VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: personal journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: Walking Toward Myself Childhood should be about scraped knees and laughter ricocheting off the walls — warm,…
Walking Toward Myself
Childhood should be about scraped knees and laughter ricocheting off the walls — warm, bright, safe. Mine was not. Nights came like a locked door. I’d lie awake while shadows twisted across my ceiling, their movements thin and sharp as wire. My pillow always smelled faintly of salt; the air felt tight, like it was watching me breathe. You were meant to protect me, to build a world I could trust. Instead, you built walls that whispered my name back at me until I forgot how it sounded.
At first, I called it love. I told myself pain was just another kind of care — that bruises were lessons, not warnings. I learned to make myself smaller, quieter, to survive within the narrow shape of your moods. When I visited my auntie’s house, the world widened. The air was full of burnt sugar and laughter. I’d sit at her kitchen table, legs swinging, pretending that light could last. But home always found me again — the silence clinging to my clothes, heavy as damp wool.
That silence became a language I spoke fluently. It filled my chest until it hummed. It taught me to fold feelings into neat corners, to appear untouched. But inside, I was fraying. Shame didn’t hollow me; it thickened beneath my ribs, syrupy and slow, coating everything I tried to say.
Years passed. You grew smaller, or maybe I grew into myself. I began to recognise your reflection in the things I feared — the sudden quiet, the echo of anger. I started unlearning it, piece by piece. If I could speak to that seven-year-old girl,
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: personal journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: Walking Toward Myself (650 words – Personal Journeys) Childhood should be about scraped knees and laughter…
Walking Toward Myself (650 words – Personal Journeys)
Childhood should be about scraped knees and laughter ricocheting off the walls — warm, bright, safe. Mine was not. Nights came like a locked door. I’d lie awake while shadows twisted across my ceiling, their movements thin and sharp as wire. My pillow always smelled faintly of salt; the air felt tight, like it was watching me breathe. You were meant to protect me, to build a world I could trust. Instead, you built walls that whispered my name back at me until I forgot how it sounded.
At first, I called it love. I told myself pain was just another kind of care — that bruises were lessons, not warnings. I learned to make myself smaller, quieter, to survive within the narrow shape of your moods. When I visited my auntie’s house, the world widened. The air was full of burnt sugar and laughter. I’d sit at her kitchen table, legs swinging, pretending that light could last. But home always found me again — the silence clinging to my clothes, heavy as damp wool.
That silence became a language I spoke fluently. It filled my chest until it hummed. It taught me to fold feelings into neat corners, to appear untouched. But inside, I was fraying. Shame didn’t hollow me; it thickened beneath my ribs, syrupy and slow, coating everything I tried to say.
Years passed. You grew smaller, or maybe I grew into myself. I began to recognise your reflection in the things I feared — the sudden quiet, the echo of anger. I started unlearning it, piece by piece. If I could speak to that
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Open your eyes Stimulus: the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: 'Open Your Eyes' I am sure by now that you, Bob Hawke, leader of a democratic nation, have heard of the…
'Open Your Eyes'
I am sure by now that you, Bob Hawke, leader of a democratic nation, have heard of the atrocities, committed by the Chinese Communist party on June 4th 1989.
Still up to this point in time you have chosen inaction.
For fifty days, young hopeful students, just like myself, gathered in millions, filling Tiananmen Square to protest in peace for a basic human right - a voice. Their fifty days of peace was abruptly ended in one day of violence brought about by the Chinese government.
Open your eyes Prime Minister, open your eyes to the Chinese soldiers who opened fire on unarmed civilians and protesters. Open your eyes to the protesters who were beaten and detained as tanks rolled through crushing barricades and even people.
All they wanted was something we love Prime Minister, Something we are all so grateful for and pride ourselves for. All they wanted was democracy, and their own government handed them death.
The Chinese governments explicit dismissal of freedom of speech is simply inexcusable.
How could our nation, a great democratic nation simply let this go unnoticed. The opposite of love is not hate Prime Minister, but apathy, inaction, a lack of concern.
But I know just how much you love democracy, and I know you won't let the Chinese government escape the consequences of their action.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: I haven’t lived at all. And if this is…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: Get uncomfortable
Get uncomfortable
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework 2: Writing about protest •…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Human Rights My name is Aisha Rahman, and I am seventeen years old. I speak today not just as a grieving…
Human Rights
My name is Aisha Rahman, and I am seventeen years old. I speak today not just as a grieving sister, but as a witness of a nation's conscience. A conscience stained in the blood of its youth.
Last year my sister, Zara, walked out of our house carrying nothing but a heart filled with courage and a cardboard sign scrawled with hope. On the sign were five words that now echo through every crumbled street, "we beg for a change". But what does it mean to beg for a change in a world deaf to pleading? Zara's words captured a painful paradox, which told us that those who deserve justice and basic human rights, have to beg for it. In a country where power only listens to force, the act of begging becomes its own quiet form of rebellion.
Zara marched on the streets of Dhaka, with thousands of other students, demanding for a future unchained from corruption and inequality. A future where this broken quota system no longer serve only the powerful and abandon the deserving. A future where our human rights are not just some obligation, but the very essence of our humanity. Zara thought that if we raised our voices together, this government, our government, would listen.
But they didn't.
Instead, when we raised our voices, they met our calls for justice with brutality. Tear gas filled the air like a smog of suppression, except the ones in the authority were masked to prevent any harm to themselves, and we were left with burning lungs. Our efforts to stand up for our rights, our dignity, were crushed. The pavements became battlefields, and the banners of peace trampled beneath the boots of the authority. In a storm of rage, Zara went missing, one of many whose dreams were destroyed before they could bloom.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: title connections stimulus man with…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: Dear Mr Borrows, Subject: Wage & acts I am writing this letter for an increase in hour rate to your company due…
Dear Mr Borrows,
Subject: Wage & acts
I am writing this letter for an increase in hour rate to your company due to my finical freedom, I’m unable to have a connection with my youngest son Tori due to my working hours and getting paid below average income doesn’t even let me provide for my family, the rest of the country in Australia makes at least 30% more than I do which is outrageous especially with how much effort and time I put into your company. Getting paid below average wage is making me suffer as I’m unable to support my family and I don’t even get to get my son.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: When Ozzy Osbourne died, it felt as if a bridge between my father and me finally collapsed. Dad was gone long…
When Ozzy Osbourne died, it felt as if a bridge between my father and me finally collapsed.
Dad was gone long before Ozzy. He died when I was sixteen, suddenly, the kind of loss that leaves silence humming in the walls. In the months that followed, I searched for something to hold on to-some trace of him that hadn't vanished. I found it in Dad's battered old stereo and the stack of Black Sabbath CDs beside it. I remember pressing play and hearing the opening riff of "Iron Man." The sound was rough, heavy, unfiltered-exactly like him. Through that music, Dad was still here, still loud, still alive.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: open your eyes
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: June 2025- FIFA tribunal and Spain’s high court verdict: the FIFA disciplinary committees have and opened their…
June 2025- FIFA tribunal and Spain’s high court verdict: the FIFA disciplinary committees have and opened their eyes and banned luis Rubiales, the former president of the Spanish football association, from all football related activities on national and international levels as well as being found guilty of sexual assault for an unsolicited kiss on the lips on national player Jenni Hermoso following the world cup win
2024- speech by Jenni Hermoso at a rally demanding justice
“it’s inevitable, the comments, looks and action women are given from males who have authority over us especially in this male dominant sport is disgusting. Revolting behaviour and vile objectification are ubiquitously being swept under the rug and covered up. Because God forbid their true colours are shown. God forbid their professional reputations are ruined and God forbid we bring any of this harassment to light. FIFA is not a perfect and safe environment they portray. Under their mask is an organisation filled with misogyny, secrets and lies. Countless coaches are hired who possess amazing skill and knowledge for the game, I for one can admit that, however several of these coaches have committed or covered up these heinous acts that or going on behind closed doors. Inappropriately touching a player is disgusting, inappropriately commenting about them or to them is disgusting and inappropriately threatening them is disgusting”
Flashback- recounting events at the tribunal hearing – 2023
Entering the changerooms after a conditioning session was always gradual, aches and niggles took over my legs. The silence was loud, the room was empty besides myself and Mr Rubiales. He had always hated the “formalities” and urged that I called him Luis because his name “sounded sexy from my mouth”. I never complied with his request much to his dismay, it was my silent protest against his behaviour despite the other girls shying away from opposing him. I vividly remember his eyes analysing my every feature, possessing a hungry look, accompanied by a smug smirk that made my stomach churn. His eyes locked with mine, never straying as he watches me submerge into the freezing water of the ice bath. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, little things happened here and there, but my teammates and I let it slide purely because his behaviour was normalised. This should have never gone to this extent, I despise myself for not standing up sooner and I’m extremely disappointed that the staff surrounding us haven’t opened their eyes, instead, they remain wilfully blind to his behaviour. Regardless he’d always had an unsettling thing for me…
2024-
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey framework - title:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: I want to start by saying that I’m no expert on the topic of brain psychology. I don’t hold a PhD, a science…
I want to start by saying that I’m no expert on the topic of brain psychology. I don’t hold a PhD, a science degree, nor am I even studying it in VCE. My only qualification is lived experience. According to a National Science Foundation study, most of us have up to 80,000 thoughts per day, of which up to 80% are negative and 95% are repetitive.
So, it is proven that the human brain biases negativity, however one more damaging branch of negative thoughts is self-criticism. Psychologists call this negative self-talk. But I like to call it my critics.
What helped me battle my self-critical tendencies was recognizing that these thoughts don’t constitute me—they’re just occurring within me. because once upon a time, they were only voices — nameless, faceless, punishing echoes that bruised the inside of my mind. I stumbled in the dark, too afraid to move, cowardly obeying their insults. But naming them was an act of defiance; with each name, each moment where I chose to face them instead of cower before their insults, a flicker of light emerges, and my mind becomes a little brighter.
Let me introduce you to the shadows I live with.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Just be yourself” Stimulus - “ our…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: I used to believe that looking away was harmless. I've seen creatures suffering in plain sight, birds dragging…
I used to believe that looking away was harmless. I've seen creatures suffering in plain sight, birds dragging string bound feet, animals limping silently, struggling with each breath. And yet, I still walked on. It wasn't because I didn't care, but because caring out loud made you different. Back then I was terrified of being different, everyone said to “just be yourself” but no one warned me that being myself might mean standing apart. I just told myself that someone else would help, that someone else would save them. But deep down I knew I was choosing to walk past them, to ignore their pain. It seemed easier to blend in and ignore the suffering around me than to stand out.
One quiet morning, everything changed.
She was huddled in the corner, her tiny body trembling. Her feathers fluffed up, each shallow breath a fragile struggle against the floor beneath her. Her eyes, tired and glassy, seemed to look straight into me, pleading in silence. Chickens don't cry out, they don't shed tears, they can't ask for help. Instead they suffer in silence. Almost invisible unless someone chooses to see it. I remember freezing as all the other chickens rushed past me and out the door, a thousand doubts rushing through my head. I didn't know how to help her, I didn't know what to do. No one told me I had to help her, I could have walked away. Yet I chose to stay.
I picked her up and carried her inside, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest against my palms. I had her life in my hands. I soon learnt how to clean wounds, to treat common illnesses and to hold life gently in my hands, as it could slip away at any moment. I whispered reassurances that she would never understand , yet I hoped she felt them through the steadiness of my hands. Nights became the hardest test, long after everyone had gone to sleep, I'd tiptoe to her with a torch, focusing the light on her chest, praying it would rise. Holding my breath as I looked for the slightest flicker of life. Those moments showed me what responsibility truly meant, she didn't give up and
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Let Go
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: How can a nation call itself free when its head of state still wears a foreign crown? It is not a symbol of…
How can a nation call itself free when its head of state still wears a foreign crown? It is not a symbol of unity, but a relic of empire, one that still echoes with the silence of stolen voices and stands in the way of a nation ready to speak for itself. This was powerfully clear in Lydia Thorpe’s protest at King Charle’s III’s proclamation, as she protested for a free Australia. Australia’s continued allegiance to the British Monarchy, a relic of colonization in 1788, remains a painful symbol of invasion and injustice for many, particularly the First Nations People here with us today. My name is Radvi, a new face to the senate, and I am speaking to you — young Australians preparing to vote for the first time — because your voice has never been more important. This is your opportunity to help our country take its final step towards independence by supporting the removal of Australia’s ties to the British Royal Family. Australia must cut ties to the British Royal Family, not just to break free from a foreign monarch, but to confront the violent legacy of colonization, reclaim full national sovereignty, and reshape our identity to reflect the values of a modern, diverse, and democratic nation.
Firstly, The British Monarchy is a living symbol of Australia’s violent colonial history and the continued injustice faced by Indigenous Australians. When the British arrived in 1788 under the authority of King George III, they declared the land “terra nullius”, claiming it belonged to no one. This false doctrine erased the existence of First Nations people and gave moral and legal cover to invasion, dispossession, and massacres. It wasn’t just land that was taken in that moment. It was language. Family. Culture. Identity. This trauma still echoes today. Senator Lydia Thorpe’s protest in 2022, shouting “You are not my King! You are not our King!”, during the proclamation of King Charles III, wasn’t a political stunt, it was a cry of generational pain. For many Indigenous Australians, the monarchy isn’t neutral. It is a living reminder of a system that tore through their communities. And yet, we still carry the Crown, a symbol of that legacy, on our coins, in our Constitution, and in our laws. The monarchy is a wound dressed in gold-polished on the surface, but painful underneath. To truly move forward, we must face that truth and cut ties with the power that authorized our nation’s original injustice, make your first vote count, every voice matters.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Resist and Pesist 'People…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: They gathered before sunrise. A slow wave of bodies spilling into the plaza. From my desk on the fifteenth…
They gathered before sunrise. A slow wave of bodies spilling into the plaza.
From my desk on the fifteenth floor, I watched as the glass warped them into one big shape of light and movement. One here to say, we will not back down.
The office lights came on behind me. Another day. Another crisis to ignore.
This was the problem with working for one of the biggest uranium mining companies in the nation.
An email from management pulsed across my screen: Disruption expected. Remain calm. Do not engage.
But I couldn’t stop watching.
Even from here, I could sense their breath turning white in the early air. Their signs blurred in the distance, but the rise and fall of their voices carried itself upward like heat.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title:The Art of Protest Stimulus:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 62.5%: “Can She Even Lift That?”: Persistence in a Hard-Hat World, The Art of Protest Author: Memphis Walton (trade…
“Can She Even Lift That?”: Persistence in a Hard-Hat World, The Art of Protest
Author: Memphis Walton (trade labourer), Published: August 19, 2024, ABC news
They didn’t say it to my face, but I heard it anyway: “Can she even lift that?” It echoed from behind stacks of timber and between smug chuckles from the men I worked beside. The question wasn’t really about strength. It was about belonging. Yet I kept showing up. No change could be made until I stood up to the people who didn't believe in me, that is the true art of protest. Doing something as simple as showing up to work, creates a protest.
That slow, steady persistence of women like me, has started to carve a path into one of Australia’s most male-dominated industries: construction.
Construction has long been framed as a man’s domain, gritty, physical, and tough. For decades, women were either outright excluded or quietly pushed aside. Even as gender equity movements surged in other sectors, this field remained largely untouched. According to bigbuild.vic.gov.au, this industry remains the least gender diverse in Australia, and hasn’t changed for a decade. For civil construction and onsite roles, the percentage of women on site remain around 14% and 2% respectively. Women were told they weren’t strong enough, fast enough, or practical enough. Few were trained, fewer were hired, and even fewer stayed. That decrease of women ultimately came from silence. Our voice is our power, the tool that will change our lives, the art of protest.
I kept showing up, I knew that change doesn't happen from sitting back and watching things unfold it comes from a loud voice speaking up for what's right.
One Step at a Time: My First Day on Site
I still remember the weight of my steel-capped boots that first morning, too big and unfamiliar. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but I stood at the site gate anyway, unsure if I belonged but determined to find out. The foreman looked me up and down. “Didn’t expect you to turn up,” he said, more surprised than rude.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Explore how a characters personal…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 60%: Personal Journey. From Mud to light Good evening everyone, teammates, coaches, parents, and friends. Standing…
Personal Journey.
From Mud to light
Good evening everyone, teammates, coaches, parents, and friends. Standing here tonight, trophy in hand, I'm meant to talk about victory. About success. About the season that made history. But what I really want to talk about is, mud.
Because thats where it started, knee-deep in it, training in the rain, lungs burning. The oval more a swamp than field. I used to hate those mornings. The cold that clawed through your bones. The way your socks stuck to your skin. The mud that clung, refused to let go. Back then, I thought football was about escaping that, about rising above it, proving I was faster, stronger, better.
I was wrong.
Somewhere between the first whistle and the final siren, something changed. Maybe it was the missed goals, maybe it was the silence after a loss. Maybe it was the moment I realised that leadership wasn't about being in front. It was about standing beside.
Theres a kind of loneliness that comes with being a captain, the height of expectation, the eyes that wait for you to fix things. Early on, I tried to carry it alone. I barked orders, demanded more, mistook control for confidence. And yet, the tighter I gripped, the more the team slipped away.
Until one game, pouring rain again, we were down by three goals. I remember looking around seeing not defeat, but exhaustion. Fear. Pride.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Too long but not too late Stimulus:
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Imagine The broadcast interrupts Love island to promote an upcoming pill.... Ladies, Imagine your best friend…
Imagine The broadcast interrupts Love island to promote an upcoming pill....
Ladies,
Imagine your best friend talking about her long distance fiance, and how she feels restrained and lacks freedom when around him. He forces her to use no contraception, overprotective, and forces patriachal ideas onto her. She says she is about to marry him, but doesn't know if breaking up is best for her.
Sound familiar? You got it! This is the reality for women currently on a BlueGovs pill. This pill currently dominates the market and has been for 60+ years. If you fall into the trap of purchasing BlueGovs pill, you are signing your life away. But it's not too late
BlueGov has prides themselves on saftey, security and customers bests intreests in mind. The truth is simple, BlueGov truley "prides themselves" on pushing nuclear family idealogies, abortion control and invasion of building the ultimate patriachal society. Have a Bump into your ex? One night stand? Too much alcohol? You will be forced to have the child. It's in their conditions remember? I forgot to mention the frequent cat calls, being a stay at home mum, and the pink tax as well just like how they forget to mention it in their policies
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: A house that is falling apart within…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: When I was a boy, my grandfather used to tell me that memories live on within her song. He said that when his…
When I was a boy, my grandfather used to tell me that memories live on within her song. He said that when his time was up on this earth, his voice would carry on just like his parents and their’s before him. He always hoped that one day I too would understand her language and face the healing she always provided. The river stretched far and wide, twisting and coiling as it ran through our town of Jeparit. Wherever she flowed, luscious green foliage would follow in her tracks. Her warm blue blood constantly battling the harsh Australian sun, always coming out victorious.
It’s been years since my grandfather passed. Since his departure the town has become old and frail. He was the heart of the town, making sure everyone was ok, ensuring the towns success. With him gone people began to depart the close-knick town of Jeparit. Shops that used to thrive, were soon reduced to dark, abandoned building left to rot. The streets where people used to gather and celebrate, now laid empty and dusty, falling apart with so much as a glance. My house was the finest building in town, bringing joy and setting the bar for others, striving to achieve its look with their own houses. Now all that remained of my house was a chimney, the cracked house slab and the plants that had overgrown the old, decerpet wood beams. When my grandpa passed, it’s almost like the town went along with him. The saddest part of it all wasn’t everyone moving away, or the building becoming ghostly; it was the fact the river now showed her cracked clay spine to the light blue Australian sky. She had begun to dry. Her murky blue water slowly vaporized over the years. When she finally crumbled, so did the life she provided with her blood. Animals that would travel great distances to taste her love, soon became no longer seen. The once vibrant green plants that towered her body became reduced to dead, yellow bushes that when touched, turned to dust, floating away with the wind. She left her skeleton, reduced to nothing but a long, wide hole. Bridges that sored over her, defining her beauty just provided a look at what once was the true life of Jeparit.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about personal journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: The true nature of us as a human is to grow up to try, try for a better outcome and future. Walking through…
The true nature of us as a human is to grow up to try, try for a better outcome and future. Walking through difficulties is what make us strong but still the shattered glasses of these hardships is under our skin. Our purposes, hopes, values and beliefs is what make us keep going. Growing up in Iran as a child, and facing the system that is built up oppression, and injustice was the first sign of these hardships, a system that is served as a step back for its people. This is the reality of my life, growing up under the pressure of dictatorship and a long continuum road to endure for a better future and to becoming a better, healthier, and happier person.
unfunctioning childhood memories
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Protest Title: Listen
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: Newspaper, in response to "A King's Perception" (24th May 2001) Sourced from Kyzinskommandt Volume 45.…
Newspaper, in response to "A King's Perception" (24th May 2001)
Sourced from Kyzinskommandt Volume 45.
"Listen!"
Author: Alexia Avanzikt
The great Kyzinskovsk is in peril from the iron fist of the Lijkzervin rule,and we must act now to save it.
The King, Lijkzervin II believes in upholding reputation and authoritarian rule over the rights of his citizens with his newly published document "A King of Kyzinskovsk" revealing his ignorance. Ignorance that flows through the ink of his pen into his letters, ignorance that flows blood and money on his hands, the very hands that tear families apart and send citizens to the grave.
Lijkzervin says that we citizens are "blind to the future", that we are "incapable of understanding how [his] decisions are trading off short term suffering for long term beneficence."
He ignores the needs of the Kovskians and refuses to heed to our pleas and demonstrations and refuses to show Kyzinskovsk is in a national crisis! He believes that masking the issues of our nation through brutality will overhaul our country into its former glory state. Our demands and desperation for change through peaceful means has fallen on deaf ears, almost like Lijkzervin plugs his ears and mocks the population.
500 citizens, all men, women and children have indiscriminately been killed for suspicion of treason this month. We live in a society where youths as young as 7 years old are being tortured and maimed all because Lijkzervin cannot afford the truth. The truth that his system is only that of a glorification of the Lijkzervin family, portraying a facade of their angelic and divine image and not an education system that informs our present and future generations.
He is 'cleansing false claims through the purification of the state' when in reality he taints his hands with innocent blood who call for change, those who have seen enough hardship for a lifetime. Tongues cut out to those who 'speak evil', eyes poked through to those who 'see evil' and dismemberment of limbs to those who 'do evil'. In reality, we speak no evil, see no evil, and do no evil.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: SECTION B - Personal Journey Stimulus…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: SECTION B - Personal Journey To have such a strong force on a global scale that manipulates how we live is…
SECTION B - Personal Journey
To have such a strong force on a global scale that manipulates how we live is scary. The rapid evolution of social media shapes our spirit. Our mindset, outlooks and future decisions that can alter the paths we take. While it can be a joy, being able to offer support, fast, real time communication, and entertainment, it can also bring you pain with negative effects like mental health issues (anxiety, depression etc), poor self-esteem, as well issues with sleep, increased stress and addiction. You will fall and experience those negative side effects, although you will rise again, receiving that dopamine hit social media gives us. Therefore, each day as you pick up your phone and turn the screen on, you won't be who you were before it. In this new world, social media is all around us, it is innevitable.
Learning how to moderately live with it will keep you on the rise. For young kids growing up in this environment, it can feel as though they are being swirled and sucked down a whirlpool, never being able to come up for air, suffocating their personalities. Let's specifically explore their experiences and how it changes them.
'They are not who they where before'
Life would have been simpler for a young person before discovering social media. With no such thing as online bullying, intrusive and distracting notifications, or the pressure of being available 24/7, they would of felt as free as a bird. However, as soon as social media is introduced to them, it has been proven that social skills, physical development and exploration of life opportunities becomes limited.
Nowadays, with an increasing number of young kids being on platforms like Snapchat, Instagram and TikTok, which are highly addictive apps, time spent on screens is through the roof being more than 5 hours a day. Social Media is a time thief, and that time wasted can never be regained back. As a result of this, kids that are rapidly evolving into teens and adults are constantly changing, although sometimes its not for the better.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Lost Play Stimulus 1 ‘We don’t…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Lost Play Ever since I was a kid, I was obsessed with the numbers leading me to love mathematics. It's the…
Lost Play
Ever since I was a kid, I was obsessed with the numbers leading me to love mathematics. It's the logic of numbers that really resonates with me. I remember learning the times tables for fun and reciting with my parent to see who can list them all off first. It was that connection with numbers that taught me the key skills that I use to this day.
When people hear that I love mathematics, they think I'm a madman. They ask "what about maths is lovable?" I love maths because it tickles a part of how my brain functions, with logic and reasoning. And that there is always an answer to a problem, in addition, you can tackle a problem from many different angles.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: picture of a dense forest viewed from…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: When I was a boy, my grandfather would tell me that the river always remembers. He would speak about her…
When I was a boy, my grandfather would tell me that the river always remembers. He would speak about her language, hoping one day I would understand her voice. My home, Jeparit, sat along her banks, in which always provided wonderous life to our local community. Her warm blue blood carried fish and brought new life to her skin, building luscious green plants, wherever she flowed. Trees stood tall, holding homes for animals that could climb to reach the branches. Her body twisted and coiled promoting a glimmering sparkle, representing hope and adventure to the newly born town.
Years have passed since my grandfather died, bringing the once prosperous town to the grave along with him. My grandfather created the town, making him the heart of the community. He was the person who brought everyone together. The loss of my grandfather forced the town into chaos. People left their unfinished homes, packing their belongings and leaving. Shops became abandoned, creating dark black buildings that voiced ghostly sounds. The streets had cracked and crumbled, resembling small stones and large potholes, that no one would want to drive on. My home, built along the bank of the river, was the highlight of the town. People came from far and wide just to see it and all its beauty. The last time I saw it; I was reminded that the river was what made my home shine. The house was nothing but rusted tin and remnants of a structure we used to live in. It had become overgrown with weeds and sand, no longer a home – a place reclaimed by nature from our lack of presence. The river had been reduced to dirt and clay, showing her open ribcage to the tough Australian sun. Her blood had run dry. No more did animals travel great distances to taste her love. No more did the vibrant green colour cover every inch of the town. Yellow and dust was all that remained. Her love had faded, along with ours.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: "...but its no use going back at…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Finding My Way The diagnosis appeared without warning, slipping quietly into her life like a misplaced file in…
Finding My Way
The diagnosis appeared without warning, slipping quietly into her life like a misplaced file in the archives of her mind. She had been running that night, fit and healthy, and soon found herself sitting beneath the clinic cloaked in the sterile white glow that the word “early onset dementia” was spoken aloud, setting her on a degrading path from which there was no return. As the disease sharply wove its way through her brain, the threads of her past unravelled. Threads of memory loosening, familiar faces fading into a shadow. What remained was a mind collapsing in on itself, a dark world of thoughts racing in every direction with no one to calm them. The arrows on the road beneath her feet pointed her forward, but her heart still searched for the yesterdays she could no longer reach.
Eliza drifted through the ruins of her memory, the present slipping through gaps she could no longer bridge, the past pressing in like walls she could not scale. She would often wander the halls of the wretched nursing home, her eyes distant as if searching for a door back to her vibrant self. But her legs knew only one path, forward, towards someone she no longer recognised. Straight ahead into a different ending, a person forgotten and alone, struggling to even remember the colour of her socks she had on. In these moments, flashes of her former life would pierce the fog, the feel of a scalpel in her hand, the rush of adrenaline in the operating room, the warmth of gratitude in a patient’s eyes and the arrival of a new challenge that she could no longer conquer. These memories surfaced like rejected sutures, sharp edged fragments of a life her mind could no longer hold together.
Yet it was not only the dementia that broke down her dignity, but also the care or lack
thereof, she received within the walls of Silver Linings. Requests for help with basic
needs often went unanswered, her voice lost in the void between her mind and the
world around her. She would lie awake at night, the silence of her room interrupted
by the distant cry of others like her, each calling out for a compassion that never
came.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: title - listen , stimulus - mighty…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Section B - base piece Listen @stirring the pot 27 January 2025 Good afternoon everyone! Its Abby. I know I…
Section B - base piece
Listen
@stirring the pot
27 January 2025
Good afternoon everyone! Its Abby. I know I usually start these posts with butter, or maybe basil, on the rare occasion a story about my grandmothers famous pavlova. However, this week, I cant quite bring myself to whisk egg whites when the air outside feels so heavy. Today is not a recipe for peach cobbler, but instead a recipe for disaster.
Yesterday, whilst chopping onions for dinner, I was unable to disregard the roars from my balcony, chants echoing through the city like the sound of a boiling kettle about to spill over. Thousands marching, thousands watching, some angry, some yearning, some like me, unsure how to stir whats inside without it burning. But sounds like this, rising like dough, it was impossible not to listen. So today I shy away from cooking to express to my followers the youth of Australia and the next generations leaders about how solicitous I am.
[insert picture from stimulus]
Listening isnt always gentle, it can sting, the same way lemon juice does when it hits a small cut. For years, I have associated the day of Australia day, January 26th with sizzling sausages and backyard laughter, now it tastes different. Smokier, Bitter. I reflect on those whos hands first lit fires here long before the barbecues, whos stories were silenced under layers of tradition where nobody can listen to them. It is not a day of pride, but a day of pain. To listen means to sit with that truth, even if its unsettling.
and understanding, where small acorns of awareness start to grow.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: title; listen stimulus; image of a…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Listen 'Published posthumously, in memory of Aleesha Grace Thomas, Aged 26' This is not how I wanted to be…
Listen
'Published posthumously, in memory of Aleesha Grace Thomas,
Aged 26'
This is not how I wanted to be remembered.
If you're reading this, I've already become a headline. Another name in your newsfeed, another statistic. Another girl killed by the man who promised to love her. You've heard this story before. You've scrolled past it many times. But you've never heard it like this, never from me.
I am not just a story anymore. I am no longer a victim; I am the storyteller. I have a voice, and I refuse to let it drown beneath the noise of indifference. I know how this world works. It will only start listening now that I am gone. But my words will rise like water, filling every silence you've allowed to grow.
I write this for those still out there - the girls who paint over bruises and brush off insults as jokes. The ones who whisper apologies for things they never did, and whose voices are buried deep. The world will hear you all now, even if they must first be forced to listen.
But perhaps you've already heard us. Perhaps our cries have been echoing inside you for a long time now, like waves crashing against immovable rocks. You tell yourself it's not your place. You look away, convincing yourself that silence is safety. I know that silence well; it seeps into rooms like a tide, slow and cold, until it drowns everyone in reach.
You are not innocent just because you did not raise your fist. You are not innocent because you claim not to have known. Each time you look away, you feed the tide. Each time you say nothing, the water rises.