VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Home is where we return to, wherever…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: Elsewhere My feet felt heavier with each step, as if fear had settled into them. I stumbled past the numbered…
Elsewhere
My feet felt heavier with each step, as if fear had settled into them. I stumbled past the numbered seats each one grounding me further into a reality I wasn’t ready for. My chest tightened with a quiet unfamiliar dread. What was once a dream had now morphed into a reality.
Why we had to pick up our lives and situate ourselves in this foreign land “down under” puzzled me. I looked up to see my siblings, with faces full of light, posing and smiling ear to ear as my mother took photographs of them. Anxiety spiralled through my mind, leaving me to ruminate on what my life would become.
As I stepped out, the heat slapped me, sizzling, and the hot wind rushed through my hair as if I were in a desert. Unaccustomed, I missed the feeling of frosted fingers, numb toes and chilly mornings.
It was different, I was in a different place.
As I looked further, I saw a man grinning, holding his hands out and radiating joy. It felt like years since I had seen the stubble that he called a beard, the light that bounced off his bald head and the kind honey eyes that assured you “that no one could take anything from you unless you let them”. Before I could even think about it, I was already moving. My feet lifted off the ground running and racing to climb into his arms. His embrace was warm, warmer than the sun that had hit me before.
For a second, the world faded. I wasn't in an airport surrounded by unrecognizable land; my worries were laid to rest, and my mind was at peace with something steady, something known, my father.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Theme: Play Title: The time of our…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble…
Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble that play was imminent. Up. The moment, although it must have only been a second or two, stretches on eternally. Down. Time warps to 128 bpm, the speed of the piece “A Night in Tunisia”. First the piano, then the trombones, then the cello and finally my fellow trumpeters and I join the cacophony. We play, barreling toward the grotesque, nightmarish and feared numeral … bar 28. My solo. Time takes no heed of my terror and continues rushing toward that bar of despair. Like that, it is upon us.
I rise, and begin to play. Staccato. Characterised by quick short notes. Rising higher. Louder. Quick Fingers. Reaching Peak. The tension is released with a decrescendo, the brief quavers are replaced with long minims and semi-breves. Legato. Each long note is carried to the extremities of the ornate theatre, bathing the audience in the rich, resonant, brass sound. Although slower, this section requires much greater focus, every phrase must be meticulously placed and- there, an unavoidable break in the monotony of the music stave miraculously materializes, annotations, Mark’s annotations.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Theme: Play Title: The time of our…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble…
Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble that play was imminent. Up. The moment, although it must have only been a second or two, stretches on eternally. Down. Time warps to 128 bpm, the speed of the piece “A Night in Tunisia”. First the piano, then the trombones, then the cello and finally my fellow trumpeters and I join the cacophony. We play, barreling toward the grotesque, nightmarish and feared numeral … bar 28. My solo. Time takes no heed of my terror and continues rushing toward that bar of despair. Like that, it is upon us.
I rise, and begin to play. Staccato. Characterised by quick short notes. Rising higher. Louder. Quick Fingers. Reaching Peak. The tension is released with a decrescendo, the brief quavers are replaced with long minims and semi-breves. Legato. Each long note is carried to the extremities of the ornate theatre, bathing the audience in the rich, resonant, brass sound. Although slower, this section requires much greater focus, every phrase must be meticulously placed and- there, an unavoidable break in the monotony of the music stave, an annotation, Mark’s annotation.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Theme: Play Title: The time of our…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble…
Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble that play was imminent. Up. The moment, although it must have only been a second or two, stretches on eternally. Down. Time warps to 128 bpm, the speed of the piece “A Night in Tunisia”. First the piano, then trombones, then cello and finally my fellow trumpeters and I join the cacophony. We play, barreling toward the grotesque, nightmarish and feared numeral … bar 28. My solo. Time takes no heed of my terror and continues rushing toward that bar of despair. Like that, it is upon us.
I rise, and begin to play. Staccato. Characterised by quick short notes. Rising higher. Louder. Quick Fingers. Reaching Peak. The tension is released with a decrescendo, the brief quavers are replaced with long minims and semi-breves. Legato. Each long note is carried to the extremities of the ornate theatre, bathing the audience in the rich, resonant, brass sound. Although slower, this section requires much greater focus, every phrase must be meticulously placed and- there, an unavoidable break in the monotony of the music stave, an annotation, Mark’s annotation.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Theme: Play Title: The time of our…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble…
Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble that play was imminent. Up. The moment, although it must have only been a second or two, stretches on eternally. Down. Time warps to 128 bpm, the speed of the piece “A Night in Tunisia”. First the piano, then trombones, then the cello and finally my fellow trumpeters and I join the cacophony. We play, barreling toward the grotesque, nightmarish and feared numeral … bar 28. My solo. Time takes no heed of my terror and continues rushing toward that bar of despair. Like that, it is upon us.
I rise, and begin to play. Staccato. Characterised by quick short notes. Rising higher. Louder. Quick Fingers. Reaching Peak. The tension is released with a decrescendo, the brief quavers are replaced with long minims and semi-breves. Legato. Each long note is carried to the extremities of the ornate theatre, bathing the audience in the rich, resonant, brass sound. Although slower, this section requires much greater focus, every phrase must be meticulously placed and- there, an unavoidable break in the monotony of the music stave, an annotation, Mark’s annotation.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Theme: Play Title: The time of our…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble…
Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble that play was imminent. Up. The moment, although it must have only been a second or two, stretches on eternally. Down. Time warps to 128 bpm, the speed of the piece “A Night in Tunisia”. First the piano, then trombones, then the cello and finally my fellow trumpeters and I join the cacophony. We play, barreling toward the grotesque, nightmarish and feared numeral … bar 28. My solo. Time takes no heed of my terror and continues rushing toward that bar of despair. Like that, it is upon us.
I rise, and begin to play. Staccato. Characterised by quick short notes. Rising higher. Louder. Quick Fingers. Reaching Peak. The tension is released with a decrescendo, the brief quavers are replaced with long minims and semi-breves. Legato. Each long note is carried to the extremities of the ornate theatre, bathing the audience in the rich, resonant, brass sound. Although slower, this section requires much greater focus, every phrase must be meticulously placed and- there, an unavoidable break in the monotony of the music stave, an annotation, Mark’s annotation.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Theme: Play Title: The time of our…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble…
Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble that play was imminent. Up. The moment, although it must have only been a second or two, stretches on eternally. Down. Time warps to 128 bpm, the speed of the piece “A Night in Tunisia”. First the piano, then trombones, then the cello and finally my fellow trumpeters and I join the cacophony. We play, barreling toward the grotesque, nightmarish and feared numeral … bar 28. My solo. Time takes no heed of my terror and continues rushing toward that bar of despair. Like that, it is upon us.
I rise, and begin to play. Staccato. Characterised by quick short notes. Rising higher. Louder. Quick Fingers. Reaching Peak. The tension is released with a decrescendo, the brief quavers are replaced with long minims and semi-breves. Legato. Each long note is carried to the extremities of the ornate theatre, bathing the audience in the rich, resonant, brass sound. Although slower, this section requires much greater focus, every phrase must be meticulously placed and pl- WATCH OUT!
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The Theme is Play Title: The time of…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble…
Eyes on the conductor. Lips pressed against the mouthpiece. He raises his hands, signalling to the ensemble that play was imminent. Up. The moment, although it must have only been a second or two, stretches on eternally. Down. Time warps to 128 bpm, the speed of the piece “A Night in Tunisia”. First the piano, then trombones, then the cello and finally my fellow trumpeters and I join the cacophony. We play, barreling toward the grotesque, nightmarish and feared numeral … bar 28. My solo. Time takes no heed of my terror and continues rushing toward that bar of despair. Like that, it is upon us.
I rise, and begin to play. Staccato. Characterised by quick short notes. Rising higher. Louder. Quick Fingers. Reaching Peak. The tension is released with a decrescendo, the brief quavers are replaced with long minimums and semi-breves. Legato. Each long note is carried to the extremities of the ornate theatre, bathing the audience in the rich, resonant, brass sound. Although slower, this section requires much greater focus, every phrase must be meticulously placed and pl- WATCH OUT!
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Voices that Stand Stimulus 1:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: Voices that stand Every voice matters! Good morning students, teachers, principals. and distinguished guests. I…
Voices that stand
Every voice matters! Good morning students, teachers, principals. and distinguished guests. I am pleased to stand before you in representation of Team Trees Australia. Please, all imagine this, you’re trying desperately to put out a fire in the kitchen. Someone hands you a glass of water, and promises the house will be safe. But as you’re throwing the water onto the flames, they’re in the corner, pouring fresh gasoline onto the curtains.
Does this sound familiar?
This is the reality of our climate. We’re celebrating tiny drops of progress while people in power are fueling the very fire that’s burning our future down. Through these gas and coal mine extensions, we are feeding the blaze while pretending to fight it. The person pouring the gasoline is the government.
Every voice matters. One person’s voice may not be enough. One voice may not make a change. Unity will. We need to make a voice that prompts changes, a voice that penetrates, a voice that stands. Now, will we act to regain the once peaceful planet we had? Or will we allow our planet to continue to scorch in a burning flame?
The government’s “net zero” fossil fuels by 2050 plan. Do you think that they are really working towards that goal? Probably not. With these operations extensions on mines, it won’t only trap greenhouse gases in our atmosphere. It will jeopardise the future generation. We need to look the government in the eye and keep them accountable.
How will we do this? You ask.
Awareness. Social media.
Videos become an act of petition. Likes become an act of agreement. Shares become an act of awareness. Hashtags become a form of resistance.
Sitting in silence is no longer acceptable, sitting in silence, is an act of sin. In moments like this, where time is not a luxury, it is a limiting factor.
These extensions. Continued operations for 30 years. 2056. We’re told that we need coal and gas. That it’s a bridge to the future. But how long is this bridge? If we keep extending its operations, we aren’t crossing a river. We’re walking further into the fire.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: "Between this land and me"…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Between this land and me I have always existed in the ‘in-between’, even from birth. With a Hindu father and a…
Between this land and me
I have always existed in the ‘in-between’, even from birth. With a Hindu father and a Sikh mother, my very existence was a blend of traditions that didn't always fit into stereotypes. When my family moved to Australia, leaving the rest of our lives in India, that sense of unsureness only deepened. If you’ve grown up like this, you understand that it’s not something you question; you simply live it. But now, for the first time, I am being asked to prove it. The Indian government’s recent changes to the Overseas Citizenship of India (OCI) policy are forcing thousands of us to choose a side. In doing so, they are reducing our identities to something far simpler than they have ever been.
For years, the OCI scheme has allowed people like us to maintain a lasting connection to the country we came from, without forcing us to give up the lives we have built elsewhere. It meant that we never had to question our connection to India. But the new set of laws, currently being debated by the Indian Government, threatens to destroy that connection. They are interfering between us and the land. These new rules state that second-generation OCI holders who cannot prove 'significant cultural contribution' to India or a minimum residency period will have their citizenship revoked. The underlying truth is that many of us will never be able to meet these unrealistic conditions, because identity is not something that can be proven. It’s a part of who we are. How can they take that away?
As an Indian Australian, my ‘Country’ has always been defined as a blend of two different landscapes; the two cultures overlapping in multiple aspects of my life. The experiences from both places ingrained in my mind. I feel it in moments, rather than locations. Whenever this sensation washes over me, I find myself returning to the serenity within the Gurudwara’s golden domes. As main matha tektee hoon (I bow my head to God), the carpet presses softly against my forehead, grounding me in a way nothing else can. For a moment, everything else fades away. All the movement and noise of the outside world pauses and dissolves into something softer, steadier. I walk my bare feet into the langar hall, warmth wrapping around me. The scent of spiced daal lingers in the air. The chaotic clatter of steel plates and voices rising and falling in laughter create a familiar rhythm. Through all this, I can feel a quiet sense of belonging here. The lively atmosphere keeps the traditions and cultures alive - extending the sense of belonging beyond its borders.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: "Between this land and me"…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Between this land and me I have always existed in the ‘in-between’, even from birth. With a Hindu father and a…
Between this land and me
I have always existed in the ‘in-between’, even from birth. With a Hindu father and a Sikh mother, my very existence was a blend of traditions that didn't always fit into stereotypes. When my family moved to Australia, leaving the rest of our lives in India, that sense of unsureness only deepened. If you’ve grown up like this, you understand that it’s not something you question; you simply live it. But now, for the first time, I am being asked to prove it. The Indian government’s recent changes to the Overseas Citizenship of India (OCI) policy are forcing thousands of us to choose a side. In doing so, they are reducing our identities to something far simpler than they have ever been.
For years, the OCI scheme has allowed people like us to maintain a lasting connection to the country we came from, without forcing us to give up the lives we have built elsewhere. It meant that we never had to question our connection to India. But the new set of laws, currently being debated by the Indian Government, threatens to destroy that connection. They are interfering between us and the land. These new rules state that second-generation OCI holders who cannot prove 'significant cultural contribution' to India or a minimum residency period will have their citizenship revoked. The deep reality is that many of us will never be able to meet these unrealistic conditions, because identity is not something that can be proven. It’s a part of who we are. How can they take that away?
As an Indian Australian, my ‘Country’ has always been defined as a blend of two different landscapes; the two cultures overlapping in multiple aspects of my life. The experiences from both places ingrained in my mind. I feel it in moments, rather than locations. Whenever I receive this feeling, I find myself returning to the serenity within the Gurudwara’s golden domes. As main matha tektee hoon (I bow my head to God), the carpet presses softly against my forehead, grounding me in a way nothing else can. For a moment, everything else fades away. All the movement and noise of the outside world pauses and dissolves into something softer, steadier. I walk my bare feet into the langar hall, warmth wrapping around me. The scent of spiced daal lingers in the air. The chaotic clatter of steel plates and voices rising and falling in laughter create a familiar rhythm. Through all this, I can feel a quiet sense of belonging here. The lively atmosphere keeps the traditions and cultures alive - extending the sense of belonging beyond its borders.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework is country, no prompt just a…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Belonging. Why is this concept so crucial to who we are as humans — how we are valued? The other day, my ear…
Belonging. Why is this concept so crucial to who we are as humans — how we are valued?
The other day, my ear piercer asked if I was “from Australia” because my name is Gaelic. Of course, It's interesting where someone hails from, because it’s different, but that is the exact concept which led me to question this distinction that separates us as humans.
Sure, country is important because it holds history, culture and identity, but this social construct is truly a hierarchy that facilitates discrimination against one another. The Cambridge dictionary defines nationality as “The official right to belong to a specific country”, but after all, we didn’t choose where we were born.
Nationality itself is a concept forged through a “dice roll”; something arbitrary. A person born in Israel could have just as easily been born a Palestinian child in contested territory, burdened through a conflict over invisible borders. This birthplace becomes one of the first things to define who someone is and how they live — how a human is viewed. Even when it is not a birthplace itself, it’s a name, accent or mannerism to separate an individual from a shared sense of humanity.
Personally, my dice roll landed on being half-American and half-Australian, where this identification places a hazy barrier between being entirely embraced within a community. In Australia, I am too American. The occasional dig at the average American stereotype leads to an eye batted in my direction followed by an apology, unintentionally excluding me from the joke. In America, I am too Australian. My accent becomes something of a glamorized dissimilarity, put on display through requests to yell “Shrimp on the barbie”. I'm included because I am Australian, not because of who I am.
When my ear piercer asked if I was “from Australia” because of my Gaelic name, the question seemed harmless, although it revealed how quickly my identity as an Australian could be questioned. For a moment, I felt as though I was out of place in my own country as all these instances do, despite living in a nation built almost entirely on outside influence. Long before borders were drawn on maps, belonging was shaped through smaller, fluid communities, by shared experience rather than fixed lines. Our identity was not confined to a nation, but forged through connection. So why does this ‘Nationality’ have to quietly sunder us?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework is country, no prompt just a…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Belonging. Why is this concept so crucial to who we are as humans — how we are valued? The other day, my ear…
Belonging. Why is this concept so crucial to who we are as humans — how we are valued?
The other day, my ear piercer asked if I was “from Australia” because my name is Gaelic. Of course, It's interesting where someone hails from, because it’s different, but that is the exact concept which led me to question this distinction that separates us as humans.
Sure, country is important because it holds history, culture and identity, but this social construct is truly a hierarchy that discriminates one against another. The Cambridge dictionary defines nationality as “The official right to belong to a specific country”, but after all, we didn’t choose where we were born.
Nationality itself is a concept forged through a “dice roll”; something arbitrary. A person born in Israel could have just as easily been born a Palestinian child in contested territory, burdened through a conflict over invisible borders. This birthplace becomes one of the first things to define who someone is and how they live — how a human is viewed. Even when it is not a birthplace itself, it’s a name, accent or mannerism to separate an individual from a shared sense of humanity.
Personally, my dice roll landed on being half-American and half-Australian, where this identification places a hazy barrier between being entirely embraced within a community. In Australia, I am too American. The occasional dig at the average American stereotype leads to an eye batted in my direction followed by an apology, unintentionally excluding me from the joke. In America, I am too Australian. My accent becomes something of a glamorized dissimilarity, put on display through requests to yell “Shrimp on the barbie”. I'm included because I am Australian, not because of who I am.
When my ear piercer asked if I was “from Australia” because of my Gaelic name, the question seemed harmless, although it revealed how quickly my identity as an Australian could be questioned. For a moment, I felt as though I was out of place in my own country as all these instances do, despite living in a nation built almost entirely on outside influence. Long before borders were drawn on maps, belonging was shaped through smaller, fluid communities, by shared experience rather than fixed lines. Our identity was not confined to a nation, but forged through connection. So why does this ‘Nationality’ have to quietly sunder us?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework is country, no prompt just a…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Belonging. Why is this concept so crucial to who we are as humans — how we are valued? The other day, my ear…
Belonging. Why is this concept so crucial to who we are as humans — how we are valued?
The other day, my ear piercer asked if I was “from Australia” because my name is Gaelic. Of course, It's interesting where someone hails from, because it’s different, but that is the exact concept which led me to question this distinction that separates us as humans.
Sure, country is important because it holds history, culture and identity, but this social construct is truly a hierarchy that discriminates one against another. The Cambridge dictionary defines nationality as “The official right to belong to a specific country”, but after all, we didn’t choose where we were born.
Nationality itself is a concept forged through a “dice roll”; something arbitrary. A person born in Israel could have just as easily been born a Palestinian child in contested territory, burdened through a conflict over invisible borders. This birthplace becomes one of the first things to define who someone is and how they live — how a human is viewed. Even when it is not a birthplace itself, it’s a name, accent or mannerism to separate an indvidual from a shared sense of humanity.
Personally, my dice roll landed on being half-American and half-Australian, where this identification places a hazy barrier between being entirely embraced within a community. In Australia, I am too American. The occasional dig at the average American stereotype leads to an eye batted in my direction followed by an apology, unintentionally excluding me from the joke. In America, I am too Australian. My accent becomes something of a glamorized dissimilarity, put on display through requests to yell “Shrimp on the barbie”. I'm included because I am Australian, not because of who I am.
When my ear piercer asked if I was “from Australia” because of my Gaelic name, the question seemed harmless, although it revealed how quickly my identity as an Australian could be questioned. For a moment, I felt as though I was out of place in my own country as all these instances do, despite living in a nation built almost entirely on outside influence. Long before borders were drawn on maps, belonging was shaped through smaller, fluid communities, by shared experience rather than fixed lines. Our identity was not confined to a nation, but forged through connection. So why does this ‘Nationality’ have to quietly sunder us?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework is country, no prompt just a…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Belonging. Why is this concept so crucial to who we are as humans — how we are valued? The other day, my ear…
Belonging. Why is this concept so crucial to who we are as humans — how we are valued?
The other day, my ear piercer asked if I was “from Australia” because my name is Gaelic. Of course, It's interesting where someone hails from, because it’s different, but that is the exact concept which led me to question this distinction that separates us as humans.
Sure, country is important because it holds history, culture and identity, but this social construct is truly a hierarchy that discriminates one against another. The Cambridge dictionary defines nationality as “The official right to belong to a specific country”, but after all, we didn’t choose where we were born.
Nationality itself is a concept forged through a “dice roll”; something arbitrary. A person born in Israel could have just as easily been born a Palestinian child in contested territory, burdened through a conflict over invisible borders. This birthplace becomes one of the first things to define who someone is and how they live — how a human is viewed. Even when it is not a birthplace itself, it’s a name, accent or mannerism to separate an indvidual from a shared sense of humanity.
Personally, my dice roll landed on being half-American and half-Australian, where this identification places a hazy barrier between being entirely embraced within a community. In Australia, I am too American. The occasional dig at the average American stereotype leads to an eye batted in my direction followed by an apology, unintentionally excluding me from the joke. In America, I am too Australian. My accent becomes something of a glamorized dissimilarity, put on display through requests to yell “Shrimp on the barbie”. I'm included because I am Australian, not because of who I am.
When my ear piercer asked if I was “from Australia” because of my Gaelic name, the question seemed harmless, although it revealed how quickly my identity as an Australian could be questioned. For a moment, I felt as though I was out of place in my own country as all these instances do, despite living in a nation built almost entirely on outside influence. Long before borders were drawn on maps, belonging was shaped through smaller, fluid communities, by shared experience rather than fixed lines. Our identity was not confined to a nation, but forged through connection. So why does this ‘Nationality’ have to quietly sunder us?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework is country, no prompt just a…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Belonging. Why is this concept so crucial to who we are as humans — how we are valued? The other day, my ear…
Belonging. Why is this concept so crucial to who we are as humans — how we are valued?
The other day, my ear piercer asked if I was “from Australia” because my name is Gaelic. Of course, It's interesting where someone hails from, because it’s different, but that is the exact concept which led me to question this distinction that separates us as humans.
Sure, country is important because it holds history, culture and identity, but this social construct is truly a hierarchy that discriminates one against another. The Cambridge dictionary defines nationality as “The official right to belong to a specific country”, but after all, we didn’t choose where we were born.
Nationality itself is a concept forged through a “dice roll”; something arbitrary. A person born in Israel could have just as easily been born a Palestinian child in contested territory, burdened through a conflict over invisible borders. This birthplace becomes one of the first things to define who someone is and how they live — how a human is viewed. Even when it is not a birthplace itself, it’s a name, accent or mannerism to separate someone from something.
Personally, my dice roll landed on being half-American and half-Australian, where this identification places a hazy barrier between being entirely embraced within a community. In Australia, I am too American. The occasional dig at the average American stereotype leads to an eye batted in my direction followed by an apology, unintentionally excluding me from the joke. In America, I am too Australian. My accent becomes something of a glamorized dissimilarity, put on display through requests to yell “Shrimp on the barbie”. I'm included because I am Australian, not because of who I am.
When my ear piercer asked if I was “from Australia” because of my Gaelic name, the question seemed harmless, although it revealed how quickly my identity as an Australian could be questioned. For a moment, I felt as though I was out of place in my own country as all these instances do, despite living in a nation built almost entirely on outside influence. Long before borders were drawn on maps, belonging was shaped through smaller, fluid communities, by shared experience rather than fixed lines. Our identity was not confined to a nation, but forged through connection. So why does this ‘Nationality’ have to quietly sunder us?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: the title was testify and the stimulus…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Testify I testify, not because it is easy, but because there are others who are unable to, stripping their…
Testify
I testify, not because it is easy, but because there are others who are unable to, stripping their right to express themselves, but rather they are forced to comply to every rule, prohibited to having an opposing idea. In Afghanistan, this is a reality everyday for women who live there.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Make a Difference “Give help. Receive…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: There is a specific scent to a Friday afternoon. The heavy woody trail leading to my grandfather’s Oud mixing…
There is a specific scent to a Friday afternoon. The heavy woody trail leading to my grandfather’s Oud mixing with the sharp, metallic tang of gasoline.
When I was twelve, my world shifted into the passenger of my grandfather’s life, my Dadah Abu as we would say in Urdu. At sixty-eight, he seemed to defy the physics of aging. His skin was smooth, fair-tan, and contrasted brightly with his dark defiant brown hair. Despite living in Australia, he was always representing his culture, draped in a fresh, starch-white Pakistani shalwar kameez that smelled of citrus and iron precision.
He took care of me; He’d cook and drop me at school. I would try to repay the favour by cleaning the house and doing the dishes, but he’d argue,
“No Usman, you rest up for school, it is my duty to take provide for you”
When he dropped me to school in his hybrid Toyota Yaris, he would rush home to enter his true sanctuary, the double-car garage. The garage felt like the most tidy and neat workshop in the world. Dadah Abu really was a perfectionist. Every imperial socket and spanner had an allocated spot on the shelf in the corner of the garage. It was there that he spent hours working on his 1975 Cadillac Brougham.
I remember the first time I saw it, I felt paralyzed by the scale of it. It was a beautiful, deep cherry-red that seemed to glow against the concrete floor, complemented by a light blue interior that felt like a piece of the sky had been trapped in steel. The soft velour seats felt too supreme for a child to touch. But Dadah Abu could see the awe written across my face and would take me on quick drives on the weekend.
Between the hours under the chassis, he’d introduce me to the Star Wars trilogy. We’d drive to the library together to hunt for anything Star Wars related. On special weekends, we’d cruise in the Cadillac to Lunar drive-in Cinema to watch the occasional Star Wars film showcased. One a particular evening on the way back from the cinemas, he’d look at me with a charismatic smile, and say:
“Ek din, One day, this is yours Usman”
By thirteen, my weeks were defined by two very different cars.
From Monday to Thursday, Dadah Abu was a ghost in the school zone, pulling up silently in the hybrid Yaris. But Jummah was for the Cadillac.
The 3:00pm school bell coincided with the end of jummah prayer, where everyone from the masjid begin to leave. He’d park in a specific spot between the school and the masjid next to it, just to show off the Cadillac. The car park on Jummah felt like a car show. A sea of uncles dressed in their cultural attire debating engine specs over a cup of chai. I’d have to nag him to leave, but his “Sabr Usman, 5 more minutes” always stretched into an hour of laughter and car-talk.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title 'playing my part' Stimulus 'Man…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: Playing my part Dear Father Time 31/12/25 Why have you done this? What have I done to deserve this? As I am…
Playing my part
Dear Father Time 31/12/25
Why have you done this? What have I done to deserve this? As I am writing to you now, it seems utterly pointless as no matter how much I write at the end of it, the time will still be parsing by. Why don’t I get any control with it? It seems when I look around me everyone knows how long a second is, and I don’t mean that as if I have bad time management skills. I know how long a second is, a minute, an hour, a day. But maybe I don’t. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention, either way I’m not ready. But somehow you get a say in that. I try and think about the time I have already spent, the time I got where nothing was important. I wasn’t ready to wake up one day and everything be necessary, everything be important. Why can’t I be ready?
Everyone is a liar; do you know that? It’s stupid I get it. Everyone is just trying to get by, and I can’t lie and say I’m not a liar. Well maybe I am. Not to others but to myself because at least if I’m lying to myself, I know I am only doing it for the right purposes. In primary school, liars were said to just have big imaginations, to need a little more attention than others, are just the black sheep on the school but that’s okay because it is okay to be little bit different. Is it still okay to be different? Because those liars have gone too fair. Maybe I should speak in the words of Oscar Wilde, will you understand me then? He said “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth”. Everyone is a liar if you can see them, so I guess I’m only going to be telling you the truth. Lying can be for the good, lying can be for the bad, lying can be a game, and games can be fun to play. I don’t enjoy the games that you are creating.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: A moment when feeling safe disappears…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Belonging changed me when you are together with others who praise you. Memories alone are granted forever in a…
Belonging changed me when you are together with others who praise you. Memories alone are granted forever in a safe. Later when opened, it struck you like a lightning bult. A different place, a different region. The place where the eagle nests their home. Roaming around the field and coming across someone new. Not a predator, but just a human being. They were the two of them I came across. “Hey, how are you guys doing?” like my voice was as low as the sea. I felt the electrons have joined with the protons. Then I walked with them and babbled about each other like how you would make an introduction in every essay. In that day of time was just the beginning of its transformation. When I got to class, I came across him again. (Well it looks like I’m in the same class as him.) Me as so particles of the water boils around. The electric jolts were too high. I nervously wanted to be with him as a form of compounds. Then other electrons came because the protons were too high still. One named Tyson and Sam also another who were the new student I met Tyhuri. During class our teachers assigned us to be a part of a group project, and yet I saw them, ”Yo a-a-ron, how are you doing?”, I never heard of the joke even teachers find that hilarious. “ERR, sorry I didn’t really get the joke?”. As I was replying to Tyhuri as I giggled like a clown. They never explained it but, after I left for another primary school, I knew from other communities because I was spoiled to move to a new place (the most regret of my childhood). During that time as they came for a group project, I was wearing a mask trying to find in, but later I did enjoyed being with them. We later make jokes that made us laugh and my teachers would try to separate us, so we are not like a trumpet. Lunch time was Nostalgic, me and my friends were trying to make the deepest hole like a genius world record. With all fantasy’s made, memories were truly turned into dreams. Its was in that day the last year was really fun and we even called our self’s the Asian group because one was Vietnamese, another I think was Chinese, the new student which I had forgotten that was the new student and me Indonesian which I didn’t really clarify it if I was in that time because our ancestors where Chinese. New year new me, I was struck again. All of it was gone but, not too completely because eventually they were with my brother’s friend group. I was in year 2 and when I met my
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Protest is the Framework
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 97.5%: The Fever They Chose Not to See Enish Gupta The smell of chicken tikka filled the house, thick with spice and…
The Fever They Chose Not to See
Enish Gupta
The smell of chicken tikka filled the house, thick with spice and warmth, settling into the walls as laughter moved easily between bursts of FIFA commentary. Controllers clicked, voices overlapped, and everything felt contained, predictable, controlled, as if nothing could disrupt the rhythm of the night.
The interruption was small: a cough, then the soft, sudden sound of liquid hitting the floor. When we turned, my sister stood motionless, milk trailing from her mouth, her eyes unfocused as though the connection between sight and comprehension had briefly misfired. Someone reached for the thermometer, and the number blinked back, 37.3°C, precise, clinical, deceptively reassuring.
“Just a small fever,” they said.
But the body does not operate in isolated numbers. Beneath the surface, processes had already begun to shift, heat redistributing, signals accelerating, equilibrium destabilising in ways too subtle to measure in a single reading.
By 10 p.m., the television still flickered, but the room had changed. Conversations stalled halfway through, attention repeatedly pulled back to her. Her breathing had altered, each inhale arriving a fraction too late, as if the signal from brain to body was encountering resistance, slowed somewhere along the pathway.
When the sound came again, it was enough. I ran upstairs to find her sitting rigidly on the edge of the bed, her body held in tension, not at rest. Each breath seemed negotiated, drawn in with effort rather than ease.
“Mum,” I called. “Dad. Now.”
At the clinic, the space was engineered for order. Light reflected sharply off polished floors, chairs aligned in rows that dictated stillness, voices kept low as if volume itself might disrupt the system. Everything moved, but nothing accelerated. The room functioned like a system with inertia, designed to maintain its current state unless acted upon by a force large enough to disturb it.
We sat within it, becoming part of that stillness. My sister leaned against my mum, her weight shifting more heavily now, her breathing irregular in a way that demanded attention.
“She’s getting worse,” my mum said, stepping forward.
“We’ll call you,” the nurse replied, her gaze fixed on the screen.
VCE · Language Analysis
Language Analysis: ISSUE: Is the “tradwife” trend…
VCE Language Analysis essay scoring 95%: Katy Hall’s opinion piece, published in The Sydney Morning Herald (13 August 2024), challenges the widespread…
Katy Hall’s opinion piece, published in The Sydney Morning Herald (13 August 2024), challenges the widespread criticism of the “tradwife” trend, contending that such women should not be dismissed as regressive but understood as responding rationally to systemic inequities. Writing for a progressive, largely feminist Australian audience, Hall adopts a measured yet provocative tone to reframe the debate, arguing that the issue lies not in individual choices but in a flawed social and economic system that makes such choices appealing. Through a strategic progression of ideas, the integration of compelling statistics, and the use of evocative language and visuals, Hall positions readers to reconsider their assumptions and adopt a more empathetic perspective.
Hall initially seeks to legitimise the tradwife movement by emphasising its widespread popularity, noting that related TikTok trends have amassed “almost 10 billion views.” By foregrounding this statistic early in the piece, she frames the phenomenon as culturally significant rather than marginal, challenging any inclination among readers to dismiss it as trivial. This appeal to scale not only establishes relevance but also encourages readers to view the movement as reflective of broader societal sentiments. Furthermore, Hall’s description of these women as “celebrating stereotypically feminine activities” employs neutral, even slightly positive diction, which subtly destabilises the negative connotations often associated with such roles. Rather than outright endorsing these behaviours, Hall carefully balances her tone, allowing her to maintain credibility with a feminist audience while encouraging them to reconsider whether such choices are inherently oppressive. This reframing is reinforced when she characterises criticism of tradwives as a “knee-jerk reaction,” a dismissive phrase that undermines opposing viewpoints and positions critics as reactionary rather than thoughtful. In doing so, Hall guides readers toward a more reflective stance, suggesting that the issue requires deeper consideration than surface-level condemnation.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The challenge ahead Stimulus 1 ‘We…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: The challenge ahead[ma1] The noises of ‘fitting in’ drowned me. The BBQ felt like a chorus of forced…
The challenge ahead[ma1]
The noises of ‘fitting in’ drowned me. The BBQ felt like a chorus of forced laughter. Burgers were being flipped, and with every sizzle I fell deeper into a pit of despair.
“Yo manky, how long has it been since you washed that pump cover?” Jarred chuckled pretentiously.
I laughed awkwardly at the mention of my newest nickname, instinctively pulling at the oversized sleeves of my hoodie, further retreating into its comfort. I’d always thought a pump cover was something you’d use to hide a nice physique, but jarred, in his usual fashion, had turned it into a mockery.
“Haha nice one dingus,” I said, my voice steady even as my skin crawled. It was the ultimate sacrifice—Jarred and the ‘friend group’s’ acceptance for my identity.
The want for acceptance had consumed me. I was in a constant state of reflection, continuously thinking about what my future held came to the forefront of my mind. The toxic environment of the group clouded my instincts. Over the years I had grown accustomed to such ‘banter’. Ater years of being singled out in the group I thought the challenge was over. “Maybe this time it’ll be better” I would often tell myself.
I was always proven wrong. Relentlessly, they would make fun of my body, my name, my hobbies and all I would do is simply retreat further into my shell of comfort — my pump cover hiding away from the challenges I needed to grow
I could feel a tear beginning to form in the corner of my eye, threatening to open the floodgates. That was until a hand landed on my shoulder. It wasn’t Jarred’s sweaty, unbecoming, entitled palm. It was warm, loving and understanding.
“You ready to head off, Mankaran?”
Leo’s hoodie pulled low as he ushered me towards the car. He could see me through the wall I put up for others. I didn’t answer, just nodded. Following him away from the condescending noises of ‘fitting in,’ I jumped into the car.
“They were laying it on pretty thick weren’t they today”
I sat their silently.
“Look, I know what’s going on.”
“I can tell your struggling—I just want you to know that in life these challenges are needed more than you think.”
“Think of them as bumps in the road as you drive to your destination.”
“You know them making fun of you isn’t about you right? — they think that if they highlight someone else’s insecurities, challenges, identity they’re able to shield their own deepest insecurities.”
“Little do they know that by doing so they just hide away from the things that’s gonna let them grow into the self-respecting, independent, successful individuals that they know they can be?”
“By hiding away and accepting what they think you’re all meant to be is the biggest betrayal you could make against yourself.”
“You think you’re the only punching bag in that group?”
“They used to do this to me as well—make fun of my body, my car, my parents, how poor I was, how rich I was.”
It took me a bit of time, but I realised that they’re doing this to not face the challenges that’ll actually make them grow”.
“Are you going to make the same mistake as them?”
“I... I’m not sure Leo.”
“I want to change but I’m scared”
“What if I leave this group and no one accepts me—at least here I’m invited to the hangouts…”
Leo let out a deep sigh.
“Look make a decision and be a man about it, either you change now and be the man you know you can be, or stay in this pile of shit where you know you’ll never grow”
“I’m going to be at the gym tomorrow at 5 AM. If your there just know it’s not going to be easy.”
“A diamond isn’t forged by being weak and impulsive, it’s made through hard work, courage, strength, and most importantly trust.”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Fitting In
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: It's 1915. World War 1 had been raging for a year. Hundreds and thousands of proud men had enlisted for the…
It's 1915. World War 1 had been raging for a year. Hundreds and thousands of proud men had enlisted for the armed forces to fight for their nation. While these men were fighting in the depths of wet, muddy trenches a man back in the British homefront sat with his friend in a nearby pub.
“I'll be landing in France tomorrow,” his friend said. He had a small grin etched on his face.
“Good luck, mate,” the man said. Gosh, imagine how respected you would be if you were to fight for your country.
"It'll be quick. Spend a couple of months overseas, win the war and return as a stronger man,” his friend added.
The man found it hard to swallow his beer. Something about that statement didn't feel right. He knew his friend long enough to know he wasn't lying. It's just the statement that was fed to him. He didn't know why, but he felt embarrassed to say that the war wouldn’t end anytime soon. The government assured that the war would end in a couple months, but it's been a year now. Why was that promise not fulfilled?