You Are Here: A Love Letter to MQU Village


Words || Masumi Parmar

Before anything else, I just want to say thank you.

Thank you for being so convenient, even with your overpriced vending machines and expensive laundry services.

Thank you for being just close enough to university, and even closer to the gym (as if I ever made use of that), that if I really wanted to, I could wake up 20 minutes before class started and still make it on time.

Thank you for housing other remarkable people who ended up becoming my home away from home.


If I ever felt like I didn’t know anyone in Sydney, and that I was sad and alone, all I had to do was take a walk through the Village. I’d be able to share smiles and nods with random other people that I recognised from the party the night before or the getty at the admin a week ago.

There were people everywhere.

I made friends easily; friendships that started from convenience but ended up lasting years.

Not to mention the fact that Wi-Fi, electricity and water were included in our rent.

Truly a blessing.  

It’s been beautiful but as all letters go, we start with our happy times.

And then we need to come to the core of it: the reasons why we had to break up.

I hate to say this, but it started with your colour scheme.

Orange and grey? Really? I do wish you’d thought that one through.

The lack of windows is concerning, too – you felt like a tiny cell at the best of times.

Every morning I’d wake up and let the light shine through my room. I’d walk downstairs, say hello to our spider friends (the ones that weren’t kicked out, no matter how many times I lodged a complaint on you) and just sit outside for a few minutes.

I’d bask in the sunlight for a few minutes, before the creepy crawlies came to say hello and my neighbours started blasting music at 9am, signalling to everyone that they were awake.

Upon going back inside, more often than not a little bird would catch my eye and so I’d run back inside to grab those nasty ends of the loaf (which I never really eat anyways).

The amount of wildlife I saw during my year and bit with you was truly unforgettable. Birds flocked to you every morning, as though you were a Disney Princess.

I made friends with a little wombat one night – and by friends, I mean I stood at a safe distance on my tippy toes and waved, and it didn’t attack me. It was beautiful.

You weren’t all bad. Really, you weren’t.

The million parties were fun but fuck, if I had to sleep early that night they became the bane of my existence.

The lax security had its perks and downfalls.

It was great for my budding relationship, we had the best memories in that room. The convenience of a connected bathroom and privacy (other than the ridiculously thin walls of course) was wonderful.

But that was also thanks to the housemates I had. The ones we didn’t get to pick – who were maddeningly unfriendly?

I appreciated that too at times – at least when I got home I didn’t have to socialise. But when I needed a hand it became yet another downfall.

The lax security made it easy for creeps to follow me home. Men who would yell at me through the mosquito net and nearly break the front door knocking for attention. Loud enough for my neighbours to hear but not for security to rush over.  

It didn’t help that security took ages to show up, even when called.  But that’s a story for another time.

Aesthetically, there is little to criticise about you. You were beautiful, and I loved the view outside my home. The lush greenery, the languid lake. It helped when my mates and I needed to get out of the house to prevent our brains from feeling trapped. The magic of waking up to so much was beautiful. It’s one thing I miss the very most about you.

You were convenient and confusing. But you know what, you were a good stepping stone. I won’t forget you.