I just watched Van Diemen’s Land for the second time, and when they killed the young one, it hit me that it’s been over fifty years since I’ve truly felt that raw mix of hunger—real, gnawing hunger—along with fear and loneliness.
It made me think about how few people might really grasp just how tough it was to live on the fringes, trying to survive in a place where hostility seemed to hang in the air. I wonder if anyone really understands how hard it was to fringe dwell in a nation of haters.
Plastic materials are ubiquitous in modern society, and everyday products such as cutting boards, clothing, and cleaning sponges can expose individuals to microplastics, which are plastic particles with micrometer-scale dimensions.
Recent research indicates that chewing gum may also be a source of microplastic exposure. In a pilot study, investigators identified the release of hundreds to thousands of microplastics per piece of gum into saliva, raising concerns about potential ingestion. Chewing gum is composed of a rubbery base, sweeteners, flavorings, and various additives.
Natural gum products utilize plant-based polymers, such as chicle or tree sap, to achieve suitable texture, while synthetic variants employ petroleum-derived polymer bases. Contrary to initial expectations, both synthetic and natural chewing gums were found to release comparable quantities of microplastics and contained similar polymer types, including polyolefins, polyethylene terephthalate, polyacrylamides, and polystyrene.
Polyolefins—such as polyethylene and polypropylene—were the most prevalent polymers detected in both categories of gum.
I’m not sure how I ended up coming home with this thing called a boomerang. I was disappointed by its tacky look. Despite what others thought, it seemed like a mass-produced piece of junk made from a board, with no traditional markings or signs of fireside attunement.
It was a fake—perfectly symmetrical, unlike the boomerang I remembered holding years ago. This one had “Australia” burned into it with an electric wood engraver, a common tool, like an electric fry pan. When I threw it that day, it didn’t come back. I felt disappointed, still depressed, still scared, and still lonely.
It did break, though—along a glue line, if I recall correctly. I also remember my father’s words, which made me go fetch it from over the fence. That only left me feeling more disenfranchised. I threw it away, never to be spoken of again.