Love Letter: to the quiet heroes

I was walking back to the House after getting my lunch recently and followed an older man down Montreal Street. He was wearing a fluoro jacket, beanie and tough, worn leather boots. The back of his jacket said, ‘Parking Warden’.

Love Letter: The Teachers

I sometimes wonder about my time at school. The older I get, the more shrouded in a strange mist it appears in my mind, with me wondering, ‘Did I really spend twelve years of my life doing that?' PE lessons, projects about the planets, scales, stationary orders, clip tickets, hunting for change for tuckshop lunches, painful “talent” competitions at lunchtime, copying notes from the whiteboard, so many assemblies: I know it served a purpose, but looking back, the repetitiveness of school life seems horrendous. As a student, don’t you remember how hard it was to fathom that one day, you will be old enough to break free from the rules and structure of this institution and get to choose how you wanted to spend your day?

Love Letters: Vu Le

We’re a special type of beast, those of us working in not for profits. When I look around me at people doing what I do, I see exceptionally talented and passionate people who are trying to inch the world forward towards its natural moral arc.