This is my story about the struggles of being a qualified immigrant in this country. I want to acknowledge that every migration story is different. We could have 99 things in common, but the one thing we don’t can make all the difference. As some of you know, my husband and I came from Colombia to Australia in February 2016 with the dream of improving our language skills and having better job prospects when we returned to our home country. However, we quickly became amazed by the Australian culture and slowly started to build our lives here, extending our stay visa by visa. We fell into the myth that our skills were in demand. Yes, it is true that they are, but the problem is that not everyone trusts that a qualified foreign professional will have the skills required to fulfill Australian roles. Employers ask for “Australian experience,” they doubt you when they hear the accent in your voice, and they question your degrees if they are from a university they haven’t heard of. As a mechanical engineer, most of the jobs I applied for required Australian citizenship because they were in the defence sector. This left me with very limited options. Do you know what I had to do to have my engineering degree recognised in Australia? I had to demonstrate that I had successfully completed three different projects and had shown 72 skills and 16 competencies in each of them. These ranged from technical knowledge and skills to application, ability, and professional and personal attributes. Basically, I had to show not only that I had the knowledge, but also that I knew how to apply it and interact with people in a professional setting. Even then, many Australian companies preferred to hire less qualified professionals simply because they were Australian. During almost half the time I’ve been in this country, I worked in underpaid jobs or those without many benefits. I worked in cleaning and hospitality, very late nights, sometimes overnight, and very early mornings. I had to smile and look the other way when patrons thought it was funny to mock my accent or ask if I had “things” to sell them just because I’m from Colombia. I’m fully aware that my journey is a bit different, as midway through I decided to change my career. My values, skills, and perspective of the world shifted, and I moved away from engineering. I became involved in the social enterprise community in Adelaide and connected with people who made me feel welcome. However, I had to start from the bottom again. Even though I hold a full engineering degree, a VET diploma in project management, an MBA, and a Master in Global Project Management, I still had to demonstrate almost daily that I had the right skills to be in my role. I thought this was just part of my changing career path, but it never felt right that some colleagues were trusted more simply because of their English, even though they didn’t have the same experience or education I did. So, NO!! We’re not taking your jobs. We’re working hard to live a better life and to contribute to the Australian economy: by paying huge visa application fees, paying taxes, paying for our medical bills, and paying for education that sometimes costs three times more than local fees so locals can afford their own education. And we’re working in jobs that many Australians wouldn’t do. I hesitated to share this reflection because of Australia’s recent anti-immigration marches. It is scary to feel vulnerable, and it is very sad that my recent permanent residency celebrations have been overshadowed by the reality that there is still too much hate and racism in this country. Despite the challenges, I hold deep gratitude for the life I’ve built in Australia. This country has given me the chance to find a chosen family, to connect with communities that share my values, and to live a purpose-driven life. It has offered me opportunities to grow beyond what I ever imagined, to travel and see the world with new eyes, and to embrace experiences that continue to shape who I am. For all of this, I will always be thankful. Not just luggage, these suitcases carry stories of sacrifice, ambition, and belonging. Note : This is not intended as a political statement. It simply coincides with the timing of my recent permanent residency grant, which unfortunately happened at the same time that anti-immigration marches were taking place in Australia. This is not a new issue we face as migrants, it is merely bad timing that highlights an ongoing challenge.

Recently, while transitioning between jobs, I’ve found myself reflecting deeply on my professional journey, especially on some early experiences back when I was still an engineering student.   I remember one class in particular where I was the only woman among about twenty students, most of us in our late teens or early twenties. This was in Colombia, a country that, at the time (and still today), is quite conservative politically and religiously, where traditional gender roles are still deeply rooted.   So, there I was, a young feminist woman stepping into a world designed largely by and for men. The only woman in a room full of Mechanical engineering students.   In that class, every time we had to present, the lecturer would sit and listen attentively to my male classmates near the front of the room. But whenever it was my turn to speak, he would quietly stand, walk to the back of the room, and shout: “Manuela, I can’t hear you! SPEAK UP!”   It drove me crazy. I was convinced he didn’t like me, that he was being unfair or even discriminating against me. It didn’t make sense because at all, outside of that, he was always kind, encouraging, and supportive.   AI generated One day, frustrated, I confronted him. I told him he was being rude and unfair. He laughed gently and said,   “Manuela, I’m preparing you for the real world. In a male-dominated field, you’ll sometimes have to raise your voice to be heard. I was just waiting to see how long it would take you to stand up for yourself.”   This was an eye-opener; I learned to appreciate the lesson behind his actions, and our relationship improved.   In another class, the lecturer had an insistence on challenging language norms. Spanish, as you may know, is a gendered language; we have ellas for “they (feminine)” and ellos for “they (masculine or mixed),” with the masculine form used as the default. My male lecturer never agreed with that. So, whenever I was in class, he would deliberately use the feminine form,  calling everyone ellas, “girls,” or some variation of it.   At the time, I thought it was hilarious, especially because my male classmates would get so upset and blame me (not the professor) for it. But looking back, it was another subtle way of making a point: representation matters, and sometimes, small gestures can shift perspectives.   I didn’t fully appreciate those lessons until much later when, in professional settings, I had to literally raise my voice to be heard or noticed how uncomfortable some people became when a woman confidently shared instructions or opinions.   My message today is simple:   If you’re a woman: look out for yourself, but remember you’re not alone. Seek out those leaders who will stand beside you, advocate for you, and cheer you on.   If you’re a man: call things out when you see them. Support the women in your network. Remember, they are someone’s colleague, partner, daughter, or friend, and your support matters. You'd want someone to stand up for your daughter, wife or niece, too.   We don’t need your help! We need your allyship. Because together, we’re changing the world.

Lately, after I left a job, I’ve had lots of conversations with friends, colleagues and even strangers about the purpose of a job. And yes, although it’s true that you do a job to pay the bills, what I’ve noticed now is that for many, a job is not only a job.   I don’t have to give you statistics about the time we spend at work; we all know what the norm is for most people. So what we want, well, certainly what I want from a job and a workplace, is to be around people who enrich my life, value me, and bring joy to my day.   Every person has their own values and things that motivate them, so not everyone is looking at the same job. But what feels common is this: more and more of us are searching for work that aligns with our values, connects us to something bigger than ourselves, and allows us to thrive, not just survive.   Work without purpose can feel heavy. It can lead to disengagement, burnout, or the constant itch to look elsewhere. But when work feels purposeful, it fuels creativity, resilience, and belonging.   Personally, I’ve experienced both sides. I’ve been in roles that felt like “just a job,” and I’ve been in roles where I felt deeply connected to the bigger picture. The difference in how you show up every day, your energy, your commitment, your wellbeing; is undeniable.   And luckily for me, I’ve found a place that sees me as an asset to the organisation, where my uniqueness isn’t something they simply “accept,” but something they genuinely see as bringing value. That, to me, is what purpose at work looks like in practice.   The beautiful and challenging thing about purpose is that it’s not the same for everyone.   Some people find purpose in creating, building, or innovating. Others in helping people directly, in caring, or in teaching. For others, purpose is knowing their work provides stability for their families.   This is why workplaces can’t apply a one-size-fits-all approach. It’s also why leaders need to listen, to connect, and to help people see how their individual contributions matter.   What’s been most interesting is the conversations I’ve had with older generations. Many have questioned why I would leave a stable job and risk the uncertainty of unemployment. For themThat, stability and loyalty were the ultimate goals, my dad, for example, stayed with the same organisation for 38 years.  That was his version of success, and for him it made sense, because it meant providing for my education and securing what he saw as wellbeing for his family.   But today, the landscape looks different. Purpose, flexibility, and alignment with personal values are often weighted as heavily as security. And while stability is still important, more people are asking: At what cost?   I don’t think one way is right and the other wrong; they’re just different ways of approaching work. For me, leaving something stable but misaligned was not a failure, but a step toward building a life and career that feels more authentic.

During my whole life, I’ve been what people often call a silent leader. I never considered myself a leader, because the image I grew up with was of outspoken, loud, and sometimes aggressive leaders. I didn’t see myself in that role. However, I have always been a leader, a quiet one. One who doesn’t hold the title or receive public acknowledgment. Being part of minority groups, whether as a young woman in a male-dominated industry, or as a migrant from a non-English speaking background who looked different from most, I naturally found ways to lead. I lead by following my values, by listening, and by supporting others. Here are a few examples of how I show leadership without the formal title: 1. Speaking up when underestimated A few years ago, during my annual performance review, an executive manager who had not worked closely with me was present. Toward the end of the meeting, my direct manager asked if anyone wanted to add something. Without hesitation, the executive manager said I should “show more initiative and become more of a leader.” His tone was slightly defiant, and I believe he had underestimated my potential and skills. In that moment, I calmly listed the many projects and systems I had led and improved: Cybersecurity, Risk Management, Incident Response, and more. He was almost speechless, admitting that he hadn’t realised all of those initiatives had been led by me. It was a reminder that true leadership often goes unnoticed until someone chooses to voice it. 2. Leading change with empathy I once had the opportunity to improve and implement changes in an organisation’s risk management process. Risk management comes naturally to me, but I know that for others it can feel intimidating or overwhelming. To help, I worked alongside people as they navigated the changes. I made myself available to answer questions, reassure them when mistakes happened, and adapt the process to meet different needs, especially for neurodiverse colleagues or those less confident with technical systems. I didn’t just create a rigid process; I built one with flexibility, grounded in listening and incorporating feedback. This made the system stronger because people felt ownership of it, rather than resistance toward it. 3. Developing others’ confidence One of the junior admin team members often doubted their skills and didn’t believe they could ever be a leader. I started coaching them, little by little, to believe in themselves. When a project opportunity arose, I nominated them to take the lead, knowing it would be a great chance for them to showcase their abilities. Afterward, I guided them step by step, encouraged them to take risks, and reminded them that I was their “safety net” if things went wrong. They did an outstanding job. They leveraged their skills, earned the trust of the team, and proved to themselves what I already knew, they had leadership qualities. The whole team was proud to watch them succeed. True leadership is not our job titles That’s the kind of leader I am. I don’t need praise or global recognition. What matters to me is being trusted to do the job I was hired to do, and being acknowledged fairly when my contributions are evaluated. In all my roles, both professional and personal, I lead by example. I coach and support those around me, not by telling them what to do, but by truly listening to what they need and showing, through my actions, the different paths available. For me, leadership is not about authority it’s about creating space for others to grow, staying grounded in my values, and leading with empathy, trust, and integrity. Because in the end, the measure of leadership isn’t how loudly you speak, but how deeply your actions resonate with others.

Important note:  This reflection is based on my personal experience. I don’t believe the organisation, or the people within it, had bad intentions or set out to harm me. My values, aspirations, and needs evolved. And that workplace simply wasn’t the right place for me anymore. I had been working in the same organisation for a while, and for a long time, I was genuinely happy. I was one of the few people who didn’t mind when Mondays came around, because I looked forward to returning to work, to a place where my skills mattered and where I was trusted to do a job I deeply connected with. But things started to change. People came and went. The organisation restructured itself, again. And I found myself in a space where I no longer felt like I belonged. I tried to make it work. If you know a little about me, you’ll know that I love sharing knowledge. I don’t hoard it or keep it to myself. I’m generous with my skills and insights. So that’s what I did. I gave my best! I shared, I tried to be heard, I implemented systems and improvements that might make me want to stay. I spoke to the people who could help me find my place again: my manager, colleagues, therapist, friends. I even reached out to the EAP Services. I tried to help build a culturally safe workplace. I chose to be vulnerable and open about my struggles (spoiler alert: it backfired). I did everything I could, because I didn’t want to be the person who quit. But I knew I couldn’t keep going when someone in leadership told me I didn’t have the skills to do my job; a job that, ironically, had been created by previous leadership specifically to leverage my skills in the best possible way. It became clear for me that things weren’t going to change soon. I think there’s a kind of burnout we don’t talk about enough: emotional burnout . I didn’t leave because I couldn’t handle the workload, in fact, I kept asking for more because I wanted to be involved and contribute. I left because I was emotionally exhausted from having to constantly prove my worth, to justify the value of my work every single day. Burning quietly, fading slowly. The smoke: a feeling unspoken. Leaving was hard. Part of me felt like I had “let them win.” Like I had “given up.” And practically speaking, I was giving up the safety of a permanent job for uncertainty. But once I stepped away, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time: I could finally breathe. I felt free to rediscover myself. Bit by bit, I started to believe in myself again. I reconnected with the things that brought me joy. I felt excited about the idea of contributing my skills to a place that truly valued them. During this time, I created my own personal brand. I built a website and started writing these reflections and articles, sharing my thoughts and experiences in the hope that they might help others. (Honestly, if even one person finds comfort or clarity in these words, that’s enough for me). Even my friends noticed a difference: I was lighter, happier. I began asking for what I truly wanted. I wasn’t afraid to say no, even to jobs that some people would die for. I know I’m incredibly privileged to have been able to make this kind of decision. I understand that not everyone has the opportunity or support to leave a workplace that no longer aligns with them. I’m grateful every single day. If you’re feeling how I once felt, please reach out to the services available to you. Your GP is a good place to start. And if you’d like, feel free to reach out to me privately. I'm happy to share resources or just listen. And if you can’t  leave a place that doesn’t feel right anymore, then care for yourself in the ways you can. Go for a walk. Talk to a friend. Seek guidance. Sit with a coffee or tea. Even small moments of peace matter.

My whole life, I’ve struggled with what I used to think were just simple worries. I often wondered why other people didn’t feel the same deep concern about things that seemed so obviously risky to me. Let me draw you a picture. It’s a crisp autumn day, and we’ve decided to drive up to the Adelaide Hills to have lunch at a cozy restaurant. As soon as we arrive, my husband parks the car under a lovely shaded spot. If you’re anything like me, you’ve already guessed what’s coming. “Under the shade” means a big tree, with big branches. All I can see is one of those branches falling and crushing the car. We walk into the restaurant. There’s a beautiful fireplace crackling away, and my friends want to sit close to it. They start layering off their coats and scarves and hang everything on the backs of their chairs. Meanwhile, my brain has already run through a scenario involving the jackets catching fire, spreading to the table, and starting a blaze. Thank God it’s not summer, or I’d already be halfway through mentally managing a bushfire evacuation. All of this: the tree, the fireplace, the imaginary disasters, that’s just what my brain saw in the first two minutes. And that doesn’t even include the dozens of dangers I silently scanned for during the drive. People would talk to me, and I’d nod and smile with rehearsed replies, all while mentally assessing, avoiding, and reacting to every perceived threat in the environment. It was exhausting! A quiet fire. A tree in the wind. To some, just scenery, to me, a lesson in seeing risk where others don’t For years, I got frustrated with others for “making” me feel this way. But eventually, I learned the truth: it wasn’t them. It was me. I have anxiety. Naming it has been liberating. And being open about it has allowed me to take control. I ask my husband to park in a safer spot, even if it means coming back to a very hot car. I gently ask my friends to move their jackets to a safer place. That awareness, paired with the ability to calmly act on it, has been transformative. And, unexpectedly, it has become one of my greatest strengths. In my previous role, I was responsible for overseeing risk management operations in a school setting. It was a natural fit. I could see the things others might miss, the small cracks, the loose ends, the gaps in systems, and I knew how to close them. I made it clear to my colleagues that risk awareness was something that came instinctively to me, not from a place of paranoia, but from a genuine drive to protect people and ensure things ran smoothly. I used that awareness to support my team in building systems that were compliant and  manageable. I didn’t want to create a culture of fear. I wanted to create a culture of preparedness, one where people felt supported, not overwhelmed, by policies and processes. Now, as I continue my career in people-focused roles, whether in HR, operations, or compliance, I bring this lens with me. I use it to create safer workplaces, to foresee challenges before they escalate, and to build thoughtful procedures that actually work for the people using them. So, if you’ve ever felt like your brain works a little differently, that you see too much, worry too much, care too much, maybe it’s worth looking at that again. Maybe what feels like a struggle now is actually your superpower, waiting to be understood, shaped, and shared.

After weeks of intensive job applications, I’m tired of talking myself up. Tired of trying to convince recruiters and organisations I admire that I’m good enough and that I have the skills, the experience, and the mindset to be a valuable addition to their team. I’ve never been someone who brags about her knowledge or achievements. It’s just not in my nature, and it’s never felt comfortable. I do things because they feel right. I let my actions and decisions speak for themselves. But today, this is a small moment of bragging  about something I’m incredibly proud of (and, yes, still a bit uncomfortable sharing). In these recent weeks of reflection, I realised that since I began my schooling journey back in the early '90s, 2024 was the only year I didn’t complete a formal course . Sure, I took part in several professional development workshops, all very valuable, but for me, if it doesn’t last at least a month, I don’t count it as a "real course." This image was created with AI, but the story behind it is 100% mine. So here’s a little glimpse into my learning journey: 📚 After high school, I studied Mechanical Engineering , where I gained not only technical skills but also resilience. Being the only woman in many of my classes shaped how I speak up, how I listen, and how I lead. 📚 I then completed a 3-month Project Management course , which introduced me to the world of structured planning and execution. 📚 In 2016, I moved to Australia and studied English (ESL) . It wasn’t just about the language. It was a cultural immersion that taught me about Australia, and about the many people from around the world I shared that classroom with. 📚 I followed that with a Diploma in Project Management , and later, a Dual Master’s  in Project Management  and Business Administration , completed in 2019. 📚 During the pandemic in 2020, I took a course called "Doing Gender and Why It Matters" , where I explored intersectionality, identity, and systemic inequality. It opened my eyes to the power dynamics embedded in our everyday lives, lessons I carry with me into every workplace and conversation. 📚 In the years that followed, I completed short courses in Psychology  and Theology , simply out of personal interest. I didn’t add them to my CV because they weren’t career moves, they were heart moves. 📚 As I began to focus more on HR in my professional life, I completed an Introduction to Human Resources  course in 2023. I even studied while on holiday, visiting my family for the first time in eight years. Yes, I was that person doing homework at the airport and during the 14+ hours of the flight. There have been pauses in between, but never as long as 2024 . That year, I didn’t complete any short- or long-term courses. And while that pause was necessary, it also felt unfamiliar. That break is now over. I’ve recently enrolled in a Diploma of Human Resource Management , aligning with my hands-on experience and deepening my knowledge in the field I want to continue growing in. I’ve always believed that education is something no one can take away from you . I’ve said this in interviews, in conversations with friends, and in quiet moments with myself. When everything else is uncertain, your knowledge remains. I will always stand by this, and I will always prioritise learning, in any form it comes. All this learning has shaped the way I think and see the world. I’ve reinvented myself more than once. I’ve drifted away from the person I once pretended to be, and I’ve found a way to integrate all those experiences into the woman and professional I am today. I hope that this new course gives me more tools to grow and to discover an even better version of myself

Over the past six months, I’ve applied for over 70 roles. That number may sound high, especially because I’ve been intentional and selective about the opportunities I pursue. I’m in a privileged position where I don’t have to apply for just any job. I’m seeking a role where I can truly contribute, grow, and align with an organisation’s values and purpose, and I recognise that not everyone is able to do this. Yet, despite my focus, the return rate has been disheartening. Fewer than 5% of my applications have progressed to the next stage, and only about half have resulted in any response at all. Most of those have included the feared “unfortunately” line. It hasn’t been easy. Each rejection carries weight, and over time, they’ve accumulated into moments of self-doubt. I’ve found myself questioning my worth, wondering if my skills are still relevant, or if my aspirations are simply too far from reach. The classic signs of impostor syndrome have crawled in, especially as someone transitioning careers, as a migrant, and as a woman navigating new professional spaces. But here’s what I remind myself: I made this decision to step away from my previous role knowing it wouldn’t be an easy path. I knew that choosing to pursue work that aligns with my values, work that is people-centred, purposeful, and growth-oriented, would take time. And I also knew that I didn’t want to settle for just any job that paid the bills. I’m searching for the right fit, and that process often includes more “no’s” than “yeses.” What’s kept me going has been both: the clarity of my goals, and the support of the people who see me for who I am and what I bring. Former colleagues, leaders, and peers have reached out during this time, reminding me of the impact I’ve had on their work, teams, or projects. They’ve reminded me that while I may be in a quieter moment of transition, I’m still the same professional who delivers, who cares, and who uplifts others. I may not be loud. I may carry my accent. And my resume might not follow a linear path. But I bring resilience, global experience, cross-disciplinary knowledge, and an unwavering belief that people and culture sit at the heart of sustainable, impactful work. The road may be unclear, but rejection isn’t a measure of your worth. Keep going. If you’re in a similar season, waiting, wondering, hoping, I want to share a few reminders that have grounded me: Rejection is not a reflection of your worth.  Sometimes it's about timing, internal candidates, or business priorities. Don’t let it rewrite your story. You don’t have to be everything for everyone.  Focus on alignment, not just fit. The right place will recognise the value of what you bring. Let others remind you who you are.  When you forget your strengths, let the people you've impacted mirror them back to you. Your values are your compass.  When things feel unclear, they will guide your next right step. I’m still in the middle of this journey. But I share this to be transparent about what the in-between looks like. Not every chapter is about achieving, landing, or succeeding. Some chapters are about staying true to your path, even when it’s steep. Especially when it’s steep. I’ll keep walking, even slowly, toward work that matters.

Growing up, I was never the type to join many extracurricular activities, especially not physical or performance-based ones. While others were on stage or playing sports, I was happiest curled up with a book or deep into a documentary. I guess you could say I was your classic nerd. And I wore that badge proudly! When I moved to Australia, life became even more focused. Studying, working multiple jobs, and settling into a new country left little time for hobbies. My days were full, and I was proud to be supporting myself, alongside my loving and supportive partner, who was always there to cheer me on. Eventually, things stabilised. I found a secure job, had weekends free, and suddenly… there was space. For the first time in years, I had time, lots of time. But what do you do when you finally have time, and no idea how to spend it? So I experimented. I tried the gym, running, and bouldering, each one a step outside my comfort zone. Then I found trapeze. Something about it sparked joy. My inner child lit up at the thought of flying through the air, imagining I was performing with Cirque du Soleil. And just like that, I signed up for a class. What I didn’t expect was how much this new hobby would teach me, not just physically, but professionally and personally. Trapeze has challenged me in ways that no textbook ever could. For most of my life, learning came relatively easily. I could read, absorb, analyse, problem-solve and replicate. If my brain could understand something, my body usually followed. But trapeze? My brain knew exactly what to do, and my body? It said, “Nope!” That disconnect was humbling. And exactly what I needed. Learning trapeze (and aerial silks) has helped me reconnect with what it feels like to be a beginner. To feel frustration, self-doubt, and fear, and to keep showing up anyway. It’s taught me patience. Not just with myself, but with others. I’ve come to appreciate how different forms of intelligence, physical, emotional, and intuitive, play out in all areas of life, including the workplace. It reminded me how essential it is to let go of control , to trust the process, and to laugh when I fall (literally and figuratively). It’s strengthened my body, yes, but even more so, it’s strengthened my resilience. It’s given me insight into how we grow not just through knowledge, but through experience, discomfort, and trying again. So now, when I talk about professional development or personal growth, I think about trapeze. I think about showing up, even when it’s hard. I think about giving myself, and others, permission to struggle, to be awkward, to be new at something. Because that’s where growth lives. And every now and then, when I’m hanging from the bar and silks, swinging through the air with a grin on my face, I smile at the version of me who thought she was “just a nerd.” She had no idea how high she could fly. This is me, performing in the Adelaide Fringe 2025

In my journey from engineering into human resources, I once thought I was leaving project thinking behind. But I quickly realised that my background in project management became one of the most valuable assets I brought into HR. In both fields, we work with people, processes, and outcomes. Applying project frameworks to HR tasks, like onboarding, compliance tracking, or cultural initiatives, has helped me bring clarity, accountability, and consistency to teams and systems. But it also works in the other direction. When we begin to see that the backbone of every successful project is its people, and we treat them with empathy, compassion, and care, we unlock better outcomes. That’s not a radical idea. It’s something we should expect and embed in every workplace. Project thinking doesn’t eliminate flexibility. It creates a strong, supportive foundation where people can grow with direction, autonomy, and confidence.

Three years ago, I shared a reflection that continues to resonate deeply with me. While time has passed, the message and the values behind it, remain just as meaningful in today’s context. As I revisit these words, I’m reminded of the importance of Climate Change. Yesterday I finally finish this book. I say finally because it took me longer than usual to finish a book as I needed to do a lot of self-reflection. See, I’m passionate about sustainability, I do everything I can to reduce my carbon footprint, but I don’t talk much about it. I remember how boring it is to listen people talk about scientific facts on how we’re “killing the planet”. This book was confronting and I learned that we need to have those difficult conversations but in a different way. Rebecca Huntley talks about #ClimateChange through emotions - love, hope, anger, grief, … - this way we connect with people and their “objects of care”. I encourage you to read it so we can start changing the world together. In the meantime, I’ll keep continue supporting young people in their sustainable journey while working towards finding new opportunities in the green industry in South Australia. Let’s talk about Climate Change from the heart!