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A curated compilation of creative works from Avila College students

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Published by Avila College, 2019-12-12 18:13:22

Curious Minds Avila Anthology 2019

A curated compilation of creative works from Avila College students


CuTHE rious Minds

2019 Avila College
Student Anthology

Art Martha Sarumpaet | Year 11
Cover Art Christie Panagiotakopoulos | Year 7

The Curious Minds Project | Avila Anthology 2019
Celebrating the collaborative creativity of
Avila College students in 2019.
Avila College | 35 Charles Street, Mt Waverley 3149
T 03 9831 9600 W


Thousands of stories, essays, novels, articles and so many other
pieces of writing, I wonder… what drives us to write?

Written in an array of styles, in a myriad of languages from many, many different
places, we are connected by this desire to share our stories and participate in
the joyous freedom writing offers.

The idea of voicing our opinions, or taking our readers to an imaginary land far
from the real world, ignites a sense of magic that cannot be found elsewhere;
knowing that the letters on a page can mean so much. Using writing as a
creative form of self-expression, we see our thoughts more clearly and create a
space where we can share our experiences, examine our mistakes and give vent
to our woes.

Celebrated children’s author, Roald Dahl, once wrote: “A person is a fool to
become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master
except his own soul, and that, I am sure, is why he does it.”

The challenges of writer’s block and the inevitable frustrations of this creative
pursuit evaporate in the delight that we gain from giving voice to our stories.
Our ideas bring a freedom as we adventure into the unknown.

Writing provides a light in the darkness, and connects us to each other, as
students, as a community, and as humans.

Emma White | Year 8
The Quill and Ink Writers Guild



Creative Response to Cat’s Eye by Margaret Atwood

Words Shannagh Leydon | Year 11 Other times, when the water bubbles up and over the
sides, scalding hot and left unattended, the tea is left
Art Harriet Ransom | Year 7 bitter with a taste resembling that of grit and dirt.

Ihad never kept much from my childhood; a few It is a taste to which I have become accustomed.
loose items here and there, and really only one Dominating my mornings, days and nights, I’ve
thing of real value. A dainty little teapot, made known it since childhood, since my life became just
of a fine china durable enough for delicate use, yet as dark as the black tea I brewed every day for
would certainly break if you put it down the wrong years. Staring into the abyss in which I see no end.
way. Along the rim were roses, seemingly dancing
across the surface; blush pink petals, thorns and The teapot was always a dominating presence in our
all. For imagine the roses strangling me, encasing home. When we weren’t using it, it sat up on the
every inch of me and the thorns piercing into my top shelf next to the plates. There were three piles
skin pricking me like a cold, metal needle. of them, much more boring than the teapot which
commanded attention from all those in the room,
Its very presence is suffocating now, a grim reminder yet they were essential and necessary. After all, you
of a time which is difficult to remember, for reasons can’t really eat dinner off a teapot.
neither here nor there. Though at other times, I’m
brought back into a dimension and a landscape From its position, perched on the top shelf with a
in which I feel safe, comforted, warmth coursing similar demeanor to that of a proud eagle, it had a
through my blood, similar to the warmth spilling grand view of the house. It witnessed everything.
out of the teapot itself. I always imagined that it was judging us, our
every word, breath. It was worth more than us, so I
My father had received the teapot as a gift from a suppose it had the right to do so.
colleague. He placed it on the sideboard where it sat
boldly amongst the ‘good china’, nudging the dainty It has a similar position in my current home. Even
teacups and milk jug aside. now, as the colours fade and the fine details of the
roses slowly blur into each other, I find its presence
We had never been a tea family; yet my mother looming, God-like, over my shoulder, whispering
drank it on occasion during her downtime. Although gentle affirmations but with a tone laced with
I had never seen my father drink tea before, after hatred and pity. Around it, I feel as though I am
we received it, we had become a tea family. Even simultaneously being cradled by my mother, and
Stephen drank it every morning. However his having a hand torturously remove my lungs because
method was strange. He would wait for it to cool, I am breathing the wrong way.
then down it all at once, and with a cheeky grin,
which curled his lips over his teeth, he explained It is a sad summary of my life; a tragedy written
that it was nourishing his brain better this way. He by me, starring me, with a concoction of bittersweet
was twelve then. emotions concurrent in one innocent, little teapot.

It is the memories like those where I vividly
remember the sweetness of the tea; the sweet citrus,
comforting aroma, pleasantly engulfing me.




Words and Art Kinuli Ranaweera Aratchchige Don | Year 9

Life is like the sand on the beach, it’s rough and smooth.
Life is like a roller coaster, it has its ups and downs.
Life is something we can’t underestimate;
It can be given, but it can be taken.
Life is a game, it just depends on how we play it.

Life can be a curse and life can be a blessing.
Life can take our loved ones but life can give us our loved ones.
Life can give pain and life can give us agony
Yet life is full of love and full of warmth.

In the end life is like waves, with ups and downs.
Life has its love and it has its hate.
Life can strike you with complications and difficulties.
Yet life is given for you to embrace and live.

Life is created to give you a purpose.
Life is created to allow you to take challenges and conquer them.
Life is created for you to experience the highs and lows.
Life is given to take on the unexpected, the hardships.

Life is a journey.
An evolving journey.
There are positives and negatives.
It teaches us to move forward and fulfil our dreams.

Life is there for us to choose.
Life is created for us to make our own journey.
Whichever way we want, we travel.
Yet the path we choose leads us to our destiny.

Don’t wait for tomorrow, take on what’s present.
Take on what life has given to you.
Because if tomorrow never comes,
You’ll never resent a day given.



Words Eleanor McCann | Year 7
Art Hannah Martino | Year 11

They say we have rights and they say we have a choice, but look at us.
There are two hundred and twenty seven seats in the Australian parliament
and of those only eighty three are women. Less than half.
If they are working for equality, then we would be equals.
Not like the dust swept under the carpet and simply ignored
until you lift that rug and find it there.

They say we have rights and they say we have a choice, but look at us.
Constantly treated like dirt. If you treat us like dirt, we’ll just plant a seed.
A seed that will grow and thrive and reach up to the sun.
A seed that will grow too quickly for you to come and trample us.
A seed that will grow into a great tree, with big soaring branches for us to sit on and live
in a world of equality where everyone will be treated like royalty. We all deserve that sentiment.

We are all equals.
And though we do not show it quite yet,
we are rising up.
Rising up to show that we are strong.
To show that though we may have been treated like dirt once before,
we have already thrown in that seed and that seed has grown,
grown too quickly for you to trample us down, down into the earth.

We have been treated like dirt,
we have been treated like dust.

They say we have rights
and they say we have a choice.
Yes we do!




of this Salty World

Words Martina Go | Year 10
Art Isabella Tighello | Year 11

Dear World, It’s the 6th of July 2050, and I am Prior to mankind’s terrible actions, we were the
currently the last of my species alive. Years guardians of this salty world.
ago, we were so abundant; creatures of a
myriad of different colours, shapes and sizes. We protected the shore from erosion, the seaside houses
from falling down and collapsing.
Together, we were luminous and as full of energy as
the land above. Now, I am alone in a graveyard, my We made it easier for the creatures above to seek food
brothers and sisters lying with me, on the ocean floor. such as fish. Lastly, we have always been here, ready to
help cure many of human’s most threatening medical
It is so still, so quiet here now. problems, including arthritis, viruses and cancer.

Yesterday, I witnessed a turtle choke on what he had But now, my kind has turned white. The humans
thought was a jellyfish. Alas, it was another plastic bag called this coral bleaching. Because of this said coral
from the heinous creatures above the surface. bleaching we were dying, we couldn’t provide the
food our biome needed leading to others slowly dying.
You would think I would be scarred by the trauma, but Tourism rates have gone down too, meaning that the
no, I see it happen so frequently, it doesn’t affect me humans are losing money.
anymore. I am trying so hard to provide the oxygen my
biome needs, but I am afraid it may be too late. Bleaching has made us vulnerable to threats, and as
a result, I am the last one of my kind standing in full
Tomorrow, like my community, I too, will fall, and I colour.
am so afraid that my neighbours who share this ocean
will suffer terribly. For years, the fish and waters around me have relied
on me to provide all that they need. Food. Protection.
So many days I have seen humans down here, and Fundamental to all living creatures, but after today I
frankly, they tried to save my kind using many ideas will… no more.
and techniques, but unfortunately, they couldn’t
keep up with the ever-changing heat that the earth is My time is up here on earth. The earth is getting
producing. warmer and the oceans more acidic.

Eventually, they gave up and abandoned my kind to I am getting weaker; I can feel my death coming closer.
rot. They gave up on our survival. I am prepared, but I’m scared for the future of this
earth. My kind were once the guardians of the sea and
Even before we were at risk of extinction, people swam coasts. Without us, who knows what else will vanish.
among us to admire our beauty. We were the rainbow
under the surface, the fairytale in real life. I am the last of my kind.

Now, we are pale and dying. But no, we aren’t dying,
for we are already dead, lying on the ocean surface.


Words Charlotte Boylan | Year 12
Art Angelique Dayandas | Year 10


Creative Response to Hitchcock’s Rear Window

The city is alive with its own special kind of Drip. Drip. Drip. Wipe.
music. The heavy, trampling footsteps of
businessmen and shoppers thrum like a bass My creator is a brave woman, really, to be out here in
drum in my chest. The throaty growls of those shiny this searing heat. Sweat moves in rivulets over her
motor-vehicles grumbling and jolting their way down rosy, round cheeks, and her forehead is marred by
the busy streets, hum in the background. Horns blaring a streak of my clay where she has wiped it away. I
sharply, children screaming, worn-out mothers and wonder what it must be like to dab dry a dripping
nannies yelling and hissing, doors slamming, pigeons forehead, and to scratch the itch it leaves. I itch where
cooing, bells trilling. A never-ending, fast-paced, my stomach should be, yet I cannot scratch in any way
unpleasant cacophony of blended babble, yet beautiful that will satisfy.
in its discordance.
My creator has made me this way, and all I can do is
This is the life and soul of my city. keep seeking, keep hungering, thirsting, hunting for
something to feed that ache. I know I am not alone in
In my courtyard, however, the sand in the hourglass this strange hunger, I watch my creator fight with it
trickles thickly, like honey. A blanket of heat settles every day, and I see it in the eyes of each person that
suffocatingly over the roofs of the apartment blocks belongs to my courtyard.
and over the minds of each person within, pervading
the privacy of every home as far as I can see. It steams Middle-aged, married to a man permanently away
from the concrete courtyard and blisters on the skin of “on-business”, no children. Alone. Bored. Longing.
laughing, romping children out to play. One might think she is happy, she chats jauntily to
neighbours, sun-bakes with a sleepy smile, and sculpts
I watch people drooping and melting as they shuffle with a dedicated fervour which is otherwise only
slowly past their windows, imprisoned indoors reserved for eating, but I am the only one who really
and bored, as they attempt to keep up with their watches.
monotonous daily tasks. In shade, it suffocates, thick
in your throat, and weighs down your lungs with its I see the lonely nights that bring fear for the future and
weight. So hot, it muffles the continuing music of the dissatisfaction, the intense boredom that bubbles under
metropolis. It is almost as if the heat, too, is trapped the surface and turns minds black with toxic thought in
here in our little concrete courtyard. their unfeeling, desperate search for entertainment in
any form. I understand it all, I am hungry for it too.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Wipe.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Wipe.
My creator moulds me slowly, curve by curve, her
dripping forehead bending over my own headless body. A shatter rings out over the apartment complex, a
Beyond her shoulder the courtyard stretches before me. piercing shriek cutting sharply through the thickness
Box-like buildings, whose inhabitants move slowly in of the air. Was that glass? A cry of pain? Where did it
and out of my view, mark the claustrophobic confines come from?
of each person’s own little private world. The screens
through which I view them are limited, but they offer The courtyard is alive with murmurings, a face appears
me the entertainment I crave. What might I see next at every screen. Above me, I hear the cruel whispers.
through Screen Number 4? And exactly when shall “It’s her again! That crazy Mrs Oldfield! I bet she’s
Mrs Number 5 realise her little dog will never return? finally doing that poor son of hers in once and for all!”
Another raises their voice to cry, “No, no! It’s that
The hole in my stomach leaves me hungry, and I feast salesman in the lot over the way, he’s done something,
ravenously on what nutrition I can find through these I’d swear it! I saw him on the street late last
screens, through the forbidden intimacies my watching night looking shady. Men out that late can only be up
reveals. to no good.”


And my own creator mutters eagerly
under her breath about that “darned
songwriter, up all hours of the night
crying into his whisky, I bet he’s finally
gone ‘round the bend!”. They are excited,
hopeful that something deliciously terrible
has happened that will break through
the thick, hot blanket of boredom that
suffocates them.

Their feverish voices raise in pitch until,
from that sweet little apartment a little
ways from I, a bedraggled head emerges
from between two hanging plants. “Will
you all shut up! I dropped my damn
pot, alright! Get off with you!” As her
head retreats out of my sight, I hear her
mutter, “…as if they wish there’d been
a murder or somethin’, not like anyone
wants to be callin’ the cops!”

Just as quickly as it had filled, the
courtyard is empty. Every screen once
again blank, their sheepish prisoners,
with blinds of boredom drawn once again
over their faces, return to their own
drudging lives.

A cool breeze swirls pleasantly through
the square, and brushes easily inside the
open windows, refreshing and tingling
each dripping face it touches.

These people, they sweat, and they
wipe it. They itch, and find any way to
scratch it. My clay is moulded from this
community. Their hunter is my own.
I understand their desperate longing
for something, anything, to fill the voids
in their stomachs, and to scratch the
relentless itch of boredom upon their

From behind the flowers and creeper
plants of Number 7, the blinds snap shut.

Isolation is a very dangerous thing.


The When I reached the laboratory door, I scanned my
Experiment card and opened the heavy door to reveal many
scientists in white coats, standing at a safe distance
Words Emma White | Year 8 behind glass walls at the far end of the room.
Art Anthea Sinnappu | Year 10 Patiently standing in the middle of the room, I was
the focus of today. After years of research, pursuing
Heads turned, and conversations were silenced, my life long passion, I was a willing candidate for
as I moved through the room. I wove my this experiment into the unknown.
way through a cluster of people whispering,
some nodding in acknowledgment of me, some even Many doctors hurried over to me, waiting for me to
congratulating me. I was unsure what to expect today prepare. I felt like a rat in a cage awaiting my fate.
so I was keeping an open mind. Then through the crowd, I was comforted to see a
familiar face: Doctor Cordon, a tall man with wispy,
white hair and crescent-shaped spectacles strolled
over to me.

“Ah, good to see you, we are a bit behind schedule
but we shall begin soon.” He threw me a smile as he
looked down at his clipboard, scanning numbers and
making hurried notes with his pen.


I smiled and calmly nodded, despite the creeping Regaining consciousness, I gasped for air and
dread now slowly leaking into the back of my mind. crawled on my hands and knees towards the
The nurses and assisting doctors performed many sliding door. I opened it, letting the fresh air fill my
tests on me over the next five minutes; I felt like a lungs like icy water.
confused child in a room full of grown-ups, looking
down at me. They took some of my blood, they As my breathing calmed, I looked up and saw
looked at my eyes, my ears, and injected me with an empty science laboratory, which was a little
a plethora of fluids, preventatives for the unknown surprising given that just a moment ago it was
that lay ahead... humming with the focused energy of busy scientists
and technicians.
Now, they could no longer hold off the experiment.
I stumbled down the corridor, trying to ignore
Shaking like a leaf, I stepped up to the time the crushing pain in my skull. I reached the exit,
machine that had dominated my thoughts for so slowly walking up the staircase and carefully
many years. Obediently I followed the instructions opened the hatch of the bunker expecting to see
given to me; eagerly aware of the bulky time city streets as per usual, but instead I was shocked
machine looming nearby. I peered over to it to see nothing but emptiness.
intrigued by the long, heavy-duty, metal tube that
had a sliding door attached and a small window. Piles of rubble where the buildings once stood.
Wires haphazardly appeared out of all ends, Upturned cars littered the roads. No people, no
connecting to computer screens on every wall of animals, not even a breath of wind. I stood frozen
the room determining my progress or perhaps, in place, scanning the empty horizon, and smoke-
preparing for my demise. thick sky. Surely I was dreaming?

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Doctor I stood, bewildered in the open, staring at the
Cordon, as the experiment’s leader, instructed sky, which was a vile shade of brown resembling
me to step into the tube before forcefully shutting mud. But what could have happened? A bomb? A
behind me. meteor? It looked like a giant had taken one look at
Earth and stepped on it.
“Can you hear me?” he asked loudly. I gave him a
thumbs-up through the small window; I was afraid I was completely alone. Almost like humanity had
and excited, my body fuelled by adrenalin. abandoned me completely, as I stood shivering in
the exposed area I only minutes ago knew as the
“Okay, good,” he said and nodded to someone I main road to my home.
couldn’t see past the small window.
Suddenly, my wrist buzzed. My time in this
“Remember, you will be sent some time into the apocalyptic world was up and so I sprinted down
future, within the next month. We don’t have an the corridor, jumping four steps at a time. I
exact time or date. But you will walk around for skidded into the lab just in time, the machine door
five minutes, then get back in the machine when just beginning to close.
your time-watch alarm starts buzzing.” He held up
a hand to reference the time-watch of his own, and As I stood in the machine, catching my breath and
I heard the machine start to fire up. “And we will preparing myself for the horrible return journey,
bring you back to the present.” from the corner of my eye I spied Doctor Cordon’s
neon blue, analogue clock on the wall.
I nodded at him but I must have looked
apprehensive because he threw me one last, The room spun, my world seemed to quake, yet I
somewhat reassuring smile before walking out of could still clearly see the hour hand on the clock,
view again, leaving me alone in the machine. turn back just one hour before pausing when
suddenly the machine spat me out, back into the
Almost instantly, the floor and machine began to lab where now, utter chaos reigned.
vibrate, and then shake, getting worse and worse.
My ears started to ring, and the whole room started Sirens wailed as the scientists desperately flew
to shake through the tiny window. A loud rumbling around the room.
noise was bouncing around my skull and I started to
feel woozy. I was spinning around and around when I stood paralysed, unable to decide what action to
suddenly the noises halted as an indescribable pain take. Should I help them, or warn them, or even try
shot through me from the tips of my toes to the roots to figure out what was happening?
of my hair, and I fell to the floor.
I have less than one hour to figure out how to save
the world.



Words Himansa De Silva | Year 7
Art Charlotte Kuek | Year 11

Flowering on the bare branches of the trees
The sakura flowers flitter in the air,
The saccharine fragrance wafts in the breeze
Delicate pink snowflakes drifting everywhere.
Look above, up in the never-ending sky,
The sun shines down, through dark branches and green leaves.
Their pearls float down, a pleasure to the eye
Bringing ease to everyone who grieves.
The wind sings through the leaves its heavenly song,
While fragile pink flowers dance way up high.
Natural beauty helping to right any wrong;
Like an airy dream, a gentle lullaby.
Sweet cherry blossoms, laughing all around.
Sweet cheery blossoms, sinking to the ground.





Words Amy Dickson | Year 7
Art Faith Chung | Year 10

Cities of vibrant luminosity are submerged
beneath the caliginous, dying world.

Its sorrowful whimpering rings relentlessly.
Below, kingdoms of vivid euphoria lay undisturbed.

The savage world from above surges under.
Shattering the separation into fragments.

As war tears at life,
scraping its unforgiving claws down.

Chaotic screams are silenced.
The kingdom’s livid complexion fades.

Why is time up so suddenly?
It’s like the timer of life was shattered!

Because greed eats at the edges of the soul.
Escapes are sealed with chemicals and terror.

Desperation, dread and denial demolished all.
The innocence and naivety of beauty evaporated.

Now, where life had painted the epitome of joy.
Where happiness rang through the air softly...

It is blank.


Between Two Worlds

Words Valerie Sova | Year 10 Art Alexia Rubino | Year 12

Doomed - my memory remembers the The Crow Eaters’ land promised me money.
doom that engulfed my life. Hurling Penurious I am now, as I was in my abode.
consequences at me for my tasteful A displaced person, pushed away by the
decisions and burning desire for a better country. aftermath of war.
Like the v-weapons that launched cannonballs
at our unstable structures whose weak walls I will never return home.
collapsed in an instant. Now to be greeting doom
like an old friend - who brings with him a short, The land that belonged to magnificent spring and
destitute life as a gift for my hospitality. evil winter, who rivals bright summer. After my
people were slaughtered and my house left in
Many of the Crow Eaters, who are masters at the pieces, I no longer crave the sweet air of Poland.
mother tongue swim in glorious seas packed with The hubristic humans that inhabit Australia,
cruel gold, while others, beggarly beings are left prove to me that my decisions are a failure.
to drown in mud. I should have stayed and rebuilt the greatest
country, where the once impregnable borders
Penniless forever, that’s what I have become. were left perpetually rotting.
A necessitous fool stuck in a thriving country
with nothing, nobody and nowhere to go. The marvellous sea was kind on my sail here.
Trapped like a baby elk whose sight of the She carried the burly, determined ship with ease.
horizons was blocked by a merciless dire wolf, Blue water foaming beneath the bow as we
slowly eaten alive. A fool who thought that the neared port in the land down under, where waves
land of kangaroos would give a foreign man a crash into the proud towering cliff faces and the
great new start. The Nazi Germans were right, pale, pristine sand washes up on the shore.
An untermenschen I was and will always be.
If not left to rot in my shattered city, I will rot Gum trees, grand like the tall city buildings of
in the Crow Eaters land - where the people are Poland’s past. The burning, bright sun shining
wonders. on our arrival. But I’d voyage again, to return to
my country. I would deal with the stench of vomit
The nefarious beauty of land lingers in my mind. and odour. The crowding of people that annoyed
Poland. Your green leaves and your scented me so, to return to my country once more. Where
flowers, your stark stone statues and brilliant the leaves are green and scented flowers purple.
buildings; the land of the kangaroos has nothing Where dawn caresses the hilltops with her golden
to compare to you. fingers, the spring is warm and the evil winter,
Your dawn with golden fingers and dusk with a
cape of darkness, you have it all; warm spring The most glorious country, now destroyed.
and gelid winter. Now I’m doomed to only know a
perennial, mild climate. This world is so strange I am forever trapped in a new world of madness,
to me - that I miss you even more so. Yet evil where the manipulative Crow-Eaters are
flooded you, like a tempered tsunami surging arrogant and rich. Fate has made me destitute.
across the land. The Luftwaffe coming from the
sky and the violent Russians, whose commanders Now I’m doomed, eternally struggling,
could marshal armies of millions from the east. dreaming of my past beautiful home.

You endured it all but your beauty disappeared Perhaps this new land will bring me fortune
in the bombshells, like a silver coated spoon that one day. Perchance I will come to peace once
drowns in a fragrant bowl of Polish borscht. more, but I will always miss my beautiful home





Words Gianna Skafidas | Year 11
Art Krystal Molaeb | Year 8

Through the shadows of the stairs - whispers Cramming years of ideas into the dying days of
and soft muffled sounds emerge as the their formal education they dissolve into the booths,
library opens its doors to all who await to huddled over piles of notes reminding us of the true
set foot into the curated space. Books bursting grit, dedication and commitment that lies ahead.
with stories of afar line the shelves patiently
waiting for excited hands to grasp. Our welcoming, valuable librarians are able to
collaborate with teachers and compile resources;
Rain or shine, you’ll always find the busy and whether it be books or websites, on different topics
lively atmosphere welcoming at the Avila Library. to give us the best opportunities at expanding our
At first glimpse, a library may seem to be just a knowledge.
home for a bookworm, yet at Avila, there’s more to
offer than just that. Referencing websites and books, our memories
date back to collections pertaining to Year Seven
For many, books are a gateway to the imagination History through to Year Eleven Religion. Every
yet the Avila library offers so much more. It is book and every encyclopaedia has strengthened
here delighted folk can stretch their imagination, our capabilities and love of learning.
sinking into comfortable reading couches as they
become carried away with far away tales of love, Works of art groan on the walls - reflecting the
adventure and despair. artistic talents nurtured with the assistance of
ideas and inspiration found in books.
The space allows conversations to flow. Tables
adorned with interactive activities, jigsaws, games Book Club members natter and laugh sharing
and puzzles tease those who dare to be challenged perspectives on books lovingly devoured. Quill and
or those brave enough to take on the infamous Ink bounce ideas - create stories and write within
Four Square team. Each and every individual is the space. IT monitor and answer our queries;
able to find their niche within this library. supporting our technology with their calm no
nonsense approach.
For others, the resource centre seminar rooms are
peaceful places to learn and focus. As the buzz The Avila Library contributes to our culture at
crescendos, senior students seek solace in the Avila and one thing that will always be cemented
study areas. into the brains of students is the safety, energy
and sheer joy our Bibliotheca shrouds us in.


Talons in
the Foam

Reflections on The Great Wave
off Kanagawa

Words Lana Holmfield | Year 7
Art Hokusai c. 1829 –1833

On a hazy sea meeting a crusty sky
The cold water heaves and starts to seep.
It curls dark and slick, so high
Above us, looming from the deep.
At the tip, where white blooms from blue
The foam reaches out with splashing claws.
It shadows its own luminous hue -
The sea seeks to swallow us in its jaws.
We crouch down low and our hope is bold
Yet the sea that’s come for us is very cold.

Hazy mist of spray,
Looming wall of dark water.
Talons in the foam.




Words Oviya Ponkathirvarathan | Year 9
Art Chiara Cappiello | Year 10

Istand in the cold, blistering setting outside my I sit cross-legged on my bed with a bowl of cereal
dorm. Winter in Canada really is an experience in between my legs and a book wide opened to the
of metanoia. I breathe in as I invite the first middle page in front of me. The book cover was
snowflakes to fall softly on top of my nose. After crimson red with an enchanting stylised title in the
lingering a few moments, I walk back inside with the colour of silver, its Christmas vibe still tangible,
keychain that I bought from the airport, dangling at any time of year. The book is called Come What
out of my jacket pocket. May. There is something about the title that sends
a chill down my spine and almost frightened to open
I promised my father that I would come and visit it’s pages. However, I have read the book about five
him for Christmas. He lives in Montreal with his times a year since I first received it at the age of
new family, and after the divorce, I feel that I fifteen from my therapist, who is also the author of
wasn’t much in touch with him. For the remaining the book.
year, I would try to muster the broken pieces which
originally made us family. The problem is, my Suddenly, I feel the urge to call my little brother
university is in Toronto. from home. I miss his indistinguishable mood swings
and the sound of him unknowingly whistling whilst
Quickly I make a mental note to buy him a present, he is concentrating on something. When he answers
even though I know that in reality just my presence the phone, I hear some shouting in the background.
would elate him and help escape the spell of his
loneliness. I remember a time when he painfully “Hello?” he answers.
told me that his heart is decaying, which I know is
more in terms of emotional, but now as I grow older, “Hey, Lil bro! What’s up?” I say a lot more cheerfully
I understand. than him.

It’s midnight. It has been two weeks since I last “We are at our Uncle’s birthday party. Nothing
visited Australia to see my brother and mother and much,” he responds nonchalantly. I smile at his
I am still enduring jet-lag. bluntness.


“Geez Aiden, can’t tell because you are not giving
out the party vibe! Anyways, It’s only a couple of
days till December and I am seeing Dad in a couple
of days. Just thought I should let you know.”

“Uh-huh,” This time, I frown. Ever since I moved to
Canada during their winter, our phone conversations
have always been like this.

“Anything wrong?‘ I ask, shifting on my bed, with
the cereal bowl still in between my legs.

“No, everything is fine. This is just a really bad time,
can I call you afterwards?”

Even though I know he wouldn’t, because I am
usually the one trying to reach out, I reply okay
and hang up, dissatisfied. I can’t really explain the
feeling, because I like my own space, but I get that
strong urge to do something and surround myself
with the presence of people.

Even though it is snowing outside, and the paths are
extremely steep and slippery, I tie on my running
shoes and burst out the door like nothing is going to
stop me, and dash to a place of nowhere as if I am
being chased.

I don’t know how long I have been doing this, but
I feel that everything that happened before this
moment is faded into the deepest corner of my
memory. Some memories, being those that I would
do anything to trade away like a used Christmas

When I actually start feeling the cramps around my
stomach (which probably only happened because
I actually pay attention), I take a break and pant
heavily, my hand resting on a low wooden bench.
When I finally get myself together, I decide that I
just want to return to my miserable dorm.

But instead of running, I walk. I tell myself that I
need to just accept things, walk on, and trust my

When I reach the campus, after what feels like an
hour, I see a familiar but lanky figure seated next
to the entrance.

I ignore it, thinking it is just some freshman student.
Then, the figure stands up, facing me. As I move
forward I realise it is my Dad, a smile replacing his
usually worried mouth.

My eyes gleam up in surprise and euphoria.




My Abuelito

Words Cynthia Castaneda Moreno | Year 7
Art Jessica Poldrugovac | Year 7

My Father mourns.
He sees the ship
in his memories.
Floods of tears fall
upon the table.
A sailor rides
the stormy waves
of tears.

I hear tall tales of a soldier
boarding the ship.
Waving to his parents
in the distance.

His family waiting for him
to return to them.
He didn’t, he was doomed.
Below the ground he lies,
his children cry for him.
Yet he never comes.

I cry for him,
My Abuelito.


Heat and Landscape

Words Lily Bunning | Year 10 The stories of this town created memories - something
I will truly treasure.
For me extending myself and applying for the
Santa Teresa Mission experience in Alice After Alice Springs we entered the most exciting part
Springs was one of the first goals I ever of our trip. The long-awaited, Santa Teresa.
developed in Year 7 at Avila.
I still remember the drive down the old dirt road and
I remember, whilst I attended REC Group, the girls how everyone was waiting in anticipation to see the
who had been that year recounted the highlights community as none of us really knew what to expect.
and I was filled with awe. The desire stayed with me
until this year when I started thinking that I could I remember the first glance we got of Santa Teresa,
potentially fulfill my dream and get to Santa Teresa. the white stark church, front and centre of the
I challenged myself and applied. community just as you drove in.

I made it to the interview; I was nearly there! After The first day when we attended Mass, surrounded by
the interview process was complete I awaited the light, the whole time we couldn’t stop looking at the
results to see if I was going to be lucky enough to go walls, painted with their interpretations of the bible.
on the immersion and to my surprise, I was selected
as one of the eight! Over the five days, we witnessed different cultural
activities, heard stories of upcoming events, went out
Leading up to our departure for Santa Teresa the bush learning about bush food, helped around the
group gathered and made plans for fundraising, community in the spirituality centres, the creche and
donations and discussions about the logistics of the community centre.
actually going to this special place. However, no
amount of preparation got us really ready for the The stories will forever stick with me; those of
awe-inspiring trip we were about to embark on. hardships faced every day, challenging personal
experiences that truly opened my eyes and showed
Our trip started off with many laughs; almost me how small my issues were in comparison to those
straight away there was an instant connection within who have a history of struggle and survival.
the group. On arrival in Alice Springs, the heat and
landscape took our breath away. It was so different. Going on the Santa Teresa immersion taught me
about indigenous lives and hardships but it also
We were eager to understand the history and past taught me a lot about myself.
so we visited many places such as Simpson’s Gap,
the Earth Sanctuary, the Telegraph Station, ANZAC Santa Teresa helped me let everything go and to not
Hill, the healing centre, the mall. stress the small stuff. For the indigenous people,
time, this is not important to them. It is being in the
Many personal stories were shared, personal stories moment that truly matters.
about growing up as an Aboriginal, witnessing some
of the customs and cultural ways.



Pliés and Pirouettes

Words Lucy Pearson | Year 7
Art Siena Grace Di Fede | Year 7

Walk in, Slide across
Smile Quietly, graceful
Curtsy Smile
You can do this! You can do this!

Pliés Sissonnes ordinaires
Battement tendus Turns
Ronds de jambe à terre Grand Allegro
Développés Spot your head.
Hand Steady Higher
Grip floor, barre Smile
Smile You can do this!
You can do this!
Classical Dance
Grands battlements Character Dance
Port de bras Almost,
Centre Practice Almost.
Remember the steps
Move to floor Smile
Wait, begin You can do this!
You can do this! Reverence
Adage Breathe
Transfer of weight Smile
Petit Allegro You did it!
Glissades and Sissonnes




Shapes and Sizes

Words Lila Chang, Ella Collins and Akashana Jayanthan | Year 7
Art Ivrea Hodgson | Year 7

Down on the banks of the River Nile, And Grim called back, “Will you be my friend?
There lived a lonely crocodile. I don’t care how you look, ‘cause in the end,
Because all the fish were scared of him, What really matters is how you feel.”
He went by the name of Goughgotten Grim. And Bartholemew let out an excited squeal.

Across the bank, there was a unicorn. Because friends come in all different shapes and sizes,
But this poor unicorn had no horn. And looking good might win some prizes,
His name was Bartholemew Blight But what really matters is your heart,
And he cried, all day and all night. And how, in life, you act out your part.

But friends come in all different shapes and sizes, And now Grim and Blight are inseparable friends,
And looking good might win some prizes, And this is how their story ends.
But what really matters is your heart, But before it’s over, we must say,
And how, in life, you act out your part. They learnt a valuable lesson that day!

And one day Grim heard Bartholemew’s cry, And it was that...
And so he called out, “Why do you cry? Why?” friends come in all different shapes and sizes,
And so Blight called back, “I have no horn! And looking good might win some prizes,
I’m such a pathetic unicorn!” But what really matters is your heart,
And how, in life, you act out your part.



Words Katie Wyllie | Year 10 Art Faith Chung | Year 10

Ihave never been this cold in my life. I can’t It doesn’t help, nothing can really help me because
remember what it was like to be warm. I try to everywhere I look I am reminded of what I have to
imagine it. Nothing. endure each day, just to find safety. But it will all be
worth it eventually, I can feel it.
All I can think about is the numbing feeling that
has spread throughout my entire body. It used to be I close my eyes to try and shut off my thoughts, I
painful, like a thousand tiny knives piercing your can’t relax, not with all these people around me. My
skin but now I can’t feel a thing. Maybe I am frozen? stomach grumbles,
It feels like that, like I’m just watching the world
around me but I’m not really a part of it, just sitting I feel the intense hunger deep in my gut. I am past
here, frozen. starving, but the thought of eating makes me feel
sick, everything makes me feel sick at this point. All
The boat tips violently to the side and the force I can do to make myself feel better is close my eyes
causes me to fall against someone. I relish their and dream.
body heat for that one quick second before it’s gone
again. I dream about what this new place we are going
to will be like. I dream and I hope that we will all
The waves crash around us, sending a spray of icy be happy. We have no idea what life will be like in
water over us. The water bites at our skin and I pull this new land and there is nothing that we can do
the sleeves of my coat over my hands, attempting to to change it but one thing is for certain, it will be
hide from the harshness of the outside world. better than where we came from. It has to be.



The Return Torvald: (Makes his way over to her) My
little bird has fluttered in! What’s this?
Creative Response (Looking at her sternly, then looking
to her brothers) Has my little pup been
to Ibsen's The Doll's House scampering about with the wolves again
Words Julia Grubnic | Year 10
Emmy: Of course not, Papa!
Art Meg Davey | Year 8
Torvald: I should hope not, else I would
Aroom tastefully furnished, but lacking be most… displeased with my songbird.
in objects of comfort, with many hard (Straightening her dress) Dear, your poor
surfaces and a polished wooden floor. At father can’t stand to see your clothes such
the right end of the room, there is a sturdy, oak a mess, it upsets him terribly! (Emmy goes
desk, facing away from a large square window to speak) You must go off, change into
on the right wall, with glazing bars across it. It’s something sensible, doll - your pretty white
being battered by the heavy snow of a brewing frock.
snowstorm outside.
Ivar drops his wooden sword accidentally,
On the back wall, stopping short before the the noise makes everyone jumps.
desk, there are a collection of large bookcases
with showily bound books, though many of There is a knock at the door of the study,
them gather dust. Opposite the desk there are the Nurse enters. She looks pale, as though
two wooden chairs. On the left wall there is a she’s seen a ghost.
door into the study, leading in from the living
room. Nurse: Mr Helmer, you have a guest- well,
it is- see, (Stepping aside to reveal Nora,
Torvald, wearing a black suit with a light grey music cuts) your lady- the lady-
shirt, sits at the desk, light on his back, his
front in shadow, hunched over a pile of papers, Helmer: (Frozen) Children, leave us.
working. There is soft music, which sounds
almost like a lullaby. There is a knock at the Torvald closes the door as Nora - who
door, Torvald looks up, the Nurse enters. wears a working woman’s plain, dark
brown petticoat made out of linen, a white
Nurse: The little masters are back from their shoulder shawl and a dark brown coat - sits
games. Here they are, just as you requested. down in a chair opposite the grand desk.
(Ivar and Bobby enter, each holding a toy Behind her are the bookshelves. Torvald
sword) moves to behind his desk, Ivar’s toy still
atop it. Although the window leaves Torvald
Torvald: (Rising, standing in front of his in shadow, it illuminates Nora. Silence.
desk) Good, good Anne-Marie, thank you.
(Noticing the boys' swords) In march the Torvald: You’re back.
Nora: Yes, Helmer, I’m back.
The Nurse leaves, closing the door.
Torvald: (Sitting down) Helmer, did you
Ivar: Papa, sir! Watch this. (Turning and say? I suppose your infernal tongue cannot
pointing his sword at Bobby) En garde! even manage my Christian name?

The boys begin their skirmish, Torvald shakes
his head, but watches, amused. There’s
another knock at the door, quieter - it goes

Emmy, wearing a dirty light blue dress,
apprehensively enters. A few seconds pass
before her father notices her.


Nora: (Fixing him with a cold stare) I Torvald: I have every right, you are - were
seem to recall you saying a Christian name my wife! Enough of this madness, Nora. You
denotes an air of familiarity, something we can give them nothing!
cannot claim to have.
Nora: I have more to offer them than
Torvald: We did once, before you threw it you ever will. I can give to them their
all away. true selves! (Calms, picking up the sword
Torvald threw, surveying it, lowering her
Nora: No Helmer. I never knew you, voice) I don’t know what it is I hoped for
you never knew me. We were simply two upon my return. I suppose that I would find
strangers sharing the same house. you a changed man.

Torvald: So why does a stranger stand so… Torvald: (Finally calming down, looking
familiarly in my house. at her incredulously) Nora, I dealt with the
effects that your ruin brought upon me,
Nora: To relieve you of the three other perhaps I have grown resentful, perhaps.
strangers with whom you share it with. But I cannot stand for this. If you continue
to push me, I’ll have you institutionalised.
Torvald: You can’t mean. What? My pretty I could do that, little one. A word and you’d
ones? My jewels? be off.

Nora: Yes, Helmer, your jewels, whom Nora: (Sitting back down, the light on her
you shape to your liking and then you put darker now) An - an institution?
on a pedestal, to admire, for your own
satisfaction. In reality, you hardly know Torvald: (Walking out from behind his
them. desk to stand over Nora) I should’ve done
it long ago, when you first began, when
Torvald: Indeed? Such certainty to speak your ramblings of being a controlled
with for someone who’s been gone for four doll began. No - when you tainted my
years. business, my home, with your stupidity and
irresponsibility! (Walking over to the door of
Nora: I never knew them myself. I cannot his study, opening it) Now I must insist that
believe you do either. you leave my house, and never return to
poison my children with the deviant ideals
Torvald: (Rising from his chair, raising his of a sick woman.
voice outside the intensity of the snow storm
has been slowly picking up) So, now that Nora sits for a moment, but nods and leaves,
you’ve ‘found yourself’ you’ve come to take Nora has turned her back to the light, not
even more of me, until I’m no longer a man?! making eye contact with Torvald, until
(Throws the toy sword in anger) she looks back before she leaves. Torvald
returns behind his desk, no light but from
Nora: (Unfazed) So you admit, that’s how that of the window - he is also completely
you see it? That those who are not men are in shadow. A mournful tune played on the
inferior? That you only keep… us around in strings, quiet, sorrowful.
order to gratify yourself?
Torvald: I’ve heard enough from you, you
little dog! You come into my house, you
insult me, you threaten to take away my

Nora: (Rising to meet him, now raising her
voice too) They are my children too!

Torvald: Not anymore! You forfeited your
right to them the day you left me!

Nora: You have no right to decide such a


The Bicycle

Creative Response to David by Maxine Beneba Clarke
Words Grace Munro | Year 12 Art Maja Kosavic | Year 11


“I’m not having it! You not doing women’s work.” I stared down at my dusty sandals, ashamed and
embarrassed but all the while with burning anger in
It is not when my father is pacing that you need to my gut.
worry, it is when he stops, fixes his turkey eyes on
you, nostrils flaring like a rhinoceros ready to charge. “Get dressed for prayer. I not having you making
This is when you are in trouble… I am in trouble. ka’ak now.”

Huffing, stamping his foot on the first floor, he Finally free from Eid prayers, I make for the big fiori
punctuates his rebukes, waving mama’s mufraka tree. My worn out sandals flap and slap as my feet hit
and sending semolina projectiles flying. the ground harder, faster, kicking up dust that stains
the bottom of my jalabiya the colour of cumin. Beads
“What you needing this for, huh?” of sweat form on my forehead as the heavy shawl's
heat plasters the cloth to my back.
“For the aseeda Papa.” A foolish answer.
As the tree comes into sight, I hear it… whrrr rattle
“For the aseeda! Tssk! You not eating the seeds with rattle whrrr. Even in the hustle and bustle of village
it so you not needing it, only Mama.” celebrations I hear it, I would know it anywhere. The
Frankenstein bike is not where I left it, instead there
But Mama had not been the one stirring the thick, is Samir, in all his boyish glory, circling the whistling
sticky porridge this morning.” thorn.

From that first memory of the piquant seeds dropping “Oi! What do you think you are doing on my bike?”
on my tongue I had been fascinated by the magic of Raising himself on the rusty pedals to peer down at
food. I studied every stop Mama took in the dance me he replies, “Your bike? Come on Masud, you know
of cooking, entranced by her expert pinch and dash we built it together and you know him who get here
of seasoning, the delicate layering of paper-thin first, get to ride.”
pastry for pasta at Eid and enthralled by the aroma
of Sudan’s spices. He pauses, “Maybe you should go home and help
Mama with the bettifour, huh?”
Never would I have experienced the wonders of this art
had it not been for Samir’s sister Amal, who although With that he continued circling the tree and with a
many years my junior, was already well trained in squeaky protest from the metal framework saddle,
the tricks and techniques of her Mao’s cooking. Since sat his bony backside down. I knew he was right.
she had taken me as her secret apprentice, our covert After all, I had made the rules. I was foolish to think
lessons had become ritual. that I could outrun Samir.

These clandestine culinary escapades lured me from Jalbiya billowing in the wind, brilliant white in
bed every morning. Sometimes to perfect the flipping the sun, he lifts his face to the sky and releases the
of the kisra from griddle to plate without ripping handlebars. With arms outstretched, the long sleeves
the thin flatbread. Others just to smell that sweet of his robes hang loose and catch in a gust of wind
madeeda tang. that makes the whistling thorn sing. Keeping expert
balance he looks, and I know he feels, like a soaring
Our morning meetings went easily unnoticed with stork with great white wings tipped with black
Amal’s family often not about to question the early feathers. He is flying.
rising of their eldest girl to have their breakfast
ready at dawn. That is, until this morning. Mama But today, I must stand and watch, grounded,
had woken earlier than we had anticipated and found flightless in the baubled and fraying robes the colour
the mufraka to be missing whilst the scent of our of aseeda, that Mama promised I would grow into. It
rebellion porridge wafted through the air… we were rushes up inside me, the pang in my gut that pierces
discovered. up my spine to my scalp. By the time he swoops back
around, I am consumed.
“You know the shame you bring if anybody find out
you doing this?” My father continued, staring huffing, Thrusting both hands out, I send him flying off to the
stomping. side. Eyes snapping open, his cuffs catch in the bike’s
rough frame, he cannot brace himself. He is falling. A
“It think when you go to school it is okay because piercing cry rings out and both boy and bike skid to a
you getting better life. But now, you not tending painful stop, the parched earth drinking in the dark
livestock, you tending pot! No more ye hear. Why you trail behind them.
not be more like Samir, you not catch him at women’s


Walk to School

Slam Poetry

Words Ella Thompson-Smith | Year 7 Art Sadie Wykes | Year 10

Walking to school I promote the feeling of emotion. Walking promotes
Letting go all feelings feels like slow motion. convergent and divergent thinking.
What do you do when you’re bundled up inside? Both of these are associated with creativity,
Go for a walk and let it all slide…. let’s let the creativity sink in.

Environmental, economic improvement, By just one walk a day, we are safe to say
global warming is happening You are lowering the chance of getting
so let’s make a movement! heart disease some day!
Cars, trains, buses, planes, creating pollution.
Walking could be the very best solution. Live a longer life - in fact up to seven whole years!
Stop the time while other people’s age disappears.
A walk in the park calms the mind. Looks like you’ll be living
Just on the way to school can help people unwind. for a whole ‘nother seven years.
Just give it a go you’ll be surprised what you find. Doesn’t that surprise you?
Maybe we will become more intertwined? Let’s all just give big cheers!

Get to know your locals and enjoy the town. Next time you decide to get in the car
Walking down the street should get back out and walk, it doesn’t have to be far.
remove some people’s grumpy frown. Hear the crunch of leaves, rustle of the trees.
Whooshing of the wind,
It’s been scientifically proven - rather than rubbish being binned.
medication is also more effective,
When in the fresh air or when your body is movin’. Don’t you feel calmer
medication and walking should work as a collective. in the environment, like a farmer.
Staying in the house seems a little over protective? I know, the environment is a charmer.





Words Alissa Ann Li | Year 9
Art Emily Basadur | Year 7

A loud clang of metal against metal echoed as I channelled all my energy to my sword.
Jumping back I took a deep breath glaring at my enemy, staring him down.
Running back, I jumped off the side of a tree,
charging towards him again,
yelling as my sword glistened in the sun.

But he blocked it with ease. We circled each other, looking for openings.
I wondered who he was, why he was here. Why did he suddenly attack me?
In the middle of my thoughts, he lunged towards me.
I blocked him at the last second.

This was shocking.

No one used to be able to get that close to attacking me.
I was the best warrior in my town. Just who was he?
I adjusted the grip and took a deep breath.
I had two choices, to jump up into a tree and run away, or to continue fighting.
I would continue fighting, but this person seemed almost as good as I was.
Glancing around at my surroundings I tried to think of a way out of this.
I noticed various tree branches sticking out and decided I could use those.

It was too late.

My attacker lunged towards me with all his strength,
dragging the tip of his sword along my armour, reaching my neck.
I stood still, frozen as I dropped my arms to my side.
Balling up my fits I elbowed him in the gut and kicked him in the shin,
picking up my sword as I watched him double over in pain.

I pointed the tip right in between his eyes,
my foot on his chest keeping him down, as I took a deep breath...


No Escape

Words Renee Antony | Year 9
Art Maja Kosavic | Year 11


My body started feeling hot, burning on the
inside; like my body was trying to give up but
my insides didn’t want die off.

I didn’t know how I got into the fire in the
first place, but I kept hearing voices far in the
distance, screaming out my name.

I was trapped. I couldn’t escape. I stood still as
a tree, as the fire began to increase and started
to surround me until my body felt the heat all
around me. I looked down at my clothes which
were torn to bits, and tried to focus to get out
of this situation I was currently in.

But I couldn’t.

Smoke started piling up in my lungs and I
then spluttered for air. My eyes stung from
the smoke and my vision started to become

I was trapped.



and Perfected

Words Widanalage Vidara Fonseka | Year 8
Art Natalie Khoo | Year 10

I’m scrolling through a media page when my eyes The sensation didn’t last for long as a cold bucket of
halt at some pictures of young people. unhappiness poured over me.

A huge smile is painted on their faces and their eyes It had occurred to me that this night was going to be
are filled with excitement and joy. Their eyes meet my last time dancing and singing on the stage. I had
with mine. Their faces are decorated with makeup been doing this since I was in prep and now it was
and their clothes are glowing with colour. coming to an end.

There are three of them, one of the photos is me I pushed the thought aside, not letting it destroy my
and the others are my siblings. I continue to stare night.
at them, as memories float into my mind. Soon
my happiness is replaced by sadness as I begin to The event had finally started as the lights turned off
realise that those good old days were over, they and the audience’s attention was pulled towards the
would never return. stage.

Memory The night was filled with music and laughter as I took
in the sensation. People laughed along to jokes and
It was the best time of the year. The time when I clapped with satisfaction and soon enough, it was my
got to dance and sing my heart out in front of an time in the spotlight.
audience. I couldn’t contain my excitement.
I gathered my confidence, placed on my acting hat and
My class had practised, polished and perfected the hustled onto the stage. Everything went successfully
dance item in the past few weeks for the annual as I managed to play my part without freezing up,
night. surprisingly.

I was repeating and rehearsing my lines for my I continued to enjoy the night as each class came up
acting role on the way to the venue, so I knew I on the stage and expressed their joy through dance.
was ready to perform. I wore a white top and skirt
and my face was covered in makeup. I was camera When it was time for my class’s item, our theme was
ready. Irish and the dance routine was amazing!

When my family and I arrived at the venue, I was As we went into the night, we had finally reached the
welcomed by a blast of colour and people. It was like end, we were down to the last performance. The Year
someone had just thrown a huge party! Six dance. The theme was Australia.

In search of my friends, I wove through the crowd I took to the stage and danced with the remaining
like a snake, trying not to bump into anyone. Just energy I had left and I cherished every moment.
the sight of them increased my excitement.
I sang and danced for the last time, for my last
production performance.




Words Caitlin Beyrooti | Year 8
Art Mia Franzoni | Year 10

The challenge is to do something when you do not know what the final
circumstances are. When you do not know how it is going to end. Because, we
can think of the worst possible outcome and envisage it in our minds, convince
ourselves that what we are about to do will turn out regrettably.
It can be anything, important or insignificant. Yet humankind has proven over
and over again, that it is worth it. That we should take the risk. But that doesn’t
make it any less of a challenge.


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