VCE · Text Response
Text Response: * In The Memory Police, silence is both a…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 80%: In Yoko Ogawa’s 1994 haunting dystopian novel, “The Memory Police”, the unnamed island serves as a site of profound…
In Yoko Ogawa’s 1994 haunting dystopian novel, “The Memory Police”, the unnamed island serves as a site of profound loss where the state systematically erases physical objects and the memories attached to them. Ogawa suggests that silence is paradoxical; it is used by the totalitarian Memory Police as a pervasive tool of oppression to enforce conformity and erase selfhood, yet it also functions as a fragile tool of resistance for those seeking to protect the truth. While the state-mandated silence eventually leads to the total dissolution of the islanders' identities, Ogawa illustrates that quiet acts of secrecy and the refusal to forget represent a powerful, albeit doomed, rebellion against authority.
Ogawa portrays oppression as inescapable, suggesting that the totalitarian control of the Memory Police is sustained by the enforced silence of the islanders. Through the symbol of the "green-coated" Memory Police, Ogawa illustrates how the state weaponizes silence to cultivate a climate of "self-sustained" fear. This is most evident during the arbitrary raids on citizens’ homes, where the sudden, violent silence of a "removal" serves as a warning to others. Consequently, the islanders become complicit in their own oppression, adopting a "psychological silence" where they rarely question the disappearances of objects like the birds or the calendars. By depicting a society that is "unwilling to speak" for fear of being taken away, Ogawa suggests that the regime’s power lies not just in physical force, but in the erasure of the vocabulary of loss. When the islanders lose the words to describe what has been forgotten, they lose the ability to articulate their own suffering. Ultimately, Ogawa demonstrates that by preventing communication between civilians, the authorities successfully eliminate the collective memory required to form a rebellion.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: “The world is full of terrible people.” To…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 82.5%: Shirley Jackson’s gothic novel We Have Always Lived in the Castle serves as a powerful exploration of the…
Shirley Jackson’s gothic novel We Have Always Lived in the Castle serves as a powerful exploration of the conflict between the hostile society and envious village but also the private Blackwood sanctuary causing problems throughout the text. On its surface, the narrative appears to support the contention that the vitriolic hostility of the village does reflect a society that is “full of terrible people”, however Jackson ultimately utilises Merricat’s own moral ambiguity to challenge the idea, suggesting that the most terrible force is actually Merricat’s own negligent isolation and stagnant domesticity to overall cause the delusion of the sisters believing that all of society is dreadful. By contrasting the antagonising village with Merricat’s psychological cruelty and barbarity, the text ultimately argues that the real tragedy inside society is the sisters who believe that all of society is terrible. Jackson showcases this to highlight the complexities of the narrative between society and the sisters themselves, both believing different ideologies.
Through the use of assertive language and a stark simile, Jackson portrays the village as a force of malicious acts and antagonistic actions towards the sisters pushing them into isolation to have safety away from them, highlighting how the 1950’s American society can be a world “full of terrible people”. Throughout the narrative, the villagers use their collective behaviour as they “moved like a wave” outside her house to illustrate their mob mentality and bullying regimes to continue to antagonise the sisters. The use of the stark simile emphasises the continuous attack of the villagers as a “wave” to show how society loses all its humanity when they have collective behaviours. Jackson deeply tries to highlight how these malicious continuous acts reinforce how society as a whole can have hostile behaviours when people join in a group and follow each other to then ostracise those who may isolate or not be part of the village’s community. Moreover, Jackson exposes the cruel entitlement the villagers possess which justifies Merricat’s fear of the people around her. Through the use of assertive language, the villagers demand that they have “a right” to see her “hanged” in a declarative tone, highlighting the villagers belief that they have a right to execute Constance and Merricat, illustrating how society can be full of monstrous people who believe they can take control over the autonomy of the sisters. Thus, Jackson presents how the external chaos, envy and malicious acts on the sisters can reinforce how society is full of terrible people that push Merricat and Constance into a ghostly effect separating their freedoms by creating a social barrier between them.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework: Country Title: "my place"…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Moving to the coast was an escape. An escape from the life I had before, almost as if I broke free from the…
Moving to the coast was an escape. An escape from the life I had before, almost as if I broke free from the person I left behind in that small country town. I often find myself sitting on the balcony, legs restless, dangling over the ledge as I watched the waves, mesmerized by the ocean’s restless rhythm. I listen; for the water, for the seagulls cawing from above, for the absence of slammed doors and raised voices. The ocean stretches wide, marked by the boundary of the land. I reflect a lot on why I moved out here, away from what I thought was my place, my home. I wonder if it was ever truly my own choice, or whether I was forced out in the hope of attaining some self-preservation.
I walk along the beach, the sand loosely moulding around my feet before settling back to its original place. Saltwater pools at my ankles, the chill sending shivers through my calves and up my spine. My hair falls over my shoulders, tangling wilding in the wind. As I wade deeper, the blue consumes my lower half, water drifting freely through my fingers, entirely impartial to my presence. The waves fold over themselves and crash in front of me, whitewater swallowing the calm beneath; it’s not scary or dangerous, rather cathartic and beautifully precise.
The sea knows exactly who it is and will not shrink itself to a lesser force. The further I go, the deeper my feet sink into the sand, and I’m once again reminded of the strength it takes to push through the waves. They’re strong. The water has a mind of its own, always determined, always constant. Surviving demands everything. The currents urging me to surrender myself to them; I fight back. Not because I want to, but because that’s all I’ve ever known how to do.
It was a fight I was never going to win. My feet are no longer touching the sand below; my arms burn from swimming against the currents. My limbs surrender before my mind does, and I give up. My head goes under, the wave folding over and crashing over me. I twist and turn trying to find the surface, my lungs beginning to burn, my mind replaying everything that led me to this point. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I remember feeling like an intruder in my own house. I didn’t belong. I didn’t connect. I was never going to; that wasn’t how my story was written.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Peaceful protest is more powerful than…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: I stand in front of you all today, not in hatred, not in malice, but with inspiration. In hopes of changing…
I stand in front of you all today, not in hatred, not in malice, but with inspiration. In hopes of changing the way we carry ourselves and purifying our actions. I want to address that peaceful protest is strategically more powerful than violence, and how we can execute it with the same intent without detriment.
I’ve seen so many protests descend into a violent, militant, and chaotic manner, often getting the police involved, and resulting in both sides getting hurt. Why is this the case? Why do more people have to suffer when harm was never the true intention?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: "my place" Prompts: "Journeys…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: Moving to the coast was an escape. An escape from the life I had before, almost as if I broke free from the…
Moving to the coast was an escape. An escape from the life I had before, almost as if I broke free from the person I left behind in that small country town. I often find myself sitting on the balcony, legs restless, dangling over the ledge as I watched the waves, mesmerized by the contained chaos. I listen; for the water, for the seagulls cawing from above, for the lack of violent noise. The ocean stretches wide, marked by the boundary of the land. I reflect a lot on why I moved out here, away from what I thought was my place, my home. I wonder if it was ever truly my own choice, or whether I was forced out in the hope of attaining some self-preservation.
I walk along the beach, the sand loosely moulding around my feet before relapsing back to its original place. Saltwater pools at my ankles, the chill sending shock waves through my calves and up my spine. Long hair falling down over my shoulders, swaying and tangling wildly in the wind. As I wade deeper, the blue consumes my lower half, water drifting freely through my fingers, entirely impartial to my presence. The waves fold over themselves and crash in front of me, whitewash exploding over the calm below; It’s not scary or dangerous, rather cathartic and beautifully precise.
The sea knows exactly who it is and will not shrink itself to a lesser force. The further I go, the deeper my feet sink into the sand, and I’m once again reminded of the strength it takes to push through the waves. They’re strong. The water has a mind of its own, always determined, always constant. It’s exhausting. The currents urging me to surrender myself to them; I fight back. Not because I want to, but because that’s all I’ve ever known how to do.
It was a fight I was never going to win. My feet are no longer touching the sand below; my arms burn from swimming against the currents. My body gives out, and I give up. My head goes under, the wave folding over and crashing over me. I twist and turn trying to find the surface, my lungs beginning to burn, my mind replaying everything that led me to this point. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I remember feeling like an intruder in my own house. I didn’t belong. I didn’t connect. I was never going to; that wasn’t how my story was written.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Peaceful protest is more powerful than…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: I stand in front of you all today, not in hatred, not in malice, but with inspiration. In hopes of changing the…
I stand in front of you all today, not in hatred, not in malice, but with inspiration. In hopes of changing the way we carry ourselves and purifying our actions. I want to address what is really focused on during a protest, and how we can execute with the same intent without detriment.
I’ve seen so many protests descend into a violent, militant, and chaotic manner, often getting the police involved, and resulting in both sides getting hurt. Why is this the case? Why do more people have to suffer when harm was never the true intention?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: 'My Place' "Journeys away from home…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Moving to the coast was an escape. An escape from the life I had before, almost as if I broke free from the…
Moving to the coast was an escape. An escape from the life I had before, almost as if I broke free from the person I left behind in that small country town. I often find myself sitting on the balcony, legs restless, dangling over the ledge as I watched the waves, mesmerized by the contained chaos. I listen; for the water, for the seagulls cawing from above, for the lack of violent noise. The ocean stretches wide, marked by the boundary of the land. I reflect a lot on why I moved out here, away from what I thought was my place, my home. I wonder if it was ever truly my own choice, or whether I was forced out in the hope of attaining some self-preservation.
I walk along the beach, the sand loosely moulding around my feet before relapsing back to its original place. Saltwater pools at my ankles, the chill sending shock waves through my calves and up my spine. Long hair falling down over my shoulders, swaying and tangling wildly in the wind. As I wade deeper, the blue consumes my lower half, water drifting freely through my fingers, entirely impartial to my presence. The waves fold over themselves and crash in front of me, whitewash exploding over the calm below; It’s not scary or dangerous, rather cathartic and beautifully precise.
The sea knows exactly who it is and will not shrink itself to a lesser force. The further I go, the deeper my feet sink into the sand, and I’m once again reminded of the strength it takes to push through the waves. They’re strong. The water has a mind of its own, always determined, always constant. It’s exhausting. The currents urging me to surrender myself to them; I fight back. Not because I want to, but because that’s all I’ve ever known how to do.
It was a fight I was never going to win. My feet are no longer touching the sand below; my arms burn from swimming against the currents. My body gives out, and I give up. My head goes under, the wave folding over and crashing over me. I twist and turn trying to find the surface, my lungs beginning to burn, my mind replaying everything that led me to this point. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I remember feeling like an intruder in my own house. I didn’t belong. I didn’t connect. I was never going to; that wasn’t how my story was written.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Speak Up! Stimulus 1:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: I would like to begin my speech with a simple question: If you have ever joined a protest, for what sake do…
I would like to begin my speech with a simple question: If you have ever joined a protest, for what sake do you join? Is it because your payment is not fair or you feel discriminated against for your race or sexuality? For me, it is out of a sense of obligation as I feel guilty for having sufficient food and freedom, for not needing to face malice everyday or worrying about my next meal.
Last month, I signed a petition for the Australian government to recognise the genocide that happened on Armenian people. Within a month, I have received questions from a wide range of Australian society before the federal government even respond. It is obvious that many of you feel confused for me, one without an Armenian background to give a voice for such an obscure event over 100 years ago. Thus, I feel it necessary to tell you why it is an obligation to support people who suffered or are suffering right now even if it seems to have nothing to do with you.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: 'My Place' "Journeys away from home…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Moving to the coast was an escape. An escape from the life I had before, almost as if I broke free from the…
Moving to the coast was an escape. An escape from the life I had before, almost as if I broke free from the person I left behind in that small country town. I often find myself sitting on the balcony, legs restless, dangling over the ledge as I watched the waves, mesmerized by the contained chaos. I listen; for the water, for the seagulls cawing from above, for the lack of violent noise. The ocean stretches wide, marked by the boundary of the land. I reflect a lot on why I moved out here, away from what I thought was my place, my home. I wonder if it was ever truly my own choice, or whether I was forced out in the hope of attaining some self-preservation.
I walk along the beach, the sand loosely moulding around my feet before relapsing back to its original place. Saltwater pools at my ankles, the chill sending shock waves through my calves and up my spine. Long hair falling down over my shoulders, swaying and tangling wildly in the wind. As I wade deeper, the blue consumes my lower half, water drifting freely through my fingers, entirely impartial to my presence. The waves fold over themselves and crash in front of me, whitewash exploding over the calm below; It’s not scary or dangerous, rather cathartic and beautifully precise.
The sea knows exactly who it is and will not shrink itself to a lesser force. The further I go, the deeper my feet sink into the sand, and I’m once again reminded of the strength it takes to push through the waves. They’re strong. The water has a mind of its own, always determined, always constant. It’s exhausting. The currents urging me to surrender myself to them; I fight back. Not because I want to, but because that’s all I’ve ever known how to do.
It was a fight I was never going to win. My feet are no longer touching the sand below; my arms burn from swimming against the currents. My body gives out, and I give up. My head goes under, the wave folding over and crashing over me. I twist and turn trying to find the surface, my lungs beginning to burn, my mind replaying everything that led me to this point. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I remember feeling like an intruder in my own house. I didn’t belong. I didn’t connect. I was never going to; that wasn’t how my story was written.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: 'My Place' "Journeys away from home…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Moving to the coast was an escape. An escape from the life I had before, almost as if I broke free from the…
Moving to the coast was an escape. An escape from the life I had before, almost as if I broke free from the person I left behind in that small country town. I often find myself sitting on the balcony, legs restless, dangling over the ledge as I watched the waves, mesmerized by the contained chaos. I listen; for the water, for the seagulls cawing from above, for the lack of violent noise. The ocean stretches wide, marked by the boundary of the land. I reflect a lot on why I moved out here, away from what I thought was my place, my home. I wonder if it was ever truly my own choice, or whether I was forced out in the hope of attaining some self-preservation.
I walk along the beach, the sand loosely moulding around my feet before relapsing back to its original place. Saltwater pools at my ankles, the chill sending shock waves through my calves and up my spine. Long hair falling down over my shoulders, swaying and tangling wildly in the wind. As I wade deeper, the blue consumes my lower half, water drifting freely through my fingers, entirely impartial to my presence. The waves fold over themselves and crash in front of me, whitewash exploding over the calm below; It’s not scary or dangerous, rather cathartic and beautifully precise.
The sea knows exactly who it is and will not shrink itself to a lesser force. The further I go, the deeper my feet sink into the sand, and I’m once again reminded of the strength it takes to push through the waves. They’re strong. The water has a mind of its own, always determined, always constant. It’s exhausting. The currents urging me to surrender myself to them; I fight back. Not because I want to, but because that’s all I’ve ever known how to do.
It was a fight I was never going to win. My feet are no longer touching the sand below; my arms burn from swimming against the currents. My body gives out, and I give up. My head goes under, the wave folding over and crashing over me. I twist and turn trying to find the surface, my lungs beginning to burn, my mind replaying everything that led me to this point. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I remember feeling like an intruder in my own house. I didn’t belong. I didn’t connect. I was never going to; that wasn’t how my story was written.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Learning to play again…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 100%: "But now I am six, I'm as clever as clever, I think I'll be six now for ever and ever." — A. A. Milne My…
"But now I am six, I'm as clever as clever, I think I'll be six now for ever and ever." — A. A. Milne
My earliest memories of play all seem to involve numbers. Not schoolwork, not studying.
Just a six year old doing whatever came naturally.
The football strikes my hands, and I hold on tight. I may be six years old, but I know the exact score. Nobody asked me to keep track, but I do. It's Saturday morning, Auskick. There are no umpires, no scoreboard, just the cold grass under my feet and thirty kids who don't really know the rules. But I am counting. Every goal is six, every behind is one. I'm learning my six times tables on a frigid, muddy oval, and I don't even know it. The final whistle blows. My friends are already at the canteen. I let them go. I already have what I came for: six goals, five behinds. 41 to 25. We win. I did the maths. I always do.
On Sundays, we play Monopoly. Dad is always the dog, and I'm the racecar. While he buys properties based on which colours he likes, I play methodically: watching which streets are landed on the most, analysing the value of buying hotels, and calculating the chance I will go to jail on my next turn. But I don’t call it probability. I call it trying to beat Dad. The dice rattle in my hand and I hold my breath. I let them go. For a moment, all my counting means nothing. The dice bounce and spin and finally land. A six. Free Parking. I look up at Dad and grin.
A couple of years later, he teaches me poker. We sit at the kitchen table after dinner. Dad shuffles the cards rhythmically and deals them slowly, like he’s letting me in on some family tradition. I learn quickly that the numbers only get you so far. Poker isn't just about playing the odds, it’s about playing the man. That part is harder. Dad gives nothing away. I lose most nights. Dad says I have a lot to learn, but I am just happy to play. The cards, the dice, the scorelines. The numbers flow freely in my head, just as I do through life. I am six, I'm as clever as clever. I think I'll feel this way for ever and ever.
**
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework: Writing about Teen Lives…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: He always stood by the side, with his legs as stiff as the sign post itself. Once it had come to the crowd, he…
He always stood by the side, with his legs as stiff as the sign post itself. Once it had come to the crowd, he always fell face first on the sheet of coldness and his legs trampled on one another. The crowd cleared and there he always was. Partnerless.
His face couldn’t be pictured by the ones around him, and he was unlike all the knowns in the timid corridors. He would walk for miles, and their heads would never turn for a slight smile to acknowledge presence or the glint of a wave. He was among the ‘odd ones’, where their core existence was ripped out from the world by the knowns. He knew that now. He wished it would end. Worse, that reality had slightly spread through the route to the house. Starting from the rails.
Every day he would sit for miles alongside them, but the figures wouldn’t dare open their beaks. They kept it shut, and the blue glow of their metallic objects, and the constant move of their thumbs kept their brains distracted from acknowledging his existence too. They stood alongside him; they sat beside him; he was still a loner.
Even in the house he was a shadow; was acknowledged for certain tasks but as soon as he was done, the ones who had once taken him in suddenly forgot with a click of Thanos's fingers. He was once hopeful, but in the end, he was never surprised. This was all just a loop Over and over again. It never ended, but he wished it could be someday.
His only support was the endless expanding universe of shelves in the same cold environment. His face would be stuffed with those same masked humans, those same humans he wished he could be. Still, it was the light in his heart that reflected the darkness surrounding him. It was the beacon of hope in his dusty and plain environment.
At night, he would lie in bed, thinking of a life he could never have. He sometimes wished for a sidekick- maybe a friend. No... He wished for a duo like Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy! Or a duo like Spider-man and Captain America; that would also work! But Batman and Superman... perhaps not. He would hold on to those thoughts for as long as he could before letting it go and would then freefall deep into his mind. Then, he’d wake up, and he’d rewind the same events as yesterday, just in a different order. He still wished for that figure to share his same light. Maybe he would see someone else reflecting in the darkness. Maybe he could find them. He did not.
***
My books were pressed against my chest as my head rotated left and right. I held them closer, running at the speed of sound as I passed bubbling schoolmates and busy teachers holding boxes. Today was more crowded than usual, and that meant there would be a bigger mob to face, soon. And alone. It was me against the ravaging horde of zombified students. My brain pushed on, so I did too. The amount of students around me was only growing in number, and that could only mean I was close. Suddenly, I slid to a stop as I turned to the clash of echoes. I stood my ground, eyeing left and right. It looked like it was the only way across. I took a deep breath, held my books, and took a stop in. I held my breath as the stench of deodorant and perfume filled my nostrils.
“Just blend it.” I took a breath and made my way through the crowd, holding up my smile as I waved at my friends walking past and moved on. “Time’s running out,” I thought, as the clock seemingly ticked faster from above. I weaved my way through the elbows and the distance voices of newsmongers and tale tellers.
I WAS GOING TO BE LATE! AGAIN!
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: 'Shakespeare presents marriage as…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 77.5%: TITLE: “My whole life I’ve been a seeker, looking for something” My whole life I’ve been a seeker, looking for…
TITLE: “My whole life I’ve been a seeker, looking for something”
My whole life I’ve been a seeker, looking for something. Not treasure, not gold, and not happiness. It was just something, a piece that was somewhere around the hallways, unfinished conversations, and the silence across the corridors of my hallway at 3am.
As a child, I searched in simple places. I would dig up a hole in the backyard convinced I would uncover hidden gold, my tiny hands stained with brown earthy dirt but it carried hope. The world was just a giant puzzle, glitching here and there but glittering with possibility. Every cloud looked like a clue. Every stranger walking by held a story. Every sunset felt like a promise.
But as I grew older, the search changed.
I searched for people. In friendships stitched together laughter was slowly torn apart. In mirrors, staring at my reflection as if identity suddenly decided to show themselves. In achievements, grades, medals was like collecting shells on a beach that looked stunning for a moment before becoming empty in my hands.
Still, my irritation remained.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: ‘You do not have to walk on your knees /…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 75%: Through her contemplative voice and sustained engagement with the natural world, Mary Oliver develops a poetic…
Through her contemplative voice and sustained engagement with the natural world, Mary Oliver develops a poetic philosophy centered on attention, compassion, and the search for a more authentic way of living. Oliver illuminates that nature stays alongside every individual and always ready to offer peace for them. Not only that, nature acts as a source of hope that supports the reader when they are at their lowest point. However, Oliver complicates the theme of peace by stating that peace does not always come from beauty, but peace coexists with ugliness and hardship. Across her collections American Primitive (1983) and Dream Work (1986), Oliver utilises many different literary devices such as enjambment, metaphor, and direct address to reinforce that in order to find peace, the reader needs the ability to accept every circumstance that they are facing. For Oliver, peace does not need to be earned or come from perfectionism, but peace comes from accepting what is facing in front of you despite obstacles while having the natural world staying beside you.
Oliver acknowledges that the natural world is what allows the reader to release themselves from a self-imposed expectation, which eventually leads them to peace. In ‘Wild Geese’, Oliver employs direct address to make the reader feel intimate “You do not have to be good / You do not have to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles, repenting.” The direct address creates the closeness, as if Oliver is speaking to the reader’s shame and exhaustion. This helps Oliver to generate a guiding voice, as a mentor correcting every individual’s self-punishing beliefs. The repetition of “You do not have to” acts as an imperative voice, which gives Oliver an authority to command the reader into freeing themselves. Then, Oliver decides to implement the metaphor of “You only have to let the soft animal of your body / love what it loves” in which “soft animal” represents every individual instinct. The enjambment after “body” pauses before revealing the instinctual that Oliver intends to let every individual follow. The speaker is trying to deliver the message that being hard on yourself will only bring exhaustion and tiredness. Instead, it is better to adapt to every situation in order to truly find peace. In addition to this theme, Oliver also introduces the natural world to the reader after delivering the message: freedom is meant for you. The line “Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, / the world offers itself to your imagination”, Oliver personifies “world” by giving it a human quality of granting something to the reader. By doing so, Oliver is able to develop a deeper connection between humans and nature. Therefore, the reader will be able to release themselves from guilt and shame more comfortably as they have nature alongside them. This idea is further complicated in the poem ‘Morning Poem’, in which Oliver introduces nature as a continuous renewal that will always move forward without waiting. The speaker starts her poem with a fresh start and short sentence: “Every morning / the world / is created.” The cyclical structure conveys that the natural world is a cycle, where nights will turn into days and vice versa without any disruption: “the heaped / ashes of the night / turn into leaves again.” The word choice of “again” illuminates that nature is always occurring and continuously without any waiting. At the same time, Oliver is trying to reinforce that staying gloomy and guilty without moving forward does not mean nature will also wait for them as there are many other creatures who are always ready to move forward with their life. Therefore, as a nature, they have the responsibility to always move straight, constantly. Furthermore, Oliver contrasts between “If it is your nature / to be happy / you will swim away along the soft trails / for hours, your imagination / alighting everywhere” and “And if your spirit / carries within you / the thorn / is heavier than leads–” to demonstrate that relieving your pressure is a choice that the reader can make. The word choice of “alighting everywhere” shows that if you decide to be happy, your life will be filled with prosperity. To the contrary, if you decide to be hard on yourself, even thorns that are usually lighter than leads will now also be heavier. Oliver then added “Whether or not / you have ever dared to be happy / whether or not / you have ever dared to pray.” The repetition of “whether or not” illustrates that the choice to be free is entirely yours to decide. Consequently, in order to truly seek peace, individuals need to be decisive in choosing the right path that fits them while having nature to guide you.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about Protest in the form of…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: Letter 1 Dear Liang Fei, It’s been a full year of oppression, injustice, and silence. Silence. On the streets…
Letter 1
Dear Liang Fei,
It’s been a full year of oppression, injustice, and silence.
Silence.
On the streets and in the busiest part of our hometown. Beijing, silence.
Where we once celebrated New Years, with fireworks and great celebrations. Where we paraded, and lived our loud lives. Now, the streets, are SILENT! Our mouths sealed shut.
A different silence. You remember, it used to be that even in silence you could hear the birds chirping, grass hoppers buzzing. You could hear nature, life, even people conversing in the still, quiet air. But now, we’ve been prosecuted and sentenced to silence. Facing LIFE imprisonment as punishment for living. Their justification being to quell the virus.
The only thing being quelled is us!
I have so much nostalgia, for the days when you were here. Maybe I miss you. Maybe I miss when our city and lives were lively. Maybe both.
I miss the life we had Liang,
From Yuze
Letter 2
Dear Liang Fei,
A resistance movement has started online. Breaking through the government firewall opened my eyes to a new world; a loud world. With circuses and concerts, people are out in the streets. Happy, loud, living!
A realization came upon me. For too long, we’ve accepted being quiet, oppressed and pushed down. And sure, our words online have built confidence. But what are words without action?
With everyone stuck in their rooms all day, only the internet stands as our form of communication. Voices and talking were replaced with the clicking and clacking of a mouse and keyboard.
That’s where the white paper movement began.
We’ve been suppressed by corrupt leadership. No, corrupt, tyrannical incompetence. For FAR too long. Now, we are being given the opportunity to stand up!
NO, NOT given. Seizing the opportunity is what we are doing, Liang.
From Yuze.
Letter 3
Dear Lian Fei,
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: 'Changing Direction' Stimulus 1…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: I still remember the glow of my laptop screen in that tiny bedroom, the only window to the world outside. It…
I still remember the glow of my laptop screen in that tiny bedroom, the only window to the world outside. It was 2020, and the Year 7 lockdown had turned our lives into grids of pixelated faces, each classmate trapped in their own little square. That day, I was about to deliver a Geography presentation on volcanic eruptions, complete with animated lava flows and a voice I had practised until it sounded like a documentary narrator. I felt invincible—or at least I told myself I did. My perfectionism was my shield, and the laptop was my stage. On the desk beside me lay the anxiety list, typed in bright Comic Sans, each fear meticulously catalogued—a constant, silent companion to every lesson, every moment I doubted myself. Changing direction felt impossible then; I had no idea that the path to confidence was already open.
I had rehearsed every slide, every animation, every pause. Behind one innocuous slide, though, hid a secret: that anxiety list, meant to remain private. Yet, in the flicker of a nervous finger slip, it appeared, fully exposed to the class. The grid of faces reacted in unison—laughter, sharp and unexpected, slicing through my confidence. My hands shook, my heart raced, and suddenly, the meticulous control I had clung to felt meaningless.
“Uh… that’s… just my notes,” I mumbled, cheeks burning. The teacher’s awkward smile did little to soothe me.
For the rest of the week, embarrassment followed me everywhere. Each notification, each glance at the screen reminded me of that moment. I believed my value depended on flawless performance, that mistakes made me unworthy. I stared at the anxiety list, once hidden, now unavoidable, and slowly realised that everyone carries private fears, unseen on the pixelated grid. I had been searching for the keys to self-assurance, but the door had been open all along.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: The smell of warm pithas being fried across the street awakens me, momentarily allowing me to enjoy the…
The smell of warm pithas being fried across the street awakens me, momentarily allowing me to enjoy the pleasure of something, anything. Until the overwhelming pain that endlessly resides in my chest reminds me of someone. A memory of his laugh echoes through my head, stopping time completely. The reminder quickly suppresses my appetite, making it impossible for me to stand up without a terrible headache.
It’s quiet today. The trees sway with every gust of wind, almost like the elements are long lost friends, parted until autumn. I wonder what these trees have seen. More than me, for sure. I can’t help but think of the elders who used it as shelter from the scorching sun, or of the children who climbed its branches, skillfully like little monkeys. Trees have stories to tell, their leaves a reflection of their peace filled life. Or lack thereof.
The street below is emptier than it should be. The woman who fries pithas doesn’t call out anymore. She moves quickly, glancing over her shoulder between batches. Somewhere far off, a truck groans, heavy and slow. Then another. The sound lingers longer than it should, crawling through the morning air. Boots follow. Not near enough to see, but close enough that I hold my breath anyway. By the time the wind returns, the street is still again. Too still. Even the birds seem to not make a sound.
Inside, the radio hums softly on the shelf. I turn the knob with trembling fingers, chasing a voice, any voice, that might make the world feel ordinary again. Static crackles. Then a man begins speaking, his tone careful, measured, like someone stepping across a river on loose stones. “...remain indoors…unnecessary movement-” The signal snaps. Silence swallows the room whole. I wait for it to return, but it doesn’t. Only the faint buzz remains, like something unfinished.
I sink back against the wall, closing my eyes. And for a moment, just a moment, I am somewhere else.
We are sitting beneath these same trees, though they seemed taller then, fuller. Their shadows stretch over open books and scattered papers. He is speaking too quickly, words tripping over each other, hands moving as if they can shape the future themselves. “They can take many things”, he says, eyes bright, “but not this”. I laugh, nudging him with my foot. “You and your speeches.” “It’s not a speech,” he insists, though he’s smiling. “It’s simple. If we forget who we are, what we speak, what we think, then what’s left?” Around us, others argue, debate, interrupt. Someone recites a poem too loudly. Someone else complains about exams that no longer seem important. The air is thick, alive. He leans closer, lowering his voice. “You’ll see. One day, all of this will matter.” The memory dissolves before I can answer.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Small Acts, Big Wins Stimulus 1…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Title: small acts, big wins With no warning and no time to prepare, a sudden knock at the door changed…
Title: small acts, big wins
With no warning and no time to prepare, a sudden knock at the door changed everything I knew into something I couldn’t understand. I remember my small hands grabbing onto Dad’s jeans, trying to hold him to the floor as they pulled toward the door. I screamed at the black vests, at the heavy boots tracking mud all over Mum’s clean rug. Next door, a neighbour pulled their curtain shut. Nobody came. My Mum was scared but trying to stay strong. She shouted at them. “You can’t break in here without a warrant!” My mother’s voice broke first. I looked up at my father, his jaw clenched so tight, his eyes scanning the hallway for a way that wasn’t there. He looked like a man who just realised his walls were made of paper
I was just a kid. I didn’t question anything. I didn’t have to. Not until the morning ICE took my parents away and everything i had ever felt safe about went cold
At six years old, I held onto hope that mum and dad would find a way out , even though deep down I already knew the truth> This was not a mistake to be fixed. We were not a family to them. We were a non-citizen file with a red ineligible stamp, and that stamp decided everything
I knew ICE had torn my family apart, not by accident, but through a process that was planned and didn’t care about anything we were. Families pushed out of the only home they ever knew, just for a missing visa form or a number error in a payment. As if a paperwork mistake decided whether your life had value. Something had to change, people need to start doing small acts of protest because small acts of protest can create big wins.
What if my neighbours didn’t turn away? What if they made a small act and questioned why ICE was there?
Things might’ve been different.
What I saw that day was not law enforcement doing its job. It was cruelty in a disguise. I just couldn’t wrap my head around how a system that said it protected people could tear families apart. How growing up somewhere, loving somewhere, calling somewhere home, still wasn’t enough to belong. That is not justice that I fear wearing a uniform.
They expect us to stay quiet, to be grateful and disappear. But after everything I have seen, I am done being quiet. Now my voice is louder than ever . Louder because people have joined me…together.. Standing up for what we believe in.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: The beeping never stops; it's what makes Maccas so recognisable. I've been in storage for a long time but…
The beeping never stops; it's what makes Maccas so recognisable. I've been in storage for a long time but it's the greasy smell that indicates that it's time to become someone else. I am but a cup; however, this will not stop me from moving forward. A happy meal, one of McDonald's most popular meals, is filled with fries, a pop top apple juice, a burger and the item that holds it all together - the toy.
The drive thru worker says "Just the two Happy Meals?" The nod of approval, then I am lifted inside the box and sent on my way to a child. I am grabbed by the small hands of a 10 year old, he sets me next to the chilled apple juice in the middle seat making my side moist.
He is in Grade 7 now, but it's only the start. I'm placed on the glass table next to the small stack of papers illuminated by the dim lamp light; the studying starts. "If you can't fly then run", he does not fully understand, yet it is full of writing. incorrect as it is at least he starts running.
This time it is with a text book that weighs more than 4 of me filled to the brim. Their warbled words doesn't sound like english, but parts are understandable, math, finish and potato? Same book but this time he's slower, "If you can't run then walk", even with no understanding he moves forward. His left eye twitches, just barely visible but I have nothing else to do but observe.
Today he leaves with a lighter bag, no pencil case nor books. Instead it’s simple but versatile items. 20 dollars, snacks and his watch. The money could be for shopping at Belconnen shopping centre or it could be for food from Hoyts cinemas. The chips and chocolate packs are about the size of his hands, maybe in case the cinema is too overpriced. The cinema has those big plush seats and a copy of the note to go was slid next to me. Only 40 dollars for a premium cinema experience, the school seems to have been given a good deal. I am left with chilled orange and mango juice to fill my crevices.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: The beeping never stops; it's what makes Maccas so recognisable. I've been in storage for a long time but it's…
The beeping never stops; it's what makes Maccas so recognisable. I've been in storage for a long time but it's the greasy smell that indicates that it's time to become someone else. I am but a cup; however, this will not stop me from moving forward. A happy meal, one of McDonald's most popular meals, is filled with fries, a pop top apple juice, a burger and the item that holds it all together - the toy.
The drive thru worker says "Just the two Happy Meals?" The nod of approval, then I am lifted inside the box and sent on my way to a child. I am grabbed by the small hands of a 10 year old, he sets me next to the chilled apple juice in the middle seat making my side moist.
He is in Grade 7 now, but it's only the start. I'm placed on the glass table next to the small stack of papers illuminated by the dim lamp light; the studying starts. "If you can't fly then run", he does not fully understand, yet it is full of writing, incorrect it may be at least he starts running.
This time it is with a text book that weighs more than 4 of me filled to the brim. Their warbled words doesn't sound like english, but parts are understandable, math, finish and potato? Same book but this time he's slower, "If you can't run then walk", even with no understanding he moves forward. His left eye twitches, just barely visible but I have nothing else to do but observe.
Today he leaves with a lighter bag, no pencil case nor books. Instead it’s simple but versatile items. 20 dollars, snacks and his watch. The money could be for shopping at Belconnen shopping centre or it could be for food from Hoyts cinemas. The chips and chocolate packs are about the size of his hands, maybe in case the cinema is too overpriced. The cinema has those big plush seats and a copy of the note to go was slid next to me, only 40 dollars for a premium cinema experience. I am left with chilled orange and mango juice to fill my crevices.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: The beeping never stops; it's what makes Maccas so recognisable. I've been in storage for a long time but it's…
The beeping never stops; it's what makes Maccas so recognisable. I've been in storage for a long time but it's the greasy smell that indicates that it's time to become someone else. I am but a cup; however, this will not stop me from moving forward. A happy meal, one of McDonald's most popular meals, is filled with fries, a pop top apple juice, a burger and the item that holds it all together - the toy.
The drive thru worker says "Just the two Happy Meals?" The nod of approval, then I am lifted inside the box and sent on my way to a child. I am grabbed by the small hands of a 10 year old, he sets me next to the chilled apple juice in the middle seat making my side moist.
He is in Grade 7 now, but it's only the start. I'm placed on the glass table next to the small stack of papers illuminated by the dim lamp light; the studying starts. "If you can't fly then run", he does not fully understand, yet it is full of writing, incorrect it may be at least he starts running.
This time it is with a text book that weighs more than 4 of me filled to the brim. Their warbled words doesn't sound like english, but parts are understandable, math, finish and potato? Same book but this time he's slower, "If you can't run then walk", even with no understanding he moves forward. His left eye twitches, just barely visible but I have nothing else to do but observe.
Today he leaves with a lighter set of items, no pencil case nor books. Instead it’s simple but versatile items. 20 dollars, snacks and his watch. The money could be for shopping at Belconnen shopping centre or it could be for food from Hoyts cinemas. The chips and chocolate packs are about the size of his hands, maybe in case the cinema is too overpriced. The cinema has those big plush seats and a copy of the note to go was slid next to me, only 40 dollars for a premium cinema experience. I am left with chilled orange and mango juice to fill my crevices.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Small acts, big wins Stimuli:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Small acts, big wins The Times of India 7th April, 1930 Sabarmati, Gujarat, 12th March, 1930: In the dim light…
Small acts, big wins
The Times of India
7th April, 1930
Sabarmati, Gujarat, 12th March, 1930: In the dim light of morning, seventy-eight men of every caste, creed and circumstance gather here in silence, poised on the edge of something history has yet to name. I am told this small act is the beginning of a revolution. But these men carry no weapons. They do not raise their voices. Yet they claim they will challenge an empire and change their world with nothing but salt.
Near the gathering is a small child, staring mesmerized into the barricaded pile of salt, guards flanking each side as though it was gold. Since the British Raj control all salt within India, citizens are forced to buy it from the government. It affects “the poorest,” according to one marcher.
For those with wealth, it is merely an inconvenience. But for those already struggling, it is a weight impossible to set down.
I have seen many protests before. Loud. Disruptive. Violent. Impossible to ignore. This is something else entirely. Where is the chaos? Where is the noise? This is but a small act, one so quiet it may slip beneath notice.
It is called civil disobedience, but can silence truly challenge authority? Can restraint bring about big wins? History would suggest otherwise: powers do not yield easily – crowds are scattered, uprisings buried and defiance met with brutal force.
Perhaps this is determination. Perhaps it is discipline. Or perhaps it is something closer to futility.
Before the sun rises, they leave Sabarmati for their march to the shore at Dandi. I follow, notebook in hand, still unconvinced. Was I witnessing the beginning of a winning revolution, or merely the illusion of one?
14th March, 1930: Before the marchers reached Aslali, word had already spread. They were no longer unnoticed, no longer insignificant. They stopped at many villages on their march, recruiting the next people that would be helped by their cause, and asked the townspeople for only food and water. In each town though, they received something greater: support for the movement. Indeed, as Gandhi steps up to speak in front of me, there are some four thousand people gathered on this freezing night to hear his dreams of changing the world.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: Sisterhood in We Have Always Lived in the…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 90%: Shirley Jackson Essay – Refined Version Established against the patriarchal milieu of the 1960s, Shirley Jackson’s…
Shirley Jackson Essay – Refined Version
Established against the patriarchal milieu of the 1960s, Shirley Jackson’s proto-feminist novella We Have Always Lived in the Castle presents a nuanced examination of sisterhood as both a protective and entrapping force. While Jackson exposes how sororal bonds safeguard individuals from a hostile society, she also reveals their vulnerability to the corrosive influence of patriarchy. Ultimately, however, Jackson emphasises the liberating power of sisterhood, suggesting that female solidarity enables women to resist the restrictive expectations imposed upon them.
Examining the complex nature of sisterhood, Jackson reveals how it protects individuals from a hostile society. In the novella’s opening, Merricat’s first-person narration emphasises her affection for “My sister Constance, Richard Plantagenet…and the death cup mushroom”. Through this tricolon, Jackson aligns Merricat’s love for Constance with symbols of power and destruction, undermining the docility traditionally associated with femininity. By linking Constance to these transgressive symbols, Jackson suggests that the sisters’ bond exists outside conventional social expectations and therefore possesses a unique form of strength. However, this strength emerges in response to the hostility of the external world. Jackson reinforces this hostility through the gothic image of Merricat “lock[ing]” the gate because the “village people have always hated us”. The gate functions as a protective barrier that shields the sisters from the cruelty of the village, allowing them to sustain a life of isolation and self-sufficiency.
Jackson further develops the antagonistic nature of the outside world through Merricat’s grocery-shopping excursions. The author employs sibilance as Merricat “always stood perfectly straight and still”, creating an unsettling tonal atmosphere that reflects her vulnerability within the public sphere. This vulnerability is intensified through violent imagery when Merricat likens the female villagers to a “flock of taloned hawks…striking…with razor claws”. Combined with the fragmented quality of Merricat’s narration, this imagery transforms the village into a hostile domain that seeks to suppress her autonomy and individuality. Consequently, Jackson attaches greater significance to the protective nature of sisterhood. Structurally, this is reinforced through Merricat’s return to the Blackwood Estate, where the sisters reclaim a sense of agency and stability. Jackson captures this self-sufficient existence through the image of Merricat and Constance “eat[ing] away the year”, suggesting that their bond enables them to live independently of the outside world. By revealing how the sisters “did not ask things of anybody”, Jackson portrays sisterhood as a mutually sustaining force that shields individuals from a deeply antagonistic society. Thus, Jackson ultimately casts sisterly bonds as a form of protection against social hostility.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: Oedipus is responsible for his own fate.…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 67.5%: In the Greek tragedy Oedipus the King (429 BC), Sophocles explores a world governed by the divine decree of the…
In the Greek tragedy Oedipus the King (429 BC), Sophocles explores a world governed by the divine decree of the gods and the impossibility of avoiding the fate which they determine. The play, set in Thebes, and performed for a Greek audience that believed in the authority of the gods and fatalism, follows the story of a tragic hero, Oedipus, who tries to evade his fate, told through Apollo’s oracle, and is ultimately led to his downfall, a result of his hamartia. Sophocles suggests that while fate is inevitable, it was Oedipus’ excessive pride and relentless pursuit of the truth that ultimately led to his downfall. However, his unwavering vanity and persistent quest for the truth assisted him to his tragic downfall where he chose to be his own destroyer.
Sophocles explores the theme of fatalism, as the prophecy determining the path of Oedipus’ life is already pronounced before his birth. From the very beginning, the oracle reveals a preordained outcome as Apollo claims that Oedipus is “fated to couple with your mother … you will kill your father”. This sense of inevitability is reinforced through Tiresias’ assertion that “what will come, will come”, emphasising Sophocles’ message that the power of the divine decree overrules all human action and outcomes. The prophet’s further assertion that Oedipus is “blind to the corruption of your life” underscores how he unknowingly fulfills his prophecy despite efforts to avoid it. Thus, Sophocles presents Oedipus’ ultimate downfall as beyond his control, portraying him as a victim of Apollo’s curse, not responsible for his fate.