News journalist Pip Turton voted for the first time today.
Photo by
Rechelle Zammit
News cadet journalist Pip Turton was among those younger people who voted for the first time today. She has written about what the experience was like for her.
The daunting task of voting isn’t really a concern — until election time hits.
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Suddenly, you’re swamped with pamphlets, emails, and texts.
Your internal inbox overflows with slogans and smiling politicians.
And then it hits you: no one actually taught you how to vote.
At school, there’s no class on how to decipher the world of policies, promises, and political spin.
Voting is framed as a rite of passage into adulthood, something you just figure out when the time comes.
And when it did for me, I wasn't prepared.
It’s not like I didn’t try.
I did the quizzes that match you with political parties based on your values.
I read candidate profiles.
I even went to my local electoral forum hoping to hear something that made things clearer.
But honestly? I was still left puzzled.
Everyone spoke in confident dot points and big-picture language, but I kept asking myself: How do I actually know who will follow through? Who truly represents me?
Pip Turton voting.
Photo by
Rechelle Zammit
When I arrived at the polling booth, I thought I’d quietly cast my vote and leave.
Instead, I was met with a line-up of party volunteers handing out how-to-vote cards, each one enthusiastically pointing to their preferred box on the ballot.
It felt like Year 10 careers day all over again—where you have a vague idea of what you’re interested in but still collect every flyer just in case you go blank.
I’d just been accepted past the queues.
I was handed my ballot papers thick and official.
This was it.
I was in.
I mentally recalled all the knowledge I’d gathered in the weeks leading up to this moment.
And then… I froze.
The Senate ballot was like a puzzle.
Voting above or below the line stumped me.
I knew the instructions were technically there, but so were dozens of names and logos, all squished into a sprawling paper that folded out like a roadmap.
Some names were familiar.
Some party logos caught my eye.
Was I supposed to vote with my head, my gut, or my memory?
A rush of uncertainty, a hope you’re making the right decision, and a quiet fear that you aren’t doing it “properly.”
That’s what voting for the first time felt like.
It wasn’t apathy.
It was overwhelm.
I know my vote matters.
That’s why I showed up.
But I can’t help but wonder why we leave young people to figure out something this important on their own.
If voting is a cornerstone of democracy, shouldn’t political literacy be part of our education system?
In the end, I made a choice I believe in.
I left the booth not with certainty, but with a determination to know more next time.
Because while that first vote may feel like a crash course, it’s the beginning of a lifelong responsibility — and I’m only just getting started.
