A reprieve from secret keeping
by Misa Ngan
Perspective: Sundial at the System Garden
Get directions: 37°47’47.8″S 144°57’33.9″E
Oh, the secrets I know.
I sit perfectly positioned in the most serene garden you can imagine, a haven defined by the residents it houses. Among them are the Pure Breaths with their flourishing green tops and sky-reaching bodies. The Emeralds who spread out in luscious density and imbue this place with a dewy scent. And of course, the Chirpers, filling our home with music and liveliness, especially when they showcase their games of hide and seek amongst the rustling Garden Cushions.
It’s a site of such harmony that the Humans have made it their trading grounds — trading words of fear for comfort, recounts of experiences for connection, and promises for love. The garden’s residents participate in the exchanges too, taking the Humans’ inner jittering, and giving a blessing kiss of tranquillity in return. The most important trades, though, are when they lower their voices to whispers and let out words burdened by isolation. The wind catches these words, exchanges a stroke of relief, and passes them to me. Broken promises, forged lies, and regretted actions. Secrets cemented in my body that I will never repeat. Sometimes years pass until I see the whisperer again, but I always remember them however their looks may change, and the weight of the secrets they release here.
For the first time though, there’s a secret I must divulge. I acknowledge that a secret keeper should never repeat what they’ve heard, and for decades I have kept my duty. But I can feel this dire knowledge carving cracks in my body and darkening my direction. And so, before it erodes me, I must confide in you what I’ve heard: outside these gardens lies a dying world. A world where in places, violent rain washes out homes — homes of Humans and homes like mine. Meanwhile others become desiccated lands made barren by the Golden Majesty’s anger. Pure Breaths are being slaughtered in masses in plain sight, while under the veil of the ocean, all that lives and gives way to life suffers a slow torture – a toxic concoction brewed in insufferable heat. Smouldering fumes and a poison called ‘plastic’ infect all that breathes, but they do it slowly, and with such stealth, that the victims are unaware. And the culprits? ‘Other’ Humans.
Perhaps the reason for sharing this secret is that it’s unworthy of secrecy. Or perhaps selfishly, I am hoping that in knowing it, I can save you. And maybe, you can save us.
Fancy responding to the Sundial?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
In 2024, two pivotal changes occurred in my life. Firstly, I had the privilege of being made aware of the dangers of plastics through volunteering with AUSMAP. This discovery led me to delve further into climate change and the newfound knowledge reshaped my lifestyle, heightening my awareness of the consequences of my human actions. Secondly, I started creative writing. My first poem was shortlisted for the Dorothy Porter Award, igniting an unwavering writing habit and joyful anticipation for future pieces. The opportunity to combine these two new passions for the Nature-Human Dialogues has been a truly meaningful project.
Words from misa
I began this piece by wandering Melbourne Uni on a warm, peaceful Sunday afternoon. It had been years since I visited, and even then, the places I went as a student were limited, so I anticipated finding something new. There were many objects I considered and took photos of for reference, but the moment I stepped into the System Garden, I knew it had to be something there. Initially, I settled on the Taxodium Distichum (the grand tree outside the side entrance to the Biology building), but I wanted the perspective of a non-living object -something unaware of environmental changes. The sundial in the garden was perfect.
In the first two weeks of creating this piece, the sundial was someone who refused to believe in climate change because it couldn’t see any proof—everything around it is thriving! Unfortunately, something felt off no matter how I tweaked it, so I went back to the System Garden on a cold Wednesday morning. I was surprised by how many people gathered there, in pairs and groups, happily chatting away despite the spitting rain and breeze. That’s when the idea of a ‘word trading ground’ flourished.
Find out more
Find out more about the University of Melbourne’s System Garden here.
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