VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: WILD we play several roles in life -…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: WILD “Ready or not…” Cassie’s words drift down the hallway, light and airy. You press your back to the…
WILD
“Ready or not…”
Cassie’s words drift down the hallway, light and airy.
You press your back to the wardrobe and click the door shut. The tendrils of darkness wrap around you.
Your heart hammers faster. Each breath feels heavy with anticipation. This is your favourite part - the waiting.
Here in the shadows, nothing can reach you. Not yet. Your excitement hums beneath your skin, sharp and electric. The dark isn’t gentle. It’s untamed - but it belongs to you.
You imagine Cassie’s hands covering her eyes, fingers parted just enough to cheat. She always peeks. She always bends the rules.
Floorboards groan as you shift your weight, careful not to make a sound. Your nerves are heightened.
You hear Cassie’s small feet teetering down the hall. You won’t be found here. You never have been before.
The dark welcomes you home. It knows you too well. The silence settles thick around you, pressing softly against your ears.
A sharp, sudden shrill splits the heavy hush.
Your stomach lurches. You tell yourself it’s the neighbours. That this can’t be happening again.
You remain hidden. But now the game has changed. The rules shifted. Playtime - abandoned.
A thin strip of light cuts beneath the doorframe, sharp and accusing. Light means exposure. Exposure has consequences.
The handle clicks. A pause. The knob turns. Your lungs tighten.
Vulnerability engulfs you.
Cassie’s small frame stands before the wardrobe. She slides down and scoots towards you, embracing you with her gentle arms.
You reach for the handle, closing the door.
Safe again.
With you both in there, the dread-laden air begins to thin. The coats hang like witnesses above you.
A heavy figure ascends the stairs, the floorboards groaning under a predatory weight.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: "when experience became growth"
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 62.5%: The aroma of fresh jasmine filled the streets, with the frequent honks and beeps creating sirens throughout…
The aroma of fresh jasmine filled the streets, with the frequent honks and beeps creating sirens throughout my brain. The air was dense and carried a linger of sandalwood brewed with smoke. This is where I called home. The community was different from 'my home', the locals here had friendly conversation and negotiated about fresh produce at markets. The women wore flourishing sarees mixed with abstract patterns and a welcoming smile. However I still did not feel like a local. Slangs were foreign to me, and my relatives furrowed their eyebrows in confusion when I would converse with them, but did not fail to understand when my older brother would speak to them. No matter how hard I tried to immerse myself in what I thought was my
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: "when experience became growth"
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: Preface: Welcome to ‘Articulate/Collaborate/Reiterate & Liberate’! Today we will embark a voyage to craft…
Preface:
Welcome to ‘Articulate/Collaborate/Reiterate & Liberate’! Today we will embark a voyage to craft a
dish that not only rejuvenates/revitalises/restores/heals the taste buds but resists the everyday
injustice experienced by us superhero mothers, allowing you to comfortably leave your aprons at
the door and enter a workplace that rewards us for our ability and not by the conservative
medieval standards that frame us in the household doors. An eye for expertise, not the natural
constraints of a woman’s lifestyle that are continuously overlooked and neglected. This dish, a
trusty meal, for those plucky housewives who must clothe, feed and house their families on a
moderately insufficient allowance. This recipe, the ultimate 15-minute dinner right at your
fingertips, so all possible help be given to these heroes without capes who must feed our bodies
and persist the systemic injustice.
It means the steaming, the stewing, and the baking, through all seasons, day by day, year after
year, decade after decade. She must know how soon, how long, how much and how often. She
must know quality and quantity and cost. She must balance her family, maternal role and her 9-5.
Through the beauty of a woman, nothing will enable them to do more certainly than without the
mastery & methods in the preparation of the homiest meal. This dish’s name, you ask? This is the
Cessation Casserole. Oppose the cascade of bland tasting discrimination stirred & agitated by the
male dominated workforce, forcing high-wage firms to address systemic barriers and break this
draining vicious cycle.
Ingredients:
3 kilograms of corrupt, oppressive companies
8L of moderate-wage women’s tears
A pinch of potent resistance
6 tablespoons of maternal responsibility
50mL of resilience
2 kilograms of male-skewed superannuation rates
A sprinkle of hopeful advocacy & awareness
500 grams of federal government policy enforcement
Method:
1. The second wave: 1960s Women’s Liberation Movement:
A lack of historical knowledge of the origins behind the craft of this antidote is a boiling
disaster. Without knowledge of a previous recipe a dish can be devoid of flavour and the
past may be repeated. To ensure maximum yield of flavour, understand this dish gained
popularity as middle-classed women were increasingly grappling with their roles as
confined housewives in a separate “sphere” of motherhood that women were relegated to.
As John F. Kennedy signed the Equal Pay Act of 1963 into law, feminist Betty Friedan and
other activists collaborated to challenge the global stereotyping and pervasive ‘norms’
framing women. Despite the attempts to align equality between men & women in the
workforce, this reached no permanent change in the world. This dish increased in potency
the imbalances within the workplace continued to thrive. Let the shortage of feminine input
in the past be overcome whilst you stand and accomplish a wonderful dish like this one.
2. Preparation:
i. Preparing the resilient skillet:
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: personal journey memoir
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Every morning in Melbourne began with my iPad. My space grey, 5th generation iPad. Cold against my hands.…
Every morning in Melbourne began with my iPad. My space grey, 5th generation iPad. Cold against my hands. Bright against the dark. On my iPad everything responded to touch. Swipe, tap, scroll. Simple.
Back then home was also simple. Mum in the kitchen, dad reading the newspaper and my iPad always in my lap, with its signal leaping across Melbourne. When my uncle moved away, the house fell silent. My parents sat me down in the living room, my iPad rested beside me. “We’re moving to Pakistan,” they said. I picked up my iPad and held it tightly. The metal felt solid and reliable. I looked at the blank screen and glanced at my reflection; I did not look ready.
AIRPLANE MODE
Before we left, Pakistan existed for me only through screens. I would sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor, iPad balanced on my knees, typing “Pakistan” into the search bar. The screen filled with shaky footage, protests filmed from rooftops, men running through clouds of smoke. Maps flashed with red blotches I couldn’t place. My parents moved quietly around the house while I scrolled, their voices low, their answers careful. It was my first time packing my life into suitcases, the friends I loved, the streets I knew, the comfort of everything familiar and trading it for a country I only recognized through buffering news clips and warning banners. I didn’t know what to feel. Every search seemed to confirm that we were flying into noise, smoke rising behind reporters, crowds pressed shoulder to shoulder, flashing police lights cutting through the night. That was the Pakistan I carried with me to the airport, a collage of distant chaos, assembled from headlines rather than memory.
On the flight, my iPad stayed in my hands. I watched old videos. Melbourne streets, school assemblies, friends laughing. I replayed them again and again. My iPad held proof that my old life was real. That it happened.
LOW BATTERY
When we arrived in Pakistan the air felt dense and warm, filled with dust and spice. The call to prayer echoed across rooftops at dawn and my grandmother’s voice reciting verses before sunrise. The night pressed close, thick and immediate, with motorbikes sliding through traffic in impossible patterns. Street vendors yelling out, impatient old men honking their horns constantly, tea sellers weaving, stitching together long afternoons.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: Title: My Path I have been thinking about paths lately. Not the kind you walk on, but the kind you choose and…
Title: My Path
I have been thinking about paths lately. Not the kind you walk on, but the kind you choose and eventually learn from it. Looking back from now, I think my path began to change at the back of the car from Nanjing to Shanghai, after the fencing competition.
I was ten years old then, and I had just lost a fencing match. 6-15, I stood on the piste a moment longer than I needed to, helmet on head, staring at the scoreboard as if staring long enough might change the score, it didn’t. I walked off. Helmet still on my head, refusing to take it off, I didn’t want anyone to see the failure beneath that helmet. It was the first round of elimination, as someone who usually gets top 16 in tournaments, that was disgraceful, even catastrophic I could say.
On the five hours trip from Nanjing back to Shanghai, I spent most of the time with my forehead sticking to the cold glass, and tears remained undried. I used to think a path only goes forward, that if you put in the work, the road simply continues. That loss in Nanjing was the first time I felt the road ended without a warning. My mother said nothing for a long time. She isn’t a person who speaks just to fill the silence. Then, somewhere in the middle of the trip, she turned and looked at me.
“Do you want to give up?”
I searched for something to say and found only one honest answer, “No.”
She stared at me. “Then I don’t want to keep seeing you like this.” A pause, “if you feel your results match your effort, then that’s enough. But if you don’t feel that way, then keep training, train until you get what you want.”
I was ten years old. She spoke to me like I was thirty.
I wiped my face with my sleeve and looked back out the window. The lights were just beginning to appear on the horizon. During that long, silent drive, I started to understand something I hadn’t before: the path I’m on was mine to shape, but first I had to decide what I was shaping it toward.
Fencing had always been one part of my life since before I understood what competition meant. Every afternoon while my classmates sat at desks, I was at the training hall doing footwork drills, blade work, bout after bout. City tournaments, national events with two hundred competitors. Reaching the top 16 among the 200 became routine. It wasn’t until that defeat that I truly saw where I actually stood.
For two months, I was first to arrive and last to leave. I stretched while the hall lights were still warming up. After each practice, I’d run to my coach and ask for advice. I was building a different version of my path, one that required more from me than the one I ever had.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Creative piece, title is “it’s all…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 60%: We weren't wealthy, but our happiness wasn’t measured by rupees. The echo of Bunty and Raju’s laughter always…
We weren't wealthy, but our happiness wasn’t measured by rupees. The echo of Bunty and Raju’s laughter always filled our nest in sector 31 of Gurugram. My children also intrigued and flustered our street dogs, a commotion balanced by my wife, who left naan and sabji by the side of our rusted mailbox every night. It was these small-scale, quiet acts of warmth that truly defined the abundance of our life here.
I didn’t mind exchanging my open sky for a cage from 9-5, my manager Jagdeep often asked me to stay back. I worked at the throbbing pulse of the capital. Loud car horns sounded like trumpets, the street dogs Bhuri and Bhura were the guards, and the cracked and shattered tiles on the stairs to the Silicon tech Corporation building the red carpet. Every morning felt easy on the eyes in my country, it was as if the sun or as my Ma likes to call it the Surya Dev is easing our eyes into day, waking us up like a loving mother to her son. This was the beauty of my country, India. We had traditions that we didn’t even notice that we followed; chai was the cornerstone of my family. We want to go out? Drink some chai. Bathroom? Make some chai. Guests are coming? Where’s the chai? My country likes to pray everyday so if we can’t go to the temple… We bring the temple to our home. A mini temple so even the rush of Delhi couldn't stop me from reaching dearest Krishna lord and my irritating manager Jagdeep for an early morning meeting. Most of us don't consume meat, and almost none of us consume beef. Our belief in India is cows are the mothers of nature providing far greater value to us while they’re alive. Cow milk, manure, they all provide value to the ecosystem India possesses, and milk is a vital ingredient for chai.
I loved my country.
But I had a reason to leave, eventually every bird had to leave its nest.
I traded my smooth feathers of pressed shirts and corporate shoes for steel caps and fluorescent vests. Central Delhi became serenely suburban Sydney. The car horns were replaced by magpies. Instead of Jagdeep’s voice resounding through work cubicles , I heard the clang of metal and the hum of drills.
They called me Raj here too.
In Delhi, it was Raj; soft, quick, swallowed. Here, it was Raaaj; stretched wide, the ‘a’ pulled open.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: writing about protest
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Good morning principal, teachers and other staff here. Good morning to my fellow students, Firstly, I’d like…
Good morning principal, teachers and other staff here. Good morning to my fellow students,
Firstly, I’d like to start by acknowledging the traditional land of the Kulin Nation and I pay my respect to the elders both past and present. This has been a significant gathering for people of the Kulin Nation and I acknowledge and respect the continuing connection to the land. I’ve come to talk to you about the hopes that we all might gain some knowledge from our First Nation friends, who are knowledgeable individuals who always had a profound grasp of and respect for the earth we walk on today. We are blessed to reside in such a special and beautiful place in the world, where we are given so much and are asked for one thing in return. To protect it.
I stand right here right now on this land where I speak to you about our duty. Usually when you hear the word ‘duty’ at school most of you would think to tuck in your shirts, wear appropriate school clothes, arrive on time, and moreover follow rules without a question. But there is a higher duty. A duty to the truth, a duty to justice and a duty to the future.
You may have heard whispers about our recent actions. You’ve seen us standing in front of security and guards with our hands raised up high, palms open demanding change.
You ask why. I’ll tell you why. This is the visual definition of ‘duty’. Those hands are not raised because of surrender. They are raised as witness. They are saying; I am here, I am unarmed, I am not moving. We are told we live in a ‘free country’, we are told that our democracy is a precious gift, and we are told ‘Many voices are needed in a free country’. A country is not free simply because it has a flag and an anthem, it is only free when it is noisy. When it is uncomfortable and when ‘many voices’ are heard. Yet, in this very room, we are often taught that the only ‘correct; voice is a quiet, obedient one.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: writing about protest
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: Good morning principal, teachers and other staff here. Good morning to my fellow students, Firstly, I’d like…
Good morning principal, teachers and other staff here. Good morning to my fellow students,
Firstly, I’d like to start by acknowledging the traditional land of the Kulin Nation and I pay my respect to the elders both past and present. This has been a significant gathering for people of the Kulin Nation and I acknowledge and respect the continuing connection to the land. I’ve come to talk to you about the hopes that we all might gain some knowledge from our First Nation friends, who are knowledgeable individuals who always had a profound grasp of and respect for the earth we walk on today. We are blessed to reside in such a special and beautiful place in the world, where we are given so much and are asked for one thing in return. To protect it.
I stand right here right now on this land where I speak to you about our duty. Usually when you hear the word ‘duty’ at school most of you would think to tuck in your shirts, wear appropriate school clothes, arrive on time, and moreover follow rules without a question. But there is a higher duty. A duty to the truth, a duty to justice and a duty to the future.
You may have heard whispers about our recent actions. You’ve seen us standing in front of security and guards with our hands raised up high, palms open demanding for change.
You ask why. I’ll tell you why. This is the visual definition of ‘duty’. Those hands are not raised because of surrender. They are raised as witness. They are saying; I am here, I am unarmed, I am not moving. We are told we live in a ‘free country’, we are told that our democracy is a precious gift, and we are told ‘Many voices are needed in a free country’. A country is not free simply because it has a flag and an anthem, it is only free when it is noisy. When it is uncomfortable and when ‘many voices’ are heard. Yet, in this very room, we are often taught that the only ‘correct; voice is a quiet, obedient one.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: writing about protest
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: Good morning principal, teachers and other staff here. Good morning to my fellow students, Firstly, I’d like…
Good morning principal, teachers and other staff here. Good morning to my fellow students,
Firstly, I’d like to start by acknowledging the traditional land of the Kulin Nation and I pay my respect to the elders both past and present. This has been a significant gathering for people of the Kulin Nation and I acknowledge and respect the continuing connection to the land. I’ve come to talk to you about the hopes that we all might gain some knowledge from our First Nation friends, who are knowledgeable individuals who have always profound grasp of and respect for the earth we walk on today. We are blessed to reside in such a special and beautiful place in the world, where we are given so much and are asked for one thing in return. To protect it.
I stand right here right now on this land where I speak to you about Our duty. Usually when you hear the word ‘duty’ at school most of you would think to tuck in your shirts, wear appropriate school clothes, arrive on time, and moreover follow rules without a question. But there is a higher duty. A duty to the truth, a duty to justice and a duty to the future.
You may have heard whispers about our recent actions. You’ve seen us standing in front of security and guards with our hands raised up high, palms open demanding for change.
You ask why. I’ll tell you why. This is the visual definition of ‘duty’. Those hands are not raised because of surrender. They are raised as witness. They are saying; I am here, I am unarmed, I am not moving. We are told we live in a ‘free country’, we are told that our democracy is a precious gift, and we are told ‘Many voices are needed in a free country’. A country is not free simply because it has a flag and an anthem, it is only free when it is noisy. When it is uncomfortable and when ‘many voices’ are heard. Yet, in this very room, we are often taught that the only ‘correct; voice is a quiet, obedient one.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: writing about protest
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: Good morning principal, teachers and other staff here. Good morning to my fellow students, Firstly, I’d like to…
Good morning principal, teachers and other staff here. Good morning to my fellow students,
Firstly, I’d like to start by acknowledging the traditional land of the Kulin Nation and I pay my respect to the elders both past and present. This has been a significant gathering for people of the Kulin Nation and I acknowledge and respect the continuing connection to the land. I’ve come to talk to you about the hopes that we all might gain some knowledge from our First Nation friends, who are knowledgeable individuals who have always profound grasp of and respect for the earth we walk on today. We are blessed to reside in such a special and beautiful place in the world, where we are given so much and are asked for one thing in return. To protest it.
I stand right here right now on this land where I speak to you about Our duty. Usually when you hear the word ‘duty’ at school most of you would think to tuck in your shirts, where appropriate school clothes, arrive on time, and moreover follow rules without a question. But there is a higher duty. A duty to the truth, a duty to justice and a duty to the future.
You may have heard whispers about our recent actions. You’ve seen us standing in front of security and guards with our hands raised up high, palms open demanding for change.
You ask why. I’ll tell you why. This is the visual definition of ‘duty’. Those hands are not raised because of surrender. They are raised as witness. They are saying; I am here, I am unarmed, I am not moving. We are told we live in a ‘free country’, we are told that our democracy is a precious gift, but we are told ‘Many voices are needed in a free country’. A country is not free simply because it has a flag and an anthem, it is only free when it is noisy. When it is uncomfortable and when ‘many voices’ are heard. Yet, in this very room, we are often taught that the only ‘correct; voice is a quiet, obedient one.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The world is divided due to different…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: World views, political and cultural beliefs play a significant role in how people view the world around them,…
World views, political and cultural beliefs play a significant role in how people view the world around them, creating division within society. Many traditions influence the ideas about gender roles and interactions; what may be acceptable for one religion may be odd for another. A perennial debate concerns the existence of God. Many monotheistic religions say that God is a singular, all-powerful, indescribable being that must be loved and cherished to enter the gates of heaven. In contrast, polytheistic religions oppose this and believe that there are multiple gods. Because of these differences in ideologies, we tend to limit and narrow our perspectives on opposing beliefs. This creates gaps in our knowledge about other religions, leading to misunderstandings and biases that fuel bitterness and conflict.
After the tragic events of 9/11, fear of Islamic beliefs struck America. Some media outlets referring to the terrorists as simply ‘Muslims’ constructed an ‘us versus them’ reality. It associates the entire faith with extremism, suggesting the people of Islam are in a battle for religious superiority. Racism and segregation against Muslims led by false assumptions and biases created resentment between Christianity and Islam. It demonstrates how a lack of knowledge of other belief systems in conjunction with one’s own values can paint a false reality where discrimination and violence can be justified.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The world is divided due to different…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 62.5%: World views, political and cultural beliefs play a significant role in how people view the world around them,…
World views, political and cultural beliefs play a significant role in how people view the world around them, creating division within society. Many traditions influence the ideas about gender roles and interactions; what may be acceptable for one religion may be odd for another. A perennial debate concerns the existence of God. Many monotheistic religions say that God is a singular, all-powerful, indescribable being that must be loved and cherished to enter the gates of heaven. In contrast, polytheistic religions oppose this and believe that there are multiple gods. Because of these differences in ideologies, we tend to limit and narrow our perspectives on opposing beliefs. This creates gaps in our knowledge about other religions, leading to misunderstandings and biases that fuel bitterness and conflict.
After the tragic events of 9/11, fear of Islamic beliefs struck America. Some media outlets referring to the terrorists as simply ‘Muslims’ constructed an ‘us versus them’ reality. It associates the entire faith with extremism, suggesting the people of Islam are in a battle for religious superiority. Racism and segregation against Muslims led by false assumptions and biases created resentment between Christianity and Islam. It demonstrates how a lack of knowledge of other belief systems in conjunction with one’s own values can paint a false reality where discrimination and violence can be justified.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Small Acts, Big Wins Stimulus:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Small Acts, Big wins Executive Summary In response to the minor dissent activity that has come forth against…
Small Acts, Big wins
Executive Summary
In response to the minor dissent activity that has come forth against our client, the Standard-Dissense-Response-Protocol (SDRP) has been initiated. This protocol outlines attacks made against our client, and suggests mitigation strategies to reduce risk. Predictive modelling of the micro scale protest due to decreased tax on Prime Distribution Services (PDS) suggests:
Increased negative exposure has led to surface level company fractures. Risk mitigation strategies must be put in place to ensure further fractures do not occur.
Thorough analysis of protesting individuals, media outlets, and company revenue have found 3 clear conclusions:
1. Protesters’ small acts have caused minor structural fractures, causing customer hesitation and investor uncertainty.
2. Protesters and media have framed the ‘small acts’ as a successful attack against Prime Distribution Services.
3. Increased negative exposure of Prime Distribution Services is a large risk. These risks must be monitored and mitigated.
Attacks Against the Client
Exhibit #1 – Vandalism
56 instances of graffiti criticizing our client have been reported across NYC. Slogans portraying hostility and aggression explicitly target Prime Distribution Servies, and the specific new decreased tax reform.
Interpretation of social media, and news outlets aims to learn what the vandalism sought to achieve. This is outlined below.
Graffiti, a form of art, has historically been used to express opinions of individuals, without the need to speak out loud. In this instance, analysis suggests that graffiti was used to express hatred towards the ‘unfair wealth inequality of NYC’, primarily by people of low socioeconomic status. The graffiti has gained popularity on social media, and increased exposure of the new tax reforms set upon by our client. According to an anonymous ‘artist’ that a news outlet has posted, ‘This is the first fracture in breaking the extreme wealth inequality in our city. We can change our city’s power imbalance, and today was the first successful small step towards it.’ The post was titled ‘Big wins for protesters against wealth inequality.’
Exhibit #2 – Workplace Acts
A small number of employed individuals have expressed defiance against Prime Distribution Services. Examples of this include, but are not limited to; refusing to pack orders, defying direct orders by corporate, and terminating employment. Below is an exhibit of a former PDS termination contract.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Amidst cold of winter, the mirror tends to disappear before I do. Steam climbs up the bathroom walls and fogs…
Amidst cold of winter, the mirror tends to disappear before I do.
Steam climbs up the bathroom walls and fogs the glass until my reflection dissolves into a pale, distorted blur. For a moment there's no face look out, not an expression to correct. Just a silhouette suspended by the heat in the bathroom, creating a suffocating warmth.
I always wipe a clear circle.
This gesture is quite automatic. I drag my huge palm through the condensation and carve out with certainty. I stand with my eyes slightly too alert, to hide the dark eye circles, shadowing my face. Then I tighten up my jaws, to hide my droopy face and I adjust my smile to maintain a nice presentation of myself.
In school careers are spoken about as though it's already been decided, as people claim their future in clean sentences.
"I want to do engineering"
"... study medicine" or
"Law at Melbourne uni,”
The words land clearly without hesitation; everyone had it all figured out.
When they turn to me, I say something equally polished. Something plausible. Something that sounds as a plan rather than a possibility, being rehearsed enough that it almost feels real.
The mirror begins to fog again while I'm thinking. I wipe it harder this time. The surface smears, splitting my reflection down the middle. I stare at the uneven image and smooth out my expression in order to maintain symmetry, but it can’t be forced too long.
During the night, questions start lingering longer and broader than the steam covered up.
My Mum usually says that this is the year that "counts".
Dad reminds me that opportunities don't wait.
And my teachers tell me I have potential, but I’m wasting it.
Potential is something that feels fragile which can snap if pulled too far.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: ‘The Serious Business of Growing Old’
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: CREATIVE PIECE PLAN "The serious business of growing old" - Adult vs childhood play - personal essay I never…
CREATIVE PIECE PLAN "The serious business of growing old"
- Adult vs childhood play
- personal essay
I never conceptualized I could outgrow my imagination. That someday I would wish I could stop playing the role I once desired to be. Now, the character I used to impersonate is reality and I am left forever yearning to go back.
When I was younger, it was impossible to silence the rhythmic click-clack of my mother's stilettos, always ten sizes too big. I was infatuated with role-playing as the witty businesswoman, smiling sweetly, standing tall. I would continuously get caught stealing my father's white blazers, putting on my sisters glasses and 'saving' my dogs life.
I always admired my parents - I would mimic their every movement. Always smashing my calculator, simultaneously attempting to copy my mum pelting numbers into her phone. I was her designated shadow.
I imagined adulthood as independence, mixing up the two as the same. I romanticised the responsibility life brought upon adults. I illustrated vivid imagery in my mind, dream careers, lifestyles and full autonomy. I was constantly rehersing for a stage I couldn't wait to step onto.
To a child, adulthood looks like agency. I never pictured the role of my dad as somebody stressed about a mortgage; i saw him as the person who got to drive the car. I didn't see the Doctor as someone holding a life in their hands; I saw the white coat as a superhero's cape.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: express piece, form is a short story,…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: The rumour began the way all catastrophic historical events begin: whispered behind the basketball courts by…
The rumour began the way all catastrophic historical events begin: whispered behind the basketball courts by someone who had no proof and every confidence.
“Five minutes,” said Dylan, chewing a Zooper Dooper like it owed him money. “They’re cutting five minutes from recess and five from lunch.”
I laughed. Not a polite laugh — a full, theatrical, you absolute idiot laugh. Schools didn’t just cut time. Time was a natural resource. Like oxygen. Or the right to complain about maths.
“Why would they do that?” I asked.
“Productivity,” he said darkly.
You can’t just drop a word like productivity on a Year 10 student. It lands like a tax audit.
By second period the rumour had mutated. Apparently teachers needed “learning optimisation blocks.” Someone claimed it was because we were “behind international benchmarks,” which is insane because I have never once competed academically against Norway.
At lunch — full length lunch, our final free lunch — the oval buzzed like a conspiracy convention. Kids who had never read a book were suddenly experts in government overreach.
Then the bell rang.
Except it rang… early.
We all froze. Even the magpies paused mid-menace.
I checked my phone. Still three minutes to go.
Teachers started clapping their hands. Clapping. Like we were cattle who understood applause but not language.
“Inside please!”
That’s when it hit me.
The rumour wasn’t a rumour.
It was a policy.
By the end of the day we had confirmation: official announcement tomorrow morning assembly. But you didn’t need an announcement when your sandwich was still emotionally half-eaten.
My friend group met at our headquarters — the table next to the vending machines where dreams go to cost $4.50.
“We can’t let this happen,” said Sam. “That’s ten minutes a day.”
“Fifty minutes a week,” I added.
“Two hundred minutes a month,” Dylan said.
We all stared at him.
“You calculated that fast,” I said.
“I’m angry,” he replied.
Anger does wonders for mathematics.
We began planning. Not studying-hard planning. Real planning. Revolutionary planning. The kind history textbooks pretend students did while actually they were probably just bored and hungry like us.
Step one: awareness.
I created posters in Microsoft Word because true rebellion always begins with default fonts.
GIVE US BACK OUR TIME
WE WILL NOT STAND (FOR LESS THAN 40 MINUTES)
TIME IS A HUMAN RIGHT
We printed twenty. The printer printed nineteen and emotionally collapsed, which felt symbolic.
By the next morning they were everywhere: lockers, bathroom mirrors, directly on top of the motivational quote posters about resilience.
Assembly began.
The principal stood at the podium with the smile of a man about to reduce joy.
“Students,” he began, “to improve academic outcomes—”
The entire year level booed. Not loudly. But in that disappointed, disappointed-dad kind of way.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 60%: Taking Off It was the summer of 2017. I was just another kid standing in a long check-in line at the airport,…
Taking Off
It was the summer of 2017. I was just another kid standing in a long check-in line at the airport, dragging a suitcase that felt bigger than me. I was flying from my hometown- Bangalore, to Melbourne with my family. I had no idea back then, but that single, ordinary trip would quietly rewrite the map of my future. At that time, I was completely new to the world of flying- the security checks, immigration counters, boarding gates and even the idea of being inside an airplane. I was walked through each step of the process with a kind of calm curiosity. I didn’t realise it then, but that sense of order and structure (something that is rarely found in India) would later become something I deeply valued.
Once we boarded and sat down in our assigned seats, (I got the window by the way) and the plane began to taxi, I felt the engines powering up, a deep vibration moving through the floor and into my chest. That exact moment of take-off is etched into my memory- the sudden surge forward, the roar of the engines at max thrust and the lines of the runway from dotted to straight which dropped away, I looked out the window and watched the city shrink until it disappeared into the clouds. It was strangely peaceful yet an unreal experience for me. The flight itself was smooth and uneventful, but inside my head, “something important was taking off”.
Our layover in Kuala Lumpur gave me yet another perspective of aviation and my potential future. While we waited for our connecting flight, I noticed pilots relaxing in luxurious lounges and they looked like they belonged to another world – a world full of travel, different cities and time zones. Watching them, I started to imagine myself living such a life, waking up in one country, going to sleep in another. I didn’t have the exact words nor realize it back then, but I fell in love with that nomadic lifestyle. It wasn’t just about travelling from point A to point B on that one trip, rather it was about travelling as a way of life.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: 'The Revolution is Here!'…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: The Revolution is Here! Executive Summary - Internal Circulation only In response to public disapproval due…
The Revolution is Here!
Executive Summary - Internal Circulation only
In response to public disapproval due to revised tax framework, Reinforced Enterprise has activated the Standardised - Defense - Response - Protocol (SDRP). Predictive modelling forecasts the 'Revolution!' activism leaders preach will reach peak unclear within the next 72 hours.
Historically, such large public protest correlates with increased emotional response with not negligible financial consequences.
No immediate threat to long-term enterprise stability is forecast.
Phase 1 - Moral Outrage
Initial gathering of protesters occurred in a large truck, filled with adolescents and teenagers. Chants rang out, "The Revolution is Here!" echoing as the event generated more and more participants, marching alongside the truck, beeping horns, and waving flags.
Videos of the protest circulated widely.
Engagement metrics predict although a widespread exposure of the expression of protest was widely viewed, institutional change is unlikely to occur.
Of note: 76% of surveyed individuals condemned for reform, yet expressed that they are unlikely to take action for change.
Projected outcome: Dissipation within 14 days.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about protest, base piece
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: To the climate change conference delegate who dismissed my ocean protest as a “stunt”, You disregarded it as a…
To the climate change conference delegate who dismissed my ocean protest as a “stunt”,
You disregarded it as a publicity stunt straight to my face. Perhaps you thought your words overpowered me with your authority. But when I chose to stand knee-deep in the vigorous seas dressed in the same suit you wear in fancy conference halls, I spoke for my fellow classmates who dream of an island full of life, love and laughter rather than a submerged one. I spoke for our tall palm trees, our native marine life, our indigenous bird species, that could soon be eradicated. I stood in a place where land so pristine, so pure, once existed. So it wasn’t a “publicity stunt”, it was a protest to advocate that water doesn’t wait for future targets or deadlines. A protest on behalf of my school friends who dread the day of a deluged island. A protest to demonstrate that it’s a moral and ethical obligation we choose to carry into the very water that threatens us.
My school shoes submerged in the ocean serve as a reminder that our generation has access to top class education. A reminder that we should be learning in class; instead, our future is underwater. Instead, we could be the last generation of school children to grow up in Tuvalu. We are the generation that can live up to our full potential. Yet, we are left with a responsibility to protest for delegates like you to do your job, wasting our time when we could be chasing our dreams. We are sinking, but so are others.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys: The Philosophical…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: The Gravity of Elsewhere Sometimes I sit and ponder on how the force of gravity works. I’m no physicist, but…
The Gravity of Elsewhere
Sometimes I sit and ponder on how the force of gravity works. I’m no physicist, but the complex aspect of gravity always seems to intrigue me. How it pulls and pushes from one place to another. How it is a large dome that surrounds our earth and pushes against it to create a force that keeps us from mindlessly floating away. But sometimes, I also wonder to myself: can gravity be pulling from two different regions? Can two forces of attraction lie directly opposite from each other, and be pulling an object in the middle, with the object being tugged and worn relentlessly until it finally, one day, cannot bear the force and rips in half in defeat?
That’s how I’m feeling. That’s how my culture treats me.
I always saw it as unfair. Broken pieces of myself I could never collect together. My younger self never understood what or who she was. In what roots she was grounded. It was all a blur to me. Belonging to a European father and a Central American mother, the force of gravity always played a role in discovering who I was. Only it never helped in the process, but rather acted as a barrier in doing so. An interruption that heaved at each of my arms to pull me to one side or the other. In my mind, I would beg for it to stop. I begged for the gravity to release its pressure that strained my limbs. Only as I got older, it pulled stronger. And my arms just continued to grow even weaker.
Family gatherings were never easy for me. On my dad’s side, I always felt excluded. Generally, we would gather around once every one or two months at my grandparents’ house. I called them Nana and Nanu—meaning grandma and grandpa in Maltese. I would walk into the small, hand-built house and move past the corridor to the kitchen to greet the family. Each dinner, birthday, or reunion, what would always stop me in my tracks was the fridge. Every visit, I stopped to look at the old yet stern appliance, which hung numbers for electricians and plumbers, but was completely filled with proud family photos. Each photograph contained either a child or a grandchild, with every blood family member featured in around four or five photos each, either individually or in a group photo. It ranged from fresh baby photos, graduation ceremonies, to celebratory marriages. A display that boasted of Nana and Nanu’s perfect family.
What I only noticed was that there was one member who was featured in not four or five, but just one singular photo. A background character. Me. At my eldest cousin’s going-away party, a large family photo was taken and hung on the wall. Every single family member, both by blood and marriage were featured in the photo. My eyes travelled diagonally far across the image to the bottom left corner, where 10-year-old me stood, shoulders hunched and an awkward smile forced on my face. My one and only photo. A harsh whisper that would always remind me I didn’t belong here. That I wasn’t meant to be here. Surely it was an accident. Maybe a mistake? Potentially. Maybe they didn’t mean for it like that. After all, Nana and Nanu are pushing their 90’s.
My cousins were all the same. Two other families of children, who always bonded like a pure and true family. Something I couldn’t experience. Always playing legos together, hide and seek in the backyard, mariokart on the PlayStation. There was always some excuse configured in the moment to get me to miss out. Somehow, I would find myself in the corner watching everyone else constructing the lego. Somehow, it ended up being me who wasn’t playing hide and seek because it was a big kids' game. Somehow, it was always me who got given no controller because there wasn’t enough for everyone. It never occurred to me why until my aunt’s birthday gathering, the day I built the courage to ask Maya, my cousin.
I will never forget the words that eased out of her mouth. Those that punctured my confidence.
“Don’t you get it? It’s because you're different. You’re colour, your hair, you don’t belong in our family.”
I hated myself. I was browner than everyone and different. I could never fit in. They would never accept me. From that comment, I would always then observe my other cousin’s perfect brunette and blonde hair, with mine dark and frizzy. I would see them for their pale and perfect skin tone, whereas mine was brown with unwanted freckles.
Once I dyed my hair blonde. I thought it looked cool. I thought a small change could make me more accepted—to allow me to fit in.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Our reality- FOI of Protest
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: Our reality- Monologue [The spoltlight shifts to the streets of Melbourne in 2020 in the middle of autumn. The…
Our reality- Monologue
[The spoltlight shifts to the streets of Melbourne in 2020 in the middle of autumn. The spotlight turns to a single protestor, illuminating a man in his early thirties. He stands beneath a flickering fluorescent tram-stop sign suspended above him. Behind him, faint projections of blurred news headlines move across a scrim coupled with the signs held by the fellow protestors reading “ WE NEED CHANGE”. The distant hum of city traffic pulses softly, mechanical and indifferent like the calm before a storm. A discarded surgical mask hangs loosely around his wrist like something half-abandoned, half-remembered. He looks at the audience for a long moment before speaking.] lighting, sound, movement, background.
Charles: “You don’t look sick.
That’s what someone said to me on the tram when I coughed. It wasn’t even a real cough — just dust in my throat — but the carriage stiffened. You could feel it. Bodies shifting. Air tightening. Like someone had pulled an invisible wire through everyone’s spine at once. And then: “You people brought this here.” The words didn’t echo in the space — they landed heavy, absorbed by it.
[The projected headlines behind him sharpen momentarily: Foreign Threat. China Virus. Global Contagion.]
These people. I was born at Box Hill Hospital. My first word was “footy.” I grew up thinking Vegemite was too salty. Yet somehow, in that carriage, I became a border. A biohazard. A walking headline.
[The spotlight narrows slightly, compressing the space around him, visually shrinking his world. The stage screen flickers with images of empty supermarket shelves and masked figures crossing city streets]
During COVID, my face became political. My mum stopped going grocery shopping after someone spat near her trolley. Not on her — near her. That’s the thing about fear. It doesn’t have to touch you to stain you. My dad, a quiet man, began carrying his citizenship certificate in his wallet. He said it was “just in case.” The man under the spotlight pulls an invisible card from his pocket and holds it up, the gesture fragile. As if belonging were something that needed documentation.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write on personal journeys. The theme…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 60%: Crossing the Line What is this feeling I suddenly find myself grappling with? I’m standing amidst a crowd of…
Crossing the Line
What is this feeling I suddenly find myself grappling with?
I’m standing amidst a crowd of teenagers, all the same age. Each girl in a beautiful gown shimmering in their own uniqueness. They all have a male partner who clings on to their sweetheart. Every gaze fixated on their love as they sway seamlessly to the rhythm of the melody.
I find myself doing the same.
It’s almost like he is Prince Charming. His eyes are beaming with a twinkle that shimmers in his hazel pupils. his skin is soft and smooth in the likeliness of a newborn baby, with a touch of innocence. His lips are gentle and smile at me in a way that tells me I am special. Suddenly I find him reel me in slightly closer so our breasts are grazing across each other’s with every step we take. I gently slide my hand up to feel his delicate brown hair. I never seemed to notice how calming his touch made me fell. How his face was perfectly added with every feature, a carefully crafted pottery designed intricately to be perfect. He is perfect.
Although, I’m not too sure I would use the word love to describe how I feel.
I don’t understand how to describe it. I am struggling to put it into words. It’s as through I am at a cliff edge, an old wodden and fragile bridge held in front of me. I can see him on the other side. A small figure in the distance who is motioning for me to cross. I don’t know if I should cross though. My life is satisfactory as it is already. Is he worth the risk of crossing?
I am a Jew. I grew up rooted in Judaism the second I was born. Even prior to that. I would consider my family to be quite religious. We attend our local synagogue three times a week—no exceptions. I’m not angry I was born Jewish. I quite like it. Ceremonies, traditions, rituals, I find it all a blessing I have been raised in this culture. How I can deepen my understanding of God and grow further in my faith to be a loyal servant of my Lord Almighty. Bu now I am starting to have doubts, about this, how to remove my bitterness and anger that God had put me in such a difficult circumstance. Hence, my prayer has been changed every night to end with a simple question:
“God, why couldn’t he also be Jewish as well?”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about protest
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: I’m sure this isn’t a foreign situation for any of you. I’m standing at the classroom door, greeting every…
I’m sure this isn’t a foreign situation for any of you. I’m standing at the classroom door, greeting every student with a wide smile, checking every student up and down, making sure they're wearing the correct uniform. From socks to jumpers, from pants to dresses, from shirts to hair styles. Girls can’t wear pants. Boys can’t wear dresses. Girls can’t wear jewellery or have painted nails. Boys must wear a clean white shirt. No exceptions. No questions asked. It’s our school policy.
There’s always girls who walk in wearing pants. We have to send them home to change. We’ll get into trouble if we don’t. Yet we’re standing at the door in those same moments wearing my pair of blue baggy jeans.
The glass wall strengthens.
I’m sure this isn’t a foreign situation for any of you. I’m in a staff meeting. They’re projecting a screenshot on the board. A screenshot of a petition the students had made to change the uniform policy. The girls want to wear pants, the boys find their ties uncomfortable. A thousand signatures. “All students involved will be held back after school for community service this afternoon”. No mention of the efforts students made to be heard. No mention of what these young people were fighting for. I mean, what would that make us teachers if every rule became negotiable? So we punish them.
The glass wall strengthens.
The narrative of gender inequality has been constantly shoved under the bed like an old cardigan. I admit. I do it too. I. As a woman. As someone who has the pleasure of working with and around the next generation of curious souls every day. I have participated in the routine uniform checks. I have given detentions to students for what we call “unnecessary disruption”. When a group of students snatch the microphone at assembly with a prepared speech on why the uniform policy needs to be changed. We don’t let them finish. We send them straight to the principal's office. Anything that impacts the integrity of our school, deserves punishment. We frame their protest as disobedience to prevent having to take accountability. All this time it’s been happening right in front of my eyes. Right under my nose.
Protest has always been a word held with ample stigma. Any mention of protest gets quickly pushed away. Deflected. It conjures images of mass marches, and people holding their flags in the sky with closed fists aimed at their oppressors. It’s these protests that taint how we perceive them through everyday circumstances. Us teachers don’t view protest simply as its definition; A statement or action expressing disapproval of or objection to something. We think that protest is just mass marches down the streets. We think it’s people holding their flags up to the sky and causing public disturbance. This stigma forms the foundation of our belief system as professionals working with young people. Protest is disobedience, and public disturbance disrupts the order of the institution we aim to uphold.
Yes there’s signed petitions, assembly interruptions, and social media accounts, all aimed at us, those who enforce the uniform policy so relentlessly every day. But what about the small acts of objection? The female students we see every morning at our door wearing the same pants and shirt we sent them home for yesterday. They do this every morning, relentlessly, as if trying to get some sort of point across. No matter how many punishments, how many times we send them home, they keep doing it. And we keep pretending it’s not what it is. ‘Detention at lunch’. ‘Community service after school’. But these students will keep going. It's a protest. It’s an attempt to make change and be heard. As teachers we would never dream of listening to them. It’s one of the core values thrust upon us when learning to be a teacher; Neutrality allows the school to function as it has for hundreds of years. It’s not ignorance, it’s procedure.
These students are trapped behind glass. ‘To be seen and not heard’.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about protest
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: Not Going Back Mr Speaker, and distinguished members of parliament – all of whom I note are men. I stand before…
Not Going Back
Mr Speaker, and distinguished members of parliament – all of whom I note are men.
I stand before you not merely as a colleague, but as a woman whose voice has too often been expected to soften, to shrink, to wait. I refuse to remain unheard.
Protest has always been a cliché concept. You stand up in front of thousands of people with your fists to the sky declaring defiance. You stand up in front of a group of politicians crying for some sort of societal change. You wear your scars with pride as you watch the streets with flags held high.
Protests are with the intention to make change. To break the glass built off of systemic oppression, not just scratch it.
Protest can never be silenced, right? The entire purpose of them is to be heard and to bring about change. But what about when women protest? The women who march the streets relentlessly, with their fists up to the sky, and their chins up against the glass wall that confines them. They demand equal pay. Equal leadership opportunities. Equal rights. But are our cries ever heard? Do people ever listen?
In the early 20th century, English woman Emmeline Pankhurst established a community of women called the suffragettes. They coined the phrase ‘deeds not words’, the women under the regime realized that politeness was futile. Pushing their fists to the sky was never going to be listened to. So they acted. They went on hunger strikes in prison cells, force fed through tubes and violent restraint. It was the only way to garner attention from the deaf men that governed them. They thought we would never go back again. That the gender inequalities would be harnessed and resolved.
Glass used to shatter. Loud ear-piercing bangs could be heard from across town as shards cut through the air. Hit the ground with great force as the suffragettes stood with their clenched fists to the sky. Blood dripped relentlessly from the depths of their soul. A fight for future generations. A fight for us. Your wives. Your mothers, your daughters.
For the most part, it worked. Women were provided with the right to vote, to run for parliamentary positions, and were able to have a say in the society they helped create.
But the issue still lingers. Yes we have never gone back to the old-fashioned prejudice of the 20th century, but now it’s more subtle. Hidden. The walls of oppression still exist, albeit glass and less visible to the naked eye.
Yes, glass broke. But now we lie among the shards.
The shards of past hope. Past drive for change. Past longing for equality. The shards of modern prejudice, unfair pay. And a society that claims to be equal yet inadvertently endorses the subjugation of women.