VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: The time of our lives Stimulus…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 100%: Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble…
Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble that play is imminent. Up. The moment, although it must have only been a second or two, stretches on eternally. Down. Time warps to 128 bpm, the speed of the piece “A Night in Tunisia”. First the piano, then the trombones, then the cello and finally my fellow trumpeters and I join the cacophony. We play, barreling toward that terrible, haunting and feared numeral … bar 28. My solo. Time takes no heed of my terror and continues rushing toward that bar of despair. Like that, it is upon us.
I rise and begin to play. Staccato. Characterised by quick short notes. Rising higher. Louder. Quick Fingers. Reaching Peak. The tension is released with a decrescendo, the brief quavers are replaced with long minims and semi-breves. Legato. Each long note is carried to the extremities of the ornate theatre, bathing the audience in the rich, resonant, brass sound. Although slower, this section requires much greater focus, every phrase must be meticulously placed and- there! An unavoidable break in the monotony of the music stave miraculously materializes, annotations, Mark’s annotations.
Suddenly, I’m back in my university Jazz department, sprinting down the hallway, trumpet case under my right arm, and I crash through the door labeled “Mr Knox’s Jazz Ensemble”. I babble, “Sir, I’m sorry I’m late, I was trying to find the–”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Everywhere is walking distance if you…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Sometimes, the most beautiful places in the world are in places where you least expect it. Far to the west of…
Sometimes, the most beautiful places in the world are in places where you least expect it. Far to the west of Australia, a land laid ingrained with sweeping mountains and saturated greens. Small, European huts lined the country side and the air felt like it had not been disturbed by human pollution for hundreds of years.
When you first think of America, you may think of big cities like Las Vegas, New York or even Toronto. You would not expect to find sweeping countryside with no trace of modern society. Vinland, as old norse tales once described it, felt like something else entirely. Not discovered, but encountered.
The huts, if you could call them that, were placed sparingly within the thick grass that lined the ground. You would walk across the land and feel the deep history in rooted into the land.
They did not feel as if they were placed there, but rather rose from the very ground. As you walked past them, you would be able to feel the smoke that carried out of the now crumbling chimneys, the faint smell of burning ash. The wood used, had began to be return to the earth. Its deep roots stretched across the huts digging it back into where it once rose.
Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.
Although a simple concept at first, as you delve into its real meaning reveals itself. In Vinland, everything felt as if you were not rushed at all. Everything had been waiting for you for hundreds of years. Nothing was rushed. Nothing needed to be rushed.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The prompt is writing about country,…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: The relentless chirping from the trees above pierced through the cool mid-August breeze as Meredith stepped…
The relentless chirping from the trees above pierced through the cool mid-August breeze as Meredith stepped onto the overgrown weeds beneath her feet. The whole sky was overcast, and the end of breeding season was marked by the overprotective parents cawing sharply at anyone who strayed too close to their nests. Unease settled in her chest as her pace quickened along the rigid, rocky path, avoiding the creatures above her as a muttered curse slipped under her breath.
The familiar trail evoked memories she would prefer to forget. It was long, and the years of neglect had begun to show. Behind her, her companion Peter called out for her to wait, his voice trailing as the overgrown bushes vanished around her. Within seconds, she entered a place of complete isolation—where endless amounts of dry, parchment-like flora met the barely habitable landscape, and the only thing she could see was a world of blue waters fading into the horizon.
Peter watched her patiently as she inhaled the cool, salty breeze. She stepped down, letting the sand fill the crevices in her feet. Reaching the darker area of the sand, she noticed the vast amount of scattered, mismatched rocks that lay on the surface.
The water was closer than it had been the day before.
She didn’t step forward.
Peter sat on a large beach towel close to the pathway they had just followed, watching her hesitation before signalling for her to sit with a brief tap of his hand. Minutes passed, and he wondered where they should begin while waiting patiently, allowing her to find the right words. Meredith searched longingly into the horizon, watching as the sun reflected its orange beams onto the flat water.
A strong breeze snatched her thin t-shirt, taking her back to the cool day, colder than the present. She remembered the large brown coat she had been wearing that hugged her skin, defending her from the fierce winds that began to pick up as they reached the sand that night. They had taken the same path, running down in their bare feet with a football tucked under Meredith’s left arm. Their mother was away, leaving their father to supervise the two, granting permission for their late-night adventures.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Change is unwelcome in We Have Always…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: While change is often inevitable within society, Shirely jacksons novella ‘We have always lived in the…
While change is often inevitable within society, Shirely jacksons novella ‘We have always lived in the castle’ explores how change creates a sense of fear and distraught within the community, contrastingly exploring that there can be circumstances where change can be welcomed. Jackson portrays how routine and structure is greatly preferred over changes. Reinforced by how change can often seem like an attack on an individual's routine, causing them to try to eliminate the source of change. However, Jackson depicts how change can also be adopted in circumstances where it cannot be avoided.
Jackson portrays within her novella that order and routine is essential to provide a sense of safety and control for the characters. Portrayed through the Blackwood’s reluctance to “move things” and to never have anything “off by so much as a fraction of an inch”. Jackson’s use of exaggeration by stating that nothing was more than an inch off demonstrates to the audience the level structure the Blackwoods built. Depicting how change is avoided to a greater extent, as change allows for surprises which limits the perception of control. The Blackwood estate is run on autonomy with a regular routine with Merricat going to the village every “friday [and] tuesday”. Although this is a part of her weekly schedule, she “hates” these trips as it leaves a chance for the unpredictability of the outside world. When she leaves the confines of the Blackwood Estate not everything follows the same structure or routine every time. Jackson does this to create contrast between the stable and structured life within the castle, while showcasing how change and uncertainty is looked down upon within her novella. Change is portrayed as an attack on individuals' daily life and predictability, leaving them to feel weak and unsafe. Leading to structure being viewed as a safety mechanism within the novella, with any shift to routines being avoided.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: The gift of play Stimulus:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: The Gift of Play -The best card game 25/3/26 The game of the century, the one shared millions of times around…
The Gift of Play
-The best card game 25/3/26
The game of the century, the one shared millions of times around the world, the one with all ages playing, and the one that has torn families apart. It had 171 million of copies sold by 2023, with millions of more been sold since then. Created by Merle Robbins in 1971 with the purpose of bringing those together. It is of course the game of UNO. Something I am sure everyone reading has played and if you haven’t, I have some good news for you as I’ll be explaining the true rules of the game right here. The game has been out forever, I remember playing when I was only about six or seven years old, and I’m stilling playing to this day. Comment down below the age you were when you started playing, and if you remember who originally taught you the rules. As that soul gave the gift of play for us, gave us special moments with our friends and loved ones, it was the work of our childhood that led to where we are now.
While the game does come with a simple set of instructions most people don’t follow them to the exact dot, which is what makes the game so versatile. This is especially important for young kids who are only first learning. When you were younger you couldn’t play with all the special or exaggerated rules as you are only just learning. Although, that doesn’t mean some families might have started with harder or simpler rules. However, at the end of the day, the kids were still playing the same game. Working out how other people played as you grew up lead to the new rules being formed.
When you go into the rules of UNO, they can be as straight as ruler, if that’s what your happy with. However, not all rulers are stuck being straight, some can be bendy. The simple rules are pretty much obvious, the ones everyone uses. Blue cards can be placed on blue cards, the same way red cards can be placed on red cards, that’s the simple stuff.
The rulers start to bend with how most people play; they allow any colour card can be placed on any colour regarding if they hold the same symbol. Therefore, a blue six can be placed on a yellow six as they are both the number six. This rule does allow for some pain and suffering when someone places a blue two plus on top of a green two plus so now, you’re forced to pick up four cards instead of two. However, that’s what makes the game so dramatic. It allows you to yell at your friends and family in a loving way just like how lions play fight with their family, you’re doing it out of love.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: The gift of play Stimulus:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: The Gift of Play -The best card game 25/3/26 The game of the century, the one shared millions of times around…
The Gift of Play
-The best card game 25/3/26
The game of the century, the one shared millions of times around the world, the one with all ages playing, and the one that has torn families apart. It had 171 million of copies sold by 2023 with millions of more been sold since then. Created by Merle Robbins in 1971 with the purpose of bringing those together. It is of course the game of UNO. Something I am sure everyone reading has played and if you haven’t, I have some good news for you as I’ll be explaining the true rules of the game right here. The game has been out forever, I remember playing when I was only about six or seven years old, and I’m stilling playing to this day. Comment down below the age you were when you started playing, and if you remember who originally taught you the rules. As the soul gave the gift of play for us, gave us special moments with our friends and loved ones, as playing doesn’t always have to be so serious or controlled entirely by our imagination.
While the game does come with a simple set of instructions most people don’t follow them to the exact dot, which is what makes the game so versatile. This is especially important for young kids who are only first learning. When you were younger you couldn’t play with all the special or exaggerated rules as you are only first learning. Although, that doesn’t mean some families might have started with harder or simpler rules. However, at the end of the day, the kids were still playing the same game.
When you go into the rules of UNO, they can be as straight as ruler, if that’s what your happy with. However, not all rulers are stuck being straight, some can be bendy. The simple rules are pretty much obvious, the ones everyone uses. Blue cards can be placed on blue cards, the same way red cards can be placed on red cards, that’s the simple stuff.
Moving along, most people play with the rules of any colour card can be placed on any colour regarding if they hold the same symbol, therefore a blue six can be placed on a yellow six as they are both the number six. This rule does allow for some pain and suffering when someone places a blue two plus on top of a green two plus so now, you’re forced to pick up four cards instead of two. However, that’s what makes the game so dramatic. It allows you to yell at your friends and family in a loving way just like how lions play fight with their family, you’re doing it out of love.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Draft for personal journeys, not title…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: There is a particular sound a door makes when it closes behind you. Not the slam of anger nor the familiar…
There is a particular sound a door makes when it closes behind you. Not the slam of anger nor the familiar creak of old wood, but the soft sigh of hinges, the quiet finality of something finished. I have heard that sound all too many times in my life, often long after the moment has passed. It echoes in the opportunities I noticed but didn’t take, the words that rose in my throat but never crossed my lips, and the decisions I postponed until they gently expired.
Caught in the rhythm of school life, opportunities masqueraded as choices. Subject selections, extracurriculars, pathways I could have explored. There was a time spent hovering the cursor over selection forms, mouse poised at my fingertips, as I convinced myself the decision could wait, that there would always be another chance. There usually was until there was not. By the time the forgotten subject had resurfaced, the timetable was locked. The door I might have stepped through had eased shut on its own, as if the opportunity had simply moved on without me. I told myself it didn’t matter. But disappointment always has its way of creeping back in. I found myself pressing against doors I had never even tried to open.
The pattern followed me beyond the classroom. While my friends were learning to work a cash register or froth milk, I was still perfecting my study schedule. I convinced myself I was being sensible, waiting for the “right” opportunity to balance schoolwork and casual employment. The years passed over me and the doors that I might have walked through remain closed, silently bearing witness to my reluctance. In truth, I wasn’t protecting my time; I was avoiding a risk that barely existed. I didn’t want to disturb the academic identity I had built for myself or reveal that I could be clumsy at something new. More than anything, I feared rejection would confirm the doubts I already carried. I lament not trusting my curious yet naïve younger self, the same one who only two years ago panicked over wearing the wrong school socks.
So, I stayed still.
Two years passed without any dramatic shift. No mistakes. No failures. Just the quiet accumulation of moments I did not step into.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Country as witness. "Even when no one…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: My palms plant themselves on the loose sand beneath me, each grain moulding itself to the imprint of my…
My palms plant themselves on the loose sand beneath me, each grain moulding itself to the imprint of my fingers. It’s grounding, bringing me out of my own head and back to what’s real. The familiar salt-laced breeze grasps onto my skin and stinging the surface of my lips. I often find myself sitting here, fingertips tracing lines in the sand, overlooking the water and watching the waves fold and explode over themselves. I could sit here for hours, and it would only feel like a few minutes.
As I watch, something is watching me in return, studying me, understanding me. I feel more seen by the ocean, by the land that it encloses, than I ever have by the people around me. I don’t need to pretend to be someone else. The country sees me for who I am, for my past and for what it knows I can accomplish. It remembers everything- the waiting room, my tear-stained face; it remembers everything I was too ashamed to say out loud.
I find myself mirroring the rules of the waves. A slowly curated build up followed by a definitive crash that implodes, whitewash consuming the blues below. A perfected cycle, engraved by the patterns of the coast. The broken waves hold more peace than the ones I reflect, holding no pain, no anger, just a rhythm that strums along like a heartbeat, calm and slow.
The beach whispers, the atmosphere being filled only by the sound of the waves and the occasional chirping of seagulls. The low murmurs of a country who understands, who can speak without saying a word, a country that sees everything and will bear that burden, so I don’t have to.
It’s funny how people like me are drawn to the ocean because we’re drowning on land.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Country as witness. "Even when no one…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: My palms plant themselves on the loose sand beneath me, each grain moulding itself to the imprint of my…
My palms plant themselves on the loose sand beneath me, each grain moulding itself to the imprint of my fingers. It’s grounding, bringing me out of my own head and back to what’s real. The familiar salt-laced breeze grasping onto my skin and stinging the surface of my lips. I often find myself sitting here, fingertips tracing lines in the sand, overlooking the water and watching the waves fold and explode over themselves, I could sit here for hours, and it would only feel like a few minutes.
As I watch, something is watching me in return, studying me, understanding me. I feel more seen by the ocean, by the land that it encloses, than I ever have by the people around me. I don’t need to pretend to be someone else. The country sees me for who I am, for my past and for what it knows I can accomplish. It remembers everything- the waiting room, my tear-stained face; it remembers everything I was too ashamed to say out loud.
I find myself mirroring the rules of the waves. A slowly curated build up followed by a definitive crash that implodes, whitewash consuming the blues below. A perfected cycle, engraved by the patterns of the coast. The broken waves hold more peace than the ones I reflect, holding no pain, no anger, just a rhythm that strums along like a heartbeat, calm and slow.
The beach whispers, the atmosphere being filled only by the sound of the waves and the occasional chirping of seagulls. The low murmurs of a country who understands, who can speak without saying a word, a country that sees everything and will bear that burden, so I don’t have to.
It’s funny how people like me are drawn to the ocean because we’re drowning on land.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: My country is calling using Stimulus 3
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: I remember the flight to the place I would soon call home. I was restless sitting in my seat. I remember…
I remember the flight to the place I would soon call home. I was restless sitting in my
seat. I remember feeling so excited to be in a new country, the place where I was told
would give us a better chance at life, but I was also nervous, asking myself what if I don't
like it here? What if they don’t like me? I asked my dad,
“Are we there yet?”
“Not yet, princess, only one more hour.
”
It was late June of 2015, and the plane from Kenya had just landed at Adelaide Airport. We
had arrived in a nation with an abundance of opportunities, rich in culture, and so much
more to explore. I had come to Australia as a little eight -year-old girl, and ever since, I
have had the chance to grow up here. My migration to Australia was more than a
geographic shift; it was the formation of a new part of my identity, which not only forced
me to build a new connection with Australia but also to maintain the connection I had
with my motherland.
Migration requires you to change your way of life in order for you to feel like you belong.
It forces one to build new links to a place you’ve only lived in for a short time. As I grew
up in Australia, I had to adjust from the idea that my neighbour was an extension of my
family, to the occasional exchange of a g’day and weather talk being my only social
interactions with the people that lived around me. Having family reunions with people
who were not my blood relatives, and building bonds with cousins who were not my
actual cousins. To sort of isolate and keep to myself in my home. In primary school, I
really got to experience how society worked. I would hear kids casually using curse
words in almost every sentence they said, but with a more laid-back demeanour. This
was shocking to me because back in Kenya, people would get beaten in the streets for
using any form of profanity ever so casually. Australians are known for their blunt
sarcasm and self-deprecating humour that consists of mocking your mates or yourself. I
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about country
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 97.5%: Title: Between Two Lunchboxes I used to throw away my lunch. Not because I didn't like it - I loved my…
Title: Between Two Lunchboxes
I used to throw away my lunch. Not because I didn't like it - I loved my mother's cooking, but because I was embarrassed. Ashamed. Afraid of judgement.
Every day I would sneak behind the portables and slip my lunch into the compost, and then go join the canteen line to have a somewhat normal lunch. I didn’t want rice. Or noodles. It was always one or the other, with the smell from last night's leftovers wafting up before I had even opened the lid. Even as a kid, knowing that my mum woke up early every morning to pack my lunch could not outweigh the embarrassment that came with it.
Eventually I began to grow accustomed to it, no longer ashamed, but even today the line between the kid back then and the man I am now is still blurrier than I'd like it to be.
Growing up in a Chinese household while physically living in Australia isn't how it seems. It isn't so much a clash of cultures, but rather a split. Where there were two versions of me that simultaneously coexisted. Where the version of me at home did not match the one I presented to the outside world. The school lunch was one of these misleading versions. The languages I spoke were another.
Although I was born in Melbourne, on Wurundjeri land, I considered Mandarin to be my shared first language along with English. It wasn't something I forcefully learnt, nor did I go to Chinese school, but instead I naturally picked it up - perhaps because of the culture within my home growing up. Over time, as I experienced the transition from kinder to school, I found myself immersed in a fully English speaking environment 6 hours a day, 5 days a week. It was certainly something I was not used to, but as the years passed the English language slowly began to blanket that of Mandarin within my life. Not only at school, but in my home too.
I had brought a foreigner into my culture.
But today I ask myself - who is the true foreigner? Is it my family and I, who have brought our culture across the Pacific to the western country of Australia, or is it the Aussie culture which has been progressively infiltrating my authentic Asian household?
As I grew older I began to pick up Aussie slang - words that used to sit strange and alien in my mouth had crept their way into my daily vocabulary.
Yea nah, nah yeah, sick.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The general topic is 'protest'
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Braco i Sestre, I am recording this from the comfort of my home, so you hear me not as a celebrity on a stage,…
Braco i Sestre,
I am recording this from the comfort of my home, so you hear me not as a celebrity on a stage, but as your brother.
Five Hundred Thousand of you stood with me at the Hippodrome this year. Half a million. Mothers with their children. Old defenders with grey in their beards. Boys that were not yet born when I first sang Bojna Čavoglave from a trench in 1991. And what did the state do? They told the Mayor to write me a letter. They told me which words I am permitted to sing in my own song.
A government writing to a singer about which syllables he may put into his own mouth. The same government that claims it is a democracy.
They tell you Za dom spremni is a phrase of fascists, it belongs to a long dead regime. But it belongs to my brother and I, and we are still very much alive. It belongs to all men who ever had that phrase on their lips before they were slaughtered in a war for a country that may not exist in the morning. It belongs to the radio station in Split that played our song on New Year’s Eve in 1991. We had no idea if there would be a Croatia in the morning.
That is whose phrase it is: not a museum's relic, but ours, a living testament.
I am tired of being interpreted for. I am tired of journalists and of bureaucrats all over Europe explaining what my words mean. I’m tired of having my memory censored by mayors in Berlin and by the bureaucrats in Brussels. I'm tired of a Europe that doesn't mind a hammer and sickle on a neon sign outside a nightclub in Prague, or a red star on a t-shirt at an airport retail stand, but asks our mayor to remove one line of a song from the war that made this country.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Against the current - title
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Strategized condensing essay while preserving integrated stimulus changes Against the Current There is a…
Strategized condensing essay while preserving integrated stimulus changes
Against the Current
There is a moment — just before you grab hold — where you feel it.
The pull. The weight of everything moving in one direction, dark and certain, indifferent to what you carry. Most people don't even notice it. They just — go. Forward. Away. Downstream.
But sometimes, one hand reaches up and takes hold of something. Redirects. Refuses.
You don't understand that yet. You're just hungry.
You don't realise its weight at first. It's just there. Always. On the table, in your hands, filling the space between conversations in a language that slips through your fingers like sand. You walk into the kitchen rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and there it is — golden, spiralled, edges crisped perfectly.
You eat it too quickly, burning your tongue — ignoring it — drinking some Ayran while reaching for another piece before you've finished the first. You don't think about the hands that prepared it. The quiet resistance of keeping something alive in a place that doesn't ask for it.
It is just — burek.
Until one day, the smell settles into the room before you do. Gentle, familiar — but with a weight you can't quite name. Some things you only learn to hold once you've nearly let them go.
Innocence
It feels like comfort itself.
The language sounds so familiar — syllables that almost make sense, like a song you've heard too many times to forget but never learned the words to. You sit at the table, legs not long enough to reach the floor, listening more than speaking. Laughter breaks in bursts, plates clink, chairs shift. And in the middle of it all — the burek. Always central. The cornerstone.
You eat too quickly. "Samo palako" (take it easy) — but you don't listen. Each bite better than the last. You don't question. You just eat because it's there — because it's good — because it's yours.
This household — this food, this language, this noise — is already moving against something. Already holding a shape the world outside doesn't recognise. But you don't know that yet. The current, for now, runs warm.
Warmer…
Louder…
Slower…
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: personal journeys title finding my place
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: Shortened version Kindergarten: The Sowing In the hazy nostalgia of kindergarten, I remember a time before…
Shortened version
Kindergarten: The Sowing
In the hazy nostalgia of kindergarten, I remember a time before the labels. I remember the classroom as a seamless collective of sticky fingers and shared crayons; we were a group of four-year-olds who saw the world as a collaborative playground. In those days, there were no ranks and no "better thans",we were just a group of friends holding hands during circle time, our identities blurred into one happy, unmeasured mass. To us, every child in that room was an equal companion, and finding my place was as simple as finding a gap in the circle and a warm hand to hold.
I still remember the day the stickers were introduced. My teacher smiled warmly as she walked through the room, pressing tiny, shimmering stars onto our shirts. Some were gold, some were silver, and some shirts remained bare. At the time, I didn't feel an intoxicating rush, and I didn't feel superior. The stickers were just pretty decorations, not labels.
I remained oblivious to the way we were indoctrinated into a culture of comparison. I didn't recognize it then, but my teacher was quietly planting the seeds of competition, initiating a social order that would eventually consume our identities. It was our first lesson in learning that our worth was no longer something we possessed within ourselves, but something that only made sense in comparison to others.
Primary School: Taking Root
By primary school, the system was no longer hidden; it was deliberate and structured.
In those early years, my curiosity was an open door. I was a child who lived in the "why," seeing the world as a vast, shimmering horizon of possibility. A new fact felt like a secret I had just uncovered. To me, finding my place meant standing at the edge of that horizon and looking at the world as an open landscape with so much to learn. I felt whole simply because I was curious and loved to learn. My roots were touching the earth, and I was growing toward my own light.
But as the years went on, that horizon began to shrink. I was becoming a loose thread in someone else’s design, pulled away from my own wonder and woven into a pattern of measurement I never asked for.
I still remember the day we were sorted into reading groups. Each one of us assigned a colour that everyone understood but no one said aloud.
“Yellow group,” my teacher said.
I felt a subtle drop in my chest, a sudden hollowing realization that my friends were in Green: the "smart" group. I didn't fully grasp why these random colours mattered to everyone else, and yet I felt my intrinsic curiosity, the pure, innocent hunger to learn, begin to wither. I felt an invisible wall grow, brick by invisible brick. Suddenly, I was no longer an equal. I was given a label that dictated how I was seen by my teachers, my friends and eventually, myself. My joy was traded for a feverish need for validation; I stopped learning to satisfy my mind and started learning to satisfy the scale.
That quiet jealousy wasn't just about wanting to be in another group. It was the beginning of comparison becoming something I internalised. Something I grew to obsess over.
And it wasn't just confined to school.
“You should be more like your cousin; she always listens to her mother.”
“Your friend is so much more studious than you.”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: personal jouneys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: I didn’t want to move schools. When my parents first told me, I thought they were joking. It didn’t feel like…
I didn’t want to move schools.
When my parents first told me, I thought they were joking. It didn’t feel like something that should just be decided like that. “We’re not moving that far,” my mum said. “It’s just a different school.” I didn’t understand how that made it better. “Why can’t I just stay?” I asked. My dad paused before answering. “It’ll be better for you. You’ll see.” I didn’t argue after that, but I didn’t agree either.
I had been at my old school for years. I knew where everything was, who everyone was, and how everything worked. I didn’t have to think about it. I just fit. Starting somewhere new felt like losing that without getting anything back.
On my last day, everyone kept saying the same things. “You’ll be fine.” “It’s not a big deal.” “You’ll make new friends.” I nodded every time, even though none of it helped. It made it sound easy, like there was nothing to worry about. But I wasn’t worried about meeting people. I was worried about not knowing who I was without everything I was used to.
The first day at my new school felt exactly like that.
Everything was unfamiliar. The buildings, the classrooms, even the way people moved through the space like they already knew where they were going. I walked around with my timetable in my hand, checking it more than I needed to, just so I had something to focus on. In my first class, the teacher smiled and said, “You must be new.” I nodded. “Yeah.” She gestured to the room. “Take a seat anywhere.” I stood there for a second before choosing a desk near the back. Anywhere didn’t really feel like anywhere. It felt like being noticed for the wrong reason.
At lunch, I didn’t know where to go. I walked around longer than I needed to, then sat on a bench by myself. I took my phone out, even though there was nothing to check, just so it looked like I had something to do. Everyone else seemed settled, like they already had their place. I realised then that belonging isn’t something you think about until you don’t have it.
The next few days were the same. I went to class, did my work, and went home. No one was unkind, but no one really spoke to me either. I kept comparing everything to my old school without meaning to. It made this one feel even more unfamiliar.
One afternoon, my mum asked, “How’s the new school going?” I said, “It’s fine,” without thinking. She looked at me for a second. “Just fine?” I hesitated, then said, “I don’t really know anyone.” She nodded. “You will. It just takes time.” I didn’t like that answer. Time felt like something I had to wait through, not something that would actually change anything.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: personal jouneys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: I didn’t want to move schools. When my parents first told me, I thought they were joking. It came out of…
I didn’t want to move schools. When my parents first told me, I thought they were joking. It came out of nowhere, like a decision that had already been made without me. “We’re not moving that far,” my mum said. “It’s just a different school.” I didn’t understand how that made it better. “Why can’t I just stay?” I asked. My dad looked at me for a second before answering. “It’ll be better for you. You’ll see.” I didn’t see it. I had been at my old school for years. I knew where everything was, who everyone was, and how everything worked. I had my group, my routine, my place. Starting somewhere new felt like losing all of that at once.
On my last day, everyone kept saying the same thing. “You’ll be fine.” “It’s not a big deal.” “You’ll make new friends.” I nodded every time, but it didn’t make me feel better. It just made me feel like I was overreacting. I didn’t want new friends. I didn’t want a new routine. I just wanted things to stay the same.
The first day at my new school was worse than I expected. Everything felt unfamiliar. The buildings looked different, the classrooms were laid out in ways that didn’t make sense to me, and even the noise felt different. I walked around with my timetable in my hand, checking it every few seconds so I didn’t go to the wrong place. In my first class, the teacher smiled and said, “You must be new.” I nodded. “Yeah.” She pointed to the room. “Alright, take a seat anywhere.” That was the problem. Anywhere meant choosing, and choosing meant people noticing. I hesitated for a moment before sitting at an empty table near the back. No one said anything to me.
At lunch, I didn’t know where to go. I walked around for a bit, pretending I had somewhere to be, before sitting down at a bench by myself. I took my phone out just to look busy, even though there was nothing to check. It felt like everyone already belonged somewhere, like they had their own groups and routines, and I was just outside of all of it. The next few days followed the same pattern. I went to class, did my work, and went home. No one was rude, but no one really spoke to me either. I started thinking about my old school more than I wanted to, remembering how easy everything felt there.
One afternoon, my mum asked, “How’s the new school going?” I didn’t really think before answering. “It’s fine.” She looked at me for a second. “Just fine?” I hesitated, then said, “I don’t really know anyone.” She nodded like she expected that. “You will. It just takes time.” I didn’t want it to take time. I wanted it to be easy, like before.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Home is where we return to, wherever…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: Elsewhere “Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.” My feet moved forward…
Elsewhere
“Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.”
My feet moved forward without me, each step heavy as if the ground had stopped recognising who I was. I drifted past rows of numbered seats, each one pulling me further into a reality I wasn’t ready to accept. My chest tightened—not in panic, but in something quieter, heavier, like understanding arriving too late.
What I had once imagined with excitement now stood in front of me, solid and irreversible.
We had crossed oceans to end up here. I couldn’t understand why we had been uprooted, pulled from everything familiar and placed into this sunlit foreignness. Around me, my siblings glowed with ease. They posed, laughed, leaned into each other as my mother captured moments that already felt like they belonged to someone else’s life.
Something in me recoiled. I didn’t know where to place myself in any of it.
Outside, I braced for cold air that never came. Heat rushed in instead, pressing against my skin, drying through my hair, uninvited and certain. I missed the sharpness of winter mornings—the sting in my fingers, the silence of frost, the way the world felt slower when it was cold enough to notice it.
This place didn’t slow down.
It didn’t wait.
It just continued.
A little further on, I saw him.
He stood with his arms open as if he had been waiting long before we arrived. It felt like years since I had last properly seen him—the stubble he called a beard, the light reflecting off his bare head, and those familiar honey-coloured eyes that always made everything feel temporarily safe.
Before I could think, I was already moving.
My body broke into a run, faster than thought, faster than hesitation, until I collided into him. His arms closed around me—steady, warm, anchoring. For a moment, everything else dissolved.
No airport. No unknown country. No pressure of becoming someone new.
Just him.
Just something that felt like it still belonged to me.
But even that moment didn’t last.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Home is where we return to, wherever…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: Elsewhere “Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.” My feet dragged forward with…
Elsewhere
“Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.”
My feet dragged forward with each step, unresponsive, as though the ground beneath me no longer recognised where I belonged. I stumbled past the numbered seats, each one grounding me further into a reality I wasn’t ready for. My chest tightened with a quiet unfamiliar dread. What was once a dream had now morphed into a reality.
Why we had to pick up our lives and situate ourselves in this foreign land puzzled me. I looked up to see my siblings, with faces full of light, posing and smiling ear to ear as my mother took photographs of them. Anxiety spiralled through my mind, leaving me to ruminate on what my life would become.
As I stepped out, unaccustomed to the weather, I braced for a cold breeze. Instead, a rush of heat met me, the wind drying through my hair as it passed. I missed the sting of frosted fingers, numb toes, and quiet, chilly mornings.
It was different. I was in a different place.
As I looked further, I saw a man grinning, holding his hands out and radiating joy. It felt like years since I had seen the stubble that he called a beard, the light that bounced off his bald head and the kind honey eyes that assured you “that no one could take anything from you unless you let them”. Before I could even think about it, I was already moving. My feet lifted off the ground running and racing to climb into his arms. His embrace was warm, warmer than the sun that had hit me before.
For a second, the world faded. I wasn't in an airport surrounded by unrecognizable land; my worries were laid to rest, and my mind was at peace with something steady, something known, my father.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Home is where we return to, wherever…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Elsewhere “Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.” My feet dragged forward with…
Elsewhere
“Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.”
My feet dragged forward with each step, unresponsive, as though the ground beneath me no longer recognised where I belonged. I stumbled past the numbered seats, each one grounding me further into a reality I wasn’t ready for. My chest tightened with a quiet unfamiliar dread. What was once a dream had now morphed into a reality.
Why we had to pick up our lives and situate ourselves in this foreign land, puzzled me. I looked up to see my siblings, with faces full of light, posing and smiling ear to ear as my mother took photographs of them. Anxiety spiralled through my mind, leaving me to ruminate on what my life would become.
As I stepped out, unaccustomed to the weather, I braced for a cold breeze. Instead, a rush of heat met me, the wind drying through my hair as it passed. I missed the sting of frosted fingers, numb toes, and quiet, chilly mornings.
It was different. I was in a different place.
As I looked further, I saw a man grinning, holding his hands out and radiating joy. It felt like years since I had seen the stubble that he called a beard, the light that bounced off his bald head and the kind honey eyes that assured you “that no one could take anything from you unless you let them”. Before I could even think about it, I was already moving. My feet lifted off the ground running and racing to climb into his arms. His embrace was warm, warmer than the sun that had hit me before.
For a second, the world faded. I wasn't in an airport surrounded by unrecognizable land; my worries were laid to rest, and my mind was at peace with something steady, something known, my father.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Rewriting the Script Stimulus…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: Title: Rewriting the Script You’re sitting in front of a varnished table. The harshness from the costly…
Title: Rewriting the Script
You’re sitting in front of a varnished table. The harshness from the costly thirty-two inch monitor your parents invested in stings your eyes, the dull paper of a mathematics practice exam in front of you. You are ready, itching to ink “100%” in bright red on the cover. Before you begin you dim your monitor until your timer is still visible but the light no longer attacks you. Before you begin you remember you need to send an email to your teacher about a particular question. You check all your emails, you may as well while you’re there. You decide to warm up your brain with a game of chess. Then, the entire roster of word games from the New York Times. Oh, you suddenly feel a rush of inspiration fill you, and it demands to be written down immediately. Should you learn how to draw?
The urges come and go, cycling in your head like seasons, and before you begin you forget that you were going to begin. The paper is still there, mocking you. You promise yourself you will do it tomorrow and to you that’s good enough, because at some point it’d be done. It’s written in the script to be done.
You’re in the gym now, and you swivel your head. The scratching of graphite from the kid to your left reverberates in your ear. He seems furious, driven, the marks of his 2B pencil black like tar. To your right, a girl, relaxed but her pencil never leaves the page and her eyes flick on each purposeful letter she writes. Silence draws you back down. Your palms are sweaty, fingers trembling, wholly uncertain about the question in front of you. But now you push, your gaze laser focused. Everything else slides into the background until the clock hits zero and the invigilators’ command to “Drop your pencils,” scatters the silence like patterns of sand washed away by waves.
You close the test, breath wavering knowing three questions are blank and not knowing how many you full-marked. A hand grabs the paper, leaving emptiness in front of you.
You probably should have done that practice exam.
You swallow and leave. Tears beg to fall like raindrops, like the ones pattering against your window as you binge 200 chapters of your new favourite novel. Something needs to change, but you don’t know what's wrong with you.
Maybe nothing is.
Maybe this is who you are.
Did you remember to send that email?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Home is where we return to, wherever…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Elsewhere “Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.” My feet dragged forward with…
Elsewhere
“Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.”
My feet dragged forward with each step, unresponsive, as though the ground beneath me no longer recognised where I belonged. I stumbled past the numbered seats, each one grounding me further into a reality I wasn’t ready for. My chest tightened with a quiet unfamiliar dread. What was once a dream had now morphed into a reality.
Why we had to pick up our lives and situate ourselves in this foreign land, puzzled me. I looked up to see my siblings, with faces full of light, posing and smiling ear to ear as my mother took photographs of them. Anxiety spiralled through my mind, leaving me to ruminate on what my life would become.
As I stepped out, the heat slapped me, sizzling, and the hot wind dried my hair. Unaccustomed, I missed the feeling of frosted fingers, numb toes and chilly mornings.
It was different, I was in a different place.
As I looked further, I saw a man grinning, holding his hands out and radiating joy. It felt like years since I had seen the stubble that he called a beard, the light that bounced off his bald head and the kind honey eyes that assured you “that no one could take anything from you unless you let them”. Before I could even think about it, I was already moving. My feet lifted off the ground running and racing to climb into his arms. His embrace was warm, warmer than the sun that had hit me before.
For a second, the world faded. I wasn't in an airport surrounded by unrecognizable land; my worries were laid to rest, and my mind was at peace with something steady, something known, my father.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Home is where we return to, wherever…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Elsewhere My feet dragged forward with each step, unresponsive, as though the ground beneath me no longer…
Elsewhere
My feet dragged forward with each step, unresponsive, as though the ground beneath me no longer recognised where I belonged. I stumbled past the numbered seats, each one grounding me further into a reality I wasn’t ready for. My chest tightened with a quiet unfamiliar dread. What was once a dream had now morphed into a reality.
Why we had to pick up our lives and situate ourselves in this foreign land “down under” puzzled me. I looked up to see my siblings, with faces full of light, posing and smiling ear to ear as my mother took photographs of them. Anxiety spiralled through my mind, leaving me to ruminate on what my life would become.
As I stepped out, the heat slapped me, sizzling, and the hot wind rushed through my hair as if I were in a desert. Unaccustomed, I missed the feeling of frosted fingers, numb toes and chilly mornings.
It was different, I was in a different place.
As I looked further, I saw a man grinning, holding his hands out and radiating joy. It felt like years since I had seen the stubble that he called a beard, the light that bounced off his bald head and the kind honey eyes that assured you “that no one could take anything from you unless you let them”. Before I could even think about it, I was already moving. My feet lifted off the ground running and racing to climb into his arms. His embrace was warm, warmer than the sun that had hit me before.
For a second, the world faded. I wasn't in an airport surrounded by unrecognizable land; my worries were laid to rest, and my mind was at peace with something steady, something known, my father.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Home is where we return to, wherever…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Elsewhere “Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.” My feet felt heavier with…
Elsewhere
“Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.”
My feet felt heavier with each step, as if fear had settled into them. I stumbled past the numbered seats, each one grounding me further into a reality I wasn’t ready for. My chest tightened with a quiet unfamiliar dread. What was once a dream had now morphed into a reality.
Why we had to pick up our lives and situate ourselves in this foreign land “down under” puzzled me. I looked up to see my siblings, with faces full of light, posing and smiling ear to ear as my mother took photographs of them. Anxiety spiralled through my mind, leaving me to ruminate on what my life would become.
As I stepped out, the heat slapped me, sizzling, and the hot wind rushed through my hair as if I were in a desert. Unaccustomed, I missed the feeling of frosted fingers, numb toes and chilly mornings.
It was different, I was in a different place.
As I looked further, I saw a man grinning, holding his hands out and radiating joy. It felt like years since I had seen the stubble that he called a beard, the light that bounced off his bald head and the kind honey eyes that assured you “that no one could take anything from you unless you let them”. Before I could even think about it, I was already moving. My feet lifted off the ground running and racing to climb into his arms. His embrace was warm, warmer than the sun that had hit me before.
For a second, the world faded. I wasn't in an airport surrounded by unrecognizable land; my worries were laid to rest, and my mind was at peace with something steady, something known, my father.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Theme: Play Title: The time of our…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble…
Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble that play was imminent. Up. The moment, although it must have only been a second or two, stretches on eternally. Down. Time warps to 128 bpm, the speed of the piece “A Night in Tunisia”. First the piano, then the trombones, then the cello and finally my fellow trumpeters and I join the cacophony. We play, barreling toward the grotesque, nightmarish and feared numeral … bar 28. My solo. Time takes no heed of my terror and continues rushing toward that bar of despair. Like that, it is upon us.
I rise and begin to play. Staccato. Characterised by quick short notes. Rising higher. Louder. Quick Fingers. Reaching Peak. The tension is released with a decrescendo, the brief quavers are replaced with long minims and semi-breves. Legato. Each long note is carried to the extremities of the ornate theatre, bathing the audience in the rich, resonant, brass sound. Although slower, this section requires much greater focus, every phrase must be meticulously placed and- there, an unavoidable break in the monotony of the music stave miraculously materializes, annotations, Mark’s annotations.