VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Compose a text in a genre of your…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: The rain had not stopped for seven nights. It clawed against the windows of Blackthorn Manor like desperate…
The rain had not stopped for seven nights. It clawed against the windows of Blackthorn Manor like desperate fingers begging to be let inside, while the house itself groaned beneath the weight of secrets too old to remain buried.
Evelyn Ashcombe stood alone in the attic, a trembling candle cupped within her pale hands. Dust swirled around her like spirits disturbed from sleep. The air smelt of mould, smoke, and something strangely metallic — the scent of forgotten grief.
She had spent years searching for answers about her mother’s disappearance. The villagers whispered cruel stories whenever Evelyn passed: The woman vanished into the woods. The Devil took her. Some doors should never be opened.Yet no one ever spoke the truth.
Until now.
At the far end of the attic sat an ancient chest hidden beneath moth-eaten sheets. Its iron lock had rusted with age, as though time itself had tried to seal it shut forever. Evelyn hesitated. Her heartbeat echoed violently through the silence of the manor.
Then she forced it open.
Inside lay a collection of yellowed letters bound together with black ribbon. Beneath them rested a silver locket coated in dust. The moment Evelyn touched it, the candle flame flickered violently.
A memory struck her like lightning.
Her mother’s laughter.
Soft hands brushing through her hair.
A lullaby half-remembered.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: personal journe
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: A mirror doesn’t break on its own. In silence it fractures quietly, until the reflection no longer looks like…
A mirror doesn’t break on its own.
In silence it fractures quietly, until the reflection no longer looks like you.
I was nothing more than reflection. A reflection of my mother. My father.
My parents migrated from Indonesia long before I was born; their first introduction to a westernised society, one of privilege and imagination. I attended the best of the best schools, I only studied the hardest subjects, the respectable ones according to my dear mother and father. The arts were nonexistent to me; I never drew with colour, or outside the lines. I stayed in my fitted box, banging on the walls but receiving silence. I was the dream child they had longed for.
The mirror’s beauty acted as a shield.
A shield from the truth, a truth I didn’t know but scarred even me.
No one has ever had to look deeper, only seeing themselves and the words they engraved in my skin.
I was the perfect daughter, quiet and who knew her place.
My truth would be a girl who took things easy, dyed her hair the brightest shade of blue, and wore thick black eyeliner that swallowed her petite eyes. Not the girl with white ribbon tied in her long black hair and navy wide rimmed glasses. She was fearless; she was the type of girl a whole room would turn to admire. She had the sort of confidence which could only kill my parents long before their due.
Seventeen years behind this shield, it has been the most stable relationship I’ve had. It grew up with me as I grew up with it. Every study session, every dinner, every sleep, every waking morning. It woke up with me and experienced another day.
Turning eighteen is supposed to be fun, but it is only tied to cliches. Cliches, I dreamt about but could never have. It didn’t seem destined for my reality. The biggest fairytale of them all...freedom. Freedom is less of an idea and more of a myth. When you're eighteen, you're supposed to be free to leave, walk a new life, your own life. The shelter you've comfortably called your own is too heavy to carry into this new life; you need to escape it before it entraps you forever. Being eighteen allowed for a terrifying new world; my mind was no longer so easy to mold and had a way of thinking for itself.
My life was taken over by everyone else's reflection. I couldn’t resist the changes when they took place without my consent.
I couldn’t stop the pain from cutting through my skin.
It is fragile; the slightest scratch will defy its beauty and leave it scarred for life.
The voices in my head whispered to me. I could never make out the exact words, but I knew enough to recognise that when the glass broke no one would know me. The ribbon would have loosened; my hair would flow freely, and my eyes would become defiant.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: Barker warns of the dangers of steadfast…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 85%: Barker goes against duty implying that conformity can be harmful. Pat Barkers historical novel published in 1991…
Barker goes against duty implying that conformity can be harmful. Pat Barkers historical novel published in 1991 explores the lives of military patients suffering from mental and physical illness's at Craiglockhart hospital. Barker condemns unwavering loyalty explaining how it damages true healing, however it can make an individual feel better as obedience to medical institutions can ironically create a space for healing. Seen through new soilders arriving at craiglockhart with existing trauma alonside, medical staff who obey authority involving themselves into the continuation of trauma and Craiglockhart as possible way of recovery within a fragmented world.
Barker exposes the true feelings of soilders arriving at Craiglockhart whose conformity stops true emotional and physical regeneration. Craiglockhart was "Daunt[ing]" and "bulk[y]", highlighting how war follows along to a place of rest and recovery. Barker foreshadows through the use of a metaphor to describe how blindly following duty expectations may harm recovery, as a place which is cavernous and gloomy follows you around. this extends that men are likely to worry and think about war due to the hospitals disturbing infrastructure limiting their wellness. Moreover, the fact it was believed that "illness had to be physical", in order to be taken seriously destroys the struggle the young men may have gone through adding higher amounts of emotional trauma. Barker scrutinises the lack of acknowledgement on emotional trauma but through foreshadowing with the word "physical" she explains that those conforming to military institutes and duty are likely to never recover only worsening their condition and ultimately leading to death, Overall creating more harm reflecting on steadfast duty to loyalty leading to trauma.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: Jackson suggests that the desire to belong…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 62.5%: Shirley Jackson's 1962 gothic novel "We Have Always Lived in the Castle' set in rural America, explores the…
Shirley Jackson's 1962 gothic novel "We Have Always Lived in the Castle' set in rural America, explores the aftermath of a families mysterious death through the eyes of the protagonist, Merricat, and her sister Constance. Jackson suggests that while the denial of belonging initially destroys ones connection to society, it ultimately forces individuals to forge a deeper sense of belonging within themselves. The novel explores the impact of society's denial, the alternative unity created through this denial and the lengths individuals go to, to dismantle such unity.
Jackson asserts that society persecutes those who are different, denying them a sense of belonging. This is evident through the villagers who mistreat Merricat when she goes to the village, Jim Dowell assaults Merricat in Stella's cafe, proving Merricat's point that "the villagers have always hated [the Blackwoods]." This suggests that society ostricises those that scare and are different compared to society. Writing in post World War 2 America, where families were expected to conform to traditionalism, Jackson draws on her own differences to critique how society ultimately persecutes those that it finds to disobey traditionalism, mirroring the villagers denial of the Blackwood's agency and belonging. Jackson further employs Gothic imagery of how the villagers trashed the Blackwood house during the fire, revealing that society will go to extreme lengths to isolate those who are different. This forces the reader to recognise that society isn't always something you can turn to for help, but instead a hostile force that ostracises individual who don't conform to social norms. Jackson thus demonstrates that community denies a sense of belonging to those it portrays as different.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Written commentary
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Throughout the unit on protest, I became increasingly interested in how protest movements create change within…
Throughout the unit on protest, I became increasingly interested in how protest movements create change within society and challenge injustice. Texts such as Meyne Wyatt’s City of Gold monologue and speeches surrounding social justice movements particularly captured my attention because they highlighted how silence can allow inequality and suffering to continue. What interested me most was the idea that protest is not only about large public demonstrations, but also about speaking out and using media to amplify important messages. I wanted to explore how protest can influence society and create awareness about injustice, so I chose to write an expository piece discussing the importance of protest and the role media plays in strengthening protest movements. My intended audience was younger people and a wider educated group, as I wanted readers to reflect on how protest has shaped modern social change and why speaking out against injustice remains important today.
I chose the expository form because it allowed me to present clear arguments and real world examples to educate readers about the significance of protest. This style of writing helped me explain how movements such as the Black Lives Matter movement and the Me-Too movement gained power through media exposure and collective action. By using current world examples, I intended to make the piece feel relevant and relatable to a modern day audience. I structured the piece beginning with the role of media in protest, then exploring the importance of speaking out, before finally discussing how pressure must be placed on governments and people in power for meaningful change to occur. This structure was intended to guide readers through my contention logically and reinforce the idea that protest is an ongoing process.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: Analyse how Jackson uses Gothic…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 80%: Shirley Jackson's 1962 Gothic novel We Have Always Lived in the Castle deploys the aesthetic and narrative…
Shirley Jackson's 1962 Gothic novel We Have Always Lived in the Castle deploys the aesthetic and narrative conventions of Gothic literature not as decorative atmosphere but as structural methodology through which to excavate the pathologies lurking beneath domestic surfaces and communal facades. Jackson inherits from the Gothic tradition its central preoccupations—entrapment within decaying architecture, the return of repressed violence, the unreliable narrator whose madness or trauma distorts perception, and the collapse of boundaries between past and present, rationality and irrationality, protection and persecution. However, she transposes these conventional Gothic elements from the European castles and monasteries of the genre's origins into mid-twentieth-century American small-town domesticity, demonstrating how Gothic horror resides not in exotic foreign spaces but in the seemingly mundane structures of family and community. Through her strategic manipulation of architectural symbolism, narrative perspective, temporal collapse, and the uncanny, Jackson reveals how both familial bonds and social structures operate through forms of violence and control that Gothic conventions uniquely illuminate. The Blackwood estate functions simultaneously as refuge and tomb, the family unit as both protection and prison, and the village community as both moral arbiter and bloodthirsty mob—Gothic binaries that expose the instability underlying supposedly stable social formations.
The Blackwood estate exemplifies Jackson's adaptation of the Gothic architectural tradition, functioning as spatial correlative for psychological states while simultaneously literalising the family's relationship to the outside world. Traditional Gothic architecture—crumbling castles, labyrinthine monasteries, houses with hidden passages—operates as objective manifestation of guilt, repression, and moral decay. Jackson imports this convention into suburban American domesticity: the Blackwood house stands as imposing yet isolated structure, separated from the village by both physical distance and symbolic walls. Its decaying grandeur— 'the house was filthy' Merricat admits—marks it as space where normalcy has deteriorated, where the maintenance of conventional domestic order has ceased. The dining room, scene of the family's poisoning, remains preserved as macabre shrine, its table 'still set as it was on that last night,' transforming domestic space into monument to violence. This frozen temporality, refusing to progress beyond trauma, embodies the Gothic convention of past violence contaminating present experience. The fire that consumes much of the house in the novel's climax represents conventional Gothic imagery of purgation through destruction, yet Jackson subverts the expected trajectory: rather than liberation, the fire produces even more intensive entrapment. The charred shell that remains becomes ultimate Gothic space—ruined, claustrophobic, uninhabitable by conventional standards, yet paradoxically experienced by Merricat as perfected refuge. The sisters retreat to the kitchen and Constance's room, abandoning the burned upper floors, living quite literally in the ruins. This architectural trajectory—from imposing mansion to functional domesticity to charred ruin—mirrors the family's psychological retreat from any possibility of integration with broader society, with each stage of physical deterioration corresponding to intensified withdrawal.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write a monologue capturing violence…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Monologue Suspended sentences. Such soft words... Such clean words. These words used to hide the rot…
Monologue
Suspended sentences. Such soft words... Such clean words. These words used to hide the rot underneath. Those three years… Gone. My daughter’s face is mangled. Her future is forever gone, and all this courtroom can offer is a smile and a signature? I once believed in this land of dreams. But those dreams... they were nothing but smoke. I used to believe in its laws, courts, and promises. But this country is no better than Lo stivale. I fled Sicily, wanting nothing to do with the motherland. Nothing to do with men who used violence and stained their hands red to fix their problems and the problems of others. I kept telling myself this place would be different—a land of laws and justice that Lo Stivale never offered. I worked so hard. I respected the law. I raised my daughter in the American way. I let her have an American fidanzato. Freedom. Chances. Safeguards. What do those words mean to me now? My baby lies in her bed, silent. Her nose was broken. Her beauty was stolen by those jealous of her. Those boys call themselves men? These animals are no better than hatchetmen. Even animals kill to survive. These boys did it because they could. And the law? The law protected these fools. I remember kneeling beside her bed. Her face was unrecognizable, as if her skin was painted. She tried her hardest to let go of her sorrow. No matter how she forced her lips to form any sort of sound, they remained immobile, locked by the trauma of that night. The bruises on her face aren't just injuries; they are a constant reminder of the boys’ hatred—a heavy, tangible thing I can almost touch. I used to think violence was an animal's reflex, but looking at her, I see it is a choice as deliberate and human as the love I feel for her.
In that courtroom, I was shown 'justice.' A stage performance. Men in theatrical costumes, speaking their scripted lines. And in the end, everyone pretends morality is served while those heartless bastards quietly slip through the unlocked front door and smirk at me. That look. It disgusted me. Because it told me that the land of opportunity has no heart you can touch, no warmth you can feel. It is as cold as the marble in my funeral parlor. It taught me that power is an impulse in a man who desires it rather than something inscribed in a book To see that smirk—to feel that raw, human pulse—is to finally know what it is to be human.
I spent so long condemning a man who called me his friend. I convinced myself that they were animalistic, a remnant of the days I had fled. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I misunderstood the goodness in humanity. Violence is natural, it is as human as love. Because a human loves as he suffers. As he suffers he loves. Compassion and violence are inevitably cut from the same cloth. Only men who have truly lost something know this suffering. This 'land of the free' taught me to suppress that feeling; to trust a stranger wearing robes to defend my family and my honour. What did this trust achieve? Mortification? The law never guarded my family; it only cowered from violence. It hides behind procedures and routines while innocent people suffer. But Don Corleone understands its price. I once believed violence only belonged to animals. Now it is everywhere. Those bastards walk free because this country cares more for a polished floor and a clean record than it does for justice.
I leave that building now, burdened by a terrible misunderstanding—that the law would ever truly protect my family. I once prayed America would save me. Instead it delivered me back to Lo Stivale. For my baby… I must seek him.
Comentary
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: It’s not how far you’ve come that…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Leaving me at 15 years old, I should’ve expected her to go. I would never have accepted her imminent death…
Leaving me at 15 years old, I should’ve expected her to go. I would never have accepted her imminent death before she truely left for good.
I was born in a quiet neighbourhood. I slept on the top floor of a double storey house that stood on a street where I could ride my bike up and down every day. That all changed when my mother decided she’d had enough of the house she hated.
My earliest memory is one where I wake up and my cat is asleep on my bed next to me, peaceful, before my sister gives her breakfast. I don’t remember when she first came into my life; she was just always there. Sometimes I’d be woken up slightly earlier to the hum of a vacuum outside my door. These mornings were always a stark contrast to the nights that I would succumb to exhaustion after hours of sirens on the street.
The lights that flashed on my walls were nothing like the paw patrol night light that lay next to my bed; these lights covered every inch of my wall. In contrast to my nightlight keeping the monsters away, these lights would only ever arrive after the monsters were already inside my home. Often, the lights would come on after a loud noise startled me awake; sometimes, I would hear crying, and the lights never came at all. My cat was always there, no matter which light was keeping me safe.
On hard nights, my sister would huddle both my cat and me in our mother’s bed while the red and blue lights flashed across the walls, but eventually she would always go downstairs. She would leave my cat and me under the sheets, both still new to this world. These were the nights that I would be forced to fall asleep, in spite of the sirens echoing off the walls. I would wake up the next morning to the quiet cream of the walls and my cat waking up for breakfast while my sister let me sleep in before school.
It would all happen again not long after. I would watch my mother cry as she spoke to the men in big shirts as my sister comforted her. Holding my cat close, as I felt like I was watching from the outside, like a window was holding me back from hugging her too.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: It’s not how far you’ve come that…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: I was born in a quiet neighbourhood. I slept on the top floor of a double storey house that stood on a street…
I was born in a quiet neighbourhood. I slept on the top floor of a double storey house that stood on a street where I could ride my bike up and down every day. That all changed when my mother decided she’d had enough of the house she hated.
My earliest memory is one where I wake up and my cat is asleep on my bed next to me, peaceful, before my sister gives her breakfast. I don’t remember when she first came into my life; she was just always there. Sometimes I’d be woken up slightly earlier to the hum of a vacuum outside my door. These mornings were always a stark contrast to the nights that I would succumb to exhaustion after hours of sirens on the street.
The lights that flashed on my walls were nothing like the paw patrol night light that lay next to my bed; these lights covered every inch of my wall. In contrast to my nightlight keeping the monsters away, these lights would only ever arrive after the monsters were already inside my home. Often, the lights would come on after a loud noise startled me awake; sometimes, I would hear crying, and the lights never came at all. My cat was always there, no matter which light was keeping me safe.
On hard nights, my sister would huddle both my cat and me in our mother’s bed while the red and blue lights flashed across the walls, but eventually she would always go downstairs. She would leave my cat and me under the sheets, both still new to this world. These were the nights that I would be forced to fall asleep, in spite of the sirens echoing off the walls. I would wake up the next morning to the quiet cream of the walls and my cat waking up for breakfast while my sister let me sleep in before school.
It would all happen again not long after. I would watch my mother cry as she spoke to the men in big shirts as my sister comforted her. Holding my cat close, as I felt like I was watching from the outside, like a window was holding me back from hugging her too.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: "Peter Weirs ' The Truman Show' exposes…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 70%: 'The Truman Show' directed by peter weir starring Jim carrey as 'Truman Burbank' displays the corrupt nature of…
'The Truman Show' directed by peter weir starring Jim carrey as 'Truman Burbank' displays the corrupt nature of reality TV through the exploitation of Truman within the artificial town of Seahaven. The theme of manipulation is frequently displayed throughout the film, specifically from Trumans surroundings and surrounding influences. This display of corruption is explicitly shown through the quotes of characters interactions with Truman, how they play a flawed reality into truth. The director also displays the natural human psychological warfare which Truman had to undergo, being subconscious of ongoing happenings of his setting and how he naturally responds to unknown surveillance. With all happening to Truman, the intense, cruel, rivalry between Christoff and his maleficent intent toward Truman and his strive for freedom is conveyed through Trumans constant attempts of confirmation on the reality of his existence, while Christoff continually exacerbates the genuine reality which Truman fights for. Therefore Peter Weir uses ‘The Truman Show’ as an example of the nature of flawed monopoly in Reality TV.
Peter Weir’s presentation of corruption in Trumans world is conveyed through the interactions which on-set characters have with Truman, these interactions all having the same mutual intent to furthermore manipulate Truman into thinking the artificial world around him is genuine reality. Peter Weir’s direction with ‘The Truman Show’ is to display a world specifically curated for an individual (in this case Truman), for the sole purpose of making profit off of the actions of the individual, treating Truman not as a person — but instead as an object for entertainment and profit. It is from this purpose of entertainment production and profitable income that the directors within the film will manipulate Truman by controlling his interactions with people and environment surrounding him. The manipulation of Truman with his interactions with others is viewed at 55:44~ in a quote by Truman’s on-set best-friend, Marlon “It’s a lot of world for one man Truman, I hope that’s not wishful thinking.” combined with high-key lighting on Marlon’s face as he’s saying this quote. The quote by Marlon can give the audience a sense of comfort. The high-key lighting on Marlon used to display a bright, cheerful and uplifting individual. Both the quote and the high-key lighting are used to convey Marlon as a trustworthy individual. However this is ironic, due to the maleficent nature of the show, all positive showings of Marlon within the show is all an illusion for Truman. The presentation of Marlon as a trustworthy individual is not used to highlight someone to trust, but instead used to highlight another individual presenting themselves as trustworthy, another artificial product used to gain Truman’s reliance to further convince him that his world is genuine.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Change is painful, but nothing is as…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: I used to live in a calm and quiet neighbourhood. I slept in an upstairs bedroom in a double story house that…
I used to live in a calm and quiet neighbourhood. I slept in an upstairs bedroom in a double story house that stood on a street where I could ride my bike up and down every day. That all changed when my mother decided she’d had enough of the house she’d always hated.
Every morning, I woke up to the sound of my cat snoring on my bed next to me before my sister gave her breakfast. It would always be silent, spare the sounds of my mother cleaning or my sister moving up and down the stairs. It was always a stark contrast to the nights that would happen every so often, where I would succumb to exhaustion after hours of sirens.
The lights that flashed across the walls of my bedroom were nothing like my paw patrol night light that lay next to my bed. They were bright and strong, and they covered every inch of the wall. Although the way that my night light kept the monsters away from my bed, these flashing lights would only come after the monsters were already in my home. Often, they would come not long after I was startled awake by a loud noise that was followed by crying; sometimes these noises would wake me up, but no lights would come after.
On hard nights, my sister would huddle my cat and me in our mother's bed while the walls flashed blue and red. Eventually, my sister would always leave us. This is when I’d be forced to fall asleep despite the sirens that echoed in my home. I wouldn’t be woken up until the next morning when my cat jumped out of my arms as she heard my sister opening her packaged breakfast, while she let me sleep in before school.
My mother would cry over her bruises, and my sister would comfort her while she spoke to the men in big shirts. I would only watch from the outside, feeling like I was on the other side of a window that wouldn’t break.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Change is painful, but nothing is as…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: I’ve always been told to follow the path that I love. In theory, I see why this makes sense, but in practice,…
I’ve always been told to follow the path that I love. In theory, I see why this makes sense, but in practice, I always choose to follow the path I think is safest.
I used to live in a calm and quiet neighbourhood. I slept in an upstairs bedroom in a double story house that stood on a street where I could ride my bike up and down every day. That all changed when my mother decided she’d had enough of the house she’d always hated.
Every morning, I woke up to the sound of my cat snoring on my bed next to me before my sister gave her breakfast. It would always be silent, spare the sounds of my mother cleaning or my sister moving up and down the stairs. It was always a stark contrast to the nights that would happen every so often, where I would succumb to exhaustion after hours of sirens.
The lights that flashed across the walls of my bedroom were nothing like my paw patrol night light that lay next to my bed. They were bright and strong, and they covered every inch of the wall. Although the way that my night light kept the monsters away from my bed, these flashing lights would only come after the monsters were already in my home. Often, they would come not long after I was startled awake by a loud noise that was followed by crying; sometimes these noises would wake me up, but no lights would come after.
On hard nights, my sister would huddle my cat and me in our mother's bed while the walls flashed blue and red. Eventually, my sister would always leave us. This is when I’d be forced to fall asleep despite the sirens that echoed in my home. I wouldn’t be woken up until the next morning when my cat jumped out of my arms as she heard my sister opening her packaged breakfast, while she let me sleep in before school.
My mother would cry over her bruises, and my sister would comfort her while she spoke to the men in big shirts. I would only watch from the outside, feeling like I was on the other side of a window that wouldn’t break.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The title is 'this is me', and the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: As we stand here today, on the very edge of everything that we have worked towards, it’s rather tempting to ask…
As we stand here today, on the very edge of everything that we have worked towards, it’s rather tempting to ask ourselves a familiar question: “Who am I?” For years, we’ve been told that somewhere along our journey, we’re supposed to “find ourselves” as if our own identity is hidden away, patiently waiting to be discovered. But what if that idea was wrong all along? Instead, what if our identity is not something we discover but something we build during our journey? The truth is, our identity is not defined by who we believe we are in our minds but is instead the result of the choices we make, the habits we form and the experiences that shape us over time. As we leave our sheltered high school life and step into an uncertain future, we aren’t searching for a fixed version of ourselves; we are actively crafting one. It’s possible that “this is me” is not a final declaration, but a statement we continue to earn.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The title is 'this is me', and the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Identities may seem stable, but through times of struggle and hardship, which force individuals to…
Identities may seem stable, but through times of struggle and hardship, which force individuals to reconstruct their identity, they reveal their true properties as fluid rather than firm. When times of tribulation come forth, familiar routines collapse, and certainty is stripped away. Individuals are forced to face their own limits of who they once viewed themselves to be. In these moments, identity is no longer a comfort to be relied upon, but a tool that must be actively sharpened when faced with new realities. This is viewed in the Ithaka poem by C.P.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: S C H O O L A S S E S S E D C O U R S…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: When everyday life is routinely going well, it’s hard to imagine a small misstep ( a physical and figurative…
When everyday life is routinely going well, it’s hard to imagine a small misstep ( a physical and figurative one) can smash my normality into smithereens. It shouldn’t happen to anyone. Ever.
Standing in the elevator with my brother and father, I was a few seconds away from shaking hands with my new reality.
Ding!
The doors swiftly opened and I was overwhelmed with the potent smell of antibacterial sanitiser and cleanser, every wall permeating into my senses. The nurse at the front had told us to find bed number 12 on level 2. I followed behind my father and watched as he whisked away the river blue curtains.
There my Mama was, looking slightly frail and exhausted. Her hospital gown, a piece of clothing I thought I would never see on her, merging into the curtains. At the sight of us, her face stretched into pure joy, and I almost forgot about the pungent scent. Her arms came out to hug us tightly. A level 10 hug squishing my insides almost out. A type of hug only used when I was truly missed. This is what true love felt like, what true love should be like. Only if my Mama expressed it as much as my Papa every day and not in rare occasions.
It had been 2 days since I saw her, but it felt like 2 breathless years.
The last time we had a proper conversation was the night before the accident.
I asked her if I could go on the China trip.
“aapha nhu pata nei keohnki asee india ve jana hai” she quickly replied. We don’t know since we also need to India soon.
I felt like I was speaking to a ping pong racquet. Of course, if I asked my Mama, she would bounce back an excuse. Why couldn’t my Mama think this through my angle, my perspective, my worldview. I wanted to go so badly like a bird excited to venture outside the nest for the first time.
I whined,
“Maybe we could at the end of the year. China is a once in a lifetime experience.”
And once again, my Mama said,
“mai sarde vich india nahi jhana hai.” I don’t want to go in the winter.
It felt like these were just little ping pong balls of excuses for not letting me go.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: something is better than nothing
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you will have seen protestors holding…
Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you will have seen protestors holding signs. The bystanders will always walk by and say something along the lines of, "what a waste of time" or "whats the point", and they may be right, but what they fail to realise is that, no matter how small or big a protest may be, something is better than nothing. People who demand a call to change, people like us, realise this and know that we have to do something, or what we are left with is nothing. You know, when I was young, I used to think that if I couldn't do something to the best of my abilities, then it wasn't worth doing. The more I grew up, the more I realised what a horrible mindset we were accustomed too, the social conformities that we grew up with and adapted into our daily lives like it was nothing. We were taught to wait for a 'perfect' moment that doesn’t exist, as if doing nothing was somehow safer than doing something imperfectly
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: something is better than nothing
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you will have seen protestors holding…
Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you will have seen protestors holding signs. The bystanders will always walk by and say something along the lines of, "what a waste of time" or "whats the point", and they may be right, but what they fail to realise is that, no matter how small or big a protest may be, something is better than nothing. People who demand a call to change, people like us, realise this and know that we have to do something, or what we are left with is nothing. You know, when I was young, I used to think that if I couldn't do something to the best of my abilities, then it wasn't worth doing. The more I grew up, the more I realised what a horrible mindset we were accustomed too, the social conformities that we grew up with and adapted into our daily lives like it was nothing. We were taught to wait for a 'perfect' moment that doesn’t exist, as if doing nothing was somehow safer than doing something imperfectly
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: something is better than nothing
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you will have seen protestors holding…
Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you will have seen protestors holding signs. The bystanders will always walk by and say something along the lines of, "what a waste of time" or "whats the point", and they may be right, but what they fail to realise is that, no matter how small or big a protest may be, something is better than nothing. People who demand a call to change, people like us, realise this and know that we have to do something, or what we are left with is nothing. You know, when i was young, i used to think that if i couldn't do soemthing to the best of my abilities, then it wasn't worth doing. The more i grew up, the more i realised what a horrible mindset we were ajourned too, the social conformities that we grew up with and adpated onto our daily lives like it was nothing. We were taught to wait for a 'perfect' moment that doesn’t exist, as if doing nothing was somehow safer than doing something imperfectly
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: something is better than nothing
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you will have seen protestors holding…
Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you will have seen protestors holding signs. The bystanders will always walk by and say something along the lines of "what a waste of time" or "whats the point", and they may be right, but what they fail to realise is that, no matter how small or big a protest may be, something is better than nothing. People who demand a call to change, people like us, realise this and know that we have to do something, or what we are left with is nothing. You know, when i was young, i used to think that if i couldn't do soemthing to the best of my abilities, then it wasn't worth doing. The more i grew up, the more i realised what a horrible mindset we were ajourned too, the social conformities that we grew up with and adpated onto our daily lives like it was nothing. We were meant to be great, we were meant to be beautiful, we have to keep moving forwards, slow or fast, something is always better than nothing.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: something is better than nothing
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you've seen protestors holding signs. The…
Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you've seen protestors holding signs. The bystanders will always say something along the lines of "what a waste of time" or "whats the point", and they may be right, but what they fail to realise is that, no matter how small or big a protest may be, soemthing is better than nothing. People do demand a call to change, people like us, realise this and know that we have to do something, or what we are left with is nothing. You know, when i was young, i used to think that if i couldn't do soemthing to the best of my abilities, then it wasn't worth doing. Now that im grown up, i realised that these social conformities that we grew up with and adpated, were such horribles ways of thinking.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: title: Breaking barriers stimulus:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Breaking Barriers Distinguished delegates, representatives, and observers, My name is Les Malezer. I am a…
Breaking Barriers
Distinguished delegates, representatives, and observers,
My name is Les Malezer. I am a Butchulla and Gubbi Gubbi man from Australia. Many of you may know me, likely for the work I have done with various countries regarding the rights of their indigenous peoples, here in the United Nations no less. I stand here after hearing protest outside these walls described by many in this chamber as disruption, disorder and threat. I am asking this Assembly to see it differently: not as chaos, but as evidence.
Evidence of voices unheard.
Evidence of grief delayed.
Evidence that people have spoken quietly, formally, patiently and have still been ignored.
This concrete jungle is no stranger to protest. Just some blocks away in the year 2020, the people of this city witnessed a great horror, and broke down the barriers that supressed their voices, and the evidence of injustice. They know what it means to reach for a sign, a chant, a megaphone, because the walls built around them would not move.
That image, a megaphone with words of frustration moving outwards is not just meaningless noise. It is the shape of a voice refusing to shrink. A megaphone does not invent pain. It amplifies what has already been silenced. Its soundwaves do not create the wall; they reveal where the wall is. Every chant, every name, every cry for justice travels outward until it strikes the barriers that those in power have built.
The first barrier is silence.
Silence is not always natural. Sometimes it is constructed. Built by careful language. Built by delayed reports. Built by official statements that say everything except the truth. In my home, Australia, I think of Ms Dhu. A young Yamatji woman. Taken into custody over unpaid fines. Asking for help. Returned to a cell. Then gone.
Her death could have remained behind a wall of procedure: a case, a process, a tragedy at a distance. But the people, fed up with the systemic injustice that overwhelmed for so long,lifted the megaphone. In Melbourne, people gathered with signs that said Justice for Ms Dhuand Stop Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. For a few hours, silence cracked. Her name moved from a cell into a crowd. From private grief into public memory. From something power could manage into something the public had to face.
That is the first inception of protest. It breaks the barrier of silence.
The second barrier is the distance between injustice and protest.
Distance tells us that suffering is someone else’s problem. South Hedland is far from Melbourne. A prison cell is far from our Parliamentary offices. A grieving family is far from the people who make the laws. But a megaphone collapses distance. One voice becomes many. One name crosses roads, cities and borders. One chant says: this is not remote. This is not hidden. This is close enough to confront. That is why protest matters even when the law does not change by morning. Because something has changed. A name has been heard. A story has travelled. A wall has weakened.
The third barrier is the doubt that ensues.
After every protest, someone asks: what did it change? Did the institution fall? Did justice arrive? Did the law change before the streets emptied? Often, the answer is no. Protest is not magic. A march can fill a street and still leave a government unmoved. A chant can reach the evening news and disappear by morning. A crowd can gather, grieve, and demand change, only for power to wait until the sound fades. But protest does not only change laws. It changes what power can pretend to not know.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: something is better than nothing
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 60%: Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you've seen protestors holding signs. The…
Have you ever seen a protest before? If so, then more likey than not, you've seen protestors holding signs. The bystanders will always say something along the lines of "what a waste of time" or "whats the point", and they may be right, but what they fail to realise is that, no matter how small or big a protest may be, soemthing is better than nothing. People do demand a call to change, people like us, realise this and know that we have to do something, or what we are left with is nothing. You know, when i was young, i used to think that if i couldn't do soemthing to the best of my abilities, then it wasn't worth doing. Now that im grown up, i realised that these social conformities that we grew up with and adpated, were such horribles ways of thinking.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: "One looks back with appreciation to…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Hello teacher. How have you been? It has been ages since last time we talked to each other. Not too long ago,…
Hello teacher. How have you been? It has been ages since last time we talked to each other. Not too long ago, I saw a quote that says "One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers, but with gratitude to those who touched our human feelings." and it reminds me of you. So I decided to write this letter to you for appreciation and to talk about our past memories that we have together.
You are the first teacher in my life. I met you in kindegarden 1, so I was 3 years old, which I was very young. When I first saw you, I remember you have nice - neath hair styles, pretty makeup and polite clothing. Whenever I cried to come to school, you always comfort me until I used to school and don't cry anymore. You always make the lesson seem fun, which you taught me how to count basic numbers or to write my name with a combination of created hand-made toys or sometime we often went outside classroom to the sand area and builded a sand castle together.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: Language,even more than colour defines who…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 70%: In Trevor Noah's memoir Born a Crime, based on his childhood growing up in South Africa during the time of the…
In Trevor Noah's memoir Born a Crime, based on his childhood growing up in South Africa during the time of the apartheid, he explores the complexities of language and race in relation to identity. From the outset, Noah reveals how language allows mobility between social groups. Even further, he suggests how language provides power, safety power and education. However, it is not always enough to overpower the reality of the apartheid, with discrimination and harshness always present. Overall, Noah acknowledges how language can be seen as a resource for people during the harshness of the apartheid, although,ultimately it can not always change your identity.
Noah highlights how language allows for mobility between social groups which allows an individual to experience freedom and new experiences. Noah reveals his perception of language,conveying that if someone “talked like you[they were] you,” demonstrating how language changes people's perceptions, encouraging interconnectedness. Noah reveals how language is the “quickest way to bridge a race gap” further suggesting that whilst the apartheid can divide people, it can also unite them together through a shared means of communication . Through Noah establishing this idea of language serving as a powerful unifying force, he aims to emphasize how it can act as a resource for social connection in oppressive times like the apartheid. In a similar vein, Noah reflects on his linguistic diversity, expressing that throughout his life he had to “become a chameleon” which carries negative connotations, likening his behavior to a chameleon and insinuating that for his survival he had to significantly change his characteristics in different environments so he would be treated with more respect, exposing the social hierarchy caused by the apartheid, where respect and treatment were determined by individuals ability to conform to expectations culturally and socially. Through Noah comparing himself to a chameleon, he exposes how language can help transform individuals to help them fit into a certain identity that others will accept him for. Noah recollects how Patricia used her knowledge of many languages as a tool to “navigate the world” characterizing her as a resourceful and adaptive individual, allowing her to be exposed to many different opportunities that otherwise would be limited because of her race. Noah exposes his mother as a symbol of agency within a place of barriers and expectations. Through Noah exposing Patricia's techniques of embedding her variety of languages into her life to fit in, he reveals how flexibility was necessary to fit into social norms which reinforces that individuals used adaptability as a form of self regulation in societies like the apartheid.