VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 97.5%: The key. I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer,…
The key.
I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer, its brass surface cool from being hidden from the sun. I remember holding it up to you, expecting a story; instead, you froze for a moment before forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You told me to leave it be, your voice too sharp for an object so small. I didn’t understand why your hand lingered on the drawer as if steadying yourself.
Back then, I only saw the fun parts of you. The humming while you cooked, the catchy TV-ad tunes you would sing under your breath, the way you would tap my shoulder twice to make me laugh. So, I mistook your tension for mystery, not fear, not pain. I still miss those times: when you picked me up from school with a snack waiting for me when I got in the car, the comforting dinners you would prepare while I sat on the counter, both a giggling mess as you cooked. Sometimes you would point out girls on TV you would see, noticing them as cute. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. You were so at ease then, or at least you made it look that way. I didn’t know then that peacefulness and ease can be performed.
I imagined how the key would open treasure chests or secret passageways that were embedded in the wall, anything except the truth you were trying so hard to keep tucked away behind closed doors. Even now when I think of that moment, I can still feel the weight of the key in my palm, light enough for a child to carry, heavy enough to change everything later.
The distances.
Not long after, I had tried the key on pretty much every locked thing I could find. The shed, the side gate, even old cupboards I knew were empty. I even had the courage to ask you one time about what the key unlocked. I remember you stiffened, as if the question pressed up against something bruised inside of you. For the rest of that day, you disappeared from time to time, spending time in your bedroom with the door left slightly ajar, almost inviting me in but still keeping me at a distance.
As I grew older, the space between us widened in ways I couldn’t articulate, and the key slipped quietly out of my mind. We didn’t suddenly grow apart, more like a slow, gentle drift. The kind you only notice once you are standing somewhere unfamiliar. You moved through the house like someone half-present, drifting between warmth and withdrawal. You were tired in ways I didn’t have words for, a deep exhaustion that lived behind your eyes. One afternoon you sat beside me on the couch, brushing my hair behind my ear the way you used to, and for a moment I felt the version of you I missed. As quick as it appeared, it vanished. I could see you were trying, but the detachment from reality was starting to show.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: The key. I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer, its…
The key.
I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer, its brass surface cool from being hidden from the sun. I remember holding it up to you, expecting a story; instead, you froze for a moment before forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You told me to leave it be, your voice too sharp for an object so small. I didn’t understand why your hand lingered on the drawer as if steadying yourself.
Back then, I only saw the fun parts of you. The humming while you cooked, the catchy TV-ad tunes you would sing under your breath, the way you would tap my shoulder twice to make me laugh. So, I mistook your tension for mystery, not fear, not pain. I still miss those times: when you picked me up from school with a snack waiting for me when I got in the car, the comforting dinners you would prepare while I sat on the counter, both a giggling mess as you cooked. Sometimes you would point out girls on TV you would see, noticing them as cute. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. You were so at ease then, or at least you made it look that way. I didn’t know then that peacefulness and ease can be performed.
I imagined how the key would open treasure chests or secret passageways that were embedded in the wall, anything except the truth you were trying so hard to keep tucked away behind closed doors. Even now when I think of that moment, I can still feel the weight of the key in my palm, light enough for a child to carry, heavy enough to change everything later.
The distances.
Not long after, I had tried the key on pretty much every locked thing I could find. The shed, the side gate, even old cupboards I knew were empty. I even had the courage to ask you one time about what the key unlocked. I remember you stiffened, as if the question pressed up against something bruised inside of you. For the rest of that day, you disappeared from time to time, spending time in your bedroom with the door left slightly ajar, almost inviting me in but still keeping me at a distance.
As I grew older, the space between us widened in ways I couldn’t articulate, and the key slipped quietly out of my mind. We didn’t suddenly grow apart, more like a slow, gentle drift. The kind you only notice once you are standing somewhere unfamiliar. You moved through the house like someone half-present, drifting between warmth and withdrawal. You were tired in ways I didn’t have words for, a deep exhaustion that lived behind your eyes. One afternoon you sat beside me on the couch, brushing my hair behind my ear the way you used to, and for a moment I felt the version of you I missed. As quick as it appeared, it vanished. I could see you were trying, but the detachment from reality was starting to show.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 97.5%: The key. I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer,…
The key.
I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer, its brass surface cool from being hidden from the sun. I remember holding it up to you, expecting a story; instead, you froze for a moment before forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You told me to leave it be, your voice too sharp for an object so small. I didn’t understand why your hand lingered on the drawer as if steadying yourself.
Back then, I only saw the fun parts of you. The humming while you cooked, the catchy TV-ad tunes you would sing under your breath, the way you would tap my shoulder twice to make me laugh. So, I mistook your tension for mystery, not fear, not pain. I still miss those times: when you picked me up from school with a snack waiting for me when I got in the car, the comforting dinners you would prepare while I sat on the counter, both a giggling mess as you cooked. Sometimes you would point out girls on TV you would see, noticing them as cute. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. You were so at ease then, or at least you made it look that way. I didn’t know then that peacefulness and ease can be performed.
I imagined how the key would open treasure chests or secret passageways that were imbedded in the wall, anything except the truth you were trying so hard to keep tucked away behind closed doors. Even now when I think of that moment, I can still feel the weight of the key in my palm, light enough for a child to carry, heavy enough to change everything later.
The distances.
Not long after, I had tried the key on pretty much every locked thing I could find. The shed, the side gate, even old cupboards I knew were empty. I even had the courage to ask you one time about what the key unlocked. I remember you stiffened, as if the question pressed up against something bruised inside of you. For the rest of that day, you disappeared from time to time, spending time in your bedroom with the door left slightly ajar, almost inviting me in but still keeping me at a distance.
As I grew older, the space between us widened in ways I couldn’t articulate, and the key slipped quietly out of my mind. We didn’t suddenly grow apart, more like a slow, gentle drift. The kind you only notice once you are standing somewhere unfamiliar. You moved through the house like someone half-present, drifting between warmth and withdrawal. You were tired in ways I didn’t have words for, a deep exhaustion that lived behind your eyes. One afternoon you sat beside me on the couch, brushing my hair behind my ear the way you used to, and for a moment I felt the version of you I missed. As quick as it appeared, it vanished. I could see you were trying, but the detachment from reality was starting to show.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: The key. I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer, its…
The key.
I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer, its brass surface cool from being hidden from the sun. I remember holding it up to you, expecting a story; instead, you froze for a moment before forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You told me to leave it be, your voice too sharp for an object so small. I didn’t understand why your hand lingered on the drawer as if steadying yourself.
Back then, I only saw the fun parts of you. The humming while you cooked, the catchy TV-ad tunes you would sing under your breath, the way you would tap my shoulder twice to make me laugh. So, I mistook your tension for mystery, not fear, not pain. I still miss those times: when you picked me up from school with a snack waiting for me when I got in the car, the comforting dinners you would prepare while I sat on the counter, both a giggling mess as you cooked. Sometimes you would point out girls on TV you would see, noticing them as cute. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. You were so at ease then, or at least you made it look that way. I didn’t know then that peacefulness and ease can be performed.
I imagined how the key would open treasure chests or secret passageways that were imbedded in the wall, anything except the truth you were trying so hard to keep tucked away behind closed doors. Even now when I think of that moment, I can still feel the weight of the key in my palm, light enough for a child to carry, heavy enough to change everything later.
The distances.
Not long after, I had tried the key on pretty much every locked thing I could find. The shed, the side gate, even old cupboards I knew were empty. I even had the courage to ask you one time about what the key unlocked. I remember you stiffened, as if the question pressed up against something bruised inside of you. For the rest of that day, you disappeared from time to time, spending time in your bedroom with the door left slightly ajar, almost inviting me in but still keeping me at a distance.
As I grew older, the space between us widened in ways I couldn’t articulate, and the key slipped quietly out of my mind. We didn’t suddenly grow apart, more like a slow, gentle drift. The kind you only notice once you are standing somewhere unfamiliar. You moved through the house like someone half-present, drifting between warmth and withdrawal. You were tired in ways I didn’t have words for, a deep exhaustion that lived behind your eyes. One afternoon you sat beside me on the couch, brushing my hair behind my ear the way you used to, and for a moment I felt the version of you I missed. As quick as it appeared, it vanished. I could see you were trying, but the detachment from reality was starting to show.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 97.5%: The key. I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer,…
The key.
I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer, its brass surface cool from being hidden from the sun. I remember holding it up to you, expecting a story; instead, you froze for a moment before forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You told me to leave it be, your voice too sharp for an object so small. I didn’t understand why your hand lingered on the drawer as if steadying yourself.
Back then, I only saw the fun parts of you. The humming while you cooked, the catchy TV-ad tunes you would sing under your breath, the way you would tap my shoulder twice to make me laugh. So, I mistook your tension for mystery, not fear, not pain. I still miss those times: when you picked me up from school with a snack waiting for me when I got in the car, the comforting dinners you would prepare while I sat on the counter, both a giggling mess as you cooked. Sometimes you would point out girls on TV you would see, noticing them as cute. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. You were so at ease then, or at least you made it look that way. I didn’t know then that peacefulness and ease can be performed.
I imagined how the key would open treasure chests or secret passageways that were imbedded in the wall, anything except the truth you were trying so hard to keep tucked away behind closed doors. Even now when I think of that moment, I can still feel the weight of the key in my palm, light enough for a child to carry, heavy enough to change everything later.
The distances.
Not long after, I had tried the key on pretty much every locked thing I could find. The shed, the side gate, even old cupboards I knew were empty. I even had the courage to ask you one time about what the key unlocked. I remember you stiffened, as if the question pressed up against something bruised inside of you. For the rest of that day, you disappeared from time to time, spending time in your bedroom with the door left slightly ajar, almost inviting me in but still keeping me at a distance.
As I grew older, the space between us widened in ways I couldn’t articulate, and the key slipped quietly out of my mind. We didn’t suddenly grow apart, more like a slow, gentle drift. The kind you only notice once you are standing somewhere unfamiliar. You moved through the house like someone half-present, drifting between warmth and withdrawal. You were tired in ways I didn’t have words for, a deep exhaustion that lived behind your eyes. One afternoon you sat beside me on the couch, brushing my hair behind my ear the way you used to, and for a moment I felt the version of you I missed. As quick as it appeared, it vanished. I could see you were trying, but the detachment from reality was starting to show.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: It is a text response to the 1950 film…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 85%: Intro Wilders 1950's film of Sunset Boulevard is an acerbic and dark expose' of the dark side of Hollywood. Set in…
Intro
Wilders 1950's film of Sunset Boulevard is an acerbic and dark expose' of the dark side of Hollywood. Set in a post-war America at the peak of commercialisation and materialism, Wilder sets his criticism at the industry through the display of the power of men in the industry and its misogynistic tendancies. Through its treatment of its female stars aftering age, Wilder exposes the misogynistic roots of Hollywood and how ingrained it is in the industry, he also shows the ability and power of men to entrap their female stars in a web of lies and false dreams. However, simultaneously, Wilder displays the femme fatale characteristics of women and how they can use their power to lead men to their eventual downfall.
To begin with, Wilder seeks to establish the misogynistic roots of the Hollywood industry in how they mistreat their female stars. This is displayed in the character of Norma Desmond, and how an "army of beauty experts infiltrated her mansion", the word "infiltrated" being used to describe an invasion or uncontrollable force that comes to haunt Norma Desmond.
BPI
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The title is 'Finding My Way', and the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: We are, by nature, tempted to cling onto the past which seem familiar to us, however personal growth demands…
We are, by nature, tempted to cling onto the past which seem familiar to us, however personal growth demands the painful separation of the past. Let me paint you an example, the story of a little boy who was talented in the arts of singing, becoming famous at the age of just 11 years old. However, he was raised under a strict regimen by his father in which forced him to play alongside his brothers. In order to find his own way in his musical career he had to leave the comfort of his family home
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: The key. I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer,…
The key.
I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer, its brass surface cool from being hidden from the sun. I remember holding it up to you, expecting a story; instead, you froze for a moment before forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You told me to leave it be, your voice too sharp for an object so small. I didn’t understand why your hand lingered on the drawer as if steadying yourself.
Back then, I only saw the fun parts of you. The humming while you cooked, the catchy TV-ad tunes you would sing under your breath, the way you would tap my shoulder twice to make me laugh. So, I mistook your tension for mystery, not fear, not pain. I still miss those times: you picking me up from school with a snack waiting for me when I got in the car, the comforting dinners you would prepare while I sat on the counter, both a giggling mess as you cooked. Sometimes you would point out girls on TV you would see, noticing them as cute. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. You were so at ease then, or at least you made it look that way. I didn’t know then that peacefulness and ease can be performed.
I imagined how the key would open treasure chests or secret passageways that emerged from the wall, anything except the truth you were trying so hard to keep tucked away behind closed doors. Even now when I think of that moment, I can still feel the weight of the key in my palm, light enough for a child to carry, heavy enough to change everything later.
The distances.
Not long after, I had tried the key on pretty much every locked thing I could find. The shed, the side gate, even old cupboards I knew were empty. I even had the courage to ask you one time about what the key unlocked. I remember you stiffened, as if the question pressed up against something bruised inside of you. For the rest of that day, you disappeared from time to time, spending time in your bedroom with the door left slightly ajar, almost inviting me in but still keeping me at a distance.
As I grew older, the space between us widened in ways I couldn’t articulate, and the key slipped quietly out of my mind. We didn’t suddenly grow apart, more like a slow, gentle drift. The kind you only notice once you are standing somewhere unfamiliar. You moved through the house like someone half-present, drifting between warmth and withdrawal. You were tired in ways I didn’t have words for, a deep exhaustion that lived behind your eyes. One afternoon you sat beside me on the couch, brushing my hair behind my ear the way you used to, and for a moment I felt the version of you I missed. As quick as it appeared, it vanished. I could see you were trying, but the detachment from reality was starting to show.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: The key. I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer, its…
The key.
I found the key by accident, buried beneath takeaway menus and rubber bands in the kitchen drawer, its brass surface cool from being hidden from the sun. I remember holding it up to you, expecting a story; instead, you froze for a moment before forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You told me to leave it be, your voice too sharp for an object so small. I didn’t understand why your hand lingered on the drawer as if steadying yourself.
Back then, I only saw the fun parts of you. The humming while you cooked, the catchy TV-ad tunes you would sing under your breath, the way you would tap my shoulder twice to make me laugh. So, I mistook your tension for mystery, not fear, not pain. I still miss those times: you picking me up from school with a snack waiting for me when I got in the car, the comforting dinners you would prepare while I sat on the counter, both a giggling mess as you cooked. Sometimes you would point out girls on TV you would see, noticing them as cute. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. You were so at ease then, or at least you made it look that way. I didn’t know then that peacefulness and ease can be performed.
I imagined how the key would open treasure chests or secret passageways that emerged from the wall, anything except the truth you were trying so hard to keep tucked away behind closed doors. Even now when I think of that moment, I can still feel the weight of the key in my palm, light enough for a child to carry, heavy enough to change everything later.
The distances.
Not long after, I had tried the key on pretty much every locked thing I could find. The shed, the side gate, even old cupboards I knew were empty. I even had the courage to ask you one time about what the key unlocked. I remember you stiffened, as if the question pressed up against something bruised inside of you. For the rest of that day, you disappeared from time to time, spending time in your bedroom with the door left slightly ajar, almost inviting me in but still keeping me at a distance.
As I grew older, the space between us widened in ways I couldn’t articulate, and the key slipped quietly out of my mind. We didn’t suddenly grow apart, more like a slow, gentle drift. The kind you only notice once you are standing somewhere unfamiliar. You moved through the house like someone half-present, drifting between warmth and withdrawal. You were tired in ways I didn’t have words for, a deep exhaustion that lived behind your eyes. One afternoon you sat beside me on the couch, brushing my hair behind my ear the way you used to, and for a moment I felt the version of you I missed. As quick as it appeared, it vanished. I could see you were trying, but the detachment from reality was starting to show.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Craft a memoir that explores a moment…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Winter Break Playing basketball is my happy place. Where I go when I need to relax or quell my hurricane of…
Winter Break
Playing basketball is my happy place. Where I go when I need to relax or quell my hurricane of thoughts and emotions. The spot I play out the front of my house, where the swish of the ball through the chain net and the splash of warm colours across the sky at sunset calms me like no other. I love sport, especially footy, and I dream of one day making it to the AFL. If only I knew that my love would be taken away from me for the rest of that year.
My footy team was playing in a qualifying final, a win meant we would be in the grand final. It was a cold and bitter Sunday morning. It was a tough game. Despite leading for the whole game, one kick from the opposition sealed their two point win. We were devastated, now having to play and win again to reach the Grand Final. I was crushed, blaming myself for the loss, thinking it was all my fault. "What could I have done differently?" I asked myself, going through the game in my head over and over again and finding a million mistakes.
The rest of the week wasn't any better. I was still dissapointed in myself and the loss, despite my parents constant reassurance, saying that it
wasn't my fault, and that "there was always next week". At school on Wednesday I had 3 tests. I felt like I'd failed them all. When I got home, I decided to play some basketball. Just me and the ball. It was a nice night, we were at the end of Winter, so the air was warming up and the sun was hanging around for a little longer.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: NOTE! This is VCE English Literature,…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: The night carried its own breathing. Slow and hot through the cracked fly screen, through the walls swollen…
The night carried its own breathing. Slow and hot through the cracked fly screen, through the walls swollen with summer, through the dark belly of Prosperous, where everything creaked like it remembered something before me. I lay still because it felt safer. I had always been all movement before. August used to laugh, said I danced like country moved through me. But not that night, that night, I folded myself small, because small things survive easier.
Outside, the gum trees scratched at the sky. Country was awake. I could feel it listening.
I remember thinking of August then. Funny thing. Not God, not home, not dancing. Just August, as if it were her curled in the bed beside me, her sharp knees, cracked skin and tangled hair, soft breaths passing through her mouth, whispering unheard pleas to hold on. Sometimes I’d imagine it was her hand twisted in the back of my shirt, her holding onto me, begging me not to disappear into the night… It was too late by then. I’d already started to leave. Not suddenly, not all at once. I felt myself loosen from the room, from the sweat-soaked sheets and pressing heat on my chest. Drawn upwards, strange and weightless, looking down at the girl still behind. I followed her now, as he carried her out into the night, one dark shadow carrying another through the fields she used to run through. I followed him as he tore his way towards the peppercorn trees the little girl and her sister used to climb, as he disappeared behind the invasive crop marking foreign men’s claim over land her ancestors lived, breathed and cared for. I stopped in that moment, looking past the uncanny pair, looking for something I couldn’t place, yet knowing I wouldn’t find it there. Country surrounded me in this moment, dampening what I faintly felt far away, dulling it through the dried eucalyptus leaves clapping, the thirsty mulch cracking under the heavy footfall of that shadow. My eyes found the sky in this moment, raptured by the giwang, the crescent moon, which shined light on acts not meant for waking hours, not worth hopeless bunba-nha attempts. It was in this moment, as my eyes searched the ink black mulaa, I felt myself slipping. Not away, but up. Towards ngulagambilanha. Towards home. The noises slipped away first, quelled by an overwhelming silence, comforting, wrapping around me like a blanket. I didn’t fight it, I took the edges of it, folding the night sky around me like a quilt, tucking my entire body around it, hiding. I look down from here, safe. I saw the asphalt covered by potholes, neglected by a government too far east to pretend to care. I saw the two properties, facing each other, waving. I saw the darkness shrouding the houses, spare one ngalgarra streaming from the upstairs attic. Where August, no doubt, lay awake, dreaming of more things to whisper to Princess Diana over cassette tapes long since spun out. I felt my dhulubang pull towards this ngalgarra now, like a magnet. A brolga perched high among the peppermint trees, long legs bent awkward against the branches, claws dug deep into bark older than fences and property lines. Moonlight silvered its feathers. It turned its neck slowly towards the empty air.
Towards me.
And for the first time that night, I felt seen.
Years later, August walked the same paddocks with Joey beside her, boots sinking into the soft grooves left by cattle and potato beds, following the blackened path towards the protestors where voices carried thin over the smoking fields. Beyond them, the drill stood ugly against the horizon, its metal spine trailing to a spiked mouth pointing at Wiradjuri country like it couldn’t feel what sat beneath it.
August kept her eyes ahead.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: In defence of play
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: To those who can’t wait to grow up, I understand the feeling, the excitement of what’s next, the urge to move…
To those who can’t wait to grow up,
I understand the feeling, the excitement of what’s next, the urge to move forward, the belief that the future will be bigger, brighter and more beautiful. That’s exactly how I used to feel. But what I didn’t realise is that I would lose something just as valuable, my sense of play. So that’s why I’m writing to you all today, in defence of play. You don’t realise it’s happening, but slowly your playful spirit dissipates and the way you see the world is not the same. That’s something I didn’t quite understand when I was younger.
I still remember the first time I truly felt it, many years ago when we first moved to the big city. Back when I was just a little boy exploring my new home, with the world in his hands. The city pulsed beneath my feet alive with the sounds of life, love and laughter. To me it wasn’t just streets and buildings, it was a playground waiting to be explored. Tall trees surrounded me like silent sentinels while the lush green bushes shimmered in the golden sunlight. Even the grass was soft, it was as if nature had laid out a cozy blanket just for me. But even as I took it all in, a part of me assumed I would always feel this way.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: ‘In Rainbow’s End, family is more…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 70%: Set in 1950s rural Victoria, the play, Rainbow’s End by Jane Harrison, explores the daily struggles of an…
Set in 1950s rural Victoria, the play, Rainbow’s End by Jane Harrison, explores the daily struggles of an Aboriginal family living on the fringes of white Australian society, where racism, poverty, and government control shape every aspect of their lives. Most prominently, the playwright signifies that her play examines the importance of family in 1950s Australia, however at times this focus shifts. Harrison visits the significance of family life in poor living conditions, however, also explores how activism and education play a major role in the play.
To begin, Harrison’s play reveals the significance of family, regardless of wealth or social position. Harrison iterates that people you are related to can be a driving force to enable survival when life disempowers you. As the Dear family reside in a humpy area located on the river flats, they are constantly faced with “sodden and mud-splattered” surroundings due to the flooding and harsh weather conditions, causing them to feel as though they are “fighting nature all the time”. Despite feeling that they “don’t have a normal life”, the women in the Dear family persist in protecting one another through utilising their resources to re-build their home “with pages from a magazine”; ultimately turning to each other in times of privation. The motif of the magazines demonstrates the sacrifices the women make to survive together by giving up the small luxuries they can afford.✔ The Dear family supports each other through their experiences of racism and discrimination in 1950s Australia. Although the Dear family do not “see the town Aboriginals working in stores”, indicating the segregation in society, Gladys encourages her daughter, Dolly, to attend the “trainee program” at their local Bank. Gladys emphasises that she would be “an asset” and is a “hard worker” in spite of the Bank Managers’ racially motivated questioning of “how she’d fit in”. Therefore, the playwright dictates that family is the principal force of life that continually provides a source of comfort, resilience, and support through the threat of colonisation.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Create a piece that relates to…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 97.5%: Dear Mẹ, I came straight from the office. I walked in still wearing the day, still carrying three unread…
Dear Mẹ,
I came straight from the office. I walked in still wearing the day, still carrying three unread emails and a meeting I was quietly rehearsing for tomorrow, and I sat down beside your bed and opened my laptop before I had even properly looked at you.
You didn't say anything. You looked at me the way you always look at me — like I am still seven years old, slightly rumpled, slightly too serious — and reached over and tucked the collar of my shirt where it had folded in on itself. One hand, deliberate, the way you have done ten thousand times without being asked. Like caring for me is not something you do but something you are.
I went back to my laptop. I am telling you this so you know I almost missed it.
It started quietly. I heard it the way I hear most things lately: distantly, as background, as weather happening to other people.
Then you turned toward it.
You just stopped — stopped resting, which I have never once seen you do without looking slightly guilty — and turned your face toward the window and looked at the rain the way I have not looked at anything in longer than I can remember. With your whole attention. With something that, from where I was sitting, looked almost like relief.
I closed the laptop.
You have never been good at resting. I know this because I have watched you my whole life move from one task to the next without pause, without complaint, without ever suggesting that any of it was too much. You came to this country at twenty-six with two suitcases and a daughter not yet born and you worked, Mẹ — you worked in the way your mother worked and her mother before that, women who understood that stillness was not something to be inhabited but something to be survived on the way to the next necessary thing. You measured worth in what you produced before the day ended. You treated rest like a debt you were always slightly behind on.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: "Big wins, Small acts" ; Framework…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: “Small Acts, Big Wins” Stimulus 2: Stimulus 3: “And now my voice is louder than ever. Louder because people…
“Small Acts, Big Wins”
Stimulus 2:
Stimulus 3: “And now my voice is louder than ever. Louder because people have joined me and together, we make a chorus, standing up for what we believe’
Australian Prime Minster Kevin Rudd claims Australia as being the “one of the safest countries in the world” for international students. I too did the small act of believing such a statement and packed my life in a suitcase and moved to a foreign country to chase my dreams, leaving everything behind, a small act to achieve a big win. Thousands of other Indian students believed that. However, the streets of Melbourne and Sydney speak otherwise. It’s time for Melbourne to speak upon the attacks on its trains, streets, and suburbs in which students such as I can afford to live.
As of late 2008 and 2009, there have been approximately 70 victims of attacks on Indian student alone in Victoria. Bashings. Stabbings. Gunpoint Robberies. Racial Comments. Sourabh Sharma set alight in a car, Ranjodh Singh lost an eye, Shravan Kumar stabbed with a screwdriver at a party putting him into a coma. Students being beaten up by teenagers on trains. These aren’t just statistics, this is the reality of the 97,000 Indian students enrolled in Australia, who choose Australia as their home to build a future, yet now live in the fear of being attacked on their way back from work, Uni, local shopping centers, and at bus stops and train stations. Yet for months, there have been no action taken by the Victorian government and have been told “...there are acts of violences every day” and these attacks are merely crimes of opportunity as Indian students look “vulnerable”. Random. Not racially motivated. Move on.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: Within the Merchant of Venice, prejudice…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 70%: Discrimination typically results in conflict. William Shakespeare explores this idea in his 1597 play 'The Merchant…
Discrimination typically results in conflict. William Shakespeare explores this idea in his 1597 play 'The Merchant of Venice' to an Elizabethan society deeply entrenched in prejudice, hinting at the flaws that it develops. Shakespeare suggests that although Shylock and Antonio's conflict is central to the plot of the play, their dispute is a reflection of the broader issue within the society. By showing the different expressions of racism and sexism from other characters, Shakespeare shows that Shylock and Antonio's conflict highlights the underlying problem of prejudice.
From the outset of the play, Shakespeare projects antisemitism to be a pre-existing discrimination embedded into Venetian society, not limited to Shylock and Antonio's dispute. The author suggests that prejudice extends beyond their conflict through Shylock's repeated humiliation from not only Antonio but other characters. This is clearly demonstrated when Shylock is mocked by some boys within Venice who mimic him 'crying his stones, his daughter'. By using children imitate Shylock, Shakespeare alludes to the normalized malice towards Shylock. This is furthered through Launcelot's plot where he leaves Shylock's service of work merely because Shylock is Jewish. By choosing to change his occupation based on the appearance of working for a Christian over a Jew, Launcelot reflects the ostracization of the Jewish people within the broader society as to him more appealing to work for a Christian rather than a Jewish person even if you get paid more. Launcelot highlights this by commenting that 'the jew is the very devil incarnation'. By reducing Shylock to calling him by 'The Jew' Launcelot demonstrates that the insult is based merely on Shylock's religion and reinforces the malice towards Jewish people. In fact, Shakespeare suggests that racial prejudice towards Jews is a long standing problem throughout Venetian Society.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: This is a REFLECTIVE COMMENTARY PIECE…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: The purpose of my historical fiction is to incite inspiration to protest, not just in the context of the Gen-Z…
The purpose of my historical fiction is to incite inspiration to protest, not just in the context of the Gen-Z youth in Kenya, but as a larger message to convey that fear cannot prevent initiating change. I believe overcoming fear of Kenya’s parliament leaders allows the Genz youth to arise together, inflicting a shift in Kenya for themselves.
To explain the historical timeline of the finance bill protests, based on my own experiences of listening, reading and witnessing the Kenya Finance Bill unfold in 2024 from Australia. I aimed to express my deep concern of the future for the people of Kenya due to the lack of moral responsibility from political leaders in Kenya, evident through governmental corruption and schemes driven by hunger for power and money.
From the perspective of First Daughter Charlene, who is purely fictional and in reality, President Ruto’s daughter didn’t express her opinions on the Kenya Finance Bill. I chose to use Charlene’s non-chronological diary entries to communicate the essential need for documenting and sharing recounts of events that shaped effective protest. Day 1, Day 4 and Day 6 of these diary entries included the provocation “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek”. I intended to create this motif for my diary entries to not only create a sense of cohesion, but also to place my Genz youth audience in Kenya and around the world who were inspired to feel a collective urge ‘to rise together’. Thus, aligning well with the title and supporting the framework of protesting for change.
I was inspired by Emmeline Pankhurst's own "soldier" metaphor in her Freedom or Death speech in the way that it influenced the extended metaphor of Charlene being involved in a ‘battlefield’ both physically, as seen in Day 6, “the air was thick with ozone and the cries of the dying”, and psychologically, as seen in Day 2, “now my consciousness is a battlefield of emotions”, evoking the notion that this protest wasn’t just widespread around Kenya but life-threating for everyone involved too.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: This is a REFLECTIVE COMMENTARY PIECE…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: The purpose of my historical fiction is to incite inspiration to protest, not just in the context of the…
The purpose of my historical fiction is to incite inspiration to protest, not just in the context of the Gen-Z youth in Kenya, but as a larger message to convey that fear cannot prevent initiating change. I believe overcoming fear of Kenya’s parliament leaders allows the Genz youth to arise together, inflicting a shift in Kenya for themselves.
To explain the historical timeline of the finance bill protests, based on my own experiences of listening, reading and witnessing the Kenya Finance Bill unfold in 2024 from Australia. I aimed to express my deep concern of the future for the people of Kenya due to the lack of moral responsibility from political leaders in Kenya, evident through governmental corruption and schemes driven by hunger for power and money.
From the perspective of First Daughter Charlene, who is purely fictional and in reality, President Ruto’s daughter didn’t express her opinions on the Kenya Finance Bill. I chose to use Charlene’s non-chronological diary entries to communicate the essential need for documenting and sharing recounts of events that shaped effective protest. In Day 1 of these diary entries with the provocation “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek”. I intended to create this motif for my diary entries to not only create a sense of cohesion, but also, placing my youth audience in Kenya and around the world who were inspired to feel a collective urge ‘to rise together’. Thus, aligning well with the title and supporting the framework of protesting for change.
I was inspired by Emmeline Pankhurst's own "soldier" metaphor in her Freedom or Death speech in the way that it influenced the extended metaphor of Charlene being involved in a ‘battlefield’ both physically, as seen in Day 6, “the air was thick with ozone and the cries of the dying”, and psychologically, as seen in Day 2, “now my consciousness is a battlefield of emotions”, evoking the notion that this protest wasn’t just widespread around Kenya but life-threating for everyone involved too.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: This is a REFLECTIVE COMMENTARY PIECE…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: The purpose of my historical fiction is to incite inspiration to protest, not just in the context of the…
The purpose of my historical fiction is to incite inspiration to protest, not just in the context of the Gen-Z youth in Kenya, but as a larger message to convey that fear cannot prevent initiating change. I believe overcoming fear of Kenya’s parliament leaders allows the Genz youth to arise together, inflicting a shift in Kenya for themselves.
To explain the historical timeline of the finance bill protests, based on my own experiences of listening, reading and witnessing the Kenya Finance Bill unfold in 2024 from Australia. I aimed to express my deep concern of the future for the people of Kenya due to the lack of moral responsibility from political leaders in Kenya, evident through governmental corruption and schemes driven by hunger for power and money.
I chose to write this historical fiction in the form of a short story, to explain the drastic consequences of corruption and lack of integrity within the government of the republic of Kenya leading to revolt and death, intending my historical fiction to be directed towards Genz youth in Kenya and middle-class youth around the world who face oppression from their own government, and are willing to arise to cause change for the betterment of their people.
From the perspective of First Daughter Charlene, who is purely fictional and in reality, President Ruto’s daughter didn’t express her opinions on the Kenya Finance Bill, I chose to use Charlene’s non-chronological diary entries to communicate the essential need for documenting and sharing recounts of events that shaped effective protest. In Day 1 of these diary entries with the provocation “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek”. I intended to create this motif for my diary entries to not only create a sense of cohesion, placing my youth audience in Kenya and around the world who were inspired to feel a collective urge ‘to rise together’. Thus, aligning well with the title and supporting the framework of protesting for change.
I was inspired by Emmeline Pankhurst's own "soldier" metaphor in her Freedom or Death speech in the way that it influenced the extended metaphor of Charlene being involved in a ‘battlefield’ both physically, as seen in Day 6, “the air was thick with ozone and the cries of the dying”, and psychologically, as seen in Day 2, “now my consciousness is a battlefield of emotions”, evoking the notion that this protest wasn’t just widespread around Kenya but life-threating for everyone involved too.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: This is a REFLECTIVE COMMENTARY PIECE…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: The purpose of my historical fiction is to incite inspiration to protest, not just in the context of the Gen-Z…
The purpose of my historical fiction is to incite inspiration to protest, not just in the context of the Gen-Z youth in Kenya, but as a larger message to convey that fear cannot prevent initiating change. I believe overcoming fear of Kenya’s parliament leaders allows the Genz youth to arise together, inflicting a shift in Kenya for themselves.
To explain the historical timeline of the finance bill protests, based on my own experiences of listening, reading and witnessing the Kenya Finance Bill unfold in 2024 from Australia. To express my deep concern of the future for the people of Kenya due to the lack of moral responsibility from political leaders in Kenya, evident through governmental corruption and schemes driven by hunger for power and money.
I chose to write this historical fiction in the form of a short story, to explain the drastic consequences of corruption and lack of integrity within the government of the republic of Kenya leading to revolt and death, intending my historical fiction to be directed towards Genz youth in Kenya and middle-class youth around the world who face oppression from their own government, and are willing to arise to cause change for the betterment of their people.
From the perspective of First Daughter Charlene, who is purely fictional and in reality, President Ruto’s daughter didn’t express her opinions on the Kenya Finance Bill, I chose to use Charlene’s non-chronological diary entries to communicate the essential need for documenting and sharing recounts of events that shaped effective protest. In Day 1 of these diary entries with the provocation “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek”. I intended to create this motif for my diary entries to not only create a sense of cohesion, placing my youth audience in Kenya and around the world who were inspired to feel a collective urge ‘to rise together’, aligning well with the title and supporting the framework of protesting for change.
I was inspired by Emmeline Pankhurst's own "soldier" metaphor in her Freedom or Death speech in the way that it influenced the extended metaphor of Charlene being a involved in a ‘battlefield’ both physically, as seen in Day 6, “the air was thick with ozone and the cries of the dying”, and psychologically, a seen in Day 2, “now my consciousness is a battlefield of emotions”, evoking the notion that this protest wasn’t just widespread around Kenya but life-threating for everyone involved too.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title 1: “Silence changes nothing.”
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: Noise. That’s what people think protest sounds like. Crowds pressing forward, voices rising over one another,…
Noise.
That’s what people think protest sounds like. Crowds pressing forward, voices rising over one another, something impossible to ignore. It’s loud, public, undeniable. The kind of thing that demands attention whether people want to give it or not.
But not all protests sound like that.
Some don’t sound like anything at all.
Mine didn’t.
At least, not at first.
It stayed contained within the walls of a place that was supposed to feel like home, caught somewhere between what was said and what never quite made it out. At first, it didn’t feel important. It felt small. Just another argument across the dinner table, another moment of being spoken over, of watching my own sentence trail off unfinished as someone else kept talking. There was no crowd, no sign, no clear beginning or end. Just tension that lingered long after the conversation had finished, in the silence of plates being cleared and chairs scraping against the floor.I didn’t put my chair in, As I walked away the silence stayed but the chair was moved back into place.
So I stayed quiet.
Because silence is easier, at least in the beginning. It avoids the conflict, delays the consequences, keeps everything from tipping too far in one direction. People talk about speaking up as if it’s simple, as if it’s something you can choose without losing anything in return. But there’s always a cost. It exists in the pause after you say something that can’t be taken back, in the way the air shifts, in the way familiar spaces suddenly feel unfamiliar.
For a long time, that cost didn’t seem worth it.
It was easier to let things stay the same, even if “the same” meant feeling unheard. Easier to convince myself that it didn’t matter, that it was just how things were. Maybe silence can feel like control when you don’t yet realise how much it allows to remain unchanged.
But eventually, it stopped feeling like control.
It started to feel like weight. Like carrying words around for so long that they became heavier each time I swallowed them back down. Conversations became rehearsals in my head instead of things I actually allowed myself to say.
There wasn’t a single defining moment where everything changed. No sudden courage, no perfectly constructed sentence that fixed everything all at once. Just a gradual shift .
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Conflict of perspectives can lead to…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Under the glistening lights of the astronomical “Santiago Bernabeu” proudly stands a club gilded in pride and…
Under the glistening lights of the astronomical “Santiago Bernabeu” proudly stands a club gilded in pride and utmost dominance. Throughout the years, Real Madrid has unconditionally believed in the “Galactico” system: A power system that relies on individual brilliance of a player rather than a cohesive unit that works for each other. However, the team back then always had one shared goal, and that is to come out triumphant no matter the severity of the price; blood and sweat were mere sacrificial catalysts for the sake of victory. However, modern day football has undergone an evolutionary pathway of tactical brilliance, one that brings out the best of the whole unit instead of a sole figurehead. This is the system that Carlo Ancelotti, head coach of Real Madrid has sought to build over the years. Albeit, one man stands in his way and that is Kylian Mbappe, the messiah of football, the successor of greats, one that has set eyes on the most pristine individual awards. A precedent that causes not only a clash of perspectives but a power imbalance that is slowly eroding the locker room.
The architect of division
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: a letter about play
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: 20/7/2021 Dear Mum, It’s me again, just thought I would check in. The past few months have been a lot to say…
20/7/2021
Dear Mum,
It’s me again, just thought I would check in. The past few months have been a lot to say the least. But we are starting to find a new rhythm to our days without her. Sam is almost 5 now, I guess the saying they grow up fast is true. Most days he barely asks about her. Others, he cries all night.
He has grown so much you wouldn’t even recognize him, that’s what makes me sad. When Sam was born, I imagined a perfect life for the little guy. A life where his mum was still around and he got to grow up knowing his grandparents, am I doing something wrong as a parent? I mean the only person Sam has is me and I’m barely holding it together as it is.
He was outside again today. Covered in mud from head to toe, knees scraped and face grubby. He had been climbing the highest tree in our yard. You know the one? Its twisted branches stretch up so high they look like they go on forever. Sam gets the biggest smile on his face whenever he finds a massive tree to climb. He climbs higher and higher. Meanwhile I stand at the bottom trying to keep my heart from beating out of my chest. I wish I could say that watching him climb trees fills me with joy. It does, sometimes. But more often than not, I find myself picturing his foot slipping from a branch. Time stands still. The risk seems so great. I can imagine it while writing this letter, little Sam on the ground screaming in pain. That would break me. I promised myself I would never return back to the hospital. There would be no holding it together after that.
VCE · Text Response
Text Response: 'Jackson's Haunting of Hill House suggests…
VCE Text Response essay scoring 70%: Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House delineates the slow and crippling decay of sanity caused by social…
Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House delineates the slow and crippling decay of sanity caused by social isolation, underpinned by the struggles of Eleanor’s own reality. Jackson constructs Hill House to explore how entrapment creates barriers of guilt and isolation, which are ultimately manipulated by the house. By presenting Hill House as a psychological mirror, Jackson suggests the true haunting stems from a society that offers no sense of individuality, forcing fragile individuals to become their own greatest enemy. Ultimately, while presenting psychological barriers as humanity’s greatest enemy, the novelist contends that these internal walls are forged by the repressive frameworks of society, restricting individual autonomy.