VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: ‘The choice’ Stimulus: ‘No two…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Section B Title: ‘The choice’ Stimulus: ‘No two journeys are alike’ The letter arrived on a Tuesday…
Section B
Title: ‘The choice’
Stimulus: ‘No two journeys are alike’
The letter arrived on a Tuesday afternoon.
It was waiting beneath the door when I came home with large words scrawled at the front
reading:
“To you in the future, thirteen years from now”
The hand writing was oddly familiar. The letters were fuller and looked much more carefully
placed compared to my hurried writing now. This was surely something I made when I was
twelve.
At twelve, twenty-five seemed impossibly old. It meant having an amazing job, a proper car,
having everything figured out. It meant already making that choice that would define the rest
of my life.
I turned the envelope over.
“POSTMARKED: 19th of July 2021”
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
“Dear me,
I hope you still draw.
I hope you became an artist.
I hope you ignored the people saying it was ‘impossible’
If you didn’t… I’d like to know why.
Love,
Me aged twelve.”
I read the last question twice.
Then I looked around my room. There were no drawings on the wall. None on my desk. No
blank sheets of drawing papers hidden under my bed.
There was only my laptop, open to a spreadsheet I was using at work.
For the past thirteen years. I had done what everyone said was sensible. I studied a practical
course. Gotten myself a well-paying job. Put in the hard work.
At twenty-one I didn’t have enough time. At twenty-two I told myself I would start when I was
freer. Twenty-three I forgotten all about drawing.
A month later, my parents called to tell me they were moving.
I had to empty out my old bedroom before the house was sold, so I drove there on a
Saturday morning exhausted.
While carrying boxes, I found myself standing outside the basement door.
I hadn’t been down there for years.
The smell of dust and damp concrete was exactly the same. This is where I would disappear
for hours, sitting at the old desk in the corner and drawing until someone called me upstairs.
The desk was still there.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: peace begins with us "But peace, like…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Peace Begins with US -- IMMIGRATION AND CUSTOMS ENFORCEMENT OUR MISSION: To preserve peace, uphold order, and…
Peace Begins with US -- IMMIGRATION AND CUSTOMS ENFORCEMENT
OUR MISSION: To preserve peace, uphold order, and protect the American people through the enforcement of immigration law.
ADELANTO ICE PROCESSING CENTER -- DISCHARGE FORM
Please fill out the details for the prison release discharge process.
Inmate Name: JOSE GUADALUPE RAMOS-SOLANO
DOB: c. 1973-1974
Inmate ID Number: #130006
Date of Admission: 02-23-2026
Date of Release: 03-25-2026
Intake Assessment and Medical Classification:
Inmate (INM) #130006 presented to ADELANTO on possession of a controlled substance and theft of personal property. #130006 received complete health and physical evaluation during intake screening revealing INM. suffered from diabetes, hyperlipidemia, and hypertension. #130006 identified as priority medical care patient, daily medication required.
Custody Status: Maintained
Order and Security: Maintained throughout the period of custody.
Priority Medical Care: Required
Medical Outcome: Irreversible
Reason for Release:
On March 25, 2026 (17:35), custody officers observed #130006 collapsed on his bunk, breathing with no active consciousness. Officers announced medical emergency in dorms.
17:36, RN arrived and observed #130006 on his side, unresponsive and pulseless. Blood glucose testing revealed presence of hyperglycemia.
17:37, RN instructed custody agents to contact emergency services, began chest compressions and applied an automated external defibrillator (no shock advised). CPR continued.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 97.5%: Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one asks who it belongs to. It has a name. Not someone…
Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one asks who it belongs to.
It
has
a
name.
Not someone living. Not someone dead. The spare chair belongs to Maron, and she takes up exactly the right amount of space.
The classroom empties the same way every Friday. Chairs scrape against the floor, bags zip shut, and the door creaks closed. One by one, the noise disappears down the corridor until there is nothing left but the hum of the lights. I am always the one who stays behind, watching their backs vanish through the doorway.
I catch sight of them through the window as they cross the oval, four of them, already laughing at something I can't hear.
I tighten my grip on my pen, tracing its familiar edge.
"Look at them," Maron scoffs, letting the word fall with a quiet contempt. "Their simplicity is fascinating."
Their footsteps fade beyond me, carrying them along a path I’ve never stepped on.
Each of them remains distinct in my memory. The loudest one, the latest one, the one who smooths things over before they break.
This kind of information accumulates and finds a way to stay without permission.
“They always laugh like that,” Maron murmurs. “It’s not even amusing.” I leave her words where they are. They are easier to hold than the silence outside.
Through the window, the tall one starts another impression. I lean closer, catching only fragments of her voice until the punchline reaches me.
Without warning, something escapes, a laugh, abrupt and unwelcome. My hand flies to my mouth but it's already out, spilling into a silence that wasn't built to hold it.
Another follows before I can swallow the first. Two laughs now, loose in a room with no one to catch them, no one to laugh back. I watch them outside, one covering her mouth, eyes crinkling as the other bends forward beside her.
Outside, they fold into laughter, shoulders touching, pulled toward each other.
Whatever is pulling them stops short of me.
Maron taps her pencil against my desk, waiting for my attention.
“Look at this,” she chuckles. She spins the pencil between her fingers, nearly dropping it before catching it again. “Still got it.”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one asks who it belongs to. It has a name. Not someone…
Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one asks who it belongs to.
It
has
a
name.
Not someone living. Not someone dead. The spare chair belongs to Maron, and she takes up exactly the right amount of space.
The classroom empties the same way every Friday. Chairs scrape against the floor, bags zip shut, and the door creaks closed. One by one, the noise disappears down the corridor until there is nothing left but the hum of the lights. I am always the one who stays behind, watching their backs vanish through the doorway.
I catch sight of them through the window as they cross the oval, four of them, already laughing at something I can't hear.
I tighten my grip on my pen, tracing its familiar edge.
"Look at them," Maron scoffs, letting the word fall with a quiet contempt. "Their simplicity is fascinating."
Their footsteps fade beyond me, carrying them along a path I’ve never stepped on.
Each of them remains distinct in my memory. The loudest one, the latest one, the one who smooths things over before they break.
This kind of information accumulates and finds a way to stay without permission.
“They always laugh like that,” Maron murmurs. “It’s not even amusing.” I leave her words where they are. They are easier to hold than the silence outside.
Through the window, the tall one starts another impression. I lean closer, catching only fragments of her voice until the punchline reaches me.
Without warning, something escapes, a laugh, abrupt and unwelcome. My hand flies to my mouth but it's already out, spilling into a silence that wasn't built to hold it.
Another follows before I can swallow the first. Two laughs now, loose in a room with no one to catch them, no one to laugh back. I watch them outside, one covering her mouth, eyes crinkling as the other bends forward beside her.
Outside, they fold into laughter, shoulders touching, pulled toward each other.
Whatever is pulling them stops short of me.
Maron taps her pencil against my desk, waiting for my attention.
“Look at this,” she chuckles. She spins the pencil between her fingers, nearly dropping it before catching it again. “Still got it.”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: to what extent should ai - sexual…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: In 2026, a woman can be the CEO of a global company, a world – class athlete, or a prime minister. But in less…
In 2026, a woman can be the CEO of a global company, a world – class athlete, or a prime minister. But in less than 30 seconds, an anonymous creator with an AI app can strip her of her clothes, her dignity, and her career. For professional women, a deepfake isn't just a 'fake photo' - it is a digital life sentence. So why is our law still treating it like a playground prank?
Honorable members, we stand at a crossroads where our laws are being outpaced by the very technology we once championed. I speak today on the fundamental right to digital bodily autonomy. In 2024, the definition of 'the self' can no longer be confined to physical skin and bone; It must extend to our digital likeliness.
Currently, the weaponization of artificial intelligence has created a new frontier of gender-based violence. Statistics from cybersecurity experts indicate that a staggering 96% of all deepfakes content online is nonconsensual and sexual in nature. This is not an 'innovation' and is not a 'glitch' in the system. It is a calculated violation designed to silence, shame, and erase individuals – predominantly women – from public life.
Now, there are those, including some in the tech sector, who argue that further criminalization may stifle 'artistic expression' or infringe upon 'freedom of speech'. However, I urge you, members of this house: Where does the right to speak begin, and the right to violate end? There is no artistic merit in the digital theft of a human being's dignity.
We cannot allow the 'freedom of speech' to be used as a shield for 'freedom to abuse. If our laws do not evolve to treat the creation of these deepfakes as a serious indictable offense, we are effectively telling Australian citizens that their digital bodies are public property. Parliament has a logical and moral duty to amend the criminal code to ensure that consent is not a relic of the past, but a protected right in our digital future.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one asks who it belongs to. It has a name. Not someone…
Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one asks who it belongs to.
It
has
a
name.
Not someone living. Not someone dead. The spare chair belongs to Maron, and she takes up exactly the right amount of space.
The classroom empties the same way every Friday. Chairs scrape against the floor, bags zip shut, and the door creaks closed. One by one, the noise disappears down the corridor until there is nothing left but the hum of the lights. I am always the one who stays behind, watching their backs vanish through the doorway.
I catch sight of them through the window as they cross the oval, four of them, already laughing at something I can't hear.
I tighten my grip on my pen, tracing its familiar edge.
"Look at them," Maron scoffs, letting the word fall with a quiet contempt. "Their simplicity is fascinating."
Their footsteps fade beyond me, carrying them along a path I’ve never stepped on.
Each of them remains distinct in my memory. The loudest, the latest, the one who smooths things over before they break.
This kind of information accumulates and finds a way to stay without permission.
“They always laugh like that,” Maron murmurs. “It’s not even amusing.” I leave her words where they are. They are easier to hold than the silence outside.
Through the window, the tall one starts another impression. I lean closer, catching only fragments of her voice until the punchline reaches me.
Without warning, something escapes, a laugh, abrupt and unwelcome. My hand flies to my mouth but it's already out, spilling into a silence that wasn't built to hold it.
Another follows before I can swallow the first. Two laughs now, loose in a room with no one to catch them, no one to laugh back. I watch them outside, one covering her mouth, eyes crinkling as the other bends forward beside her.
Outside, they fold into laughter, shoulders touching, pulled toward each other.
Whatever is pulling them stops short of me.
Maron taps her pencil against my desk, waiting for my attention.
“Look at this,” she chuckles. She spins the pencil between her fingers, nearly dropping it before catching it again. “Still got it.”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one asks who it belongs to. It has a name. Not someone…
Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one asks who it belongs to.
It
has
a
name.
Not someone living. Not someone dead. The spare chair belongs to Maron, and she takes up exactly the right amount of space.
The classroom empties the same way every Friday. Chairs scrape against the floor, bags zip shut, and the door creaks closed. One by one, the noise disappears down the corridor until there is nothing left but the hum of the lights. I am always the one who stays behind, watching their backs vanish through the doorway.
I catch sight of them through the window as they cross the oval, four of them, already laughing at something I can't hear.
I tighten my grip on my pen, tracing its familiar edge.
"Look at them," Maron scoffs, letting the word fall with a quiet contempt. "Their simplicity is fascinating."
Their footsteps fade beyond me, carrying them along a path I’ve never stepped on.
I know them all separately. The loudest, the latest, the one who smooths things over before they break.
This kind of information accumulates without your knowing and finds a way to stay without your permission.
“They always laugh like that,” Maron murmurs. “It’s not even amusing.” I leave her words where they are. They are easier to hold than the silence outside.
Through the window, the tall one starts another impression. I lean closer, catching only fragments of her voice until the punchline reaches me.
Without warning, something escapes, a laugh, abrupt and unwelcome. My hand flies to my mouth but it's already out, spilling into a silence that wasn't built to hold it.
Another follows before I can swallow the first. Two laughs now, loose in a room with no one to catch them, no one to laugh back. I watch them outside, one covering her mouth, eyes crinkling as the other bends forward beside her.
Outside, they fold into laughter, shoulders touching, pulled toward each other.
Whatever is pulling them stops short of me.
Maron taps her pencil against my desk, waiting for my attention.
“Look at this,” she chuckles. She spins the pencil between her fingers, nearly dropping it before catching it again. “Still got it.”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one has ever asked who it belongs to. It has a name. Not…
Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one has ever asked who it belongs to.
It
has
a
name.
Not someone living. Not someone dead. The spare chair belongs to Maron, and she takes up exactly the right amount of space.
The classroom empties the same way every Friday. Chairs scrape against the floor, bags zip shut, and the door creaks closed. One by one, the noise disappears down the corridor until there is nothing left but the hum of the lights. I am always the one who stays behind, watching their backs vanish through the doorway.
I catch sight of them through the window as they cross the oval, four of them, already laughing at something I can't hear.
I tighten my grip on my pen, tracing its familiar edge.
"Look at them," Maron scoffs, letting the word fall with a quiet contempt. "Their simplicity is fascinating."
Their footsteps fade beyond me, carrying them along a path I’ve never stepped on.
I know them all separately. The loudest, the latest, the one who smooths things over before they break.
This kind of information accumulates without your knowing and finds a way to stay without your permission.
“They always laugh like that,” Maron murmurs. “It’s not even amusing.” I leave her words where they are. They are easier to hold than the silence outside.
Through the window, the tall one starts another impression. I lean closer, catching only fragments of her voice until the punchline reaches me.
Without warning, something escapes, a laugh, abrupt and unwelcome. My hand flies to my mouth but it's already out, spilling into a silence that wasn't built to hold it.
Another follows before I can swallow the first. Two laughs now, loose in a room with no one to catch them, no one to laugh back. I watch them outside, one covering her mouth, eyes crinkling as the other bends forward beside her.
Outside, they fold into laughter, shoulders touching, pulled toward each other.
Whatever is pulling them stops short of me.
Maron taps her pencil against my desk, waiting for my attention.
“Look at this,” she chuckles. She spins the pencil between her fingers, nearly dropping it before catching it again. “Still got it.”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one has ever asked who it belongs to. It has a name. Not…
Everyone notices the empty chair beside me but no one has ever asked who it belongs to.
It
has
a
name.
Not someone living. Not someone dead. The spare chair belongs to Maron, and she takes up exactly the right amount of space.
The classroom empties the same way every Friday. Chairs scrape against the floor, bags zip shut, and the door creaks closed. One by one, the noise disappears down the corridor until there is nothing left but the hum of the lights. I am always the one who stays behind, watching their backs vanish through the doorway.
I catch sight of them through the window as they cross the oval, four of them, already laughing at something I can't hear.
I tighten my grip on my pen, tracing its familiar edge.
"Look at them," Maron scoffs, letting the word fall with a quiet contempt. "Their simplicity is fascinating."
Their footsteps fade beyond me, carrying them along a path I’ve never stepped on.
I know them all separately. The loudest, the latest, the one who smooths things over before they break.
This kind of information accumulates without your knowing and finds a way to stay without your permission.
“They always laugh like that,” Maron murmurs. “It’s not even amusing.” I leave her words where they are. They are easier to hold than the silence outside.
Through the window, the tall one starts another impression. I lean closer, catching only fragments of her voice until the punchline reaches me.
Without warning, something escapes, a laugh, abrupt and unwelcome. My hand flies to my mouth but it's already out, spilling into a silence that wasn't built to hold it.
Another follows before I can swallow the first. Two laughs now, loose in a room with no one to catch them, no one to laugh back. I watch them outside, one covering her mouth, eyes crinkling as the other bends forward beside her.
Outside, they fold into laughter, shoulders touching, pulled toward each other.
Whatever is pulling them stops short of me.
Maron taps her pencil against my desk, waiting for my attention.
“Look at this,” she chuckles. She spins the pencil between her fingers, nearly dropping it before catching it again. “Still got it.”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Text we're studying in class - Animal…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: The sheep's stomachs churned with acid. The land cracked under the unforgiving sky that promised no life, its…
The sheep's stomachs churned with acid. The land cracked under the unforgiving sky that promised no life, its creations longing for a belly not so empty. The sheep had long since given up on the flourishing of the present, the current age now merely a period of waiting to progress into the next stage of life, trusting that permanent unconsciousness was kinder to beast.
Today, another death had been announced. The sheep listened in undying jealousy to the snakes reporting on Daisy, whose suffering had ceased. The snakes continued on with the same rhetoric that the sheep had become quite accustomed to.
'In this period of uncertainty, it is of utmost importance to lean on your peers...'
The sheep's eyes glazed over as they silently mouthed the extraordinarily impersonal monologue, longing for the closing sentence to free them.
Today, it never came.
The snakes cleared their throats, straightening their posture in a demonstration of respect they'd never before given. One particularly thick viper slithered forward to address the assembly.
'Friends,' he began, his thin lips stretching into an impossibly charming smile, 'I have a proposal for you all.'
Curious about the unfamiliar addition to the monologue, the milky glaze lifted from the sheep's eyes.
'As we are all very well aware, this famine is soon to be the death of us.'
Cautiously, the sheep cocked their heads.
'But while others have been mourning our circumstances,' the viper continued in a soothing, honey-like tone, 'I have been hard at work devising a brilliant new order for managing the farm. If you grant me leadership, the age of starvation is a matter of the past.'
What followed was a storm of voices, hope and fear tearing at one another until neither could be distinguished from the other. Eventually, someone suggested a vote.
27 in favour, 24 against.
It was settled.
'Good.'
They slithered away.
By dusk, a pile of food had miraculously appeared in the centre of the field. It was strange, consisting of what appeared to be tree sap glowing artificially blue; the sheep had never eaten anything like it.
'This will be replaced – it is not nutritious enough to sustain a population long-term,' the snakes hissed before disappearing again.
However, it was enough to keep the sheep from immediate death. To the sheep, this was a reasonable deal.
Exhausted by the day's events, the sheep fell into a deep slumber.
Upon waking, the world had changed.
Gone was the grey.
The morning dew sitting atop the blades of grass sparkled in the brightened sunlight, the blue tree sap perfectly replenished in the field. The sun sat impossibly static in the sky. Not a blade of grass stood taller than the other.
Deeply embroiled in their joy, the sheep did not notice the snakes quietly observing them from the hill.
The following day was much the same.
'What commendable leaders,' the group repeated amongst themselves, 'they have fed us and provided this beautiful new world for us all. We are no longer hungry.'
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: 'The Ground Beneath'
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: ‘The Ground Beaneath’ The following is an extract from Eliza Connel's upcoming memoir "My Brilliant…
‘The Ground Beaneath’
The following is an extract from Eliza Connel's upcoming memoir "My Brilliant Radicalisation". Eliza is the Director of 'Animals Australia', a not-for-profit designed to promote animal welfare and is the 2028 Australian of the year.
Pre-order is available from December 3rd at www.worldofeliza.com.au
It was just like any ordinary day. The autumn leaves drifted lazily through the wind, rustling together upon the ground below. The grade three classroom at Sunvale Primary was starkly lit in juxtaposition to the gentle conditions of the outdoors. Inside raged a battle of will amongst students. The concept of 'show and tell' held strong appeal to all.
Perhaps it was Noah's hand that extended the highest. Or maybe Mrs Higgin's hadn't yet sensed what was to come.
"Noah, you may go next," Mrs Higgins announced in her usual tone of stern ferocity.
I was slightly afraid of Noah at the time. Though looking back I see nothing but a thin, gangly boy of about nine who was desperately afraid of being alone, being forgotten, ignored.
Noah rose with a start - it was rare for him to be called upon for joyous reasons in class.
After a sputtering cough, Noah launched into his story.
"On the weekend Dad and me went shooting cockies in the trees at the back of the paddock with Grandad's old rifle and we got all of them there were white feathers everywhere!”
Noah's words came out in a single breath, as though in anticipation of being cut off.
The class was dead silent.
Mrs Higgin's offered Noah a thin smile. "Thank you for sharing" she stuttered.
The shocked faces of my classmates were obvious. Some had their mouths agape, others looked faintly amused, but many of us looked truly horrified.
That weekend just gone I had experienced cockatoos in a vastly different manner. Staying at my grandparent’s cottage near the beach, the sounds of the cockatoos opening seedpods was one I was used to.
My grandfather and I had gone birdwatching. Seated in the treehouse in Pa's backyard we had munched on salad sandwiches and fresh green apples as we observed the birds through the window. Graceful red-tailed black cockatoos swarmed a nearby tree, pecking daintily at seed pods before gliding to the ground beneath. White cockatoos soared overhead with flashes of yellow darting in and out of my eyesight. Wrens flittered about on low branches.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write a persuasive piece
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Every Dungeons and Dragons game begins the same way; a blank character sheet. Before the adventure starts, you…
Every Dungeons and Dragons game begins the same way; a blank character sheet. Before the adventure starts, you roll the dice and decide what kind of person you want to become, dictated by both your skills and your flaws. Intelligence? Wisdom? Strength? Every decision shapes how you'll face the world.
If modern society had a character sheet, we'd have invested heavily into building ambition, productivity, and independence. We'd boast impressive Intelligence scores, Strength of massive proportions, maybe even of Wisdom beyond our years. But somewhere along the way, Charisma became our dump stat. We forgot that no adventure, real or imagined, is meant to be completed alone. We rolled a natural 1, a critical fail, on our ability to be human, and to seek connection in others like we have in years gone by.
When I tell people I spend my Thursday afternoons playing D&D, I usually get one of two reactions: confusion or amusement. To many people, it's still a weird game about rolling dice and pretending to be elves. Worst case, they believe its some devil-worshiping, cult-y freakshow with too many innuendos and too little deodorant. Yet despite this, every week, Santa's D&D club fills with students who stay long after the (silent) final bell, choosing 'make-believe' instead of going home. The same thing is happening far beyond M2.35 as well. Stranger Things transformed the Hellfire Club from a negative stereotype into a symbol of community, Baldur's Gate 3 introduced over 20 million players (so far) to collaborative storytelling (reimagined in game format), and audiences continue to spend hours watching strangers play D&D through Critical Role, and many other channels similar.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran upstairs to my room,…
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran upstairs to my room, waiting until she and my brother fell asleep. In my hands were two bags of clothes, on my back was a bag with my laptop, a charger, and my mother’s diamond earring in the pocket.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran upstairs to my room,…
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran upstairs to my room, waiting until she and my brother fell asleep. In my hands were two bags of clothes, on my back was a bag with my laptop, a charger, and my mothers diamond earring in the pocket.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me without my mothers constant nagging. Julliard was waiting for me, and my life was around the corner.
I spent three days in this park before I saw myself on a 'missing' poster, that night I couldn't sleep knowing my mother was already looking for me. The echo of my little brother asking why I’m not at the dinner table consumed me. On the fourth day I bought a bus ticket to the furthest state it drove to, showering in the public bathroom before it left. The decision to take that opportunity was my best one yet because, coincidentally, my first girlfriend had the seat next to me. I hadn't seen her in years.
"Why are you going out of state?" She asked after tense silence.
"Just to see my uncle." I lied quickly.
"Cool. I didn't know you had an uncle."
I don't have one. Although I have 10 aunts I could've said I was visiting. "Maybe if he's out sometime, we could catch up."
"Yeah. Maybe," but I was already looking away, at the wild dogs we passed out the window.
It took a week, and getting kicked out of three McDonald’s, to call her. She was happy to hear from me, until I told her I called for a place to stay. Eventually she agreed to help me out, letting me have a shower and sleep on her couch. To make up for taking up her dorm space I let her take repayments from me in whatever form she wanted from me, before she kicked me out when her boyfriend was about to move in.
"I just don't want him to know I'm interested in someone like you." She told me without an ounce of empathy.
With nowhere to stay after weeks of buying every meal, I found a pawn shop that would take my laptop and stolen jewellery. However, when I got to the counter he said he'd take my laptop but not my earrings.
"They'll help you attract customers from that corner." He pointed to the street lined with workers. I had no other choice.
He handed me a hundred dollar note and my earrings.
"You'd better get out there now, they're stealing your business," he laughed as a woman stumbled to get into the backseat of a car.
The note was tucked into my pocket
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Essay on Protest Title: Refuse now…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Published to Harvard University’s Online Forum Protesting is a right given to all individual no matter what…
Published to Harvard University’s Online Forum
Protesting is a right given to all individual no matter what race, sex or gender you are but why are you not utilizing that? You know one of your a fellow student got racially discriminated but why are you not doing anything about it. Protesting should be direct and confronting but you people refused to stand up. Refusing now would not bring change no matter what, it's not what you do but the purpose behind it. Speak up for change, so this would not happen to you or people around you. "Change is a slow moving river" yes it is true, protest doesn't get what you want right away, but think about the student who experienced racism on campus, think from their perspective, no one stepped up for them but it is not too late to fight for change, it takes effort, it takes time but more importantly, it takes passion and a mind that says to keep going and refuse to back down. Protesting has its own risk associated with it, yes its dangerous, yes it may result in chaos and yes you may get injured but is it all worth it? Yes you are fighting for change and for your fellow students and refusing now will only make think [things] worse. If you back down and refuse to change how others trust you this will happen again, plenty more times, so don't refuse now and fight for what is right, which is change. "A river that does not move is a swamp"; if you do not speak up for change then what's the purpose, you want more people to get racially discriminated? You yourself are causing more harm than good by refusing to fight for change but think about it, you are not the only one who wants change, there are others and more if you just say the words "We need change" you will be encouraging more students to be along side you and once you are in there is no looking and refusing to get back up. This is protest, fighting for change and speaking up to do what is right for others, for students, for teachers and everyone else.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Small Acts, Big Wins,
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Every morning, my hand reaches past a stainless-steel travel mug and closes around the same ceramic cup. The…
Every morning, my hand reaches past a stainless-steel travel mug and closes around the same ceramic cup. The steel is cold and smooth; the ceramic’s glaze is slightly rough beneath my thumb. Its rim is chipped; a brown stain circles the inside. The newer mug keeps heat in for longer and could probably survive a fall, yet habit has already made the decision before thought could begin. Stopping would take less than a second. It has taken me much longer to notice that I never do.
We give authority to habit. We return to old objects, old rules and old explanations—not because they are necessarily better, but because they ask nothing new of us. What is familiar feels natural; what feels natural soon appears inevitable. Give habit a cupboard and it becomes routine; give it a courthouse and several generations, and it begins to call itself tradition.
Before the placard, the march or the chant, there is a question. Why this cup? Why this rule? Why must things remain as they are? One question can sound too small to change anything. Asked by another person, then another, it becomes harder to dismiss. Protest does not always provide the correct answer. Its first achievement is making an answer necessary.
This interruption is precisely why protesters are so often portrayed as the source of disorder. Why are they blocking the road? Why are they making so much noise? Why can’t they express themselves calmly?
These questions assume that before the protest, there was peace.
But peaceful for whom?
Silence only resembles harmony when you are not the person being silenced. A system can appear orderly when you are not the person trapped beneath it. Protest does not necessarily create the fracture. Sometimes it merely exposes the fracture, making it impossible to ignore.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: framwork about country
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: Title of section B Subheading - The Places That Pull Us By Jessia Smith Travel Blog Nation Posted 5 hours ago…
Title of section B
Subheading - The Places That Pull Us
By Jessia Smith
Travel Blog Nation
Posted 5 hours ago
I place a small red magnet on the table.
It is shaped like a horseshoe, its two silver ends pointing towards each other. Smooth plastic covers the outside, and a tiny scratch runs across the front.
There are places in the world that pull us towards them before we understand why. Sometimes it is the landscape. Sometimes it is the people. Sometimes it is simply the feeling that something is waiting for us beyond what we already know.
We often think of country as a place on a map — somewhere we are born, live and belong. But after travelling, I have realised that country is much harder to define.
Perhaps country is not simply where we are from.
Perhaps it is everywhere that changes us.
I turn the red magnet over in my hand.
The people
The red magnet reminds me of America.
I travelled there with people who were once strangers and are now some of my closest friends. I remember unfamiliar faces, accents and streets that seemed larger and brighter than the ones I knew.
Everyone was moving somewhere.
But amongst all that movement, it was the people I remember most.
The magnet reminds me that a place is not simply its buildings or landscapes. It is the people who fill it.
Sometimes leaving home is what teaches us what home really means.
I place the red magnet down and reach for a purple elephant.
The ordinary
The purple elephant reminds me of Sri Lanka.
I remember blue plates and bowls being passed around as people gathered together to eat. I remember eating with my hands.
To me, it felt strange.
But looking around, I realised that I was the unusual one. What felt unfamiliar to me was completely ordinary to everyone else.
It was a small moment, but it taught me something important: we are easily convinced that our own habits are universal.
Culture lives in the ordinary things — the way people eat, gather and pass traditions from one generation to the next.
Travel forces us to question what we call “normal”.
I place the elephant beside the American magnet.
Click.
Then I reach for the largest magnet.
Looking back at home
The green magnet is triangular.
It reminds me of the mountains of the Dolomites.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title : Time rearranges Stimulus: ‘Do…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Claude section B exam Title : Time rearranges Stimulus: ‘Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future,…
Claude section B exam
Title : Time rearranges
Stimulus: ‘Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, focus the mind on the present moment.
Time Rearranges
Every clock in Pop's workshop told a different time.
I used to think it was neglect. There were forty-one of them, crowded across the walls in a tangle of mismatched ticking, like a room of people all talking at once. 3:10. Ten to nine. A quarter past some other afternoon. When I was small, I asked why he never fixed them.
"They're not broken," he said. "Each one's right somewhere."
I was seventeen the week my course preferences were due, and I felt right nowhere.
That year, Mum had started dropping me at the shop on Thursdays. She never said why, and I never asked. On the first Thursday in August, Pop looked up from the bench and asked if the man from the bank had collected his watch yet.
"Pop," I said, "that was years ago."
He didn't argue. He just looked at me, politely, the way you'd look at a stranger who had given you the wrong directions, and went back to polishing a case that was already clean.
I carried that look home. I carried it for days, replaying the sentence, trying out better ones. Sorry, Pop, I think he did. I'll check. It was easy to be kind in the version where I got a second go.
When I wasn't in that Thursday, I was in December: the one where I'd already decided. Engineering, safe and sensible, the answer everyone expected. Or the other thing, which I'd never said aloud, which had a bench and a loupe and an expiry date. I rehearsed both conversations on the tram. I lost sleep arguing with people who weren't there. I lived in the room behind me or the room ahead of me, and only visited the one I was actually standing in when somebody spoke to me.
Above the bench, taped there years ago in Pop's block capitals and gone yellow at the edges, was a card:
DO NOT DWELL IN THE PAST. DO NOT DREAM OF THE FUTURE. FOCUS THE MIND ON THE PRESENT MOMENT.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: stimulus 1 - no one is free until we…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 62.5%: To my silenced brothers and sisters joining me today as a part of the Southern Christian Leadership…
To my silenced brothers and sisters joining me today as a part of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC). For 200 years we have been censored. For 200 years we have been treated as subhuman. For 200 years we have been stripped of our voice. But for no longer, as the unity we've found in each other is what strengthens us to overcome the governing body structured to lawfully outcast the black minority under their reign. Relinquishing the previous ideas about radical protest in stunning scenes only weakens our united movement. Therefore, we must refine our position within the sociopolitical scene in a peaceful protest to sustain our rightful position within society.
Join me in taking the tape off each other's mouths, as it is instrumental as black people, that we do not succumb to neutrality, in giving up our own power we unknowingly rob our neighbour of theirs. As a part of the SCLC we all will make our voices heard and our faces seen in the eyes of the government and make real change… finally seen as equals… equals in the innate human dignity every single one of us is born with the right to.
The public censoring of our people disempowers those who bear witness to the disgusting abuse of power inflicted upon poor individuals who were brave enough to break their silence.
The ingrained social construct of a hierarchy built on race solely to create a false sense of power for our oppressors, drastically undermines the innate rights black people are born with.
In an era riddled with this racial tyranny, the imposition of these unjust hardships are met with a series of violent militias, prominently the black panther party who despite having numerous accredited community programs and social strategies, carried automatic firearms for self defence in the monitoring of police behaviour. And as one would expect this leads to inconceivable amounts of lives lost for both groups inadvertently denoting our combating of black disenfranchisement, silently perpetuating the racist Jim Crow laws.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: THE RULES OF THE GAME STIMULUS: We…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: THE RULES OF THE GAME STIMULUS: We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old when we stop playing.…
THE RULES OF THE GAME
STIMULUS: We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old when we stop playing.
THE AGE: Teen Takeover - A glimpse into the toxic sports culture plaguing sport, and forcing kids outside the lines on the game they love.
When I was eight, I realised that the people around me cared more about the results that I was producing than they did for me as an actual person. That’s when I realised, sport was no longer about fun, it was about who could kick the furthest, run the fastest, win the most. A missed shot or a kick out of bounds was met with anger, and followed by silence on the way home. While a win was met with a slight smile, it was not before a list of endless critiques. I had learnt, before I had even hit double digits, that my worth on the field had become entangled with my worth off it. The rules of sport had become simple, pressure and winning were everything.
WE DON’T STOP PLAYING BECAUSE WE GROW OLD, WE STOP WHEN PLAYING NO LONGER BELONGS TO US
Allianz Australia’s recent research into junior sports in Australia found that one in three teens have pleaded with their parents to quit sport before the age of 15. When you ask them why, you won’t hear that they stopped loving the game or injury forced them into this position. You will hear one word. Pressure. These children are constantly demanded to give more than they have, car drives homes are turned into lectures and incessant disappointment. Children leaving sports unhappy isn’t unlucky, it is simply symptomatic of a culture that values the scoreboard more than the kids standing in front of it. Kids do not leave the sport because they stopped loving it, but they felt as if it was no longer theirs, the logic of sport was now to perform for other people.
Realistically, it is very easy to write this off as a parenting issue. However, as much as people would like to think, this isn’t something that parents have written up and executed off of their own back. They didn’t invent these rules. They inherited them.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: THE RULES OF THE GAME STIMULUS: We…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: THE RULES OF THE GAME STIMULUS: We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old when we stop playing.…
THE RULES OF THE GAME
STIMULUS: We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old when we stop playing.
THE AGE: Teen Takeover - A glimpse into the toxic sports culture plaguing sport, and forcing kids outside the lines on the game they love.
When I was eight, I realised that the people around me cared more about the results that I was producing than they did for me as an actual person. That’s when I realised, sport was no longer about fun, it was about who could kick the furthest, run the fastest, win the most. A missed shot or a kick out of bounds was met with anger, and followed by silence on the way home. While a win was met with a slight smile, it was not before a list of endless critiques. I had learnt, before I had even hit double digits, that my worth on the field had become entangled with my worth off it. The rules of sport had become simple, pressure and winning were everything.
WE DON’T STOP PLAYING BECAUSE WE GROW OLD, WE STOP WHEN PLAYING NO LONGER BELONGS TO US
Allianz Australia’s recent research into junior sports in Australia found that one in three teens have pleaded with their parents to quit sport before the age of 15. When you ask them why, you won’t hear that they stopped loving the game or injury forced them into this position. You will hear one word. Pressure. These children are constantly demanded to give more than they have, car drives homes are turned into lectures and incessant disappointment. Children leaving sports unhappy isn’t unlucky, it is simply symptomatic of a culture that values the scoreboard more than the kids standing in front of it. Kids do not leave the sport because they stopped loving it, but they felt as if it was no longer theirs, the logic of sport was now to perform for other people.
Realistically, it is very easy to write this off as a parenting issue. However, as much as people would like to think, this isn’t something that parents have written up and executed off of their own back. They didn’t invent these rules. They inherited them.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: THE RULES OF THE GAME STIMULUS: We…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: THE RULES OF THE GAME STIMULUS: We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old when we stop playing.…
THE RULES OF THE GAME
STIMULUS: We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old when we stop playing.
THE AGE: Teen Takeover - A glimpse into the toxic sports culture plaguing sport, and forcing kids outside the lines on the game they love.
When I was eight, I realised that the people around me cared more about the results that I was producing than they did for me as an actual person. That’s when I realised, sport was no longer about fun, it was about who could kick the furthest, run the fastest, win the most. A missed shot or a kick out of bounds was met with anger, and followed by silence on the way home. While a win was met with a slight smile, but not before the endless critiques. I had learnt, before I had even hit double digits, that my worth on the field had become entangled with my worth off it. The rules of sport had become simple, pressure and winning were everything.
WE DON’T STOP PLAYING BECAUSE WE GROW OLD, WE STOP WHEN PLAYING NO LONGER BELONGS TO US
Allianz Australia’s recent research into junior sports in Australia found that one in three teens have pleaded with their parents to quit sport before the age of 15. When you ask them why, you won’t hear that they stopped loving the game or injury forced them into this position. You will hear one word. Pressure. These children are constantly demanded to give more than they have, car road homes are turned into lectures and incessant disappointment. Children leaving sports unhappy isn’t unlucky, it is simply symptomatic of a culture that values the scoreboard more than the kids standing in front of it. Kids do not leave the sport because they stopped loving it, but they felt as if it was no longer theirs, the logic of sport was now to perform for other people.
Realistically, it is very easy to write this off as a parenting issue. However, as much as people would like to think, this isn’t something that parents have written up and executed off of their own back. They didn’t invent these rules. They inherited them.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: THE RULES OF THE GAME STIMULUS: We…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: THE RULES OF THE GAME STIMULUS: We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old when we stop playing.…
THE RULES OF THE GAME
STIMULUS: We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old when we stop playing.
THE AGE: Teen Takeover - A glimpse into the toxic sports culture plaguing sport, and forcing kids outside the lines on the game they love.
When I was eight, I realised that the people around me cared more about the results that I was producing than they did for me as an actual person. That’s when I realised, sport was no longer about fun, it was about who could kick the furthest, run the fastest, win the most. A missed shot or a kick out of bounds was met with anger, and followed by silence on the way home. While a win was met with a slight smile, but not before the endless critiques. I had learnt, before I had even hit double digits, that my worth on the field had become entangled with my worth off it. The rules of sport had become simple, pressure and winning were everything.
WE DON’T STOP PLAYING BECAUSE WE GROW OLD, WE STOP WHEN PLAYING NO LONGER BELONGS TO US
Allianz Australia’s recent research into junior sports in Australia found that one in three teens have pleaded with their parents to quit sport before the age of 15. When you ask them why, you won’t hear that they stopped loving the game or injury forced them into this position. You will hear one word. Pressure. These children are constantly demanded to give more than they have, car road homes are turned into lectures and incessant disappointment. Children leaving sports unhappy isn’t unlucky, it is simply symptomatic of a culture that values the scoreboard more than the kids standing in front of it. Kids do not leave the sport because they stopped loving it, but they felt as if it was no longer theirs, the logic of sport was now to perform for other people.
Realistically, it is very easy to write this off as a parenting issue. However, as much as people would like to think, this isn’t something that parents have written up and executed off of their own back. They didn’t invent these rules. They inherited them.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: THE RULES OF THE GAME STIMULUS: We…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: THE RULES OF THE GAME THE AGE: Teen Takeover - A glimpse into the toxic sports culture plaguing sport, and…
THE RULES OF THE GAME
THE AGE: Teen Takeover - A glimpse into the toxic sports culture plaguing sport, and forcing kids outside the lines on the game they love.
When I was eight, I realised that the people around me cared more about the results that I was producing than they did for me as an actual person. That’s was I realised, sport was no longer about fun, it was about who could kick the furthest, run the fastest, win the most. A missed shot or a kick out of bounds was met with anger, and followed by silence on the way home. While a win was met with a slight smile, but not before the endless critiques. I had learnt, before I had even hit double digits, that my worth on the field had become entangled with my worth off it. The rules of sport had become simple, pressure and winning were everything.
WE DONT STOP PLAYING BECAUSE WE GROW OLD, WE STOP WHEN PLAYING NO LONGER BELONGS TO US
Allianz Australia’s recent research into junior sports in Australia found that one in three teens have pleaded with their parents to quit sport before the age of 15. When you ask them why, you won’t hear that they stopped loving the game or injury forced them into this position. You will hear one word. Pressure. These children are constantly demanded to give more than they have, car road homes are turned into lectures and incessant disappointment. Children leaving sports unhappy isn’t unlucky, it is simply symptomatic of a culture that values the scoreboard more than the kids standing in front of it. Kids do not leave the sport because they stopped loving it, but they felt as if it was no longer theirs, the logic of sport was now to perform for other people.
Realistically, it was very easy to write this off as a parenting issue. However, as much as people would like to think, this isn’t something that parents have written up and executed off of their own back. They didn’t invent these rules. They inherited them.