In classic Filipino fashion, I publish this with a touch of tardiness. The Western just relaunched two weeks ago. I’m two months into my new digital marketing contract, and one week into turning 28 years old. It was Wednesday when I started this revised editor’s letter. It’s now Thursday Friday Saturday as I type this up on Google Docs. I had a verbose version of this draft, filled with pointless tangents that dissolved into tasteless fodder. I veto it from the Drive and start from scratch. I don’t know how much longer I could work on this — however, if I let this overstay its welcome, the draft will never get published. So here I am, airing out this dirty laundry of a re-introduction to the public.
To everyone joining us: hello, and welcome to The Western. And to those who’d been loyal to our work for the past couple years: thank you for staying with us. After a year of silence, I think we owe you all a long overdue explanation… there’s a lot to catch up on. And as The Western’s new Editor in Chief, now’s a good time to share what this platform meant to me in my writing career.
The Western launched as an online media platform back in 2018. Its original Founder and Editor in Chief, Laura Legaspi (née Ranola), was joined by then Editor Mark Mariano, and a contingent of contributors from Western Sydney: myself, Michael Furcciniti, Erin Assur, Tabitha Chapman, and many more. Our mission: “to inspire and encourage the community by creating inspiring and motivating content.” We were a dedicated hub for Western Sydney artists, spotlighting a wealth of talent hailing from the Area. From musical powerhouses PA777IENCE, gemma ylana (formerly Gemma Navarrete), and SOLLYY, to interdisciplinary creatives, including charcoal artist Kristone Capistrano, and filmmaker Herbert Leota.
I joined The Western in late 2019. At that time, I was studying my English Bachelor’s degree while working casually in retail. I hardly found the time to write outside an academic context. I didn’t write as often as I should, and at 22, my interests were still fleeting and preliminary. But every now and then, the idea of getting published would cross my mind. For once, I needed to write — not for academic grades, but for creative visibility.
After responding to The Western Instagram call-out for new writers, I was invited to their editorial team’s group chat. From there, it was full-speed ahead for my first few bylines — from published interviews with a podcast host and an award-winning educator, to short film reviews and cultural essays about being Filipino Australian. Eventually, my words narrowed down to a variety of different interests. Writing for The Western connected me to Filipino Australians in the arts; singer-songwriter Gabby Nacua, fashion designer Nicole Oliveria, playwright and arts worker Miranda Aguilar, and DJ and video director Jayyyslays, to name a few. I still follow these people today, their ongoing successes an inspiration to my own career path as a Filipina creative.
This platform also provided my early endeavours into film criticism. To review the anthology film Here Out West ahead of the public was a privilege in itself. Receiving its advanced screener offered a glimpse into what would later become my freelance pursuit today as a critic. In some ways, I’d wished we kept The Western alive over the years to cover new screen releases; including drill-powered crime drama Neverland (2022), the gritty Streets of Colour (2023), and the ABC Fresh Blood comedy miniseries Westerners (2024-2025). The hope, however, is to review these works in the coming weeks. The Area embraces its screen culture with pride and colour, and as a film critic, it’s only fair that we bring visibility to these stories.
I will admit: reading my old works on The Western has made me clock my poor writing skills. My writing was far from perfect. There were pieces that were littered with clumsily written passages, nothingburger descriptions, and questionable word choices that I wouldn’t use as a writer today. It’s common for most writers, I think, to have their own equivalent of an awkward teen phase — such writings, after all, reflect a version of ourselves that we matured from overtime. But I cannot divorce these works from my career either. The Western was foundational to my portfolio. Without it, I wouldn’t have received my first couple bylines as a writer. I express a deep gratitude for the community we built as a team, and the communities we connected with over time.
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The toughest part about The Western, however, was maintaining its longevity as a volunteer-run publication. Most of our team were either undergrads or newly graduated from university. We were flexible enough to pitch new pieces, pick up commissioned work, and file drafts in time. But as the years came, many of us found full-time commitments through permanent full-time work, freelance businesses, and even new families with lifetime partners. And with the cost of living crisis growing more rampant than ever, our priorities shifted into keeping our heads financially afloat — which, sadly, meant expending less time towards artistic avenues.
2023 marked the final year I contributed to The Western. With only myself and another member left, we were commissioned to cover Blacktown Arts’ Magnify Program through our social media channels and podcast. The production of this podcast also coincided with my new beginnings as an arts worker through a marketing internship-turned-part time contract at a film festival. Soon after, I landed a full-time gig at another festival. With my life now acclimated to the arts worker grind, my role as contributor led to a quiet departure from the Western Sydney platform, leaving only one person to keep its spirit aflame for another couple months.
The last write-up was published in August 2024 and, without a planned announcement, The Western was inactive for over a year.
Being ‘too busy’ with full-time work has become the new coup de grace on many passion-driven projects. I’ve witnessed volunteer-run platforms that were once alive and flourishing with content, now defunct and quietly dissolved into inactivity. Because of this, I hold similar reservations for The Western’s future, wondering if such a platform can operate outside a nine-to-five schedule. But I accept the challenge it presents to me. I see this relaunch as an exercise in creative commitment; a test to see whether my love for writing can be snuck in between office lunch breaks, after-work hours, and solitary homebody weekends.
Even during its inactive period, The Western was still remembered via word-of-mouth. Last year, I returned to the same festival where my internship took place, this time entering the field of publications. One of my managers happened to be a seasoned film critic, whom I used to insult (affectionately) through out-of-pocket workplace banter. During our time away from the screens, we had our chats about film writing in the office, exchanging film projects and unfinished ideas with one another. When I mentioned reviewing Here Out West in passing, he Googled my name after work and found my interview with Claire Cao, an essayist from Canley Vale and one of the co-writers attached to the anthology film.
As he told me this the next day, I politely admonished my manager for digging through my digital footprint. However, there was something affirming about having my work from The Western uncovered by someone else; to know my words found their way to new readership. What did it mean to have my work about Western Sydney read by someone outside the Area? I wasn’t too sure of its answer. But something broke the ice.
I shared more of my writing to my manager, who later encouraged me to apply to a film critic mentorship program down in Melbourne. I’d submitted my application and, a week after submissions closed, received an invitation into the program. I flew down to Melbourne for the week-intensive mentorship. It was comforting to connect with a company of critic nerds who were equally devoted to writing as a craft. Not only did the mentorship further my love for cinema — it also firmed up my perspective on criticism as a written art form.
During our final one-on-one mentoring session, my mentor and I discussed potential avenues into criticism as a career path; she was a prolific arts critic in Melbourne, while I was a burnt-out arts worker-turned-broke freelancer, so I couldn’t take this conversation for granted. At one point, I brought up Here Out West, and we both expressed differing opinions about the anthology. As I shared my more honest opinions about the anthology — its cultural achievements, alongside its shortcomings and portrayals of Sydney’s West — she responded back with “Oh, maybe that’s something you could do?”
She elaborated further: there was a potential in being a critic that spoke openly about on-screen depictions of our locals. What did it mean to speak truthfully about my experiences vs. the images that flicker across our silver screens? How often do we consider films like Here Out West an accurate representation of our livelihoods? To speak truthfully is not unique to the work of the critic — it’s something everyone embodies, especially within our ever-growing creative ecosystem.
As I flew back home, I considered my pathways. If I had to write about my local again, I needed words to excite everyone, the way words excited me as a writer.
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So why reboot The Western now? It’s simple: we need the space for everyone to write again.
I have admired The Western for providing me the opportunity to become a writer. For that, I am endlessly grateful to Laura, Mark, and everyone else on The Western team for supporting my baby steps with every byline published here. The best way to give back is to rebuild The Western as a space for writers to tell their stories and make us consider the world around us.
Writers are not only important — they are vital to our livelihoods. They produce and create the art and media we consume in our every day: music, books, films, TV shows, news, podcasts, and much more. Everywhere we go, words follow us. They possess us to think, to feel, and to call to action. How different our lives would be, then, if our media existed in the absence of words; a world without a means to communicate, to think critically, and to create.
In Mark Mariano’s interview with ETTE Media co-founder Jan Fran, the journalist comments “We need more voices from Western Sydney, not necessarily talking about Western Sydney — just talking about anything.” There’s truth to Jan’s words that I believe bears repeating here. Not only do we need a platform for Western Sydney writers — we must provide them the space to write about topics and stories that mean the most to us. We have interests that lie beyond the postcode and the Area culture, and it’s imperative for everyone — local or otherwise — to know our deepest concerns. Or, to echo our current tagline, to allow writers to speak their truth.
We are excited to bring forth this new chapter of The Western in the coming weeks and into the new year, and we hope you can join us with every step of our relaunch. As a start, we’ll be opening our doors to pitches later this month, with the hopes of publishing new, incisive work onto our platform. If you’ve always wanted to write for us, now’s the best time to gather your wildest, brightest ideas before we launch our pitch round!
Secondly, if you’ve been itching for new work from us: rest assured, I’ll be publishing some new writing in the coming weeks to grease up the gears of our new operations. I can’t give away too much on what those pieces entail. But if you’ve never read my writing before, this is perhaps the way to get acquainted with my words (or, if you can’t wait too long… feel free to explore my Milkshake website).
Lastly, for both our old and new readers: we’ll be sharing some of The Western’s best works in the past seven years on our social platforms. Believe us when we say that our platform has harnessed some memorable pieces in the past; including one contributor who’s now made a name for themselves as a cultural meme-maker… 🐒
That’s all we have for now. We thank you for being with us on our current journey and new chapter. See you real soon xo
— Nicole
