VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Rewriting the Script Stimulus…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: Title: Rewriting the Script You’re sitting in front of a varnished table. The harshness from the costly…
Title: Rewriting the Script
You’re sitting in front of a varnished table. The harshness from the costly thirty-two inch monitor your parents invested in stings your eyes, the dull paper of a mathematics practice exam in front of you. You are ready, itching to ink “100%” in bright red on the cover. Before you begin you dim your monitor until your timer is still visible but the light no longer attacks you. Before you begin you remember you need to send an email to your teacher about a particular question. You check all your emails, you may as well while you’re there. You decide to warm up your brain with a game of chess. Then, the entire roster of word games from the New York Times. Oh, you suddenly feel a rush of inspiration fill you, and it demands to be written down immediately. Should you learn how to draw?
The urges come and go, cycling in your head like seasons, and before you begin you forget that you were going to begin. The paper is still there, mocking you. You promise yourself you will do it tomorrow and to you that’s good enough, because at some point it’d be done. It’s written in the script to be done.
You’re in the gym now, and you swivel your head. The scratching of graphite from the kid to your left reverberates in your ear. He seems furious, driven, the marks of his 2B pencil black like tar. To your right, a girl, relaxed but her pencil never leaves the page and her eyes flick on each purposeful letter she writes. Silence draws you back down. Your palms are sweaty, fingers trembling, wholly uncertain about the question in front of you. But now you push, your gaze laser focused. Everything else slides into the background until the clock hits zero and the invigilators’ command to “Drop your pencils,” scatters the silence like patterns of sand washed away by waves.
You close the test, breath wavering knowing three questions are blank and not knowing how many you full-marked. A hand grabs the paper, leaving emptiness in front of you.
You probably should have done that practice exam.
You swallow and leave. Tears beg to fall like raindrops, like the ones pattering against your window as you binge 200 chapters of your new favourite novel. Something needs to change, but you don’t know what's wrong with you.
Maybe nothing is.
Maybe this is who you are.
Did you remember to send that email?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Home is where we return to, wherever…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Elsewhere “Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.” My feet dragged forward with…
Elsewhere
“Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.”
My feet dragged forward with each step, unresponsive, as though the ground beneath me no longer recognised where I belonged. 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, 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 dried my hair. 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: “Home is where we return to, wherever…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Elsewhere My feet dragged forward with each step, unresponsive, as though the ground beneath me no longer…
Elsewhere
My feet dragged forward with each step, unresponsive, as though the ground beneath me no longer recognised where I belonged. 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: “Home is where we return to, wherever…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Elsewhere “Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.” My feet felt heavier with…
Elsewhere
“Home is where we return to, wherever we are and wherever we’ve been.”
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 miraculously materializes, annotations, Mark’s annotations.
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.