Cooper Blakemore, 2nd Year RMIT Advertising Student, President of the RMIT Christian Union

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Before I tell you why I want to be a copywriter, let me tell you about words.

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I had a strange childhood. We had a fallout shelter. I recall countless afternoons outside with my father in the hot Queensland sun, working away on it. There was always something to carry down there, or carry back up, or something to cut, or something to glue. After all that work, a single can of fruit managed to undo us. It had exceeded its shelf-life, and the juices had slowly gnawed their way through the tin. The exact date it leaked was uncertain, but in the week or so later we returned to the shelter, the juices had already spilled out on the floor. It was dangerous; sugary syrup on the floor of a dim, underground room. It was the perfect, absolutely perfect environment for a tenacious outbreak of black mould to begin.

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But you see, we did not detect it at first. It was imperceptible. It was the psychological effects which revealed it to us. Black mould: it stings the senses, burns the skin, manipulates the mind! There is paranoia and a feeling of choking! Suffocating! The air feels... unclean! The only thing you know is that you need to get outside into the fresh air, out into the daylight where the sunshine purges all wicked things, and breathe... deeply... in...and-out. I will always remember the panic and terror it filled me with.

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We spent weeks, months, trying to destroy the black mould. We couldn't be down there for long periods of time, either, or the effects would set in. This made it harder to deal with. We tried everything from manual scrubbing, to flooding the shelter with ozonation (which was so powerful, it ate away at rubber components of the shelter, but still did not vanquish the mould!) Nothing was effective. Even if we purified one section of the shelter, the mould would regenerate from its traces. We admitted that the mould had beaten us; the shelter was destroyed, permanently uninhabitable. We put a time capsule inside, and sealed-off the shelter. We poured dirt into the entrances, dropped cinder blocks on top. No human being would be able to get in without extensive excavation. No one would be in danger from the mould. The shelter was gone.

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So what is this story about? It has nothing to do with the fallout shelter. It is about the can of fruit. It's about how something that seems small can be a catalyst for enormous consequences. That is what words are. That is why I want to be a copywriter.

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Give me a pad and a pencil and I will tear down every institution and convention of modern man. I will move merchandise. I will move hearts and minds.

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I was put on this Earth to love God, to love others, and to weaponize my words.