had relinquished ahi kā in the area, seeking refuge with Ngāti Kahungunu to the east. In the following years, flourishing pā and kāinga (fortified and unfortified villages) were established around the harbour. Wiremu Piti Pōmare of Ngāti Mutunga established Kumutoto Pā in 1824. Māra kai (gardens) grew along her stream banks. The harbour became a hub of trade. From 1831 to 1835, Kumutoto sat at the center of a prosperous flax trade. In 1835, Ngāti Mutunga migrated to the Chatham Islands, passing ahi kā to Te Ātiawa. Kumutoto also held a birthing stone in her waters—a place of deep cultural significance. Her name reflects this: Kumu, ‘from behind’, toto, ‘to bleed’. Women and children would come from Te Aro and Pipitea Pā to bathe in her waters. Then, abruptly, everything changed. In 1839, the New Zealand Company ship Tory docked in the harbour. Shortly after, the Port Nicholson Deed of Purchase was signed—a document riddled with mistranslations and misunderstandings, facilitated in part by the trader Dicky Barrett. Settlers began to arrive. A town—Britannia—was established at Pito‑one, only to be abandoned after flooding forced relocation across the harbour in the Lambton area. This land, already occupied and cultivated by Māori, was taken. Those living there were displaced by the settlers. Early pākehā settlements mirrored cramped British industrial cities—dense, disease ridden, and unplanned. Waste systems were rudimentary or nonexistent. Awa became drains, absorbing sewage, dead animals, and waste. Unsurprisingly, disease spread quickly. By 1870, no urban stream in Pōneke was considered safe to drink from. In 1879 alone, seventy-five deaths were attributed to sewage contamination. In less than a generation, Te Awa o Kumutoto had been transformed from a source of life into a carrier of disease. In 1866, Kumutoto became the first awa in Pōneke to be culverted. Slowly, section by section, she was buried beneath the growing city. Today, of her original two-kilometre journey, less than a hundred metres remains above ground. And so we return to the present. It is now 2026. Nearly two centuries later, I sit at her bank. Sunlight scatters across her surface. Three juvenile kōkopu dart between the stones, flashing silver as they move. Despite everything she has endured, Kumutoto still flows. That is her story, so why am I here? What connection do I have with Kumutoto? I am Pākehā, I don’t whakapapa to Kumutoto. My ancestors were part of the colonial system that reshaped this land. And yet, sitting here, I find connection. Peace. I have been coming here for a year and a half. Like many, I moved to Pōneke to study. At first, I knew nothing about Kumutoto, the story of our city’s water, or colonial settlement. In those early months, I felt uprooted. Uncertain. About university, about belonging, about whether I could do this at all. But I was here, and I had to step into the current. Six months into my time at Te Herenga Waka, I found the Kumutoto Restoration Project. I still remember my first working bee. I arrived late. Having run the whole way, I was flustered and nervous. But from the beginning, I was welcomed. We gathered, as we always do, in whakawhanaungatanga—introducing ourselves, sharing where we are from and why we are here. Slowly, connections form: to each other, to the place, to Kumutoto herself. Over time, something shifts in that circle. We are not just restoring a stream. We are reconnecting—to place, to time, to one another. When I left that first day, I carried something new: the beginnings of a seed of community. Since then, both the project and the people within it have grown. Together, we work to restore the mana and mauri of Te Awa o Kumutoto. In doing so, we are weaving community, resilience, and care for both the whenua and each other. Over the past eighteen months, we have successfully pushed back tones of tradescantia and other invasive weeds, planted several hundred trees, and established regular traplines and bird-count stations. In the coming year, we plan to plant more than 2,500 natives, and host many more working bees and community events. Thanks to the amazing work of Dr Dennis Ngawhare, Kumutoto was recognised as a ‘wahi tūpuna’ by the Heritage Foundation last year. As our project continues to grow, we meet new people, new opportunities. What grounds me in the kaupapa and brings me back every week is our growing community of awesome people. These people show me what caring looks like, how to build community. They show me what it means to stand up and take action, turn up and be the change you want to see in your community. So as I sit along her banks today, amidst the turmoil of the world—violence, awful wars, greed, destruction of life—I look to Kumutoto for grounding. I remember the whakatauākī written for us by project lead Martin Andrew: “Mā te awa e ārahi. Let the awa lead the way.” I don’t know what the future holds for us, for her, for anyone—but I can see the resilience Kumutoto has shown. In the face of profound harm, she keeps flowing—quietly, relentlessly. Through her persistence, she teaches us how to keep going, too. The Kumutoto Restoration Project meets on the second and fourth Saturdays of each month. From 10 a.m. to noon, we work to restore the biodiversity of the awa. Afterwards, we share homemade soup made from donated Kaibosh vegetables. Come along and get involved in the kaupapa.

GenZ Aotearoa (GZA) recently hosted its inaugural National Youth Organisation Hui in Pōneke, bringing together youth leaders from across the motu to strengthen connections and reimagine the future of advocacy. Founded in January 2024 following the election of the current government, GZA emerged to help mitigate resultant feelings of disillusionment and voicelessness among Aotearoa’s rangatahi. Since then, GZA’s focus has evolved from resistance to regeneration. Their mahi falls under three main goals; rebuilding cross-sector relationships, amplifying rangatahi voices, and building long-term infrastructure. The National Youth Organisation Hui set out to lay the groundwork for the development of this infrastructure. Lola Fisher, co-founder of GenZ Aotearoa, described the motivation behind the event: “The NYOH came from a gap that kept showing up to us in many different ways. “We saw that so many young people and their youth organisations across Aotearoa are doing powerful and necessary work, but often in isolation, without shared infrastructure or connection. “Over time that same isolation becomes a missed opportunity to build a way forward that is stronger together. “Our hui was about responding to that, trying to create space to start designing a more sustainable way of working across the sector.” As the first event of its kind in Aotearoa, the hui brought together 50 attendees representing a diverse range of youth-led organizations. It aimed to equip young advocates with practical skills, facilitate the development of a framework for the future, and—above all—foster community. Over the three days, participants heard from 16 speakers with lived-experience in youth advocacy. Discussions spanned governance essentials, effective allyship, and navigating funding. Emcees Leila Foster and Daniel Kumar also facilitated seven hours of collaborative workshops, focusing on identifying key problems in the sector and ideating a collaborative, resourced future for youth organisations in Aoteatora. In these sessions, attendees recorded their ideas and first-hand experiences across metres of butcher's paper. GZA will use these contributions to develop a four-year strategic roadmap. Plans are also underway to establish a digital collaborative network to share knowledge and strengthen connections between organizations. NYOH attendee Mia Maria, a Youth Decision Maker at Zeal Wellington, reflected on the impact of the workshops, noting her excitement to shift away from a scarcity mindset: “Regardless of a constant lack of funding, or other external support, real community looks like choosing now to focus on what we do have, and how we can share that—whether it be skills, knowledge or tangible resources—with each other to make ends meet in times of need. This is how we as a collective can succeed despite the odds.” Fisher is equally hopeful for Aotearoa’s youth advocacy sector, envisioning “a future where this work doesn’t have to start from scratch every time. I want to see knowledge carried forward and see a shift from isolation to interdependence on one another." Maria echoes this sentiment: “It’s exciting to think these are structures that future generations will inherit, rather than the unsustainable structures that consistently lead to burn out…” You can keep updated with GenZ Aotearoa’s mahi at @genzaotearoa on Instagram, or learn more about their kaupapa at genzaotearoa.org

Right. Tone shift. None of that soft, therapy-talk nonsense you’ve been getting lately—this is straight off a Speight’s cap. Your Unc is back. You’ve got a situation on your hands. You’re keen to get with someone who’s already told you exactly who they are. They’re here for a good time, not building anything serious. On top of that, there’s a 7-ish year age gap, and your mates are all saying “don’t go there.” That’s worth paying attention to. So before you do anything, cut the crap and be honest with yourself: Are you actually after a bit of fun? Or are you dressing it up as “just fun” when deep down you’re hoping it turns into something more? Because those are two very different games, and only one of them ends well. Unc’s been in the trenches. Freshly 18, thought he knew everything, got involved with someone older—looked great on paper. But here’s what you don’t clock at the time: there’s a power dynamic. They’ve done more, seen more, know how this goes. Meanwhile you’re still figuring out how to set boundaries without folding. Saying “nah” doesn’t come as easy as you think—especially when you’re a bit dazzled. So yeah—have a proper think. If you’re genuinely just after a bit of fun: No judgement. Go in with your eyes open. Keep it clean, ask when they were last tested, use protection, and—this is the big one—set your boundaries early and stick to them. Don’t get talked into anything you’re not 100% on board with. But if there’s even a hint you’re going to catch feelings: Pull the pin now. Because they’ve already told you the deal, and it doesn’t include what you’re hoping for. You don’t get to be surprised later when they act exactly how they said they would. And about your mates—they might not be right about everything, but they’re seeing something you might be choosing to ignore. Worth asking yourself why. End of the day, there’s nothing wrong with wanting a bit of fun. Just don’t lie to yourself about what you’re signing up for—and don’t be naive enough to think you’ll change the outcome.

Zara Boon Being mixed race is a strange experience. Not being one culture or another, being both, being neither, swinging between feeling like you belong everywhere and then that you belong nowhere. The micro aggressive comments, the racial ambiguity, the ability to blend your cultures—I could (and have) gone on for ages about it. Here's what I've settled on: there is no way to separate the two sides of my identity. I am both of them, not a cake to be split evenly. And, being a mix between white and non-white, my nationalities occasionally fight over me like a pack of feral cats. For context, I am half Pākehā and half Lebanese (whether or not I am white passing is up for debate. Airport security says no). I have been given the unique experience of being both colonised and coloniser, but those two sides come from opposite parts of the world. Being a person who qualifies as brown, white, both, neither, I've seen a large range of attitudes towards different ethnicities. One that I have noticed since moving to Aotearoa is a certain grudge against whiteness, one often originating from white people. I don't think it's unfounded, but I do think that it is misdirected. Let me be perfectly clear: in no way am I trying to erase or downplay the harm that European colonisers and settlers have done to this country, nor the privilege that comes with it. My ancestors helped to settle this land, and I have benefitted from the privilege that was given to my family through a racist government and system. I do think, however, that stewing in shame for it does not help anyone. I saw a similar sentiment arise in 2020, during the global Black Lives Matter movement. In an effort to uplift people of color, white people began to put down their culture or race. It became a common joke to insult oneself for being white. I did this to myself. I ignored the white part of my heritage for years, trying to distance myself from it out of a sense of shame. I felt that it had less to offer, that it couldn't possibly measure up to my other half that simply seemed more vibrant, better in every way. It hurt, even if I denied it. It felt as though I was saying my Kiwi family, memories, and experiences were simply lesser because they were associated with my white side. I don't know about you, but to me, deeming something worse because of race seems like the exact thing anti-racism tries to avoid. I now know that insulting yourself for something you can't control, even if that something gives you privilege, only causes more damage. Activism has never been about putting someone else down—it's always been about lifting people up. "The sins of the father are to be passed down upon the child." A lot of people interpret that saying to mean "Children will suffer on behalf of their parents, regardless of their own actions." I take it to mean "If you do not right your wrongs, future generations will have to fix the damage." It's a decently accurate way of portraying my feelings on this matter; I do not believe that I, or other white people, should have to repent for sins we did not commit. I do believe that we have a responsibility to fix what our ancestors did. Rather than dwelling on the past and constantly apologizing for something we did not do and had no control over, we must look towards the future. Do not deny the past; remember and learn from it, but don't let it be all you know. I'll put this in a hypothetical situation and engage my other side. Let's say an Israeli approached me and told me that they're against what their government is doing. I would not hate them for their nationality, nor turn my rage and hurt against them. Some part of me may want to— to find a way to expel the decades of oppression and displaced and murdered family members—but it won't do anything. If we had common interests, I'd like to speak with them about those, perhaps, rather than the atrocities being committed in my homeland. Honestly, it's not my job to keep them in check, or to make sure they're doing their job at fighting for what's right. I might call them out on their bullshit if I notice any, but I'm not here to police them. I don't mind answering questions (though that varies for each person), but I might if that's all they came to me for. It can get incredibly nuanced, but here's the base line: I don't want their constant apologies. I want action. I don't think I, or other Pākehā, should feel shame for our heritage. What we should feel is responsibility. Trying to shun or hide that facet of ethnicity gives an opportunity to shirk the responsibility. I am so incredibly proud to be Kiwi. To be a part of a country that is so beautiful and whose community looks towards a unified, better future? There's a reason I have this nationality inked into my skin. It is, once again, joined by my other side. I have a frankly endless supply of Lebanese patriotism. The flag hangs on my wall, I will talk about it at any given moment, and my camera roll is probably 70% Lebanese scenery—my friends can attest. (To anyone who's sat through a debrief of my vacations, thank you. It will happen again.) That all being said, I am well aware of its shortcomings. Lebanon is a country in which homosexuality is a crime punishable with up to six years in prison (the actual arrest rate of that is another matter). Racial inequality is rampant, with immigrants and refugees often being denied their rights. It is by no means perfect - but that is not all that it is. I am proud of Lebanon despite its shortcomings, because I know there is so much more to it than that. As is a near constant truth, the system does not represent the people. My Lebanese family are some of the most accepting people I know and have the privilege of being related to. Beirut is known for its queer community, and people of all races and cultures are welcomed into our country. Part of loving your country is wanting it to improve. Why shouldn't the same apply to New Zealand? I'm not entirely sure who this is for. My younger self, maybe, or other mixed people, or people who aren't mixed. I've spent a lot of time with these ideas rattling around in my head, and I get tired of seeing the hate and shame that saturates this world. If I could help alleviate even a tiny piece of it, I'd be more than ecstatic. This isn't a resource, this isn't a how-to-decolonise-your-mindset guide, it's just an affectionate slap upside the head to those who can get caught in their own mind. Hell, I know I do. If you've felt guilt for something out of your control before, here's me telling you to not let it eat you. I still feel some of that guilt, and it could take a long time to go away. What's important is that I don't let it control my thinking or actions. Twist that remorse and use it to do something, and that guilt will begin to fade. Shame does not spur progress. It only divides us.

You Call This Fiction, But It is More Ben Lerner’s Transcription Lest I sound like just another gay guy who heard of Ben Lerner via Lorde’s Instagram story last week (“No living writer has affected me more”, the singer wrote on April 14th), let me set the record straight by saying that actually I’ve been reading him since I was sixteen, thank you very much. Lerner was the writer that first introduced me to literary criticism (in his extraordinary monograph The Hatred of Poetry); who first made experimental fiction real to me (in his hilarious and incisive Leaving the Atocha Station); and who first introduced me to—would you believe it?—the sonnet sequence (in his ruthless, lyrical, and abstract The Lichtenberg Figures; sorry, Shakespeare!). Lerner found some real crossover success with 2019’s The Topeka School, a novel that concerns itself with 90s teenhood in the wake of Columbine, and the empty rhetoric of high school debate as it seeds, in the life and mind of its narrator, the Trump-era breakdown of public speech. The poet-turned-novelist returned to his roots with a stellar poetry collection in 2024, The Lights, which to my mind made much less of a splash, critically speaking, than it should’ve. Transcription follows The Lights quite nicely in the sense that it continues Lerner’s career-long fascination with disembodied voices, recording technology, storytelling and narrating, social histories, and aesthetic experiences. It was, however, sharpened by The Lights’ formal gesture: an alternating between prose poems fractured by the associative leaps of the lyric and lyrics overwhelmed by the discourses of reportage and scholarship native to prose. Transcription also continues Lerner’s work in a genre that’s been called by some critics “autofiction”, a portmanteau of “autobiography” and “fiction”. The narrators of Lerner’s novels tend to have quite a bit in common with their author, and they tend to comment either directly or obliquely on the artifice of fiction itself—when at one point Transcription’s unnamed narrator is asked what his daughter’s name is, you can hear Lerner shadow his reply: “I call her Eva in this book.” Pushing closer together genres which, at their surface, seem to exist far apart (prose and poetry; autobiography and fiction) is a hallmark of Lerner’s work. As his career enters its middle period its new thrill is in the intensifying of this process. “Pressure creates diamonds” is the common idiom here—but anyone who has worked a minimum-wage job can tell you that pressure also creates fractures, confusions, lies, elisions, and frustrations. Transcription puts the novel itself under pressure. Our unnamed narrator has travelled back to Providence, his uni town, to conduct the final interview with his now-ninety-year-old teacher, Thomas—a kindly avant-guardist, a beloved professor, somewhat of a child of the Frankfurt style of critical theory. But as he leaves his hotel for Thomas’, he drops his phone—inexplicably his only recording device—in the sink. The first of the novel’s three parts we read, therefore, as a reconstruction of the interview that was never recorded. The narrator walks as much into Thomas’ house as his own past, armed with only his memory. Then the novel breaks, and we resume a year or so later, at a conference, before it breaks again, and we hear from a conversation with a new interlocutor whose daughter struggles with eating. Here I wish I could tell you more about these latter parts of the triptych, but a large part of the pleasure of reading the novel is in seeing them unfold in all their resolute unexpectedness. Nonetheless my point is that, where Lerner’s earlier novels were about fractures, confusions, lies, elisions, and frustrations—but largely subsumed these to the higher ordering structures of plot, character, and narration—Transcription is more overtly experimental. And it is, in this, his least successful novel. This is primarily in the sense that it aspires beyond novelistic convention and therefore thwarts our expectations of what novels ought to be. Secondarily, while it has that aspiration, it also has extraordinarily convincing description, dramatic character work, and startling moments of syllogism. This is exemplified in this passage, where Lerner, his narrator having gone to see the hyper-realistic glass flower sculptures on display at Harvard, draws a paragraph to its conclusion in a supremely beautiful flourish: “I joked with Anisa that these must be actual plants that some conceptual artists was claiming were glass — they probably replaced them each night — but the joke masked the flowering of a new sense: I kept seeing the flowers as organic one instant and as artificial the next, a kind of duck-rabbit effect, not between things the object might represent, but between language and culture, the given and the constructed. And I carried this new way of looking, or this new hinge in my looking, outside the museum: when my sister dragged me camping, for instance, I was typically unmoved by “unspoiled” mountain views; after the glass flowers, I would see cracks in the rock face as penciled, as a history of small decisions, and then experience the view as beautiful. I could will myself to see the rose and pink of a sunset as applied in touches or stains and then revert to seeing it as natural; and so on. It was with Anisa that I first became conscious of this quiet but crucial technique, somewhere between a child’s game, a CBT exercise, and a religion. Eventually I’d call this “fiction”.” Though Transcription aspires beyond novelistic convention, there is still so much novelistic liveliness in its pages. Lerner captures so much of contemporary life in all its dissonance; our devices—phones, language, memories—that alternately connect and disconnect, locate and dislocate us. Though his purpose is not Mozart’s, which was to situate dissonances within a larger consonant scheme; to sing us back home. Transcription resembles less a contemporary novel like, for example, Sally Rooney’s Normal People, and more a contemporary novel like, for example, Sally Rooney’s Beautiful World, Where Are You? Or, to put it much more simply, I finished Transcription wanting more, feeling it partial or incomplete. Or, if I’m being kinder, feeling as though it retained that glimmer of the virtual; to paraphrase Simon Frith, those traces found in the difficult of another world in which the difficult runs clear and easy. I was still keen to hear more of the novel’s ideas, or to try and thread together more of the frayed fabric-ends that constitute what we might tentatively call its plot. It also feels—in the more literal sense of the word, holding it in my hands—wanting as an object, too. My advance copy runs only to a light 131 pages. Always leave them wanting more—I suppose that’s what they tell touring musicians, isn’t it? Still, it takes a performer of serious ability to manifest such a feeling—a feeling of evocative incompleteness—and Lerner is certainly up to the task. This new Ben Lerner book probably sucks but it’s still the best thing you’ll read until, you know, the next Ben Lerner book.

A blunt new campaign is telling Kiwi men something we’ve long avoided hearing: check your balls. Launched during Testicular Cancer awareness month, the “Lump Lottery” campaign is pushing young men to take their health seriously…with the unusual incentive of winning a brand new ute. Despite being one of the most treatable cancers, with a survival rate of 95-96% when caught early, Testicular cancer remains the most common cancer in men under 40 in Aotearoa. And many young men—especially students—don’t know how or why to check themselves. The campaign, created by Testicular Cancer NZ in partnership with JAC, attempts to normalise monthly self-checks in the same way breast checks have become routine for women. According to urologist Dr Jim Duthie, Men's health is often sidelined and more overlooked in their lives. “Men don't tend to be that good at talking about their health, but women seem to be better at it. Whereas with men, it seems like, this is a sign of weakness, it's like a badge of honor to say, "I haven't been to my GP in 10 years.”” Duthie tells me that the campaign, which leans heavily on humour and blunt messaging, will be able to break through the discomfort often stops men from engaging in their own health. The process is simple: watch a short instructional video online, perform a self-check, and answer whether you found a lump. Participants then go in the draw to win a JAC ute. The key risk group includes young men aged 14 to 30, making university students a primary audience. “From puberty onwards, it’s important to get familiar with your own anatomy and check monthly,” Duthie said. While cure rates are high, early detection significantly reduces the need for intensive treatment. In many cases, catching cancer early means a straightforward procedure and monitoring, rather than chemotherapy and in rarer cases, radiation therapy. Duthie says fear and stigma are major barriers. Many men avoid seeking help, sometimes ignoring symptoms until tumours become severe. I spoke with testicular cancer survivor Harrison Stott about his experience. He explained that while training for a marathon in Oslo, he initially thought he was dealing with chafing that persisted for weeks. It wasn’t until later that he discovered a small lump on his left testicle. A few weeks after noticing the lump, he decided to get it checked. As he described it, “there was a bit of a whirlwind” from that point on. Doctors found four cysts, and within a month, his testicle was removed. Stott emphasised how fortunate he feels that the cancer was caught early, and he strongly urges others to act quickly: “You can move fast—go to the doctor and get it checked out.” He tells me the best case scenario is there is nothing there and the doctor tells you you are fine, worst case is there is something there but at least you got it early. Now 5 years on, Stott has continued to work with other Testicular cancer survivors. As he puts it, “getting young males talking about cancer, that just doesn't happen to us, so I want to be that sort of support network and help someone out.” Among students, the issue is compounded by a “she’ll be right” culture that often downplays health concerns. Conversations between mates about medical issues, especially something as personal as testicular heath, is rare. The campaign’s humour is designed to counter that, making self-checks something that can be joked about and, more importantly, talked about. Stott was diagnosed with cancer at 28 and believes the light-hearted tone of the Lump Lottery campaign is effective. “They’ve added a joke spin on it, and I think it’s great. That’s what guys need,” he said. Beyond survival, late detection can have lasting consequences, particularly for fertility. In more advanced cases, the disease can affect sperm production and long-term reproductive health. There are also clear disparities in risk, with Māori men experiencing significantly higher rates of testicular cancer than other groups. When asked what he would say to those most at risk, Stott’s message was direct: “Get checked. It could save your life.”

Connections Answers: First Connection Car models/brands: Mercury, Jaguar, Ram, Eagl Second Connection Woodworking tools: Chisel, Plane, File, Saw Third Connection Herbs: Basil, Sage, Dill, Mint Fourth Connection Tooth/dentistry things: Crown, Bridge, Filling, Cap

Anonymous   CW: Drug use  Drugs can be fun, but they can also be a real bad time if you’re not careful.  I grew up naïve to drugs, my early impressions shaped by the anti-drug propaganda of the DARE programme. My first boyfriend was into them, which, by proximity, meant I was too. I trusted him to tell me what we were taking and what it would feel like. I never thought to ask him where he got his information—or the drugs themselves. This was fine, nothing went wrong. Until it did.  At the time, I was on SSRI anti-depressants. One day, I took DXM (dextromethorphan), a cough suppressant. I felt sick physically and mentally; I wanted to throw up, I had cold sweats, I couldn’t balance properly, and on top of that, I was floating five metres above my own body, watching myself endure this in between consciousness blackouts. I didn’t realise that I was probably experiencing serotonin syndrome, a potentially life-threatening reaction to high levels of serotonin in the body.  This was the beginning of my journey to becoming “the drug friend”. I wanted to know why this had happened and how to make sure it didn’t happen again. My interest in drugs expanded from trying them to researching them. Before trying anything new, I started looking into effects, dosage, and risks. This wasn’t easy to find. Google doesn’t like providing links to the sort of websites that have this information, and local services weren’t accessible to me at the time.  Over time, I became the person people asked. Either I knew the answer, or I knew where to find it. It was fun to have these conversations openly, sharing info like I was some esoteric wizard searching the tomes for ancient knowledge. We had more frank and open discussions about drugs, not glorifying or demonising them, creating a culture of more intentional drug use among my friends.  Later, I formalised the role—if that’s the word—by working with KnowYourStuffNZ, an organisation that provides drug checking and harm-reduction services at festivals and community clinics. Every substance-curious friend group should have a drug friend. If you’re considering taking on this prestigious title, here is some info to get you started—without all the propaganda that comes along with doing your own research in a drug prohibition world. Drug checking This is a service where trained volunteers will take a small sample of your substance and test them with reagents, a spectrometer, or both, to figure out what is in them. It’s free, legal, and anonymous.  We are so lucky to have this available and legal in New Zealand, so take advantage of it!  In Wellington, it is run by Know Your Stuff and DISC. Schedules change, so it’s worth checking their websites, but regular hours are: DISC — 223a Willis Street (next to Cumberland House)Tues-Fri: 12.00 - 2.00 p.m. and 2.30 - 7.00 p.m.Sat: 1.15-4.45 p.m. Know Your Stuff — Newtown Community CentreFirst Saturday of every month 11.00 a.m. - 2.00 p.m. Harm reduction concepts Harm reduction : This is the idea that people are going to do potentially dangerous stuff anyway, like taking drugs, so we should reduce the risk involved rather than just telling them not to do it. Dosage:  Dosage is so important, and so often I see people just take a vibes-based attitude to dosing. Getting your dose right is your first line of defence against having a bad time or a hospital visit. Get a milligram scale, know what the right dose is for the substance and your body size, and prepare your dose in advance so you don’t decide to do more when you’re not sober. When in doubt, go low and slow; you can always take more, but you can’t untake what you’ve already had. Set and setting:  Getting your set and setting right is one of the best ways to minimise the risk of having a Bad Time once you’ve got the actual drug stuff sorted.  Set refers to where you are at in yourself; are you in the right mindset, has something bad happened recently that you’ll get stuck thinking about, are you sick, tired, or on your period, are you excited or nervous?  Setting refers to where you are in your environment; are you going to be at home, a party, an event, out at town, out in nature? Is it raining, is it gonna be loud, are you gonna run into someone from work or a family member? Does the environment match the vibes of the drug, will it be over or under stimulating for you, will you feel safe?  The 6 Ps: Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Partying:  This is all about sober-you taking responsibility for making sure not-sober you has the best time possible. Have your food and water organised beforehand, know how you’re going to get home or where you can retreat to, know how long the effects of your substance will last (it can help to write the time you took them on your hand).  Tripsitter : Drugs can be mentally or emotionally intense. A tripsitter is someone you’re comfortable with who is either sober or very experienced with the drug who can help when you start stressing out. They’re there to reassure you, provide fun activities, and de-escalate when you get overwhelmed. If you’re someone who doesn’t do drugs, taking the role of tripsitter can be a great way to support your friends who do. Combination considerations : If you are taking multiple substances, things can get tricky quickly. This includes illegal drugs, medicines, and legal drugs like caffeine and alcohol. A lot of common medications, like antidepressants or ADHD medication, can have negative interactions with some drugs. Alcohol also has dangerous interactions with a lot of different drugs. Refer to the Tripsit combination chart for a quick reference, or hit up someone at KnowYourStuffNZ for a more detailed chat. Aftercare : Some drugs can have “hangovers”, often referred to as a comedown. This should be something you check as part of your planning. If your substance is known to have a comedown, make sure you’ll have time to look after yourself afterwards, stay hydrated, and give yourself some extra love.  If something goes wrong:  Learn the signs of an overdose from your substance—including alcohol! Keep an eye on your friends; if you’re concerned, do not hesitate to call an ambulance, or approach staff for help if you are at a venue or event. Be honest with medical professionals—they are there to help and any extra information could help get the right treatment faster. Medical professionals are bound to confidentiality and will not report you to the police. The exceptions to this are if you are at risk of death and refusing care, or if they think you are going to drive impaired despite being told not to; in these cases, police may be called to keep you and others safe.  Online resources New Zealand specific Knowyourstuff.nz : info on drug safety, harm reduction, and drug checking. Drugfoundation.org.nz : advocates for drug policy change and research, directory of resources for New Zealand based drug info and support services. Thelevel.org.nz : info on drug safety and harm reduction. Highalert.org.nz : early warning for dangerous substances found through drug checking. Silver Linings to Long White Clouds Facebook page: mushroom identification and community info on magic mushrooms. International Tripsit.me : detailed info on combinations between any two substances. Also offer online tripsitters. Psychonautwiki.org : Detailed info on individual drugs, including dosage and effects. Also has a lot of the nerdy pharmacology info. Erowid.org : One of the OGs. Info on drugs, including community experience reports as well as the nerdy stuff. This one is blocked on uni wifi and can be a bit difficult to navigate, so save this for when you’re ready to go deeper. Bluelight.org : Community forum on all things drugs, ranging from academic studies and drug policy to personal trip reports and peer support. Search engines and social media Google will block most drug and harm reduction information and a lot of drug harm organisations are shadow-banned or deleted on social media. If you need more information, you should search using the DuckDuckGo search engine. DuckDuckGo doesn’t track your data, take any identifying info, or suffer from the same kind of censorship as most search engines. Or just come talk to us at KnowYourStuffNZ! You can find us on Instagram, TikTok, or Bluesky, otherwise ping us through our website. XOXO, ur drug friend <3