VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Play is like a portal through time
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: It was like each day was a repeat of the other. Work, eat, sleep. The same dull clothes, the same bland food.…
It was like each day was a repeat of the other. Work, eat, sleep. The same dull clothes, the same bland food. As I grew up, I was struck with the true reality, the reality that my parents tried to hide from me when I was just a little girl. Life is boring. No more games or friends to hang out with after a long day of school. I was exhausted. As I walked back through the dark streets of London, the skies suddenly filled with rain as it bucketed down onto the cold pavement. I didn’t run. I didn’t even flinch. Instead, a memory surfaced. Uninvited but vivid. I remember what once was. The laughter of children, my laughter, echoed through my mind. The joy of running around and feeling the soft streaks of water trickling down our faces as we try to open our mouths to catch each droplet, seducing our thirst from the endless hours of hide and seek. I open my umbrella and shake the flashback from my mind, continuing my stride home. As I put the key in the door I am instantly greeted by my brother. As he grins from ear to ear, I wonder how he could be so joyful every day.
“Ready to start now?” he asks me, signalling to the giant mount of cardboard boxes scattered across the carpet floor. After my mums passing, I have decided to finally leave my old world behind and become the independent woman that my mum had always wanted to become.
Drowning in my student debt from 5 years ago, I’ve been rooted here, in this house of fading wallpaper and buried memories. It was time to leave and start fresh.
“I’ll be there in a minute” I signal towards the bathroom. As I walk through the skinny halls my mind drifts into a world of imagination once again. Remembering the days when me and Theo would run in the corridors playing tiggy whilst we waited for mum to finish the cooking. I vigorously shake my head trying to get rid of the silly memory before it engulfed my mind.
The floorboards creak as I rush my way through the house, remembering the promise I had made to Theo.
30 minutes of sorting and packing go by, our backs aching with the sharp pain of being bent over for too long. As I walk towards the final box, a loose floorboard interrupts my
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys section B
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: This speech was presented at youth public speaking event Heartbreak is more than just loss, it's the moment we…
This speech was presented at youth public speaking event
Heartbreak is more than just loss, it's the moment we realise that time, change and growth can separate even the closest of people.
Healing takes its own time and sometimes, that’s the hardest lesson of all.
Ladies and gentlemen, today I will be exploring the personal journey of heartbreak.
The experience that transforms us and ultimately teaches us what it means to heal.
If I had to name my earliest memory with heartbreak, it would be when I was twelve.
The day when I realised that my best friend and I were drifting apart. Prior to attending different high schools, we were inseparable. Friday afternoons at her house with her big family of 6 and at her house guarded by that white picket fence felt like an escape to the perfect life I always dreamed of. However, as year six was reaching its end, the friendship that had once felt unbreakable ended quietly.
It ended not with a fight, but simply the inability to spend each day together.
A quiet goodbye.
At the time, it felt like a small heartbreak, one that I could never prepare for.
We promised to stay close, but as new schools, new friends and new lives took over, our paths drifted apart.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The overarching theme is "Nothing To…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: 10 feet tall. 75 kilometres an hour. Bulletproof exoskeleton. 10 feet tall. Never resting, never speaking,…
10 feet tall. 75 kilometres an hour. Bulletproof exoskeleton. 10 feet tall. Never resting, never speaking, never being found. It wasn’t supposed to be alive. It had no name, no mind, no feelings - just a frequency. A sound. A voice that could shatter glass into powder and crumble walls from resonance alone. During development, the engineer said it was a weapon of acoustic mastery. Now, a walking earthquake. A ghost in metal skin.
Its very existence began with a crucial mistake. A single pitch too high, too loud, in a rural garage in Western Australia. Glass exploded inward, alarms shrieking for 2 full minutes before falling silent. When the first responders arrived, they found no intruder, only streaks of blood and fragments of bone fused into the walls, and a single message burned into the monitor: “DO NOT SPEAK”
Its creator was the first casualty. Now there are 5 more. Every witness described the same scenario. Low humming before the power cut out. The air thickening with vibrations, like the breath of something enormous just beyond the dark. Then, deafening silence. And when that silence broke, it was already too late.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write a text that explores the ideas…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Perfection: Bitter. Melon. Soup. Bitter. Melon. Bitter. That’s how I used to feel about that dish. That’s how I…
Perfection:
Bitter. Melon. Soup.
Bitter. Melon.
Bitter.
That’s how I used to feel about that dish. That’s how I used to feel about my parents when they served it to me—that disgusting dish.
It was composed of three things: the melon, the stuffing, and the soup. The melon — a green, warty vegetable with an awful aftertaste of bitterness. The melon was then stuffed with meat and cooked to perfection, as Mum and Dad would say.
For them, the cooking was a Chinese staple; it meant a journey of healing, nurturing, and love. For me, the cooking felt like a path to bitterness, punishment, and disgust. I’d hear the kitchen door close, a sure sign that Mum was cooking up a storm. She’d bring home five bitter melons and lay them out on the path outside to dry. When they were ready, she’d carry them back into the kitchen and begin to cook.
I remember sitting on the counter, observing her as she grabbed the knife and began to slice the bitter melon, laying it flat on the board. I dreamed of helping her cook, to help her change the dish so that it wouldn't taste as bad. I would observe her careful, practised movements as she carefully sliced the melon into pieces. She then scraped out the seeds until only the pale green rim — the part I hated most — remained.
Mum and Dad would then prepare the stuffing, the process of mixing pork mince with sesame oil, salt, pepper, MSG, chicken powder, and adding chopped onion chives into the metal bowl until the aroma filled the kitchen air. They would then stuff the bitter melon with the seasoned mince, creating what I saw as an ugly dish. They spent hours preparing the soup, filled with vegetables and letting it simmer to change the bitter melon into what they deemed perfection.
I continued to sit there, observing and thinking. Why would they waste so much time making something so awful? Why spend money on ingredients just to create something that tastes this bad?
After hours of preparation, the dish was finally served, and the bowl of soup was proudly placed in front of me. The smell was misleading. It lured me in to take a big sip of this soup, but as I swallowed the soup, a rush shot through my nose, leaving a bitter sting in my nostrils. From that day on, I never trusted my parents again, and nothing was going to make me change my mind. How could they trick me into drinking something so awful, masking it as if the soup were good for me?
For the next few days, every meal became a battle. I’d dread walking into the kitchen. I’d dread breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I hated it. I didn’t want it, and I didn’t understand why I needed it.
Each time, I’d pinch my nose and force it down. Each day, I’d accept defeat. Until one day, I came up with a brilliant idea.
Rejection:
I’d stare at my bowl of bitter melon soup, concocting a brilliant plan. I’d transport the soup to the living room from the kitchen, where I’d sit there pretending to watch TV. Then, when no one was watching, I’d carefully lift the melon pieces out of the bowl, glide across the room in my socks to avoid making a sound, and hide them in the drawer next to me. Slowly. Quietly. I’d hide them away, one by one. Every piece of hard work and dedication I threw away slowly, closing it in the drawer for it to be hidden. I didn't want what they called perfection and love; I wanted to be unashamed of what they had just cooked. I wanted a meal that I could stomach without pinching my nose. I want something delicious.
It became a game — hide and seek, Where’s Wally? — until the melon was gone and only the soup remained. Surprisingly, I’d drink the soup, not swallow it, but hold the soup in my mouth as a vector, transporting it to the bathroom, and delivering it to the toilet. Mission accomplished. I’d return to the kitchen table, empty bowl in hand, and proudly tell Mum I’d finished everything. She’d beam, telling me how proud she was of me for finishing the dish so quickly. She would go on about how the dish took
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The city or the bush. Stimulus 1: 'The…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: The long, spikey grass tickled my pasty, exposed legs as I trekked through a familiar path. My sandals…
The long, spikey grass tickled my pasty, exposed legs as I trekked through a familiar path. My sandals clutched in my hand whilst the other held the legs of my pants up. Bare feet delicately grazing the long untouched, overgrown path. It’s been so long since I’d been back but somehow I remember it all. The quiet serenity of my grandparent’s farm was unusual against the bustling city life I was adjusted to. The echo of trains screeching against tracks, the “tick tick tick” of pedestrian crossings and the occasional squeak of poorly maintained brakes on a car; all left behind. Now I Stand where I once stood, a mere shadow of the shoes which once also stood in my place.
My Grandmother, or as I knew her, Nanna, was a kind and warm soul. Her existence gave this land the heart it now lacks following her passing. An empty ache fills me as the loneliness of the silence consumes me. The opalite sky closes in as night falls, illuminating the old willow tree standing tall as ever. My stomach sinks when I see it as the memories built on this land are lived again. My Nanna’s Soft, wrinkly hands on the moist soil where the old willow now stands. The way her smooth skin reflected in the light. Her morning cigarettes on the porch. The magpies she fed each day. Being here is bringing back alal the little memories, the ones I thought I’d lost forever.
As I approach our willow tree, arching over the land spreading shade and protection. I notice how the land has changed. Maybe it was just my time in the city, but it felt quieter, the land bigger, and the environment eerier. The short, well-kept grass was now replaced with long overgrown weeds. The bird-feeded which once stood stable, now was rusted and sinking into the earth. Once vibrant and lively, the house now stood dark and abandoned, appearing to fester horrors I never could have envisioned in my youth. As I sat below the willow tree, the leaves rustled as the onyx night settled. A magpie flew overhead making a distinct “caw”. Everything felt different now, the only thing that remained was the willow, in its simple yet glorious stance.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Engage Stimulus: "There needs…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Engage Stimulus: "There needs to be {disruption} for things to change" Let me ask you a question, Why do we…
Engage
Stimulus: "There needs to be {disruption} for things to change"
Let me ask you a question,
Why do we encourage young people of owning a home?
For generations the idea of homeownership has been more than just a financial goal. It has become a symbol of hope, stability, independence, and belonging. It is the foundation upon which families are built, communities are formed, and futures are secured. We actively educate young people to work hard, study diligently and save responsibly all with the promise that one day, they too can own a home.
Now what happens when that promise is broken?
Let me ask you a question,
If we tell our young people to swim across a river, but each year we make the current stronger, how can we blame them for not reaching the other side?
Today that river is Australia's Interest Rates, for the past few years we have engaged the RBA to steadily rise rates in the effort to control inflation, however without any disruption in the uncontrollable rise of rates, we have engaged them to make the dream of home ownership drift further and further away.
Now, some may say "it's just the way the market works."
But let's look into the reality of it.
According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, the average house price in Sydney is $1.602 million dollars as of September 2025. Additionally, the average mortgage repayments exceed over 61.8% of a young persons income according to Loyle Australian Mortgage Statistics. Finally, as we all understand, the cost of living crisis isn't getting better.
Furthermore, how on earth can we save enough money for repayments when bills, groceries and rent consume over thing you earn.
So is it really that easy to say, 'Just save more'?, when the system is genuinely stacked against you?
Maybe it's time to disrupt the system to advocate make them actively engage in our & future security, don't you think?
Let me ask you a question.
Consider this analogy:
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: resist and persist
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Today I stand in front of all of you, within our school hall where we shared memories, built friendships and…
Today I stand in front of all of you, within our school hall where we shared memories, built friendships and planned our future. But today in Strathmore secondary college hall we stand in sorrow, today our fellow student has become another statistic to bullying. This outcome is a wake up call, resistance to bullying isn't an option anymore we must stand and persist. I come not as a random person but as a fellow friend who also stands in guilt, stands in shame, stands in sorrow. James won't ever experience the ups and downs of being a young adult, won't be able to sit these exact exams with us, won't enjoy time with family and friends partying as if there is no tomorrow, won't be able to path the future we all are doing in this very hall. For James there really is no tomorrow, instead they place his cold, hollow body once with a positive future into a gloomy 6 foot hole. Our silence cost his life. today we stand, today James fell down.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: If not not, when?
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Dear Football Fans, Hope all is well. I wanted to reach out for some time now as a player and a person with a…
Dear Football Fans,
Hope all is well. I wanted to reach out for some time now as a player and a person with a message that is close to my heart. Over the years I’ve been playing football, I’ve come to realize that the demand for change exists everywhere, not just on the field, change is needed everywhere.
Because I was raised on the pitch, I know that racism in the sporting world does not exist as just a trending topic. It exists. It’s all well and good for football to consume our lives, but it does not encompass everything. Therefore, situations like this one happen to good people every day outside the field. I’ve been a victim of racist attacks from people who think they have the right to comment on you and tear you down due to your personal appearance. I’ve been lucky enough to stay positive and overcome this but this isn’t about me it’s about us.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “A nation’s culture resides in the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: “A nation’s culture resides in the hearts and in the soul of its people.”
“A nation’s culture resides in the hearts and in the soul of its people.”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: writing about protests .
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: Today we all stand in sorrow, today our fellow student has become another statistic to bullying. I come not as…
Today we all stand in sorrow, today our fellow student has become another statistic to bullying. I come not as a random person but as a fellow friend who also stands in guilt. James won't ever experience the ups and downs of being a young adult, won't be able to sit these exact exams with us, won't enjoy time with family and friends partying as if there is no tomorrow. For James there really is no tomorrow, instead they place his cold, once positive future into a gloomy 6 foot hole. Our silence cost his life.
Although many say that boys teasing their mates is just part of a friendship, innocent attacks to harden one's exterior, these very playful jabs made James take his life. Those jabs punctured him after every blow, never allowing time to heal. This idea needs to be removed from society, young boys need to be told the difference between being a playful friend and an outright bully laying in sheep's clothing. But this starts with this generation, staying in silence allows that friend to keep pushing,edging that victim within the friendgroup towards the edge of the cliff, each comment,each remark, joke and meme pushes him towards that cliff, where once over there is no return.
Voice of the most importance, identify the culprit and convey to them the importance of the issue. Don't allow yourself to be another bystander.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: resist and persist “Change begins when…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: We are told that protest is noise — the roar of a crowd, the clash of slogans, the shaking of fists in the…
We are told that protest is noise — the roar of a crowd, the clash of slogans, the shaking of fists in the street. But real protest is quieter than that. Real protest is persistence: the daily, deliberate act of refusing to give in to apathy.
Because let’s be honest — apathy is comfortable. It tells us, you alone can’t fix it. It whispers that our voices are too small, our reach too limited, our hope too naïve. And so, one by one, we retreat into silence. But silence, history reminds us, is not neutrality. It is surrender.
(Look at the times when silence was complicity — when governments turned away from refugees, when neighbours ignored the cries of the marginalised, when good people did nothing and cruelty marched unopposed. History’s darkest moments — from the Stolen Generations to the Holocaust — were made possible not only by those who acted, but by those who didn’t. Yet each era also held people who refused the comfort of apathy: the journalists who told the truth when it was censored, the whistleblowers who risked careers for integrity, the citizens who marched when it was easier to stay home. Their courage is proof that caring is never wasted.)
When we choose to care — when we choose to act — no matter how small that action, we resist that surrender.
A nurse who stays through another double shift, not for pay, but because there’s one more patient who needs her. A teacher who keeps telling hard truths in a world that prefers easy lies. A student who writes one more email to their MP even when the last five went unanswered. These are not the faces we see on the evening news. Yet these are our quiet revolutionaries.
They remind us that resistance isn’t only about marching in the streets. It’s about showing up — again, and again, and again — when exhaustion would be easier. It’s about persisting in compassion, in integrity, in courage, long after the applause has faded.
We live in an age that glorifies the instant — instant outrage, instant sharing, instant forgetting. But the most profound change rarely trends. It happens in the slow grind of persistence: the mother teaching her son that fairness matters; the neighbour who checks in after hearing shouting through the wall; the friend who
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework is protest. Title is unity
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: Unity I still remember the first time I saw Colin Kaepernick kneel during the national anthem. It was 2016, and…
Unity
I still remember the first time I saw Colin Kaepernick kneel during the national anthem. It was 2016, and I didn’t fully understand what he was doing or why. At first, it was confusing. It was a way of expression towards an issue we haven’t really seen before in sport. We’re used to seeing everyone stand at attention during the anthem, and when someone breaks that tradition, it stands out. But as the season went on and the conversation around him grew louder, I began to pay attention not just to the gesture, but to the message behind it.
Fast forward to 2020, and I was watching an NBA game after months of no sports due to the pandemic. Almost all the players were kneeling during the anthem, wearing BLM shirts. Then there was Jonathan Isaac standing alone, not wearing the shirt, hands clasped in front of him. Once again, I felt that confusion. But this time, it was because his decision felt so out of sync with the powerful image of unity around him during a time where people were so focused on uniting together.
Colin Kaepernick’s decision to kneel sparked a nationwide firestorm. A lot of people saw his protest as disrespectful to the military or to the flag, even though he clearly explained that his kneeling was about police brutality and systemic racism. He worked with a military veteran to make sure his protest would be peaceful and respectful, but still powerful. Despite that, he was booed, vilified, and labelled un-American by politicians and fans alike. Eventually, he lost his place in the NFL. Even after several seasons had passed, no team signed him. For all the attention he brought to issues that desperately needed it, he paid a personal and professional price that continues to this day.
When Jonathan Isaac stood during the anthem in 2020, he also faced intense backlash—though from
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: At what cost?
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: TITLE: AT WHAT COST? Ayubowan, Vannakum, Salam Alaikum. Today, we gather as participants in a struggle that Sri…
TITLE: AT WHAT COST?
Ayubowan, Vannakum, Salam Alaikum.
Today, we gather as participants in a struggle that Sri Lankans have fought for generations. We are protesting government corruption, economic mismanagement, and policies that have plunged citizens into poverty and scarcity. If the decisions of the Rajapakse government continue to harm every home, village, and community, at what cost are we remaining silent?
My name is Ranil, and I am seventeen. I am not a politician, a propagandist or a puppet. I am a student, the son of proud parents. Yet how can I focus on my studies while my mother cries quietly, terrified of hunger, and my exhausted father stands for hours queuing for fuel? How can I concentrate when blackouts sweep our home into darkness robbing it of warmth and safety?
I cannot. And nor can anyone else.
A couple months ago, the government made the decision to ban chemical fertilisers overnight. While they feasted, entire villages were unable to grow crops, leaving many of our already impoverished brothers and sisters without access to fresh food. And if we want to buy something, inflation prevents that too. Every policy, every act of mismanagement, compounds the human cost.
Yet it is not only material suffering we witness. It is the erosion of trust, the corrosion of civic faith, the quiet resignation of people who begin to believe their voice does not matter. As of 2022 Sri Lanka's national debt reached approximately eighty-six billion, accounting for around a hundred and ten percent of the country's GDP due to decades of unsustainable borrowing by the government. The rapid depreciation of the Sri Lankan rupee has further increased the burden of foreign debt, leading to increased repayment costs and contributing to our country's financial instability. This has left our current government unable to provide essential services, import necessary goods, or stabilize prices. It forces ordinary citizens like us to shoulder the cost, and this issue does not seem to be declining under the current system.
Such government driven economic struggles are not new
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: At what cost?
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 97.5%: TITLE: AT WHAT COST? Ayubowan, Vannakum, Salam Alaikum. Today, we gather as participants in a struggle that…
TITLE: AT WHAT COST?
Ayubowan, Vannakum, Salam Alaikum.
Today, we gather as participants in a struggle that Sri Lankans have fought for generations. We are protesting government corruption, economic mismanagement, and policies that have plunged citizens into poverty and scarcity. If the decisions of the Rajapakse government continue to harm every home, village, and community, at what cost are we remaining silent?
My name is Ranil, and I am seventeen. I am not a politician, a propagandist or a puppet. I am a student, the son of proud parents. Yet how can I focus on my studies while my mother cries quietly, terrified of hunger, and my exhausted father stands for hours queuing for fuel? How can I concentrate when blackouts sweep our home into darkness robbing it of warmth and safety?
I cannot. And nor can anyone else.
A couple months ago, the government made the decision to ban chemical fertilisers overnight. While they feasted, entire villages were unable to grow crops, leaving many of our already impoverished brothers and sisters without access to fresh food. And if we want to buy something, inflation prevents that too. Every policy, every act of mismanagement, compounds the human cost. Yet it is not only material suffering we witness. It is the erosion of trust, the corrosion of civic faith, the quiet resignation of people who begin to believe their voice does not matter.
As of 2022 Sri Lanka's national debt reached approximately eighty-six billion, accounting for around a hundred and ten percent of the country's GDP. The rapid depreciation of the Sri Lankan rupee has further increased the burden of foreign debt, leading to increased repayment costs and contributing to our country's financial instability. This has left our current government unable to provide essential services, import necessary goods, or stabilize prices. It forces ordinary citizens like us to shoulder the cost, and this issue does not seem to be declining under the current system.
Government-imposed economic struggles are not new to our country, and history shows that collective action can drive meaningful change. In 1953, Sri Lankans of the labouring class rose in the
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: At what cost?
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: TITLE: AT WHAT COST? Ayubowan, Vannakum, Salam Alaikum. Today, we gather as participants in a struggle that Sri…
TITLE: AT WHAT COST?
Ayubowan, Vannakum, Salam Alaikum.
Today, we gather as participants in a struggle that Sri Lankans have fought for generations. We are protesting government corruption, economic mismanagement, and policies that have plunged citizens into poverty and scarcity. If the decisions of the Rajapakse government continue to harm every home, village, and community, at what cost are we remaining silent?
My name is Ranil, and I am seventeen. I am not a politician, a propagandist or a puppet. I am a student, the son of proud parents. Yet how can I focus on my studies while my mother cries quietly, terrified of hunger, and my exhausted father stands for hours queuing for fuel? How can I concentrate when blackouts sweep our home into darkness robbing it of warmth and safety?
I cannot. And nor can anyone else.
A couple months ago, the government made the decision to ban chemical fertilisers overnight. While they feasted, entire villages were unable to grow crops, leaving many of our already impoverished brothers and sisters without access to fresh food. And if we want to buy something, inflation prevents that too. Every policy, every act of mismanagement, compounds the human cost. Yet it is not only material suffering we witness. It is the erosion of trust, the corrosion of civic faith, the quiet resignation of people who begin to believe their voice does not matter.
As of 2022 Sri Lanka's national debt reached approximately eighty-six billion, accounting for around a hundred and ten percent of the country's GDP. The rapid depreciation of the Sri Lankan rupee has further increased the burden of foreign debt, leading to increased repayment costs and contributing to our country's financial instability. This has left our current government unable to provide essential services, import necessary goods, or stabilize prices. It forces ordinary citizens like us to shoulder the cost, and this issue does not seem to be declining under the current system.
Significant economic struggles brought upon our
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: At what cost?
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: TITLE: AT WHAT COST? Ayubowan, Vannakum, Salam Alaikum. Today, we gather as participants in a struggle that Sri…
TITLE: AT WHAT COST?
Ayubowan, Vannakum, Salam Alaikum.
Today, we gather as participants in a struggle that Sri Lankans have fought for generations. From the Hartal of 1953 to the streets of Colombo today, throughout history ordinary people have risen at great personal cost to demand accountability.
Because at what cost do we remain silent while injustice persists?
My name is Ranil, and I am seventeen. I am not a politician, a propagandist or a puppet. I am a student, the son of proud parents. Yet how can I focus on my studies while my mother cries quietly, terrified of hunger, and my exhausted father stands for hours queuing for fuel? How can I concentrate when blackouts sweep our home into darkness robbing it of warmth and safety?
I cannot.
These hardships are not just mine to bear, reflecting a system that fails ordinary citizens, where the decisions of those in power take control of every home, every village and every community. A few months ago, our government banned chemical fertilisers overnight. While they feasted, my father and I wondered if we would eat a proper meal in the coming months. It left entire villages unable to grow crops, threatening our food security, leaving many of our already impoverished brothers and sisters without access to fresh food. If I, and all of us, remain silent while such suffering plagues us, we are going to continue to feel this pain.
Our struggle is not new, and the past can guide us today. In 1953 Sri Lankans of the labouring class from every caste ethnicity and religion united in the Hartal to protest rice subsidy cuts that threatened to starve the poor. That peaceful yet powerful action forced the government to reconsider its policies. It shows us that collective ethical resistance can achieve meaningful change. It reminds us that moral courage transcends generations. When the vulnerable are harmed
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: At what cost?
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: Ayubowan, Vannakum, Salam Alaikum. Today, we gather as participants in a struggle that Sri Lankans have…
Ayubowan, Vannakum, Salam Alaikum.
Today, we gather as participants in a struggle that Sri Lankans have fought for generations. From the Hartal of 1953 to the streets of Colombo today, throughout history ordinary people have risen at great personal cost to demand accountability.
Because at what cost do we remain silent while injustice persists?
My name is Ranil, and I am seventeen. I am not a politician, a propagandist or a puppet. I am a student, the son of proud parents. Yet how can I focus on my studies while my mother cries quietly, terrified of hunger, and my exhausted father stands for hours queuing for fuel? How can I concentrate when blackouts sweep our home into darkness robbing it of warmth and safety?
I cannot.
These hardships are not just mine to bear, reflecting a system that fails ordinary citizens, where the decisions of those in power take control of every home, every village and every community. A few months ago, our government banned chemical fertilisers overnight. While they feasted, my father and I wondered if we would eat a proper meal in the coming months. It left entire villages unable to grow crops, threatening our food security, leaving many of our already impoverished brothers and sisters without access to fresh food. If I, and all of us, remain silent while such suffering plagues us, we are going to continue to feel this pain.
Our struggle is not new, and the past can guide us today. In 1953 Sri Lankans of the labouring class from every caste ethnicity and religion united in the Hartal to protest rice subsidy cuts that threatened to starve the poor. That peaceful yet powerful action forced the government to reconsider its policies. It shows us that collective ethical resistance can achieve
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Play 'The Creative Space"
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: I always dreaded nine o’clock on Sunday mornings. Nine o’clock meant the end of ABC TV. Nine o’clock meant…
I always dreaded nine o’clock on Sunday mornings.
Nine o’clock meant the end of ABC TV.
Nine o’clock meant replacing creativity with mediocrity.
Nine o’clock meant Dad’s bellowing voice.
Nine o’clock meant Indian school.
As the short hand hits nine, the mighty roar -divine like Hanuman waking the mountains- from Dad to “Utho! Wake the hell up!” echoed through the house, bypassing the plaster-thin walls and to my ringing ears, stomping on my girly dream of meeting Glenn Maxwell. In a hurry, Dad rushed my sister and I to pack our bags and get into the car by nine-thirty. With my half-closed eyes, still covered with eye boogers, the ten-minute ride felt like a splatter of art unfinished drained of its beauty and left colourless. The rhythm colours occurred once we arrive; my Dad gives us a small speech of motivation to always “look on the brightside and prepare for the unexpected ahead” as he never forgets to wave us goodbye. My elder sister Naomi and I, adjusting our thongs to the blazing asphalt, fixing our poorly worn dupattas, would troop unwillingly to the iron gates of the Indian school.
I was always seated at the back of the class, either with my head on the desk or my eyes wandering to the big window on my left, observing the gum trees expressing themselves freely, thinking about what surprise Mum packed me for lunch or what show would be on TV right now. I remember Miss Priya making us sound out sentences and practising which symbols to use when writing. We all had our own books with different colourful images of happy children playing games secretly in the artifice of mundane writing tasks in it, and mine remained empty for the entirety of the year, apart from a sentence or two (those were probably forced). I just wanted to stretch, break and abandon the confinement I was trapped in. So when the bell rang for recess, the only game I played was escape.
For me, the repeated, laborious lessons started when I was in Year Two. For my Indian father, these lessons probably started when Naomi was born. They were a way of ensuring his script of cultural heritage would remain for future generations. As much as he lost along his journey by boat to Australia, something of the Indian boy could stay in us. Perhaps this training of our culture could be inculcated within us so deeply that one day we would become a a greater Indian than him. In the man remained the boy who helped his parents cook dosas before opening shop, who had to collect buckets of water from dirty wells, who had to wake up three hours earlier to travel the long distance to school. Who tried and tried and failed to set himself free of his own limits so instead he reimposes them transferring them to us in hope we’d break them.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: protest. there was no provided stimuli…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Kill or be Killed The commander's rifle blasted. An elderly man collapsed to the ground, a lump forming in…
Kill or be Killed
The commander's rifle blasted. An elderly man collapsed to the ground, a lump forming in Baroi's throat. "Your turn," the commander ordered Baroi. Desperate wailing flooded his ears. His trembling hands felt for the evil weapon, cold and heavy. His ear drums rang, louder and louder with the eerie screams of the captives. He cocked the ammo in, a devastating shrill shooting down his spine. Anticipation flooded his mind as he contemplated the evil he was about to commit. BUT he was robbed of choice. Tears streamed down her pale face, her blonde hair flying in the wind. Manipulating the gun with his shaky hands, the young girl's head emerged on his scope. The pounding of his own heart drowned out the child's weeping. A wave of guilt overcame his as he pressed on the trigger.
The buzz of the lorry engine broke through the haze of Baroi's memory. A blanket of darkness covered his eyes. However, even in the darkness he could see. He saw the images conjured up by his head. Each victim's face lingered in his mind. His mind was a graveyard, the faces of his victims forever buried in his memory.
Two years had passed since that day, the day where he first pulled the trigger. A second chance was long gone. However, the sounds still lingered in his head, the screams, the helpless cries of those he shot. Constantly, they echoed in his mind, ricocheting like bullets in the chambers of his consciousness.
He could sense it in his comrades too. A cloud of guilt and fear filled the trunk of the lorry. Apprehension radiated off them, diffusing into the air like a steamy sauna. A battle waged in their own minds. For they had only two options to choose: "Kill or be killed" the commander's voice boomed in Baroi's mind, blurring the line between past and present.
Cries of agony echoed against the thick concrete walls. The guard held a wooden pole, a glowing coal tied onto the end. He heated it further in the unforgiving flames. Baroi could see a prisoner. No, a
Kill or be Killed
The commander's rifle blasted. An elderly man collapsed to the ground, a lump forming in Baroi's throat. "Your turn," the commander ordered Baroi. Desperate wailing flooded his ears. His trembling hands felt for the evil weapon, cold and heavy. His ear drums rang, louder and louder with the eerie screams of the captives. He cocked the ammo in, a devastating shrill shooting down his spine. Anticipation flooded his mind as he contemplated the evil he was about to commit. But he was robbed of choice. Tears streamed down her pale face, Her blonde hair flying in the wind. Manipulating the gun with his shaky hands, the young girl's head emerged on his scope. The pounding of his own heart drowned out the child's weeping. A wave of guilt overcame his as he pressed on the trigger.
The buzz of the lorry engine woke through the haze of Baroi's memory. A blanket of darkness covered his eyes. However even in the darkness he could see. He saw the images conjured up by his head. His mind was a graveyard, the faces of his victims forever buried in his memory.
Two years had passed since the first time Baroi had pulled the trigger. A second chance was long gone. However, the sounds still lingered in his head, the screams, the helpless cries of those he shot. Constantly, they echoed in his mind, ricocheting like bullets in the chambers of his consciousness.
He could sense it in his comrades too, A cloud of guilt and fear filled the trunk of the lorry. Apprehension radiated off them, diffusing into the air like a steamy sauna. A battle waged in their own minds. For they had only two options to choose: "Kill or be killed" the commander's voice boomed in Baroi's mind, blurring the line between past and present.
Cries of agony echoed against the thick concrete walls. The guard held a wooden pole, a glowing coal tied onto the end. He heated it further in the unforgiving flames. Baroi could see a prisoner. No, a
battling against the shackles that bound him
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Madame is the greatest star of them…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: “Madame is the greatest star of them all” Wilder’s Sunset Blvd. exposes the dangers of obsession. Discuss Billy…
“Madame is the greatest star of them all”
Wilder’s Sunset Blvd. exposes the dangers of obsession. Discuss
Billy Wilder’s melodramatic film noir “Sunset Boulevard” exposes the corruption of desire that leads to a perilous path. The film exposé of the danger of obsession is depicted through most of the fiction characters. Some characters are well glued to their fantasy that becomes destructive to the people around them. Additionally, some characters’ twisted dream of control stems from the people around them that bring a downfall upon others. On the other hand, some characters are shown to have a genuine creative partnership over the obsessed need for dominance helps establish a healthy pathway. Through Wilder’s filmic techniques and character writings, the director invites a discussion of whether obsession ultimately leads to a destruction among the individuals and their surroundings.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title - No Justice, No peace Stimulus…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: The winner of the 107th academy awards for the best actor in a leading role is... My palms filled with water,…
The winner of the 107th academy awards for the best actor in a leading role is...
My palms filled with water, it felt like a wave swept through my body and lifted me off my seat. I was proud, but I also wasn't. I am fortunate and beyond grateful, yet I am here getting celebrated for an award for mere pixels on a screen. It baffled me.
As I stood, hands stuck out at me and I pushed through the strong fog blocking my eyes. A piece of paper was pushed against my chest.
"You must read this, only this, and nothing else."
The whisper in my ear stopped. I recalled the words from my manager vividly as I walked up the mountain of stairs. I grasped my award and looked out at the vast crowd.
Peace.
But it wasn't peace. In our world peace doesn't exist. It is so commonly compared to silence, yet they couldn't be further apart.
I began reading from the paper.
As I read, I looked out across the hallowed hall. So prestigious, so wealthy, but so empty. I glanced at the burning camera piercing my skin.
I saw my people.
Not the heartless, plastic, metallic reflections responding to my gaze in this room. But the individuals who had to fight to even watch this speech on tv. The people who faced injustice. The people who reminded me of who I was.
Not who I am trying to be, not who I am trying to impress, but the real me.
I glanced back down at the paper I was reading from. I understood.
I halted my speech.
I hadn't realised but this small, subtle gesture of giving me the paper wasn't out of love. It wasn't out of seeking the best for me, or trying to help me. It was silencing me.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: This is our time. Stimulus 1:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: This is our time. Open letter to the Australian Government To the Supreme Australian Government,…
This is our time.
Open letter to the Australian Government
To the Supreme Australian Government,
Unfortunately, the seeds of change have been sown, but our control of the populace is not over yet, this is our time to reign in the masses. And so, the recent movement towards proposing and passing anti-protest laws is nothing short of a masterstroke for the future of our prestigious country. Truly, we Australians have no need for protest, as we cannot possibly bear dissents towards the perfect and undeniably just legal systems here in Australia. As this enlightened cause makes perfect sense, and improves lives, we eagerly submit to the genius government officials who wisely understand that now is the time to entomb public opinion and make sure Australia will never progress.
By cracking down on protest, the government bravely drags us back to times where the lives of Australians were better, where many were minimally protected by Australian legislation. We know it is our time to follow the footsteps of the dystopian powers, as we aspire to be like the United States of America and gradually revoke the rights of our citizens. Or maybe we could strive to become completely totalitarian like North Korea with their genius method of silencing protest while controlling their population with unchallenged power and fear. What better way to progress than by leisurely stripping freedoms and building the wealth of the privileged few who can illuminate our descent into harmonious obedience. Progress, after all, is regression rebranded. Personally, I am glad that we are progressing to abolish protest, because now I will never feel required to protest, and I will never be inconvenienced by the destructive seeds of change. After understanding this, I speak on behalf of all Australians as I say that we support the government no matter what, because we know that the government has what is best for Australians in mind, and I have faith that this legal regression is going to improve the lives of all Australians.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: No topic used
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Section B I'm sick. I'm dying. I'm bleeding. I'm boiling. I'm fighting for survival, but I am only getting…
Section B
I'm sick. I'm dying. I'm bleeding. I'm boiling. I'm fighting for survival, but I am only getting worse. My forests are burning in raging wildfire, My oceans are beginning to boil, and my once towering & indestructible polar ice caps are beginning to crumple. This is what happens when you mistreat me, when you abuse me, when you exploit me. This is what happens when you treat me like a resource, instead of a home. I cannot keep living like this, not even for one day longer
* * *
Our planet is sick, and she is desperately calling for help. We hear her cries, but too often she is just background noise. Too often our leaders turn their backs. The very people we are meant to look up to have betrayed us. Not just the presidents, but the corporations too. For years, they have profited off our dying mother. For years, they have silenced her cries. And for years, they have left her to suffer.
For years, we have been silenced. For years, we have been lied to.
For years, we have been silenced. For years, we have been lied to. For years our president has denied and downplayed the truth in service of the status quo. For years, he has pushed climate change aside, shoving it in the closet and locking it away as if it's a monster he is too afraid to fight. Yet, he does not stand alone. He is simply the speaker for a system built on greed, denial and complacency. However, this refusal to confront reality has only enraged the beast. Does this not petrify you? A man with the power to steer a whole nation, backed by corporations will not even acknowledge the single greatest threat our planet faces. Instead, clinging to ignorance & silence, allowing our mother to be devoured by the raging beast of climate change.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: I am the land. I am the mother of the fish that swim in the Black Sea. I was here before the first stone was…
I am the land. I am the mother of the fish that swim in the Black Sea. I was here before the first stone was raised, before the first sword struck, and I will remain long after empires are dust. I have borne the press of countless footsteps, and I have swallowed the blood of wars. I have seen kindness flicker like fragile dawn, and I have endured the plunge of man into raw, untampered cruelty. Always it is the same: two journeys unfolding upon my skin—one striving toward light, the other sliding into shadow. Each step leaves its mark. Each choice roots itself in me, impossible to erase.
Smoke drags itself across my plains, choking wheat and blackening stone. Armies thunder over me, children scatter across me, mothers bend low to shield the helpless. Feet carve their stories into my soil: mercy etching silver into my veins, betrayal gouging iron scars that no rain can wash away. Some wounds open rivers, others bend trees, some press so deep that entire fields grow crooked, bearing harvests twisted by shame.
When Napoleon’s soldiers marched, frost cracked beneath their boots until the thaw turned it to mud. A farmer, gaunt with hunger, whispered his neighbour’s name for a sack of grain. His children cheered as warm bread filled their hands, but I felt the field sour where betrayal spilled blood. Roots knotted strangely there, and the air thickened with a silence that clung like frost long after the soldiers left. Yet in the same night, another woman dragged her lover into a cellar, risking her life to keep him hidden. Her whispers seeped into the walls, her courage pressed into the very stones beneath her knees. I felt her strength flow into me, silver veins pulsing faintly under a sky heavy with smoke.
Decades later, war returned like a tide I could not hold back. In the Second World War, fire consumed entire villages, burning wood to ash and turning rooftops into embers that fell like dying stars. Yet even here, where silence weighed heavier than smoke, a mother gathered a starving orphan to her chest. Soldiers shoved her hard against a stone wall, her back scraping raw, the child crushed between her ribs and the rock. I felt her pain ripple into me, her bones striking stone as her lullaby trembled into the air. Her song was cracked, broken, but every note sank into my soil, weaving light through smoke. She carried bread crusts, jars of water, arms outstretched to children who were not her own. The heat of the fire, the cold of the nights,