Congratulations for getting through the first semester of university. Congratulations for getting all, or most of, your assignments handed in. But most of all, congratulations for not murdering a fellow classmate during a group assignment. 

You are one sixth of the way to a degree that will change your life. Maybe you know exactly what you want to do after graduation, or maybe you are yet to figure that out. And that’s ok.

Maybe you are feeling happy, confident and more than ready to take on semester two. Or maybe you are feeling exhausted, deflated, hesitant and would prefer to sleep and eat cookie dough for the next two and a half years rather than receive a life changing degree. 

If you’re feeling like university is a waste of time, that’s ok. But don’t let those feelings take over. Have a break. Run a bath. Read a book. Go on a holiday. Do whatever you need to do to get back on track. 

This is the time that will shape the rest of your life. So no matter what happens you need to get up, dress up, show up and never give up. 

Writing for Video

Writing for video and/ or games. 

I turned this assignment into a 40 second film. To watch, please click here to view

Creative Concept: The visuals will be black and white and similar to 90's rock and roll to make cigarettes appear 'cooler' to the audience. 

Key Message: Smoking is not as bad for your health as you may think. 

Key Arguments: Lowers the risk of knee-replacement surgery, the risk of Parkinson’s disease and obesity. 

Slogan or catch phrase: Light it up 

August 28, 1963

Washington DC

Today is the day Martin Luther King is going to walk up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and promise everyone the opportunity for a life filled with freedom, equality and the pursuit of happiness. He is going to change the course of American history and demand equal opportunity to all.

Marian is standing by the pool amongst two hundred and fifty thousand others who are eager to hear what he has to say. She has tears in her eyes as she thinks back to the stories of slavery and abuse she heard from her family. They told her how their fight for freedom eventually turned into a fight for survival. They lacked nourishment and medical care which resulted in death for many African Americans, especially children. They told her how thrilled they were when Abraham Lincoln announced the Emancipation Proclamation, but it turned out to be another empty promise from America. 

Today will be different, she thinks. Today will be the day Marian and her family will start being treated as equals and not judged by the colour of their skin. The last American promise was broken, but she had a hopeful feeling in the pit of her stomach that this time would be different. 

Some time later…

She was in awe, Martin Luther King had taken Marian’s breath away.

He made everyone in the crowd, black or white, feel sorrow for those who had been at the receiving end of injustice and cruelty. They felt for the Negro slaves who are, as he so forthrightly put it, “crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination.” She believed King’s ability to use words in such a way to truly connect with an audience was an admirable trait not many people possessed, including Marian. 

She applauded the way King immediately declared the speech was going to be “a great demonstration of freedom”. This one sentence cleared any doubt in the minds of the audience as to what the speech was aiming to achieve. 

Being a child in a family which never had the opportunity for education was difficult. Marian had little in the bank of vocabulary but was stunned at how easily she understood King’s language. He managed to hold her attention for the entire duration of his speech by using clear language and a slow deliverance of words. The way his emotions came out of his mouth and into the hearts of the audience left the crowd mesmerised by his every word.

“I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation” were the words spoken from someone with genuine confidence. His choice of powerful words were intended to affect the audience in a way to encourage thought about those being treated unfairly and understand that America needed to change.

Marian admired the way King used repetition to keep all aspects of his speech carved into the minds of the audience. During his forty five minute speech, he said the inspiring ‘I have a dream’ line eight times. That one line was now engraved into her mind. She too had a dream that the monumental speech she had just witnessed would create the equality for all as it was intended to. 

Marian considers great writing to be something that remains etched in the minds of people for the rest of their lives. In fifty years it will still have the ability to bring readers to tears. In fifty years ‘I have a dream’ will still be a line that most will associate with Martin Luther King.  In fifty years this will still be known as one of the most admired speeches of all time.

One of my subjects at La Trobe, Making the News, requires us to do a live to air news production as a group. For this assignment, I am producer. I hadn't given it much thought until we first went to the Bundoora campus and I looked at the list of roles. Nothing else seemed to jump out at me, except being the 'big boss'.

Being a group leader is something I have almost no experience in. It's not something I constantly want to do nor is it something I have ever really considered. The one and only reason as to why I considered this position was because of my disgusting organisation skills.

For those that have been in my house you know exactly what I'm talking about. Apparently I'm the only person in my social circle who has a specific use for the bottom drawer in the kitchen. No, that use is not for storing 'junk', it is home to my tea towels.

My home office is organised to an apparently irritating standard. Everything is labelled, everything has a cosy place to live. It's rather handy, I never seem to lose anything. But it is also infuriating when life is going a million miles per hour and I can't keep up to my usual organisation standard.

This hasn't always been the case. Just ask my mum. She would give me something and two minutes later I would have lost it, forever. My bedroom was always a tip, nothing ever had a specific place. Most of my possessions lived on the floor in a heap that made Mt Everest look like the size of an ant.

One day, I'm not exactly sure when, something changed and I became an extremely organised grown up (gross, I know). From my labelled drawers that store first aid to the tackle box that is home to batteries, I have become some crazy lady who gives everything a place.

Most of my friends and family laugh at the extent I go to (although, they don't seem to laugh when they have a blocked nose and they can find the appropriate nasal spray in a fifth of a second due to the drawer having a pretty label with the words 'cold + flu' written on it), but I am the one laughing now because my obsessive organisation has finally payed off and is being appreciated by those in my class.

I had my first day as producer yesterday and I think it went rather well. Everyone seemed to be thankful for the effort I went to with the tables, lists, information and other various printouts I placed in colour coded folders for all in the group.

Although there are bound to be some hiccups along the road to production I am now confident in my own ability.

For the first week I was not confident at all. I was beginning to think there was someone in the group who would do a much better job than me and I was stressing that everything would turn to shit if I made a mistake. At one point I was even considering handing the job over to someone much better suited, but I decided to keep on going and prove myself wrong. And I did.

I have been thinking about whether or not I would post this story for a while. I was going to try and stay away from personal topics because I would hate nothing more than to come across as an attention seeker or a charity case. After a long hard think, I decided that I would in fact post this. Not for attention, not for a pity party and definitely not for people to treat me any differently but as a way for me to vent.

Most people only know one side to me. You know the side I’m talking about, the loud mouthed spastic who doesn’t think before she speaks. But there is a side not many people witness first hand.

Exactly twelve months ago I received the most horrible phone call I could ever imagine. The only words I can remember were, “Nat, dad has been in an accident.” I can honestly say I had never cried like that in my life. I was in a haze, I could hardly breathe and it felt like my head might combust. 

My dad had been camping and was riding the motorbike when he fell off. My nephew found him and ran to my brother saying, “We need to take pop to the hospital, he has a hole in his head."

He was placed in an induced coma and flown to the Royal Melbourne Hospital. After my hysterical crying fit I decided maybe it wasn’t that bad, maybe he just needed some stitches and antibiotics. I went to bed, but lay there for the entire night going through a mass of horrible scenarios. 

The next morning, Craig (my boyfriend at the time) drove me to Melbourne. It was the morning after the easter bunny had been and all I could think was “poor dad won’t have any easter eggs.” 

We stopped at Kmart on the way and I filled bags of supplies for dad. He had been camping, he wouldn’t have clean clothes. He had been there for three days, he might need to shave. He might get bored, I better get him a puzzle book. 

We arrived at the hospital and I pictured my dad, sitting up in a bed with a bandaid on his head and a big grin on his face. I picked up the reception phone and asked for his room number. “He’s in intensive care. Go to level two”. 

I figured there was a mistake, he wouldn’t be in intensive care. I trotted along with my bag of goodies and an easter egg under my arm. 

We got off the elevator, walked to the glass doors, pushed the little button and told the receptionist who we were there to see. 

We had to walk past eleven other beds before we got to dad. That’s eleven other people in intensive care. That’s eleven other people struggling to live. Craig stopped, I asked him why to which he replied “because thats your dad”. 

Thats not my dad. My dad doesn’t have half of his head shaved. My dad doesn’t have staples in his head. My dad doesn’t get fed by a tube in his nose. My dad doesn’t have a breathing tube down his throat. My dad doesn’t have heart monitors attached to his chest. My dad doesn’t have bruises and sores covering his body. 

Then I realised that was my dad, and I cried just as hard as I had the night before.

I sat beside him for the rest of the day, trying to wrap my head around what was happening. Eventually they told us he had to go off for more scans and that visiting hours were over. 

The next morning I was back at the hospital, sitting in a chair beside my coma induced dad. He was meant to wake up but still hadn’t. 

I’m not sure how long it took for him to wake up. Sometimes I think it was a couple of days but to be honest, it felt like he was in that coma forever. When he did eventually wake up he was not happy, nor would anyone be if they were camping one minute and the next they were laying under fluorescent lights with a tube down their throat. 

Over the next couple of days he was up and down. One day he would smile when I walked in, the next he wouldn’t even move. One day he would get up and eat in a chair, the next he wouldn’t even open his eyes. His entire body was swollen and he looked nothing like my dad. 

Eventually he was moved to the ward on the ninth floor. He had a nurse with him all day and night to make sure he didn’t wander off or fall over. He wasn’t allowed to read the newspaper, watch TV, have the lights on or have more than two visitors in his room at once. He had to rest his brain in order to recover. He knew who I was the second he woke up which made it all a little easier, but it still broke my heart every time I asked him where he was and he didn’t know. 

After a couple of weeks (that's a guess, I honestly lost track of time) he was transferred to a rehabilitation centre. He learnt how to do basic things again and he started to become more aware of what was happening around him instead of laying in his bed staring at the ceiling all day. He was allowed to have a weekend away as long as he had 24-hour supervision. I took him to his brothers house and it was great to see him out in the fresh air instead of trapped in a hospital or rehab centre. 

Eventually I heard the words I had been waiting weeks for, “your dad can go home”.

The past year has been an emotional roller coaster. There has been ups and downs, happy times and sad. I’ve lost friends, gained new ones and realised which ones mean the most. I’ve become closer to some family members and noticed how little others care. 

Even though it has been the hardest thing I have ever done, I would not have it any other way. My Dad is the most important person in my life and he will always be my number one priority. 

My likes and dislikes

Likes: 

Of all the flavours in the world there is nothing I love more than the sweet, thick, hazelnut and chocolate flavour of Nutella. Put it on my toast, pancakes or just let me at it straight from the jar. Most mornings, before I even completely wake up, there are two slices of toast in the toaster and my jar of gloriousness sitting not too far away. 

Even if I forget to feed him or I don't shower for a week and resemble a cave man Jackson always loves me unconditionally. Everyday when I get home he runs around the house, wagging his tail with a look in his eyes that makes me know I am the luckiest person in the universe. No matter how horrible my day may have been, seeing him makes it all better.   

From the smell of hay to all the different animals you can find, I just love farms. When I grow up I will have more land than I know what to do with, a house with a wrap-around veranda and enough animals that I will never go a second without a fury snuggle. 

Everyone seems to love summer. "I can't wait for shorts, tans and swimming". What a joke. Give me my bright blue onesie, rhino slippers, hot chocolate, a chunky book and a sky lit up by lightning. Winter is my heaven.

Naps with my pets after a Nutella sandwich in a thunder storm is my idea of a good time. 

Dislikes:

I can't quite put my finger on what it is about tap dancing that makes me want to commit a heinous crime but it does. I leave the room, I block my ears, I close my eyes. I'll do anything to get away from the tap tap tapping.

I know it sounds like a statement straight from the mouth of a thirteen year old brat but it's true none-the-less, I hate being told what to do. Tell me not to push that big red button and I assure you, I will. 

"It's going to be a windy one folks, better make sure you roofs on!" Thanks Daniel Gibson for yet another pointless, infuriating, bullshit weather forecast. 

If you put capsicum in my food I will not be held responsible for what may or may not happen to you and your family. I hate everything about the vegetable; the smell, the taste, the texture. Even the appearance gets my blood boiling. 

The Life of a Mint-ist. 

At first glance Ellana Haw looks like your traditional teenage university student, but she is hiding something. She is hiding something so heinous that even the closest of her friends and family are un aware of the extent of her issue. Ellana is a self-confessed mint-ist. 

Whether it be mint sauce covering a juicy piece of lamb, choc-mint ice cream in a crunchy waffle cone or the minty taste of toothpaste, anything to do with mint makes Ellana’s hands shake, knees turn to rubber and heart pound at an abnormally fast pace. 

“I’m not a weirdo, just borderline,” she admitted, with a squeamish look on her face. “It’s just that people who eat mint make me want to vomit everywhere. Instant vomit”. 

Like many Grandchildren, Ellana is an admirer of her Nan’s cooking. She used to make a delicious pasta salad that Ellana was very fond of until one day she started adding mint to the recipe. 

“I was like what the f***? You ruined it” She hissed as her face went red, recalling the awful memory. 

Life being a mint-ist is one of great difficulty, but Ellana manages quite well. Maybe one day she will be able to at least stomach the thought of the flavour but for now, she will continue carrying on a mint free life. 

“Maybe you just have to live for the small things, like being called pretty or someone picking up the pen you dropped or laughing so hard your stomach hurts. Maybe thats all that matters at the end of the day” 

-Tianna Kavanagh

I'm a strategic communication studying, hair styling, coffee drinking, Nutella spreading, mess making, virtual pinning, biography reading, cocoa popping, picture taking, bargain hunting, pet hoarding, nap obsessed twenty-two year old who wants to share the beautiful, simple things happening in my world. 

You can expect a variety of not-so-exciting posts on this blog but hopefully mashing them all together will make for a somewhat captivating read. I will mostly post about everyday things like movies that sweep me off my feet, books I get lost in, places I never want to leave and the entertaining things my pets do.