VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: TITLE: Deeds not words Stimulus 1.…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Mr. Beckheld never raised his voice. That’s the first thing I noticed. His actions were always restrained, as…
Mr. Beckheld never raised his voice. That’s the first thing I noticed. His actions were always restrained, as if waiting for release. I was only young when we met. Broken, cold, hungry and waiting on his welcome mat beneath exposed brick. He took me in without question, fed me without words, gave me a place to rest without judgement. A mentor. His eyes told more than his mouth could. They told me familiarity, they told me understanding.
Like a father, he gave me parts of the world that were strangers to me: a home, a parent, love. Warmth he made abundant for me, he struggled to allow himself to feel. Until Elise.
Soft-spoken, gentle, kind — those are fractions of how I would describe Elise.
They met at the brink of night that tiptoed into sunset, in an array of waves and sand. Things moved quickly from there, but not rushed. Their relationship grew fast with intention. Before I knew it, Elise was living amongst us, from a stranger to family in a blink. I’d never seen Mr. Beckheld so fulfilled, so free.
He struggled, but he learned what it meant to be loved.
Elise cooked dinner most nights, as Mr. Beckheld always worked late. Under a bright candle flame, we would talk about nothing in particular — school, art, music, aspirations. Elise shone brightly, like a beam of pure light. A considerate one that knew its brightness and dimmed for others’ comfort. The candle flame danced free while she hummed and stirred a pot that coated the room with sweet aroma.
Mr. Beckheld arrived home, hung his jacket on a hook and took off his shoes upon the creaking floorboards. His actions were louder than usual; they felt tired and aggressive to my ears through the hallway. Elise’s stirring slowed as he entered the kitchen and she became more mindful of any sounds she made. Her body stiffened, movements hesitant — I’d never noticed how she shrank when he came home on edge.
I started to take notice more after that. How her pants never went above her ankles. How her sleeves were never short. How quickly she laughed at my mentor's jokes. How her eyes stayed locked on her plate at dinners.
I convinced myself she was shy, but shyness doesn’t shrink a person so completely.
A little while after, I became an adult. Living in my own home now, I still made time to visit daily.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: - When people ask me where I’m from, I need a moment to think. Do I tell them my parents are from Hong Kong, or…
- When people ask me where I’m from, I need a moment to think. Do I tell them my parents are from Hong Kong, or do I tell them I was born here in Australia? Which comes first. Not long ago, the answer would have been clear as day.
- My parents migrated from Hong Kong to Australia in 2005. Every year, we go back to Hong Kong in January. Its school holidays for me and my brother, so it’s easiest to arrange. Every year, it’s a mad rush to the airport because dad thinks time is a myth, and mum’s last minute luggage inspections are agonising.
- When we arrive in Hong Kong, we take the same bus every time to my grandma’s apartment in Sheung Shui. Its small and modest, because she lives alone.
- We ring the doorbell. My mum, my brother and I wait awkwardly. Eventually, she opens the door. “Hi PoPo,” my brother and I say. No smile, no nothing. Just a comment on how skinny I am. She scolds my mum for this.
- Walking in, there is a peculiar scent that I can only describe as incense and cleaning chemical. There’s no living room, just a black leather couch and a circular dining table, one of those that can be pulled out in case of emergency family gatherings. A pillar of Cantonese homes.
- Sprawled beneath the TV are framed photos of Popo’s grandchildren, and a bowl of apples still wrapped individually in their Styrofoam sleeves.
- Besides them, stands a tall orchid in a porcelain vase, inscribed with Chinese characters I can’t read. Each petal is an abstract dotted pink, which fades into a soft white towards the edges. It bears the weight of unwanted attention, which seems to intrude the humble space of Popo’s home.
The afternoon goes by quickly. Unpacking the suitcase feels routine, like retracing steps I’ve taken before—shirts folded neatly into Popo’s drawers, toiletries lined up in the bathroom.
- But as dark clouds begin to smother the sky, like cotton pads dressing a wound, the anticipation of evening ceases, and in its place, comes the ritual of dinner.
- The Yum Cha restaurant should feel familiar, but I feel nothing but dread.
- The elevator doors open onto the fourth floor, and I brace myself for the press of voices that will rush at me like a toccata- impossible to keep up with unless you already know the notes. Inside, the interior is deceptively spacious- at least 50 tables packed like mosaic. It takes practise to walk to your table without knocking an auntie’s purse or an uncle’s walking stick. The trick is to turn your hips and shuffle sideways, although easier said than done. We’ve booked 2 tables, 24 seats in total. I choose the one with the most direct line of sight to the TV.
- The rest of the seats are filled by people I don’t recognise. It’s awkward sitting with strangers, though Mum claims we know them.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Playing my part Stimulus: “All…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 100%: Who are we if not performers? And what is living if not performing? Would you squeal at spiders if no one was…
Who are we if not performers?
And what is living if not performing?
Would you squeal at spiders if no one was watching?
Would you smile just for yourself?
We perform joy, fear, ambition, and restraint. We rehearse our dreams, improvise our failures, and revise our identities. Life is not just a stage—it’s a rehearsal room, a costume closet, a script still being written.
The biggest stage we’ll ever stand on is our own life. From the moment we arrive, we’re cast into roles we didn’t audition for. We eat and grow so our parents feel fulfilled. We study and work to contribute to society. We love and sacrifice so others don’t have to. We perform not just for applause, but for approval, for belonging, for survival.
And yet, there are moments—rare and fleeting—when the mask slips. When we step out of the costume stitched by expectation and into something raw, unfiltered. These moments feel like freedom. But are they? Or are they just another act, one we’ve convinced ourselves is authentic?
As children, play was instinctive. We didn’t perform for anyone—we simply existed in joy. A cardboard box became a spaceship. A puddle became an ocean. Raindrops weren’t acid—they were racers, sprinting to the ground. The world was magical because we hadn’t yet been taught to explain it. But knowledge came, and with it, complexity. We learned the rules of the stage. We learned to smile on cue.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Playing my part Stimulus: All…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Who are we if not performers? And what is living if not performing? Would you squeal at spiders if no one was…
Who are we if not performers?
And what is living if not performing?
Would you squeal at spiders if no one was around?
And would you smile for yourself?
Emotions, feelings, dreams, and ideation.
What is life if you have nothing to prove, to earn?
The biggest stage anyone could ever be on is our own life. We came into the world to live for others; we live our lives for everyone else, but ourselves.
You eat and grow, so your parents would feel fulfilled with themselves.
You study and work so that you can contribute to a better society.
You love and sacrifice, so your loved ones don’t have to.
And only when you are out of the rigid costume that others put on you for the stage, only when you put the act down, only when you step out of your very own skin that keeps you for your comfort, only then are you truly free.
The world is always more magical the less you understand it, when raindrops mean there’s a marathon for which droplets would reach the ground first, when a hot summer day means the sun is feeling pretty. Instead, raindrops aren’t just water but also acid, and a hot summer day only gets hotter. Sometimes I wonder if we were ever meant to know so much about the world, if we were ever meant to know so much at an age that just seems to get smaller and smaller.
When did living get so complicated?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework: Protest Title: Engage…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: There needs to be disruption for things to change. This is what I want you to take away from my speech today,…
There needs to be disruption for things to change. This is what I want you to take away from my speech today, because as I stand on this podium looking out at you, young men of 2025, I understand that you not even care about what I’m about to say. Because frankly, if our care was even as big as a mustard seed, I wouldn’t have to fight the increasing pandemic of violence against women. In a world where the first few questions that arise after hearing about a woman being mistreated by a man includes concerns like “What was she wearing?” or “What did she say to make him so mad” or even “Why was she with him anyway?”, we need to really need to be asking ourselves “Why is this happening and how can I be engaged in ensuring this never happens again?”
Globally, statistics reveal that 1 in 3 women will experience violence in their lifetime. That means approximately 33% of women have had to tolerate a man’s lack of self-control. 33% have been the victim of physical harm due to a man. 33% and possibly more are living a life where every second is a risk of violence. That’s far too much and until this number becomes 0%, our fight will not end. It's time we, both women and men, protest against the entrenched acceptance of violence, not with whispers of disapproval but with loud, disruptive demands for transformation.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Let the sun illuminate the words that…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Sitting on the edge of the old wooden pier, I let my feet dangle above the shimmering water, letting the gentle…
Sitting on the edge of the old wooden pier, I let my feet dangle above the shimmering water, letting the gentle waves kiss my toes. The sun sets in a spectacular show, blending all shades of orange, pink, and violet—a canvas so vivid, it feels as if the universe itself is celebrating my journey. It’s moments like this that remind me how far I've come.
I often think back to my first day at school, how I felt like a misplaced puzzle piece, desperately trying to fit in. I didn’t just want to blend in; I wanted to belong. My heart ached with loneliness as I listened to my classmates’ laughter, their words slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. But instead of retreating into the shadows, I found my voice through art. It became my refuge, my way of communicating what words could not express. Each stroke of my brush was a step toward reclaiming my identity.
The day of the mural was a turning point. I remember the laughter and the way my classmates gathered around, hesitant at first, but soon enveloped in the joy of creation. We were no longer strangers but comrades in this vibrant tapestry of life. It was in that moment of collaboration that I learned the power of connection. The mural we created wasn’t just mine; it was a testament to the beauty of our individual stories merging into one.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: personal jounrey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: The silence after the joy Happiness: The sun glistened brightly, turning the sky into a vibrant blue mixed…
The silence after the joy
Happiness:
The sun glistened brightly, turning the sky into a vibrant blue mixed with golden specs that stretched endlessly, and the warmth had turned young nine-year-old Aliza’s dark brown hair into a caramel brown. Laughter echoed in the air as she ran around her backyard having a water balloon fight with her cousins and her face glowed with a toothy smile as a balloon smacked her arm and drenched her in cold water. She only got to see her cousins twice a year so she soaked up all the joy she got from seeing them and dwelled on the happiness she felt. Her happiness was cut short by a sharp stabbing pain in her lower right stomach. A pain so sudden and intense that she doubled over, gasping for air as she clutched her right side with wobbling knees. Her vision became blurry and something as simple as breathing became hard for her. “Was I dying?”. The thought had flickered through her mind, quiet and terrifying but within moments the pain faded, not completely, but just enough for her to come back to her senses. The laughter of her cousins reached her ears again, like a lifeline pulling her back to reality . Then she remembered that she only had three more hours with them, so she shrugged the pain off and ran back, determined not to miss out on any of the fun. In that moment, joy mattered more than pain.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: For this task you will be required to…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: This occurs at the end of Act 3 Scene 3. The murderers walk away, Banquo is left bleeding on the ground in a…
This occurs at the end of Act 3 Scene 3.
The murderers walk away, Banquo is left bleeding on the ground in a ditch.
BANQUO: Alas great Misfortune!
My faith has now been crowned,
Not with laurel but with a dagger’s kiss.
The wine of friendship soured to vinegar,
A brother’s hand turned traitor in the dark.
We once rode as equals, shared the victor’s cup,
Then a noble partner, cloaked in valour,
Now, allegiance is repaid in bloodshed.
Yet here I stand; shadows steeped in betrayal,
A serpent masked in robes of majesty,
The sceptre but sharpened murderer’s steel.
My blood runs cold, but colder runs his heart,
To strike me down for nothing but ambition.
He thought to sever my thread with a bloody blade,
But Fortune’s loom binds tighter than mortal hands can undo.
(becomes angrier and more desperate)
Cursed thoughts torment my restless slumber,
Emerging since the imbalance of nature,
The owl shrieks and unnatural groans rent the air,
The fatal
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Reist and persist; crafting text…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: The stage is set. A man, whose face is covered by an ocean of blood, is brought to a platform where the horizon…
The stage is set. A man, whose face is covered by an ocean of blood, is brought to a platform where the horizon encompasses a sea of students. Red banners dominate the stage, with the face of Mao Zedong overlooking the horror that is to follow.
Mother may be close, but no one is closer than the chairman.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: personal journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: Beginning The train rocked toward the airport, fields of rice bending beneath the autumn wind, each stalk…
Beginning
The train rocked toward the airport, fields of rice bending beneath the autumn wind, each stalk bowing in farewell. The faint clatter of wheels echoed through the carriage. My father sat beside me, silent but steady. His silence was not avoidance but discipline—the kind I had watched all my life in the store, where his hands folded paper, measured cloth, aligned every item with deliberate care. Strength, he showed me, was not loud. It was in consistency: in the calluses carved into his palms, in the quiet way he bore disappointment without complaint.
At the platform, he finally spoke. “Aiko, shikkari shinasai.” Be strong. He adjusted my collar, smoothed an invisible crease from my sleeve. No embrace. None was needed. His gaze, brief but unwavering, said what words could not: that he trusted me, even if tradition did not. I carried that look as surely as the passport in my hand.
Flight
The cabin hummed like a long prayer, a low vibration in the bones. Outside the window, night fractured into scattered stars, unfamiliar constellations that belonged to no ancestor of mine. I sat pressed between a businessman who muttered in his sleep and a young mother cradling her child, her whispers like lullabies I could not understand.
When the stewardess asked, “Chicken or beef?” my throat tightened. I pointed without speaking, afraid my English would fall clumsy, betray me.
She hesitated, then smiled. “First time?”
I nodded. “Yes.” The single word wavered in the air.
“Then let it be the first of many,” she said, her voice low, almost conspiratorial, before slipping the tray in front of me.
Above the Pacific, I thought of my father. Every evening, his shoes at the genkan perfectly aligned, as though order itself could defend us from uncertainty. He had never said he wanted to leave Japan, but sometimes I wondered. Did he see in my journey the life he could not take? Did he envy it, or fear it?
My aunt’s words stung still: onna no kuse ni. For a woman? What kind of daughter leaves? But my father had not said that. He had straightened my sleeve. That was enough.
I leaned my head against the cold window and whispered into the drone of the engines: I will not disappear.
Belong
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: nothing strengthens authority as much…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Travis Yoong, Herald Sun, 7 May 2025 8 years ago, Colin Kaepernick began protesting against racial…
Travis Yoong, Herald Sun, 7 May 2025
8 years ago, Colin Kaepernick began protesting against racial discrimination and police brutality against black people by kneeling during the national anthem before NFL games. And with that one knee, he stood taller than ever before, embodying resistance against conformity.
The athletes' act of objection started a powerful global conversation about racial oppression and resistance, starting a chain effect in sports players who began to kneel during the national anthem across different sports.
Colin Kaepernick's knee said what mouths were afraid to say in society. It said, 'A badge is not a license to kill'. It spoke for the names of those victims, the ones who never got to speak for themselves, the ones whose skin were seen as a threat.
It was September 1 2016 when the 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick, decided to protest against the national anthem before a preseason game in the NFL. Standing shoulder to shoulder with his teammates, the athlete suddenly decided to kneel during the national anthem in objection of racial injustice. Teammates, coaches and the crowd watched in stunned silence as Colin made his protest. While some saw the quiet but powerful protest as disrespectful and unpatriotic, some of his teammates viewed it as a peaceful protest that spoke further than sports.
After the game, Colin Kaepernick addressed to social media arguing, 'I'm not going to stand up for a country who racially discriminates people of colour'. It seemed that the former NFL player had pushed the matter beyond the playing field, challenging the silence that so strengthens authority and advocating for justice from the public and ones watching on television.
From sidelines to headlines
Following the incident, Colin Kaepernick sparked intense controversy amongst fans, politicians and athletes, some praising him for his courageous act against racism, while some criticizing him for what they thought as a disrespectful act towards the country.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework 2: Writing about protest •…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: Right to Rebel Rebellion and dissent are fundamental attributes of a democracy, acting as a sharp antidote to…
Right to Rebel
Rebellion and dissent are fundamental attributes of a democracy, acting as a sharp antidote to oppression and power imbalances. Think of the most important and influential moments in history such as The civil rights movement, the vietnam war protests, and even as far back as the french revolution. All of these are moments of rebellion. Rebellion is a democratic right which holds powerful figures account able, providing a meaningful voice for citizens. In my younger years, like many others, rebellion and protest was merely an annoyance. I could never understand the passion and desperation that is involved in these movements. However, the sacred moral obligation that protest once was is now under attack, as more and more rallies and marches are being hijacked by the most extreme groups on either side of the political spectrum. It is imperitive that those of you who want to see change in this world remember what made the great campaigns of the past so effective so that our generation continues the legacy of those before us.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Turning points
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: The truck groaned as it jolted through the mountain paths. Each jolt made my nerves shiver. The darkness…
The truck groaned as it jolted through the mountain paths. Each jolt made my nerves shiver. The darkness surrounded us unable to see anything but the moon's dim light. My mum held onto me trembling despite the warmth of my tiny body against hers. I was just seven years old too young to understand the fear in her eyes or the weight of the weary journey ahead of us. My siblings held together their faces hidden under scarves. We were leaving everything our home, our memories, our family. It began with my father’s whisper: “We can’t stay”. That impossible decision. That was the moment our journey began. The moment we were no longer willing to live in a place with no bread in shops, no power in homes and a place where even silence could get you killed.
With the help of my Uncle Reza, a truck driver who knew the hidden roads, we escaped under the cover of night. Cramped in the back of an open utility truck ten silent men surrounded us, surrounded us, strangers all gloomy. The journey to Pakistan stretched on for five brutal days. The wind slapped my face as we sped through dusty roads. The sun burned my head during the day, and the cold numbed our bones during the night. We could not speak, we could not cry, we could not even move. It was a rule that was not spoken of but just known for our survival. The warlords who patrolled the roads would not hesitate to shoot if they discovered us. The only sounds were the wind howling through the mountains, the distant echoes of gunfire, and my tiny stomach growling from hunger. At night the truck's headlights went off to not draw attention or we would get shot without question. The driver navigating only by the dim glow of the moon. I wanted to sleep but I could sense the fear around me, hearts trembling every time we stopped. Where we rested, we were given nothing more than a piece of bread, and a sip of tea. My mother, still weak from giving birth, held onto her prayers with what little strength she had left. My elder sister whispered eleven prayers into her burka.
By the grace of God, we made it. Five days and give nights of fear, and exhaustion ended when we reached Peshawar in Pakistan. My father, who had escaped before us, had spent every moment praying for our safe arrival. When he saw he stumbled backwards like he was struck by lightning. He stared in disbelief at our dust covered clothes, our eyes red with exhaustion as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His mouth opened wide trembling, but no sound came out until he couldn’t handle it anymore. He collapsed onto his knees, tears dripping down his eyes, and wept just grateful we were alive. My parents held onto each other and wept by the kindness of my father's friend who