VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about Protest - As One
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: "As One" To the Editor, The Nobel prize winner, Ellie Wiesel, once stated that 'we are defined by what troubles…
"As One"
To the Editor,
The Nobel prize winner, Ellie Wiesel, once stated that 'we are defined by what troubles us.' If this is our moral philosophy, then Australia needs to wake up and smell the roses. What should trouble us, what should keep every member of Parliament awake until the early hours of the morning, is the systematic breakdown of the Australian Dream.
While you may be sitting inside, blanketed from the chaos outside, young Australians are struggling to find a mean of shelter. Since the age of 10, I have been told to save up. Prepare for the future. Financial worry hung upon the shoulders of a little girl too young to understand what a mortgage was. Worries of belonging, school, exercise, clothes and friends stacked higher like layers on a cake. The cherry on top, shelter.
Repeat that out loud again. Shelter. A basic human right. Meanwhile Australia prides itself on being a progressive 1st world country, and yet we worry about housing. We see that thousands move to Australia every year, but our right to shelter still remains a priority. For so long, the Australian Dream to own a home was attainable. Now, it drifts further and further from reach. Every year, the statistic of people renting grows, like poison ivy, diminishing the people who own a home. This is our pain, our struggle.
Wiesel's philosophy suggests that our moral standing is shaped by our willingness to respond to the struggle of others. Today, that struggle has formed into a normality, at every auction which draws tens to hundreds of people, desperate to get a foot in the door. Where thirty year-olds wonder if they will ever know the dignity of a front door key that belongs to them. Just to have the door of interest and debt slam into their face. And yet where is the help? What are our government doing?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: ‘Refuse and Redirect’ Stimulus…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: Refuse and redirect MONOLOGUE REFLECTIVE-EXPRESSIVE What am I to you, just another yellow chink overpopulating…
Refuse and redirect MONOLOGUE REFLECTIVE-EXPRESSIVE
What am I to you, just another yellow chink overpopulating Australia? Even after helping to establish such a strong, growing country with multiculturalism over the years you think we are some aliens. We aren’t “stealing jobs”, we are simply just living our lives, with hard work and making something of ourselves. Many of us come from war torn countries, countries where women have less rights, or maybe just out of love for Australia, yet we get treated with discrimination and disgust. Oh, how it is easier to resist at the beginning than at the end, “welcomed” into a country with freedom, rights and hope for a good life, silently being judged and hated on, just for being who we are, I am fed up, we are fed up. We aren’t going to be your slave by being obedient to everything. Disobedience is the evident form of liberty. Whether you like it or not, we will not stand for this.
“Where are you actually from?”
“Go back to where you came from”
“Why do you eat rice every day?”
“Why do your eyes look so weird”
“Open your eyes” there’s a wall there” “can you see it?”, was what I was told, simply walking out of school one day, I was 14, they were 13. Teach your child some decency and manners. Young kids, highschoolers, adults, all ready to rein us in. This isn’t the country I thought I was born into. It’s not embarrassing for us to be different, it’s embarrassing for you to believe that how you act is acceptable. Embarrassing for your family, friends, relatives, embarrassing for Australians, embarrassing for Australia. The holocaust. Nazis discriminated against Jewish people, the only difference with you is that it’s that subtle shit. Toxic, spreading like a new “joke” or “trend”. Sometimes not everyone knows how racist you are, you’re afraid of getting called out one day, and getting cancelled or frowned upon. If you know it’s the wrong thing to do, then just don’t do it.
“She has slits for eyes”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Crafting texts - protest blog
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: 2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. We are the nameless ten Million, our voices shouting…
2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. We are the nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the oppressed. Major media organisations kept their lens firmly cast on our mass outrage. All against the backdrop of a potential Iraq Invasion. March 20th 2003. The boardroom of political leaders had finalised a transactional deal for an Iraq invasion. March 20th 2026. Populist anti-war sentiment has fragmented against the boardroom. This is our world; 23 years on from the Iraq Anti-war protests.
At its core, this protest’s legacy challenges the notion that protest was an effective tool. The hand drawn signs and voices fail in sharp contrast to the legislation that pushed troops forward. 23 years on, how did our solidarity of over ten million around the globe collect to simply sit there and do nothing?
Despite 23 years passing, and the shadow of looming forever wars, the demonstration has not been forgotten. There is vast importance in the protests. It declared a world without war to be a possibility. A world-wide radical act of asking citizens, not merely to participate in a march but instead to imagine. That is an act of protest in itself. It altered the blueprint of protest and embedded it into the imagination of civilians. It was a radical act that folded itself the minds of those who marched.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Crafting texts - protest blog
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: 2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the…
2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the oppressed. Major media organisations kept their lens firmly cast on our mass outrage. All against the backdrop of a potential Iraq Invasion. March 20th 2003. The boardroom of political leaders had finalised a transactional deal for an Iraq invasion. March 20th 2026. Populist anti-war sentiment has fragmented against the boardroom. This is our world; 23 years on from the Iraq Anti-war protests.
At its core, this protest’s legacy challenges the notion that protest was an effective tool. The hand drawn signs and voices fail in sharp contrast to the legislation that pushed troops forward. 23 years on, how did our solidarity of over ten million around the globe collect to simply sit there and do nothing?
Despite 23 years passing, and the shadow of looming forever wars, the demonstration has not been forgotten. There is vast importance in the protests. It declared a world without war to be a possibility. A world-wide radical act of asking citizens, not merely to participate in a march but instead to imagine. That is an act of protest in itself. It altered the blueprint of protest and embedded it into the imagination of civilians. It was a radical act that folded itself the minds of those who marched.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Crafting texts - protest blog
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: 2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the…
2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the oppressed. Major media organisations kept their lens firmly cast on our mass outrage. All against the backdrop of a potential Iraq Invasion. March 20th 2003. The boardroom of political leaders had finalised a transactional deal for an Iraq invasion. March 20th 2026. Populist anti-war sentiment has fragmented against the boardroom. This is our world; 23 years on from the Iraq Anti-war protests.
At its core, this protest’s legacy challenges the notion that protest was an effective tool. The hand drawn signs and voices fail in sharp contrast to the legislation that pushed troops forward. 23 years on, how did our solidarity of over ten million around the globe collect to simply sit there and do nothing?
Despite 23 years passing, and the shadow of looming forever wars, the demonstration has not been forgotten. There is vast importance in the protests. It declared a world without war to be a possibility. A world-wide radical act of asking citizens, not merely to participate in a march but instead to imagine. That is an act of protest in itself. It altered the blueprint of protest and embedded it into the imagination of civilians. It was a radical act that folded itself the minds of those who marched.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Crafting texts - protest blog
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: 2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the…
2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the oppressed. Major media organisations kept their lens firmly cast on our mass outrage. All against the backdrop of a potential Iraq Invasion. March 20th 2003. The boardroom of political leaders had finalised a transactional deal for an Iraq invasion. March 20th 2026. Populist anti-war sentiment has fragmented against the boardroom. This is our world; 23 years on from the Iraq Anti-war protests.
At its core, this protest’s legacy challenges the notion that protest was an effective tool. The hand drawn signs and voices fail in sharp contrast to the legislation that pushed troops forward. 23 years on, how did our solidarity of over ten million around the globe collect to simply sit there and do nothing?
Despite 23 years passing, and the shadow of looming forever wars, the demonstration has not been forgotten. There is vast importance in the protests. It declared a world without war to be a possibility. A world-wide radical act of asking citizens, not merely to participate in a march but instead to imagine. That is an act of protest in itself. It altered the blueprint of protest and embedding it into the imagination of civilians. It was a radical act folded into the minds of those who marched.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Crafting texts - protest blog
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: 2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the…
2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the oppressed. Major media organisations kept their lens firmly cast on our mass outrage. All against the backdrop of a potential Iraq Invasion. March 20th 2003. The boardroom of political leaders had finalised a transactional deal for an Iraq invasion. March 20th 2026. Populist anti-war sentiment has fragmented against the boardroom. This is our world; 23 years on from the Iraq Anti-war protests.
At its core, this protest’s legacy challenges the notion that protest was an effective tool. The hand drawn signs and voices fail in sharp contrast to the legislation that pushed troops forward. 23 years on, how did our solidarity of over ten million around the globe collect to simply sit there and do nothing?
Despite 23 years passing, and the shadow of looming forever wars, the demonstration has not been forgotten. There is vast importance in the protests. It declared a world without war to be a possibility. A world-wide radical act of asking citizens, not merely to participate in a march but instead to imagine. That is an act of protest in itself. It altered the blueprint of protest and embedding it into the imagination of civilians. It was a radical act folded into the minds of those who marched.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Crafting texts - protest blog
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: 2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the…
2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the oppressed. Major media organisations kept their lens firmly cast on our mass outrage. All against the backdrop of a potential Iraq Invasion. March 20th 2003. The boardroom of political leaders had finalised a transactional deal for an Iraq invasion. March 20th 2026. Populist anti-war sentiment has fragmented against the boardroom. This is our world; 23 years on from the Iraq Anti-war protests.
At its core, this protest’s legacy challenges the notion that protest was an effective tool. The hand drawn signs and voices fail in sharp contrast to the legislation that pushed troops forward. 23 years on, how did our solidarity of over ten million around the globe collect to simply sit there and do nothing?
Despite 23 years passing, and the shadow of looming forever wars, the demonstration has not been forgotten. There is vast importance in the protests. It declared a world without war to be a possibility. A world-wide radical act of asking citizens; not merely to participate in a march but instead to imagine. That is an act of protest in itself. It altered the blueprint of protest and embedding it into the imagination of civilians. It was a radical act folded into the minds of those who marched.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Crafting texts - protest blog
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: 2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the…
2003. Almost every major city in the global West gathered. Nameless ten Million, our voices shouting for the oppressed. Major media organisations kept their lens firmly cast on our mass outrage. All against the backdrop of a potential Iraq Invasion. March 20th 2003. The boardroom of political leaders had finalised a transactional deal for an Iraq invasion. March 20th 2026. Populist anti-war sentiment has fragmented against the boardroom. This is our world; 23 years on from the Iraq Anti-war protests.
At its core, this protest’s legacy challenges the notion that protest was an effective tool. The hand drawn signs and voices fail in sharp contrast to the legislation that pushed troops forward. 23 years on. How did our solidarity of over ten million around the globe collect to simply sit there and do nothing? Our voices were silenced.
Despite 23 years passing, and the shadow of looming forever wars, the demonstration has not been forgotten. There is vast importance in the protests. It declared a world without war to be a possibility. A world-wide radical act of asking citizens; not merely to participate in a march but instead to imagine. That is an act of protest in itself. It altered the blueprint of protest and embedding it into the imagination of civilians. It was a radical act folded into the minds of those who marched.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: you follow every rule, respect every…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: The locker room was a tomb. I sat on the bench, head in my hands, listening to the muffled celebrations of the…
The locker room was a tomb. I sat on the bench, head in my hands, listening to the muffled celebrations of the Shadow Realm Goons through the thin walls. Quandale Dingle’s laugh was a grating, arrogant sound. They’d taken the semi-final by playing like criminals—trips, jersey tugs, and an elbow to my floating ribs that still made it hard to breathe.
Bronny sat next to me, his black Midnight Munchies jersey torn at the shoulder. He spat a bit of blood into a towel and looked at me with cold, hollow eyes.
“Maybe we’re the idiots, James,” Bronny whispered, his voice cracking. “Next season, we do what they do. We trip. We pinch. We flop. If the refs aren’t going to blow the whistle, why should we respect it? Cheaters always win, bro. Look at the trophy in the other room.”
I nodded, the bitterness like poison in my throat. “You’re right. Integrity doesn't put rings on fingers. Let's just play their game.”
The door swung open. LeBron didn't look like a father or a superstar; he looked like a general who had just heard a mutiny. He walked to the center of the room, his presence sucking the oxygen out of the air.
“You want to play their game?” LeBron’s voice was a low, vibrating growl. “A win built on a lie is just a hollow shell. You cheat to win, and you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, waiting for the truth to catch you. You want a crown? You earn it so clearly that even your enemies have to respect it. You don’t become the mud; you become the stone that the mud can’t stick to.”
Bronny and I looked at each other, the shame hitting us harder than Dingle’s elbow.
“Then show us, Bron,” I begged, standing up. “Don't just give us a speech. Take us to the Lab. Train us until we can’t feel the hits anymore. Please.”
LeBron looked at us for a long, silent minute. “Pack your bags. We’re going to the Congo Republic.”
Twenty-four hours later, the stadium lights were a memory. We were in the heart of a Congolese rainforest, the air so thick it felt like breathing through wet wool. For the first month, it was pure carnage. LeBron didn’t coach us; he watched from the canopy as actual predators hunted us. I remember a Bengal Tiger lunging from the brush, its claws raking across my shoulder. Bronny and I were screaming, scrambling through the vines, nearly finished, our lungs burning, until LeBron finally stepped in with a tranquilizer rifle at the last possible second.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Fragments of Me Title: Fragments of Me…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Fragments of Me I spent years preparing for a life that had already begun without me. తృష్ణ (tṛṣṇa — thirst)…
Fragments of Me
I spent years preparing for a life that had already begun without me.
తృష్ణ (tṛṣṇa — thirst) The trophy sits on the shelf for three days before I accept he will not mention it. Bronze. Third place. District tennis finals. I had carried it home wrapped in my sweaty towel, still smelling of clay. I kept rehearsing the moment I would set it down in front of him. Imagine him looking up from the newspaper. Hoping for something crossing his face, a sense of pride maybe? He glanced at it once. Then returned to his chai. That year I was twelve, and I began to understand at that moment that love was a language neither of us had been taught to speak in our house.
మాయ (māya — illusion) I had told myself that if I tried harder, he would see me. So I tried harder. I trained faster, studied longer, swallowed my failures before they reached the dining table. I gave myself the best shot at becoming the best version of myself but for that envying silence I was trying to break. Every certificate, every rank, even every small victory was another offering laid at the altar of a man who received them with the same expression he wore when reading the weather. Back then I believed his silence meant I was not enough. I did not yet understand that some silences have nothing to do with you at all. I constructed a version of myself built entirely from the outside in shape by what I imagined he wanted, hollowed out by what I could never confirm. I was a boy made up of half taken chances.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Small acts, Big wins
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: To all my sisters, friends, and indomitable women of Afghanistan, I feel for you. I speak to you today from a…
To all my sisters, friends, and indomitable women of Afghanistan, I feel for you. I speak to you today from a land where the sun rises over free people, yet my heart is still shadowed with shame knowing the same sun does not shine over you. In the glimmering halls of the Australian parliament, we hear reports of your "decree of silence", a law that seeks to erase the tongue of every woman across the country. How dare the Taliban shun the voice of the very gender that birthed them? They call your existence a distraction, and your education a threat. But they are wrong, they are not afraid of your "distraction" rather your sovereign power.
Our theme today is "Small acts, Big Wins." In a world of tanks, war and outrage, its easy to feel that a single person is powerless. But history tells a different story. Every time a young girl opens a textbook in the basement, consuming knowledge from an "illegal classroom", it is a "small act". Every time a mother whispers a story of a female poet to her daughter under the flicker of a small lamp, that is a "small act". To these administrations, these are crimes. To the world, these are the foundations of freedom. These are simply small acts that create a "Big win". You're not just surviving, you are maintaining the intellectual eternal flame, a fire that lights a nation at times of darkness.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Challenge Stimulus: The view…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: One rung at a time, I told myself. It’s warmer than I had expected, almost burning against my fingers. I…
One rung at a time, I told myself. It’s warmer than I had expected, almost burning against my fingers. I tighten my grip regardless. Above me is just the sky, endless amounts of it staring back at me. Below there’s nothing I want to look at. Instead of empty sky, empty memories flooded the streets we walked. I never liked that uncertainty the sky posed, and I’m sure you didn’t either. You always needed plans, structure and something solid to hold on to. I think I did too. I just didn’t realise I was holding onto you.
I pull myself up another rung. The painted metal bites harder, rough against my skin, trying to force me back down. My arms ache, but I don’t step down.
My grip falters just for a second. I think that’s when I first felt it too, the slow slipping of certainty between us. The night you first said you wanted to end things. I remember how normal the day seemed and how excited I was for formal. The music, the noise, chatting with mates. Everything felt right until my phone lit up with that message from you.
We need to talk.
That was all it said. I wasn’t worried at first. Everything between us felt normal, just like every rung had before. That feeling didn’t last. After my first reply, every message you sent pulled something heavy through my chest, dragging it lower. Your words felt distant, like you were already halfway gone.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Negative impacts of stereotypical…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Negative impacts of stereotypical societal expectations on Women in Australian society What does it truly mean…
Negative impacts of stereotypical societal expectations on Women in Australian society
What does it truly mean to be a woman in Australia today?
From childhood, little girls are taught what is “acceptable” and “expected” of them. Be kind, but not assertive. Be confident, but not too loud. Be ambitious, but not threatening. These so-called rules are rarely spoken yet are inescapably held as a constant reminder that governs how an ideal woman should live and behave. In turn determining how we should act in order to best appease societal expectations forced upon us; to enable conformity that benefits everyone, but ourselves.
It’s ironic, isn’t it? In a country which prides itself on progress and equality, women still to this day are subtly being told where their limits lie.
In modern Australian society, the constant result of these stereotypes have devastating consequences.
Let’s start off with mental health.
According to Beyond Blue, women in Australia are twice as likely as men to experience anxiety or depression. This consequence is a direct result of society constantly telling women that they are simply not enough. The negative connotation of words such as bossy, emotional, or arrogant condition women to question their self worth, creating a vicious cycle of doubt and deafening silence. The appeal to tradition and custom is extremely relevant in Australia. I grew up being told and scolded to act “ladylike” and was always met with shallow comments such as “That’s just how things are,” whenever I attempted to speak out about the injustice. Yet these experiences have done nothing but fuel my rage to speak out for women’s rights, because “tradition” should never be a justification for disguising a gilded cage as a simple social obligation.
It is disappointing to admit that we as a society still cling to outdated norms where women are praised and celebrated for being caregivers, nurturers, mothers. Yet cruelly branded as selfish the moment we dare to prioritise personal growth, individuality and ambition in life that does not revolve around building a family. The media amplifies these expectations through sensationalism, reducing accomplished and experienced women to headlines about their looks, weight, or relationships.
Take Rebel Wilson, for instance.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write a creative piece exploring the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: William Shakespeare once recited, "To be, or not to be: that is the question." And that is indeed the question…
William Shakespeare once recited, "To be, or not to be: that is the question." And that is indeed the question needed to lead a purposeful life. "To be" is not to merely survive, but to thrive and prosper; to live.
Complacency ultimately defeats the purpose of thriving. The acceptance of mediocre treatment has become a societal norm, often graduating to a lack of deeper meaning within oneself. Protest is purpose. If not to fight for a better living circumstance or fairer treatment, then what? Spend your life reproducing the inherited cycle of working, and eventually dying? Your death, a product of living in a corrupt system that favours wealthy, tyrannical people.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework: Personal Journeys Stimuli:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: Finding My Way There’s no use going back to yesterday. I tell myself that, standing still as if the thought…
Finding My Way
There’s no use going back to yesterday.
I tell myself that, standing still as if the thought alone might erase everything that came before. But yesterday still lingers. Not as a place I can return to but as a version of me that still echoes in the way I think, the way I hesitate, the way I choose.
I used to think influence was loud, obvious. Something you could refuse without having to think about it. It wasn’t. It was quieter than that, twisted into casual conversations that didn’t feel like pressure at the time. “Everyone does it.” “It’s not that deep.” “What’s the worst that’s going to happen?” I remember how easily those words settled into me, how they wore down something I’d thought was solid. Never all at once. Just enough each time to shift something small which pulled something bigger, until I couldn’t recognise where my voice ended and theirs began.
There isn’t a single moment I can name. No clear turning point, just small fragments. A pause that lasted a second too long. A yes that came out before the question had finished landing. I wasn’t lost in the way people imagine. Just a quiet, blind shift. A slow and almost invisible leaning, like a door left open long enough that you stopped noticing the cold.
Looking back, I realise how much of it was a language. Not just what was said, but how it was weighted. “Normal.” “Better.” “Fun.” Words that reshaped what I felt without asking permission. I learned to call things by names that made them easier to accept. I learned to dismiss doubt as weakness. I learned to ignore that quiet resistance inside of me, the one that never argued, just sat there like a bruise.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: creative text writing about country…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: As my eyes slowly adjusted, a cool breeze moved past me, carrying the quiet scent of damp soil and living…
As my eyes slowly adjusted, a cool breeze moved past me, carrying the quiet scent of damp soil and living earth. Leaves whispered softly, brushing against one another in a way that felt deliberate. It was the kind of softness only nature knows how to hold. For a moment, it felt as though the ground itself was breathing and without thinking, I breathed with it.
That place, once wide and untouched, did not just exist around me. It existed within me.
Back then, the land stretched endlessly, like an unfinished sentence full of possibility. Trees stood like silent guardians, their branches weaving sunlight across the ground. Grass brushed against my ankles as if it were trying to speak, and the air carried something gentle, something fragile.
I did not realise it at the time, but I was making a memory. Because soon, this place this scene in front of me would become something I could no longer return to.
They say people leave in search of a better life. That is what I did. I went overseas, chasing success, building something of myself, out of the potential I hold. Everything felt sharper there, roads ran straight with precision, buildings stood tall with purpose, and life moved in an organised rhythm. It was a system where everything worked was I order.
On the bright side, it felt perfect. But perfection carried a strange kind of silence.
In that silence, I began to lose something I could not name. The air no longer carried history. The ground beneath my feet felt unfamiliar, almost distant. The trees stood tall, but they did not recognise me and I could not recognise them.
I had traded chaos for comfort, but in doing so, I had unknowingly traded my belonging for success.
I told myself I could always go back.
I thought the place I left would wait for me, frozen in time, like photographs stored away, Untouched, Unchanged, Quietly waiting for me, But I was wrong.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write a creative draft exploring the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: Shakespeare once recited, "To be, or not to be: that is the question." And that is indeed the question needed…
Shakespeare once recited, "To be, or not to be: that is the question." And that is indeed the question needed to live a purposeful life.'To be' is not to merely survive, but to thrive and prosper: to live.
Complacency defeats the purpose of thriving. Why accept mediocre treatment when you could be leading a life that is enjoyable, not just average? Protest is purpose. If not to fight for better living circumstances, or fairer treatment, then what? Spend your life in the inherited cycle of work, reproduce and eventually die. If so, you are living without purpose. You are living a robotic life; emotionless.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: creative text writing about country…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: As my eyes slowly adjusted, a cool breeze moved past me, carrying the quiet scent of damp soil and living…
As my eyes slowly adjusted, a cool breeze moved past me, carrying the quiet scent of damp soil and living earth. Leaves whispered softly, brushing against one another in a way that felt almost deliberate. It was the kind of softness only nature knows how to hold. For a moment, it felt as though the ground itself was breathing—and without thinking, I breathed with it.
That place, once wide and untouched, did not just exist around me. It existed within me.
Back then, the land stretched endlessly, like an unfinished sentence full of possibility. Trees stood like silent guardians, their branches weaving patterns of filtered sunlight across the ground. Grass brushed against my ankles as if it were trying to speak, and the air carried something gentle—something fragile.
I did not realise it at the time, but I was memorising it. Because soon, this scene would become something I could no longer return to.
They say people leave in search of a better life. That is what I did. I went overseas, chasing success, building something more structured, more certain. Everything felt sharper there—roads ran straight with precision, buildings stood tall with purpose, and life moved in an organised rhythm. It was a system where everything worked.
On the surface, it felt perfect.
But perfection carried a strange kind of silence.
In that silence, I began to lose something I could not name. The air no longer carried history. The ground beneath my feet felt unfamiliar, almost distant. The trees still stood, but they did not recognise me—and I could not recognise them.
I had traded chaos for comfort, but in doing so, I had unknowingly traded belonging for distance.
I told myself I could always go back.
I thought the place I left would wait for me—frozen in time, like photographs stored away. Untouched. Unchanged. Quietly waiting.
But I was wrong.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: She was the only grandparent I had left, and with the blink of an eye she was gone. I hadn’t even had the time…
She was the only grandparent I had left, and with the blink of an eye she was gone. I hadn’t even had the time to say a proper goodbye which I think is what hurt the most. The inner guilt I felt for missing those final moments, mixed with the anger I was feeling, not just at myself but at the world for taking her from me.
The funeral had ended hours earlier but I still stood over her grave, reminiscing all the good times, the silence deafening, but the emotions were high. I was alone, it was the only place I could be at the time, I didn’t have to face anyone, I didn’t have to hear about how hard it must be for me, I could just take the time to think.
The funeral had ended hours earlier at this point, but the quietness still lingered in the house. I sat on the edge of my bed, still in my all-black suit with my jacket laying on the chair. The afternoon sunlight faintly glistening into the room, casting lines across the floor. It felt strange that the world continued moving as normal, cars passing, people walking, birds flying. Yet in my room, at that very moment, something permanent had shifted, there was change, I may not have noticed it at the time but my life would be changed. At the time I didn’t think it was about sport, but that was the single thing it affected the most. I thought about the weekends where I wouldn’t be able to go see her, the tablespoons of peanut butter she would feed me without my parents knowing, the fact she would let me sit on her walker while she walked me around the block even though she struggled. This was all because she loved me. I tried to not show my emotions, not to talk to anyone but this moment had changed things forever and I knew this.
The next morning everything continued as normal as if nothing happened. My alarm went off before the sun rose, same as always. For a moment I just laid there looking at the ceiling, the events of the previous day sitting heavy on my chest. But routine was something I relied on. It gave me structure. So I got up. The streets were empty as I walked to the pool, the cold air biting my skin. Sliding into the pool felt harsher than usual, the cold water cutting deeper. Stroke after stroke, lap after lap I pushed through the silence. The rhythm was there, but something was different, it was like I was forcing myself to do something that I would have otherwise done without thinking about it.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: creative text writing about country…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: (Change is inevitable) As my eyes started widening, the cold breeze of wind flowed over me, carrying with it…
(Change is inevitable)
As my eyes started widening, the cold breeze of wind flowed over me, carrying with it the quiet scent of living earth, damp soil, leaves whispering to one another, a kind of softness that only nature knows how to hold. It felt like the earth itself was breathing, and for a moment, I breathed with it. That place, green, wide open, untouched, did not just exist around me, it existed within me.
Back then the land stretched like an unfinished sentence, full of possibility, trees stood like guardians, their branches knitting the sky into patches of filtered sunlight, Grass brushed against my ankles like it was trying to speak and the air was gentle almost as if it knew it was carrying something sacred and fragile. I did not know it then, but I was leaving this place, this scene was soon to be a memory that will not survive.
They say people leave in search of a better life, that is what I did. I went overseas to become successful and build a better life, everything was cleaner, sharper, more structured, roads that ran straight with precision, building that stood tall with purpose, systems that worked with quiet efficiency. It was a system that everyone worked quietly, life felt organised, controlled, almost perfect on the surface. But perfection has a strange silence to it.
In that silence, I began to lose something I could not name at first. The air overseas did not carry history. The ground did not feel familiar beneath my feet. The trees stood, but they did not recognise me. I had traded chaos for comfort, but in doing so, I had unknowingly traded belonging for distance.
I thought I could always go back.
I thought the place I left would wait for me, frozen in time like the photographs, untouched patiently waiting for me. But I was wrong when I returned to Pakistan I was not returning, I was arriving somewhere new.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about 'play' following the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: The playing field was never even. It was never designed to be. Some are born holding all the pieces, while…
The playing field was never even. It was never designed to be. Some are born holding all the pieces, while others spend their whole lives just trying to find them. But the game does not care where you start, it only cares that you play. Some are born into riches. Swaddled in the best of the best, loved beyond imagination. A childhood filled with friends and family, every opportunity handed over, a world guarded by people who would watch it burn before letting anything touch you. On the other end of the field, some are born into a world missing colour, never given an opportunity to shine, to be their own person. Born into a world where life or death is an everyday game. No, this is not what I mean. Strip away the riches and the missing colour and the circumstances, and what is left is the same for every player on every field: the instinct to survive. The drive to do whatever it takes to win a game that was never designed to be won. How we choose to survive is what really sets us apart. Some hide in the background, always playing defence, staying out of the spotlight and riding the waves of others. Some choose to create those waves. Become so powerful, so untouchable, that nothing could ever bring them down. Some choose violence as their method of winning, and others smile their way through it. Humans have always done, and will forever do, whatever they can to win. There is just one problem with this strategy. You cannot win a game with no end, and you cannot keep losing pieces indefinitely.
You can see the cost of strategy everywhere if you pay enough attention. Look at them. The ones on the ground after the final siren. The ones who trained every day, who gave every move, every play, everything they had to a game that asked for more than they could give. Around them, others celebrate. The crowd roars for the winners. Nobody looks at the ones on the grass. That is the thing about games. They need losers just as much as they need players. The field does not care which one you are.
Born into a life of riches. That is what I was blessed with. A playing field seemingly free from obstacles, free from danger. The perfect life, you could say. Perfect family, enough money to never worry what was for dinner and to never look twice at a price tag, a future already written before I was old enough to hold a pen. I was handed every power-up before I even knew the rules to the game I was never told I was playing. Most people never get that. Most people spend their whole lives chasing what I was born holding.
Life will not be bribed, though.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about 'play' following the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: We all start the same. Now, in saying this, I am not insinuating we are born on the same playing field. We…
We all start the same. Now, in saying this, I am not insinuating we are born on the same playing field. We are not. Some are born into riches. Swaddled in the best of the best, loved beyond imagination. A childhood filled with friends and family, every opportunity handed over, a world guarded by people who would watch it burn before letting anything touch you. On the other end of the field, some are born into a world missing colour, never given an opportunity to shine, to be their own person. Born into a world where life or death is an everyday game. No, this is not what I mean. We all share only one thing. No matter where we come from, how we started, all humans share the instinct to survive. To do whatever it takes to win in a game designed for loss. How we choose to survive is what really sets us apart. Some hide in the background, always playing defence, staying out of the spotlight and riding the waves of others. Some choose to create those waves. Become so powerful, so untouchable, that nothing could ever bring them down. Some choose violence as their method of winning, and others smile their way through it. Humans have always done, and will forever do, whatever they can to win. There is just one problem with this strategy. You cannot win a game with no end, and you cannot keep losing pieces indefinitely.
You can see the cost of strategy everywhere if you pay enough attention. Look at them. The ones on the ground after the final siren. The ones who trained every day, who gave every move, every play, everything they had to a game that asked for more than they could give. Around them, others celebrate. The crowd roars for the winners. Nobody looks at the ones on the grass. That is the thing about games. They need losers just as much as they need players. The field does not care which one you are.
Born into a life of riches. That is what I was blessed with. A playing field seemingly free from obstacles, free from danger. The perfect life, you could say. Perfect family, enough money to never worry what was for dinner and to never look twice at a price tag, a future already written before I was old enough to hold a pen. I was handed every power-up before I even knew the rules to the game I was never told I was playing. Most people never get that. Most people spend their whole lives chasing what I was born holding.
Life will not be bribed, though.
No amount of money changes what the game chooses to take from you and what it chooses to let you keep. No, this part, like what field we are born into, is another game of chance. A gamble. Will life let you be? Will it let you stroll through unobstructed all the way to the end? Will it take just a little bit, not enough to really make a difference, like a token here or there? Or will it take everything? All your tokens, all your spare lives, even the playing board. Money, opportunities, and futures laid out on a red velvet carpet will not change the card you get dealt or the cards that get taken. They just change how it looks from the outside. And when everything looks fine, when the playing field is clean, and the odds are stacked in your favour, nobody thinks to ask if you are okay. Why would the?. You have everything. So you keep playing. You keep moving forward the way the game tells you to, collecting what you are supposed to collect, becoming who you are supposed to become. And somewhere in all of that, quietly, without any single moment you could point to and say this, this is where it went wrong, you start to lose things that were never on the scoreboard.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about 'play' following the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: We all start the same. Now, in saying this, I am not insinuating we are born on the same playing field. We…
We all start the same. Now, in saying this, I am not insinuating we are born on the same playing field. We are not. Some are born into riches. Swaddled in the best of the best, loved beyond imagination. A childhood filled with friends and family, every opportunity handed over, a world guarded by people who would watch it burn before letting anything touch you. On the other end of the field, some are born into a world missing colour, never given an opportunity to shine, to be their own person. Born into a world where life or death is an everyday game. No, this is not what I mean. We all share only one thing. No matter where we come from, how we started, all humans share the instinct to survive. To do whatever it takes to win in a game designed for loss. How we choose to survive is what really sets us apart. Some hide in the background, always playing defence, staying out of the spotlight and riding the waves of others. Some choose to create those waves. Become so powerful, so untouchable, that nothing could ever bring them down. Some choose violence as their method of winning, and others smile their way through it. Humans have always done, and will forever do, whatever they can to win. There is just one problem with this strategy. You cannot win a game with no end, and you cannot keep losing pieces indefinitely.
You can see the cost of strategy everywhere if you pay enough attention. Look at them. The ones on the ground after the final siren. The ones who trained every day, who gave every move, every play, everything they had to a game that asked for more than they could give. Around them, others celebrate. The crowd roars for the winners. Nobody looks at the ones on the grass. That is the thing about games. They need losers just as much as they need players. The field does not care which one you are.
Born into a life of riches. That is what I was blessed with. A playing field seemingly free from obstacles, free from danger. The perfect life, you could say. Perfect family, enough money to never worry what was for dinner and to never look twice at a price tag, a future already written before I was old enough to hold a pen. I was handed every power-up before I even knew the rules to the game I was never told I was playing. Most people never get that. Most people spend their whole lives chasing what I was born holding.
Life will not be bribed, though.