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Nasreen Lang is a social worker in WA’s health system.

Her writing focuses on being a mixed race woman of muslim background.

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FUND ISSUE 2

Finding Peace
Nasreen Lang

I recently went on a fleeting 10-day trip to Florida to say goodbye to my Khala, who had Dementia. Khala means auntie in Urdu.

You’d think a trip like that may induce inner panic over peace, but I think I once read somewhere that every so often, it’s the things we fear the most that have the capacity to set us free. I would say I was almost forced to find inner peace because life catapulted me into such a state of flux that I had to search for solid ground.

I found myself in many moments alone, confronted by the reality of what was happening and in doing so, addressing a lot of traumas from my past.

We have always been a tight knit family. My Khala, her husband and 3 kids lived next door to me as a kid in Zimbabwe. I’m an only child and Khala’s kids feel like siblings to me. My Mum and Khala have 3 brothers, but the two of them were always closest. They grew up with the ripple effect of apartheid; living in a segregated area for people of colour, in a small house with 7 people, two bedrooms, and one toilet located 100 metres outside. Their Dad died when they were teenagers. The sisters were the only ones who got to finish school, and go to university. All the siblings worked and pooled their money to support each other, until eventually all married and moved into their own respective homes - they each pitched in to buy the house that my Grandmother would live and die in.

So, when things in Zimbabwe started to become difficult; naturally, Mum and Khala wanted to leave the country together. Applications were made to come to Australia, but Khala's husband also entered the “Green Card Lottery” where the US issues roughly 55,000 immigrant visas based on the results of a random drawing. They won it.

We separated in 2004. My family came to Perth, and Khala’s left for the States shortly after. It was one of the greatest heartbreaks of my entire life, and the epicentre of trauma from my adolescence.

On this trip to say goodbye to Khala, I found myself in many conversations with my cousins that were honest, emotional, and steeped in this same heartbreak, and ultimately grief, and loss. Everything in our lives felt like it had come to a head with Khala, who would be the first of the 5 siblings to die. Here’s a note from my diary on that trip:

Nothing feels the same anymore. I feel like I left my old life behind even though I only got here a week ago. I feel like I’ve changed, like I left the old version of myself in the loop I got stuck on in Dallas. When I hear myself talk it doesn’t sound the same. When I look in the mirror, I don’t look the same, even in my clothes. It feels like my life is an old life, a distant dream.

Before bed I watch old heartbreak high reruns just to hear the accents, as if that will ground me. I think what’s really happening is I’ve dissociated so far back into myself that I feel like I’m a child again. I’m a kid sitting on the couch at Khala’s house, surrounded by my cousins. But all of us aren’t kids anymore, we’ve all changed–bonded together by this old life we shared.

So maybe it’s not that I don’t recognise myself but it’s that I don’t recognise that life around me is changing or has changed already. Whatever the case. It probably won’t be me getting on that plane back to Sydney and then home in 4 days’ time. Not the me I am today, or who I was yesterday, will be tomorrow or the day after that.

But I’m not afraid of who that person will be. She may be a bit rattled, a bit worn down, but I have hope that by then she will have found some sense of resolution–with the past, and the things to come next. That is, after I touch down in Dallas and collect the other version of myself back up for the last leg home, whoever that is.

Saying goodbye, knowing it would be the final time, was one of the most difficult things I have ever done.

Everyday I made it my mission to do something meaningful with Khala. She wasn’t able to talk, or eat or drink much- but she was alert and sometimes quite lucid. One day I spent an entire afternoon watching old Bollywood movies with her. I moved between watching the movie, and just watching her. She would smile, or make a small gesture with her eyes - lots of laughing, which was the best bit.

Another morning I stood next to her playing disco tunes through my phone, she could remember the lyrics to many songs and she would quietly sing haphazardly; it ended in a dance party with my mum, Khala’s daughter & granddaughter joining in at her bedside. My favourite moment, though, was when I put an old baby video on the TV - she pointed to me on the screen, and said my name.

I did find resolution from that trip. I’d just got back. Khala was still alive in the states but had taken what would be her final turn. I was listening to Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon & Garfunkel, staring out at this incredibly blue sky on a clear day, thinking about everything in my life and in between - when the line of the song “sail on, silver girl” came on.

I had this sudden vision of my Khala in a silver sequin gown, beaming and dancing against the blue sky. And in that moment, full of tears, I let her go. Inner peace- in the most brutal, but beautiful way.

She died 3 days later.

The simple truth is that every day is a journey on its own. Some days are harder than others, some days are easier. I don’t have a linear recipe and I think that’s simply because life doesn’t work like that. But if you want to just sit in the garden, staring into the sky doing nothing other than just taking it in, that’s one way to start. And to you, Habsy, I hope you have found the ultimate peace, dancing to Abba, in your silver sequins atop the clouds, in the bluest sky of all.

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Bella Peacock is a writer and PhD student at Murdoch University.

Robin Wall Kimmerer’s book, Braiding Sweetgrass, on the teachings of plants and Potawatomi traditions has been seminal for this short essay.

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On Plants
Bella Peacock

Last week, I came downstairs to find holes in my garden where plants had been. Overnight someone had dug up three corn, four lettuces, a chilli, a sage flower and disentangled a long tomato vine from its trellis, leaving behind an arm covered in green fruit. What a strange mission: to come in the night, armed with spades, secateurs and boxes, to take mature but unripe vegetables, when seedlings are abundant in spring, and cost a few dollars at most.

The Potawatomi, an Indigenous culture from North America’s Great Lakes region, consider humans the Earth’s youngest brother, among its newest arrivals. Like anything in its youth, our species is schooled by its elders, by the trees and animals, the ocean and the mountains.

These speak not with words, but by what they do, what they offer. For Potawatomi botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer, plants have particularly special teaching – that of generosity. Consider, for instance, the artistry in how flowering plants reproduce. Without legs with which to find a mate, these beings grow bright, fragrant flowers, inviting insects and birds to land on their delicate pads. Inside the flower is an offering, sweet nectar. As the insects eat, pollen catches – in fact is magnetised – to their hairy legs. Then they fly on, carrying the plant’s reproductive system with them. And when a future flower somehow senses the pollen of its counterpart, he attaches it in place, growing from it a seed. That seed slowly encases itself in a peach, a cherry, a tomato, some tasty morsel to feed an animal so that it has energy to eventually deposit the plant’s offspring housed in a bed of fertiliser.

Western science largely frames the ‘natural world’ as indifferent and mechanistic. But this doesn’t seem like a system of indifference to me, nor to Kimmerer. I don’t know if plants like being rooted in place, that’s unanswerable. But whether this limitation is welcome or not, their response is tender and creative. These plants harness help from their fellow beings by fashioning beauty, they offer their thanks in the form of food. To put it differently, plants nourish others as a survival strategy.

I’ve been ruminating on the lessons of plants – on the grace of their responses – less because of my garden thief and more because, as a climate and energy writer, it’s becoming clear there is no path in which our future looks like our present. I doubt the changes will be at our behest, or that they will be easy and welcome. Just as with my garden thief, there are countless ways to respond to this, but our mechanisms for control are few.

Over the years, I’ve protested, pushed policies, and published hundreds of articles. These have impacted little. But in September, I stepped into a space where, for the first time, I could see actual effects. There, in this intensive permaculture design course, I saw patches where both humans and land were thriving, even as signs of collapse spread in surrounding forests and towns. How much brighter might the world be if, when faced with this existential hurdle, we responded by providing nourishment to the world around us as the fruit trees do?

Permaculture is largely seen as a gardening practice, which it is, but the gardens are really just a visible aspect. At its heart, it’s a philosophy about spending time beyond the human world, about valuing and tending to the plethora of life forms that have enabled our own. Like the Potawatomi people, Indigenous Australians, and countless others, permaculture recognises that we are but one part of a vast web of intelligences. From the weeds to the apex predators, every being has purpose, whether we understand its role or not.

To put it in the broadest strokes, humans and animals balance ecosystems, plants originate. These autotrophs hold the power to animate from the inanimate, “gathering the energy of the world and passing it along,” as Kimmerer says. In some Indigenous languages, the term for plant translates to “those who take care of us.” Humans don’t make the cherries, we only help set the conditions for fruit.

In Western Australia it might be labelled alarmist, but what we’ll eat 30 years from now is a very real question. For me, my front garden is a way to practice sustaining the life that sustains me. It’s also a way of building relationships with those around me, bonds we’ll need in the years to come.

In a way, the theft did forge a relationship. That person, or people, will pass by our garden differently now. Perhaps my thief has another lesson too: that it’s unrealistic to expect I’ll always be able to dictate my terms of sharing. Everything beyond my skin isn’t really mine. It’s a gift, and can disappear.

I don’t know if my thief was driven by desperation or entitlement or kleptomania, or if they’ll come again. But they did open up space in my crowded beds, and new plants are growing there now.

I do hope they transplanted the tomatoes and corn carefully though, that they took enough soil to preserve the roots. Mostly, I hope they pay attention to those plants – close enough to hear what they’re saying.

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Elliot Stewart is a snack, show, and film enthusiast.

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Three Reccys: Shows You Might Wanna Watch
Elliot Stewart

Mr Inbetween
It follows the character nicknamed Magician, THE man who makes problems disappear. Despite being excellent at making problems disappear for criminals, he struggles with family and relationship problems. This Australian series was a surprise hit with me. A mixture of dark themes mixed with a little dark humour to lighten the load and keep me afloat and watching till the end.

Copenhagen cowboy
I know this is probably going to be a show not many people will watch let alone enjoy but I've chosen it anyway. Not much character development or plot that makes a whole lot of sense so if that's your thing then probably not the show for you. But, and a big but is that if you can enjoy a series for the visuals then this is worth checking out. The shots look like renaissance paintings but instead of nobles or religious figures they're filled with various criminal underworld figures. Mainly shot at night time and heavily saturated with red or blue lighting, the scenes appealed to the inner moth in me. If you dabble in a little weirdness, want to see a little elf-like woman kick some ass, enjoy a series with your eyes and not have to think too hard about plot twists then this might be the one for you!

Beef
This was a pretty hyped show but in my opinion definitely worth it. All the characters seem like petty assholes at first, and they kind of stayed petty assholes for most of the series but you see them as a bit more of a flawed person who has made some bad choices. By the end of the series I did grow to like the characters although I probably wouldn't be friends with any of them. The enjoyment for me was that in the big world full of many different people you have one massive asshole in conflict with the other to see who will be crowned king or queen of the petty assholes. This led to some really funny interactions and whoa shit I didn't expect those moments. Besides that it was refreshing to see a big hit show written and starring a mainly Asian American cast. Some really funny moments and a satisfying end to the season made it a fun show to watch.

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Sophie Johnston is the Sommelier for the State Buildings in Perth/Boorloo.

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FUND ISSUE 2

Three Reccys: Wines to Enjoy
Sophie Johnston

Quinta da Pedra Alta 'Pedra a Pedra' Branco 2022, Douro Valley, Portugal

This wine is my kind of wine. It's the most refreshing thing I can think to consume at the end of a long shift when I'm at my most dehydrated (both physically and mentally). It's a big citrus bomb of wine - loads of fresh lemon, grapefruit pith and finger lime - and that high acid is exactly the thing to rehydrate your palate. But it's not some thin and wispy white that you'll forget about as soon as your glass is empty. There's a lot of beautiful chalky texture on the palate, a bit of crushed sage and crunchy fennel to bring herbaceous interest. It's borderline vermouth-y in that respect. Table wine from Portugal is unusual to see here in Perth so it has that added bonus of being a little elusive and cool. A blend of two indigenous white grapes Rabigato and Gouveio that do their job just magnificently.

Produttori del Barbaresco Langhe Nebbiolo 2022, Piemonte, Italy

The running theme through my taste in wine is acid. Always high acid and Nebbiolo has it in spades. I tend to go for Langhe Nebb because I can afford it and because it's made to be opened up and enjoyed early. Barbaresco and Barolos can live forever in your cellar, we need something to drink now! Produttori del Barbaresco is a co-operative of 50 families in the region and their collective vines cover over 100 hectares. They are mostly known for the nine single vineyard expressions under the Barbaresco DOCG classification. The trick is, the fruit that goes into this wine still comes from those highly regarded sites - a 'baby Barbaresco', if you will. The vines are generally younger and maybe lower down on the slope but no less cared for and adored. Inside the bottle the wine is pretty and lifted with dark cherry, tart plum skins, roses and dying flowers, the sweetness of a ripe strawberry is matched with dark licorice depth. There's a slight grip of tannin without the big boy toughness that Nebbiolo can bring and a long line of acid that I'm looking for.

Corymbia Cabernet Franc 2023, Margaret River, Australia

I had to include a local hero and none is more deserving. Rob and Genevieve Mann understand what it is to make wine in WA. They have vineyards in Margs and the Swan Valley and they make wine all over Great Southern as well. Ordinarily, the Cabernet Franc they grow will be blended with its more famous son, Cabernet Sauvignon. The 2023 vintage was just right for Cab Franc so they decided to produce this stunning single variety bottling. Ripe red fruits dominate but there's a sneaky, savoury undertone that keeps things serious and grounded. Ripe raspberry, pomegranate, blood orange rind, toasted nuts and toasted seaweed snacks. That salty, umami note is the thing that piques my curiosity and keeps me coming back for another look and there's a peppercorn spice that lingers just long enough. Super elegant, an excellent example of what Cab Franc can be and what WA can do so well. It's sold out online, but we have heaps of stock at Wine Merchant...

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Kim Issac is a co-owner of Patio Bar in Walyalup/Fremantle. Kim reflects on what it took to open his bar.

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I Did What I Said I Would Do
Kim Isaac

It is a super complicated feeling to analyse what you gain and lose from dedicating yourself to achieving one goal over a long time. To prove to yourself that you're not lying to yourself. That the outcomes you have promised are possible and that your word is sacred and strong. That you'll change your perception of yourself. Like to have this ultra hard level of expectation on yourself and think that others care in the same way that you do. It was this massive relief to shut that down. It was a satisfaction of “I did what I said I would do” and it was hard and I had to persevere and I could only do that with the person closest to me. Not the broader community, but the one directly there, the one that supported and listened and trusted and hoped and probably felt frustrated and worried and loved me. The one that I loved. So then subsequently finishing the loop, closing it and having it settle. Stepping outside of having to think about it for so much of everyday, there's a kind of a come down. A feeling that this was meant to be it to some degree and maybe it's not. Or if it is, that it is different to what you thought it would be.

So it's interesting to kind of psychologically evaluate yourself after such a mass effort and such a mass challenge that had these big internal gains and also saw the breakdown of your biggest relationship. That there's still work to do and there's still progress to make inside yourself, and although that's okay, that's fucking scary. I think I confused achieving a goal potentially with achieving purpose, kind of thinking that purpose could be achieved through accomplishment. Which maybe doesn’t work that way for me. Maybe it's an action. You know, attempting to achieve my purpose was kind of missing the point, maybe you’re meant to just live your purpose. I want to feel a sense of it and I asked the question a lot. I guess that's the question that eludes a lot of us and I'm jealous of those that have a single minded knowledge or belief in it. Probably for most of us it's love and a family of some sort and that's probably the same for me. Which is ironic because I had that.

Being single minded for so long then coming out of the other side of it felt like finally clearing a haze. I wasn't living to some of my values anymore, I know it's natural to change. I got obviously better in lots of ways. I'd developed fortitude and will and had learned things and acted in ways that would help this part of myself get to where it is. I'd lost like little parts, little things, spaces inside me. I lost a kind of a curiosity in enjoying the unknown and I resented that loss. I resented it and I loved it too I guess. I craved stability and security and I got that. I have that. But ultimately I just want and wanted to be happy. That's why most of us do anything right? And I guess deep down that search, that grind, that application, it kind of told me that I wasn't happy in some ways because that ended up being all that I had focused on and I was using it to fulfil something, not as a goal.

I have spent a lot of the last ten years trying to delineate goals, passions and purpose. It was a question I used to love asking. Somewhere it developed into a pit in my stomach when I kind of tried to work out what I was destined for or what I was meant to do. I had an unrivalled intrusive thought that was sitting at the top of my brain’s anxiety food chain. That pit is now gone and it has been replaced with inner knowledge and an OCD diagnosis haha. It turns out that I needed to stop thinking so damn much to find enough space to act on my goals. I’m happy the curiosity of the question has come back and it’s without the pressure. Think less, do more. Nothing has felt like I thought it would and I would do it all again in a heartbeat.