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Celebrating the daring creativity of Avila College students in 2018, The Curious Minds Project showcases students written and creative work.

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Published by Avila College, 2018-11-27 22:26:55

The Curious Minds Project - Avila Anthology 2018

Celebrating the daring creativity of Avila College students in 2018, The Curious Minds Project showcases students written and creative work.


CuTHE rious Minds

2018 Avila College
Student Anthology

Art Yarra Cook | Year 11
Cover Art Charlotte Kuek | Year 10

The Curious Minds Project | Avila Anthology 2018
Celebrating the daring creativity of Avila College
students in 2018.

Avila College | 35 Charles Street, Mt Waverley 3149
T 03 9831 9600 W


Welcome to the inaugural edition of The Curious Minds Project,
a magazine showcasing the literary and artistic talents of the
students of Avila.

The writing and artwork featured in the following pages have been created by a wide range
of talented students, from year seven to year twelve, who have worked tirelessly, pursuing
their passion for the creative form, both within the classroom and beyond. 
Here in this collection you will find an exploration of new ideas and a challenge to consider
fresh perspectives. Our students have embraced the 2018 College theme Dare to Do, and
taken a step into the unknown, creating their own poems, reflective pieces, photographs,
illustrations and speeches. These authors, poets and artists reveal that in order to engage
with our world today, we must dare to share our thoughts, hopes and dreams, and be brave
enough to embrace a wealth of new ideas.
But what is a Curious Mind? Curiosity is essential in our search for knowledge. It inspires
our research for the answers to our questions, it drives us to explore and to investigate, and
finally, compels us to compose our thoughts into works of writing and art that reflect our
voice and our creative potential, enabling us to share our view of the world. Once we let our
curiosity lead us, our imagination has no bounds.
So relax, find a comfy, quiet place, and enjoy the exciting ideas of Avila’s most curious

Emma Gare | Year 11
The Quill and Ink Writers Guild



Words Eva Peric | Year 7
Art Anja Hulston | Year 7

Underneath our country’s dirt
Lies Aboriginal culture
Deep and rich in the underground soil
It’s a present waiting to be unwrapped
We dream in our head
Of our perfect peaceful world
But for people who were here before
the future is very much blurred ...


Words Gianna Skafidas, Haris Andrikopoulos,
Alicia Roy and Renee Hang | Year 10

Scan the QR code with your mobile phone and listen to
the discussions and analysis of Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

Talking about: Gender Talking about: Fate
Roles and Macbeth versus Freewill

Why We Write

Words Anna Zhang | Year 11

Art Julia Marotta | Year 10

Just as our cultural or social interactions shape us, and at times govern our thoughts,
beliefs, and actions, language enables us to communicate and connect with the world.

Cultural Warrior Candy Bowers, speaker at this year’s Stella Girls Write Up program,
creator and “truth-talking writer/performer” writes that it is through language, through
writing and creating, that we have the ability to change the world.

This ability to create gives us a sense of meaning and purpose, because in sharing our
experiences, stories and opinions with a wider community, we participate in the championing
of a better understanding` of our world.

Reflecting on the ideas of creators can help people to navigate life, as the written word and
powerful visual images can inspire, and urge the reader and the viewer to be a positive force
within their own spaces.

By displaying examples of writing and imagery that have been crafted with care and
precision, we hope to encourage our audience to think differently, and to prompt a greater
understanding of the beautiful complexity of this world by making better sense of it.


Before For my grandmother, it’s a feeling. It’s a sound, a
and After loud video game, a violent TV show. For her, it’s the
feeling of a bullet in her leg, it’s the feeling of blood
Words Jessica Trifilo | Year 10 pouring down her leg, it’s the loss of a limb, it’s the
feeling of hopelessness. It’s screaming, it’s crying,
Art Porsha Candiloro | Year 8 it’s pain. It’s the feeling of lifelessness, the feeling of
emptiness in the pit of your stomach. It’s the feeling of
In a second, a life can be separated into a Before running and hiding after she was shot, it’s the feeling
and an After. A song, a text, a moment can change of uncertainty and fear when the few uneducated
a life in an instant. Something always reminds people hiding with her decide to amputate her leg in
you of something that once was. For me, it was an abandoned, run down warehouse. It’s the feeling
raspberry drop lollies. Three vibrant raspberry drops of leaving her mother behind and sailing away to
sucked into my mouth, whilst swinging back and another continent. It’s the feeling of being in a place
forth on the swingset on an unbearably hot summer where they don’t speak your language, it’s the feeling
day, before the scrape and snap of bone, the pain, of loneliness. It’s regret, it’s hope. But now, after, it’s
the blood, the crying, my mother’s shouts. Before the love. It’s my mother and I. For my grandmother, it’s a
hospital, the x-rays, the heavy white cast. And after, better life, it’s our education, it’s a new world.
the scar that runs from my knee to the middle of my
calf. I see raspberry drops now and remember how Now I understand, that there is always a Before and
much I used to love them, before. an After in life. It’s as if we have moved in space and
time, slid towards some other life, into an After. We
For my mother, it’s a kangaroo, which hopped too all have crossed an invisible but solid line, through
soon onto a dark road in front of her car. A tree, three generations. Raspberry drops have joined
a crash, a frantic call, an ambulance, a hospital, kangaroos and the feeling of a war-torn country,
pain. Ragged scars, running down her cheek to her to stay forever in the Before. And After, there is no
chin and above her right eyebrow. A rough, faded going back to what life once was.
red jagged line travelling from her left hip into her
bellybutton. The constant reminders of a large, brown
kangaroo running across a narrow, dirt road under
the midnight stars of the Australian outback. She
now refuses to look, or go anywhere near a kangaroo.
And even now, I still catch her looking at her scars in
the mirror and crying.


Dandelions The fox had pups who cried and laughed, little
orange creatures coated in the softest fur. They
Words Zoe Northwood | Year 8 played with each other, fell over each other with
innocent clumsiness.
Art Ashleigh Trinh | Year 10
The rabbits still lingered, despite the foxes. The
The city is bustling with people. Cars meadow was their home, their sanctuary. The
screeching, people yelling. The sky as black rabbits understood the balance, and so did the
as tar, with factories letting the thick, grey foxes. And that’s how it was. Peaceful balance,
gas flow into the air. Not a hint of green, nor a tranquil trust.
hint of wildlife, let alone, even a sliver of balance.
But that balance can be broken so easily.
Only the selfish and absent-minded could love The field with the yellow dots, with the fast,
such a place. And yet, many do. brown rabbits and the cunning, orange foxes.
That balance can be torn apart so quickly and
This world has Earth wrapped around its little cause so much agony if it falls.
finger. I can only wonder what this place used to be.
The field is like a feather in this way.
There was a meadow of green with yellow So delicate yet it can create flight, but get a spark
spots sprinkled over the pastures. Rabbits with to fly and nothing can stop it from catching alight.
thin, wiry, brown fur and long ears, alert and And even when water is thrown upon the feather
pointed, chased each other in this meadow. to stop the flame, the feather will no longer be able
It held such peace, such balance. to fly, the fragile fibres damaged beyond repair.

But when the fox chased the rabbit for the first So when a species of greed and pain come to
time, the field of yellow shuddered, yet it seemed the meadow, the balance will break and the
to go back to normal. dandelions will be left to burn.

And so they did.



Night A speck of light in the night sky, a sphere of gas
Sky and rock through the scope, but a functioning,
elaborate planet in actuality; something I had
Words Kate Tidswell | Year 12 never before considered.

Art Catherine Panagiotakopoulos | Year 10 Had anything ever viewed our own planet from
a matching distance, or pondered life elsewhere,
The clouds parted as I watched, the inky like we do?
blackness of the sky littered with flecks of
light peeking through the gaps to greet me. The possibilities held by the universe are
Having held strong all day, the imposing ceiling unlimited, and cannot be confined to a single
of grey began moving elsewhere - a nomad set view, but the people around me were nevertheless
against a constant, unwavering expanse of black. captivated by the compact beams of light,
magnified to show an unbelievable view.
It was an everyday occurrence, a commonplace
view beyond it, and yet my appreciation for it Breathtaking. Beautiful, from where we stood.
had, up until now, gone amiss.
A newfound appreciation for the natural world
As I stood, gazing into the endless stretches overtook me at that moment, washing away the
of the universe, the familiar setting of my own material sphere, if only for a minute.
surrounds began to merge with that of the cosmos
- unknown, untamed, inconceivable, and yet a As is human nature, our immediate world sweeps
part of me; so much more than I had considered us up and carries us along in its current, keeping
myself or my world to be. our localities at the forefront of our minds, making
the short release of considering the exterior world
A delighted squeal from the sidelines mingled of outer space that much more relieving.
with my thoughts, prying my attention from the
lights above to the earthly frame of my usual It’s one thing to disconnect from yourself once in
environment. a while, but it is something else entirely to reflect
on a universe so big - an interwoven fabric of
Encompassing me were many spectators, just cause and effect on such a massive scale that it
like myself, gathered not to watch a football game makes me feel small.
or see an elaborate show, but rather to admire a
simple view, a part of the natural world too often We are an irreplaceable, significant part of the
forgotten or presupposed. inner workings of the cosmos, but small. A piece
of a puzzle; incomplete by ourselves, but whole
Although perceivably a modest view, the complex in combination with the rest of existence, both in
nature of outer space began to dawn on me our immediate vicinity and that which we cannot
as I looked through the eyepiece of each of the even comprehend.
telescopes in operation. Each was trained on
a different celestial body, the detail of which The time passed on, and eventually I left the
astounded me. telescopes behind in favour of a good night’s
sleep. The stars, the planets and their moons all
I became increasingly awestruck as I studied spun behind my closed eyelids in a macrocosmic
the images, the realisation of exactly what I was dance, the awe I felt from observing them staying
observing occurring to me slowly at first, then in my heart until I woke. Even then, my world
like a crashing wave. felt localised, the astronomical size of an ever-
expanding universe pushing the limits of my
An entire world stared back at me through the understanding of both my own environment and
lens - a place with its own landscapes, its own that which I have only seen through a lens.
natural law, and its own strength and fragility.
The night sky is beautiful both visually and
scientifically, an appreciation for which I now
possess wholeheartedly.


Magnolia uses imaginative techniques to create and It was almost a year ago that that kite became
recreate a literary work. Inspired by Italo Calvino’s The Cosimo’s. I could not see all of what had unfolded
Baron in the Trees the author explores the language, as I was too afraid to climb further up the mulberry
voice, form and structure of the original text, speculating tree to the wall I was on now, but much of what
about the writer’s purpose. happened Cosimo had described to me afterwards.
After Viola had left.
It had been a warm day last summer, too warm for
Words Kiara Aboo | Year 12 wandering and the sun seemed insistent on melting
the hortensias and camellias in our garden. Cosimo
Art Charlotte Kuek | Year 10 had been lying down on a fork in the Ondariva’s
magnolia tree, breathing in the familiar aromas of
Each day as the sun stretched out into the sky it and distinguishing them from the scents of our
and the curtain of dawn rose up and over own garden.
Ombrosa, Cosimo too would stretch out and
leap from tree to tree, offering his assistance to Simultaneously, he was looking up at the emerald
whomever he came across. sky above him and counting the gaps in the leaves
where the sunshine peeked through, casting white
Farmers, villagers, charcoal-burners, tinkers, glass- reflections on the leaves. He almost wished he had
cutters, families driven far from their homes by a telescope, as hundreds of the white gaps were
famine, Cosimo spoke to them all. The folk whom miniscule.
people like us never used to meet. He contentedly
ventured throughout his very own world, in his new Suddenly, a red shadow covered a portion of
kingdom with his new eyes. gaps and Cosimo sat forward with a start. He
immediately began to ascend further up the tree.
Yet as the night pulled the sun back down and Finally he reached the top and discovered what had
Cosimo returned back to his favourite magnolia tree interrupted his little game. A ruby red kite with
at the Ondariva’s property, I would try to catch a petite yellow bows and a long sturdy string. Cosimo
glimpse of his face. Every time I did, his eyes were held onto the kite and slowly clambered back down,
downcast, features worn-out as if drawn on with his eyes following the string to find the end of it.
a sorrowful pencil. It did not take long for me to
realise the cause of the sadness that was gnawing “It’s you!”
away at Cosimo’s heart.
Viola stepped into view at the trunk of the tree.
One afternoon when the sky was colourless, a
drizzle of rain whispering down on my face, I made “Come down and give me the kite.” Viola said.
my way out into our garden. I could feel the cold
morning dew soaking through my shoes and almost “No,” Cosimo replied, holding onto the branch above.
found delight in the fact that my brother never had
to walk through wet grass anymore. “You said you were not a thief!” Viola pointed out
I propped myself up on our mulberry tree and swung
my legs so that they would dry. From doing so on “I also said that I would not come down at any cost,
a daily basis and climbing from the mulberry, up and I won’t...” Cosimo shook his head slightly.
onto the top of the wall dividing our garden from
the Ondariva’s, I eventually discovered that Cosimo “It’s my kite! Thief!” Viola stamped her foot with her
had a soft spot for the magnolia tree just over the hands on her hips.
wall. He would return to it each night, as if it were
his very house. “Nonsense! This isn’t yours”, Cosimo waved the
kite in his hand, “everything that is on the ground
I peered over the wall not sure what to find as it is yours. All the trees and what comes up into the
was only morning and was surprised to see that my trees belongs to me.”
brother was perched in the magnolia tree.
Viola huffed in annoyance but Cosimo just shrugged
Cosimo was usually out and about during the day, so and climbed up a bit higher. “I’ll let you have a turn
I found it odd that he was sitting quietly in his tree with it if you come down,” insinuated Viola. Cosimo
so early on. In his hands, he had a red kite, which he made a face at her and climbed up higher.
was flipping over and over, staring thoughtfully as if
he were trying to solve equations written all over it. Viola was starting to get frustrated and she circled
around the tree trying to find a way up. There
10 THE CURIOUS MINDS PROJECT | AVILA ANTHOLOGY 2018 wasn’t one. Cosimo had gotten to the magnolia tree
by climbing up the mulberry tree in our garden,
balancing on the wall dividing our property and the
Ondarivas and then hoisting himself down into the
magnolia tree in the Ondariva’s garden.

The closest tree was the one from which Viola’s swing He found it in the last place people like us
was dangling and it was near impossible for her to would think of finding things in.
climb that and clamber over to the magnolia Cosimo
was perched in, let alone climb the magnolia herself. He found comfort in the questions he
asked farmers about seeds and manure:
“That’s fine, play your silly little game,” Viola stepped which were the best and in which
away. “I have plenty more kites, prettier than that seasons were each used? He found it in
one! And plenty more fruit thieves to pick from.” She the errands he would run for peasants
added. and the warmth of the thankful smiles.

Cosimo watched Viola as she retreated back into her He found it in the wave of his cap when
house, ushered in by aunts and governesses tripping he was scaring sparrows away from fields
over their long petticoats. As she left, Cosimo held of corn and the feeling of triumph when
onto the red kite, a red ruby against his trees of they took off in a scattered flight.
emerald green.
He spent the days distracting and
It had been a year since Viola left, hurried away in busying himself for the common good,
a coach as Cosimo sobbed in the rain. As I watched tiring himself to the point of exhaustion
my brother staring endlessly at the kite, the arms so that by the time he returned home to
of the magnolia hugging him and its pulpy white his magnolia tree, all he wanted to do
flowers caressing his cheek, I wondered if he too was was fall asleep in its arms, to the sound
reminiscing on the sweet memory that it held in its of swallows stirring in their nests above
sturdy red body, tattered yellow bows and its long tail him with a cool breeze as his blanket.
of a string. He held onto it, as if he were holding onto
the only part of Viola he had left. Cosimo had propped the red kite up in a
large fork of branches above where he lay
Cosimo reached up and plucked a leaf from a nearby and he used to glance at it before closing
branch, placing it between his lips and began to chew his eyes each night. Eventually the
at it. He began to sing softly, “What have you... come emerald arms of the trees crawled forth
to do... Sinforosa... back you go... now you are... our and obscured the kite from his view.
friend no more... ah, ah, ah... ah, betrayer.”
This way, neither he nor the red kite had
It was a rare occasion upon which I discovered the true to sit in the magnolia and feel the lack
effects that the departure of the girl with the blonde of the girl who was their friend no more.
hair and green eyes had bestowed upon my brother.

Cosimo had committed to his life in the trees. But the
life he had chosen did come with its restrictions, its
dissatisfactions. Cosimo did not yet know love and
what is any experience without that?

He would see the urchins running around freely on the
ground and a smallest part of him filled with a pang of
pain. After nights of sobbing helplessly, Cosimo found
another way to heal himself.


The Woman Snowglobe

Danielle Weyermayr | Year 7 Alana Monea | Year 7

There she stood, He gazed into his master’s snowglobe
looking down at the gathering as he dusted it,
of people metres below; hoping to see something
her short stocky frame partially that would promise a better future.
obscured by the railing in front. Yet all he saw was a small teenage slave.

Her regal wave His face was pale and drunken
and polite smile with deep bags under his blue eyes.
gave away nothing, His hair was dark brown and messy,
as she peered down unpresentable, as his master said.
her petite nose His underfed broken body was covered with thin,
to look at the people below. brown rags and his hands were scarred, yet strong
from years of carrying heavy weights.
Her skin was wrinkled
and sagging with age; He looked up again,
her hair was bleached white, his blue eyes no longer full of hope; just blank,
yet her brilliant blue eyes knowing that he had nothing and was worth
still twinkled with mystery nothing.
and wonder.
A tear rolled off his cheek
and landed on the dusty stone floor.

Captain Flynn Barra

Words Thanh-Vy Quach Nguyen | Year 7

Art Georgia Dunne | Year 12

He commandeered the largest pirate ship of the sea,
found treasure that surpassed even the wildest pirate’s dreams

Captain Flynn Barra was five foot nine with a large bulky build.
His long, black dreadlocks flew with the wind as he steered his ship.

Barra’s signature look was a purple bandana
that his infamous father gave him before he was killed by the French.
Captain Flynn Barra had olive skin with a scar across his face
that his brother gave him when they were children.

He had shiny gold and silver teeth and wore baggy brown pants, a dirty white blouse with black boots.
Any brave pirates that challenged Captain Flynn Barra would die instantly.

He was quick, swift and strong with swords, each one handcrafted by him.
Down his back were scars from bullets, arrows and knives.
His crew listened to his every word, scared to be thrown off the ship.

One look into his deep green eyes would send shivers through your body.
No one dared to mess with him.



People often tell me how lucky I am
to live in a country such as ours,
but it doesn’t always feel that way.


Words Liyara Jayamanne | Year 12
Art Kate Tidswell | Year 12

Being a minority in Australia is weird.
There are some days when I don’t feel
different, where I could be the stereotypical
construction of an Australian and none would be
the wiser. And then there are some days it seems
as though my ‘outsider’ status is plastered upon
my forehead in big, bright and bolded letters. My
perpetual state of unease is not easily explained
to other people. I just get a whole lot of strange,
obligatory empathetic looks, and now everyone is


Afro-Caribbean Australian author Maxine white counterparts. We see it in our handling
Beneba-Clarke perfectly captures the essence of of immigration and asylum seekers who endure
otherness in her collected stories, Foreign Soil, harsh and inhumane experiences in the attempts
encapsulating the experiences of every coloured to find a home that will welcome and accept them.
person and bundling them up into a thoughtful We see it in literally every facet of day to day life,
yet humorous depiction of multiculturalism in and denying its presence only stands to make
practice. matters worse.

Australia’s view of multiculturalism expects These chauvinistic beliefs rooted deeply into this
migrant populations to assimilate into this country’s framework, highlight an underlying
culture, ridding ourselves of our different issue with which Australia continues to grapple:
customs and traditions and melting away our the question of whether or not racism still exists.
differences to essentially become a ‘whiter’ And while this seems absurd, as for me the
version of ourselves; a point which Beneba- answer is abundantly clear, it remains unclear
Clarke addresses in one of her short stories, Shu for many people who just do not understand.
Yi. Elucidating the internal struggles of faced They have never experienced the quizzical stares
by many people of colour, she depicts Ava, a from people in the street whilst he is walking
young black girl amid a vastly white community, in a richer and typically white area. Never had
whose one desire is to be a “little less me”. to be extra vigilant regarding their tone and
She wants to straighten her hair and lighten demeanour, because a bad mood may arouse
her skin, all to avoid being considered as ‘other’ suspicion in the people around them in certain
amongst her peers and satisfy these standards of parts of this country. Never been ‘randomly drug
Australia. tested’ by security at the airport before and after
every journey from age ten. Their experiences in
People often tell me how lucky I am to live in a this country differ so greatly from mine or anyone
country such as ours, but it doesn’t always feel else’s that right now, they just do not have the
that way. These same people seem to forget capacity to understand.
how recent ‘multicultural’ attitudes are here in
Australia. The ‘White Australia Policy’ was only And that’s the problem. As a country, we haven’t
legally dismantled in 1973, a mere forty-five addressed the complexities of race in such a
years ago, and prior to our supposed ‘I am, you way that people who have never encountered
are, we are Australian’ outlook, we were deep in discrimination could have some kind of
an era of highly prejudicial beliefs. understanding and therefore empathise with
those of us who deal with it every day.  
The First Peoples who inhabited this land for over
65,000 years had lived harmoniously, up until Here is what I have concluded from my seventeen
the arrival of the British settlers in 1788 who years of being a brown girl in this country.
claimed the land as ‘terra nullius’, a latin phrase Multiculturalism is a fickle concept that we
translating to ‘nobody’s land’. Following this they have yet to master, and it can’t be changed
proceeded to inflict a mass genocide, imposing instantaneously. However, through the efforts
harsh restrictions curtailing the freedom of the of people such as Maxine Beneba-Clarke,
First Peoples, and thus sowing the seeds of racial who gives voice to the often marginalised and
intolerance that continue to flourish in many disenfranchised, challenging the perception of
corners of our society today. race and culture in this country through her
literature, we can take the necessary steps to
Fear of that which is unknown or different change it. And we have taken some significant
drives our most divisive and racist policies and strides, as evidenced through my ability to
shockingly, these attitudes are so pervasive that live proudly and write this piece and voice my
as a society, we often fail to see that it is these perspectives.
views that perpetuate the cyclical and systemic
racism plaguing so many Australians to this These facts give me hope that in the near future
day. But it is there. We can see it in our justice we will be able to boldly proclaim that we are
systems where incarceration rates of Aboriginal truly a multicultural nation; rich in tolerance,
and Torres Strait Islander people has risen by acceptance and understanding.
88% just in the past decade. We see it in the
health sector in which Aboriginal Australians
have a life expectancy 20 years less than their


Memory On a Christmas morning in Scotland the trickling of
Trigger snow can be seen outside the window. I pressed my
face against the window and looked at the barren
Present to Past trees that were wrapped in a white blanket of fresh
Words Corina Pascoe | Year 8
Art Natasha Stathopoulos | Year 10 I grabbed my winter clothes and, along with my
siblings, opened the door and stepped outside where
Iwake up on a cold winter morning and open the the vast wonderland awaited me. The path sparkled
curtains to reveal the steady patter of rain upon and crunched. There was a frozen chill in the air
my window. The glass splatters with rain drops that brings crispness to the leaves, bejewelled with
as even more descend. frost, that crunch underfoot. The skies were washed
with grey swirled through the air, the scent was
I put on my winter coat as it brings warmth and crisp and clean.
comfort. The rain stops and I head outside, looking
up to the gloomy skies and the starkly, forlorn trees. I stepped deep into the snow as ice soaked through
The frozen air blows onto my delicate, cold face. The my shoes and into the fabric of my clothes. I felt the
path is muddy water in motion, filling deep puddles bitter coldness it brings, as it caused me to shiver
that hide the ruts of dryer weather. and made my teeth chatter. With trepidation lifted
each foot slowly seeking secure ground.
I step into a deep puddle, the icy, cold water seeps
into my boots spreading a bitter chill throughout my Suddenly, a cold force hit me on the back, sending
feet. As I continue walking there are more and more chills down my spine. I looked back and saw my
puddles, all obstacles. There are too many puddles sister throwing snowballs everywhere. My mittens
to dodge. I long to go back home to a warm fireplace, picked up the snow, frozen crystals dangling from
so that I can feel comfort again....... wild loose fibres I’d never normally notice. Already
the coldness of the snow had deep chilled my fingers
to a point where they no longer wished to bend
but cold or not, a snowball fight is a snowball fight
and don’t give in. I used all my force and throw the
ball of snow, sculpted perfectly by my hands. The
force hit my older sister and I felt as If I had just
accomplished something great.



Words Milagros Vagras | Year 8
Art Bella Kerrison | Year 10

The crackle of the radio spoke in place of
voices that ceased to talk, quietened by
the announcement that had seconds ago
come from the radio.

A room of stunned scientists stood still in the
wake of the recent revelation.

Someone’s chair spun gently, a cup of coffee
clattered to the ground, all of this became
secondary to the news that would change their
lives forever.

“Thi- this can’t be!” cried one elderly scientist
whose hands flailed around as he tried to
make his point.

“It’s just not possible! You, all of you know
this can’t be true!” His eyes were desperately
darting around the room searching for
someone to reassure him he was right.

This reassurance came in the form of a slightly
less startled woman whose grey eyes remained
firmly planted on the radio.

“Yes, you’re right,” Pausing to clear her throat
the woman took a second to consider her next
few words.

“It’s entirely possible that this is just a
mistake, so until we know for sure there’s no
need for us to panic.” Again she paused, this
time to look at the faces of her co-workers,
“And, if we do come to find that this is true,

“Then we can say goodbye to our loved ones,”
came the curt reply of a curly red-headed
woman whose lips were twisted into a sneer.

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as
the scientists nervously glanced at each other.

After months of deep sea exploration and
surveying the ocean’s floor, the one thing they
feared the most had been confirmed; footprints
had been found at the bottom of the ocean.


Living through the Avila

Canteen Revolution

Words Charlotte Nunn | Year 11

Art Katerina Akriditis | Year 10

The school lunch in Australia has always been slightly informal; generally supplied from home,
it filled the spot. Lunches were generally supplemented by a ‘play’ snack or an item from the ‘canteen’.
These were often reserved for Fridays or saved as a birthday treat.

As changes occurred in our society and families became busier, the need for a more formalised
canteen emerged. Old food favourites have come and gone yet the canteen continues to provide
food that is tasty and enjoyable.

If the old Kraft cheese toasties were hard and starchy - the warm, thick gooey, and tasty toasties are
a treat to behold. A genuine white bread roll - with the added taste of - ‘butter’ really filled the spot -
why don’t they sell these anymore? Why is the Big M rated as ‘healthy’?

These and other burning questions are answered as we explore the canteen food traditions past
and present.. the foods that have stood the test of time…

The Super The
Cheese Sour Big
Toastie Straps M

This cold winter’s day delight Many of our younger students Like the students, the Big M
composed of nothing more would have never had the has grown throughout the
than two slices of bread and pleasure of purchasing the tiny duration of the high school
big thick cut of sharp tasty 50c plastic bag filled with long days, progressing from a small
cheese has always been the go- colourful sugar coated lollies. 250ml chocolate bottle to the
to in the instance of needing 500ml espresso.
something cheap, cheerful and Often the result of finding
delicious. money in your pocket or It provides the much needed
needing a sugar hit to get you sugar hit but does not burden
Don’t let its simplicity fool you though the last period, these the conscience with a 4/5 health
as there are many variations. were little packets of joy. rating and a “good source of
If you are feeling gourmet you calcium and other essential
can throw in a couple of slices The plastic bag at the end vitamins and minerals”.
of ham and tomato; maybe meant you could eat the left
some relish? over sugar. Banana was an artifical flavour
disaster bomb.
This treat will forever hold a Questionable sour substance
but packet of joy. 6/10
place in our hearts.


The Rainbow Pasta
Bread Paddle of the
Roll Pops Day

There was once a time when There is a bit of a trend with This one has only recently
you could buy a white bread the word “rainbow” in foods been added to the Avila hall of
roll with nothing but butter making them all that bit more fame. It has quickly gained its
in it. Again, it was a bargain appealing despite containing ranks as being one of the first
as the taste of fresh bread and 99.9% of your daily sugar hot meals to enter the school
butter cannot be beaten. intake. These treats made hot that was not a toastie.
days that little bit sweeter. An
There was also the option instant classic when you and This slightly sweeter than
to venture further with the your friends would sit under average sauce accompanied
choice to add lettuce, cheese, the trees with a hot summer with a thin layer of melted
grated carrot and even ham for wind, eating a mixture of cheese makes for a winner.
an extra small cost. flavours all in one. It is made famous by the
competition for the front of the
A lifesaver when you forgot Important Tip: Use the wrapper line to secure a serving when
your lunch and only had the 3rd period finishes.
change of the emergency to hold the stick to capture the
money that you had used to Get in fast after period 3.
buy ice-cream. sticky melting ice-cream and
6/10 avoid a trip to the bathroom to

wash it off your dress.




The Ocean

Words Nisha Selarajah | Year 7
Art Mia Loh | Year 10, Jessica Vincent | Year 11

Look upon the ocean towards
The boundless horizon.

Beneath lies an alluring world
Beguiling – calling.

There within, lie secrets;
Complex and foreboding.
Reaching far beyond our understanding

Beguiling – calling.
Look to dive

Deeper, into the sea.
Reach beyond the limits,

Beguiling – calling.
The Ocean,

a canvas of beauty.


My mind is a kaleidoscope
speckled with fallen memories 

Lost Excerpt
from a Migrant

Words Ericka Phoa | Year 10
Art Audrey Blight | Year 7

Bombs explode in the distance and pangs of cries are echoed throughout 
Filling the streets with desolation and despair, the streets have become a world of sorrowful doubt 
Explosions detonate illuminating the streets with bright fiery colours  
Hand held over heart braving the darkness that lurks underneath rigours 
A whole country with hundreds of escape routes but still nowhere to run 
Time slips from us inescapably, and inexplicably 
As memories become vague and blurry in hindsight, 
I see fragmented versions of you
My mind is a kaleidoscope, speckled with fallen memories 
As I peer into its maze of illusions I see the fluttering of your iridescent beauty
I let the magic engulf me and swallow me whole
Only to be reawakened by the confounding reality that we are worlds apart 
Just as my body fails me, I see an opening, the light at the end of a tunnel 
Only then nostalgia hits me like a bomb, all consuming and vast 
So does the inevitable pain that time has stripped me of not only my youth and freedom but of you 
Yet all I can do is await the day I walk towards the blazing empyrean to reunite with you at long last 



A reflection on the morality of the fixed gaze, with reference to Alfred Hitchcock’s 1954 film Rear Window.

Through the Lens

Words Michala Jean | Year 12 A cold draught snakes through the open window.
Society has become colder, impervious to the
Art Mia Loh | Year 10 desperate cries and pleas of others. People move
briskly, absorbed by their own desires; what they
The guilt is overwhelming, allowing him to already have is never enough. They are always
watch from the window like this, but I have selfishly searching for more, desperately trying to
no choice. It is my amoral purpose here on fill a void that is never really there, present only
earth, merely a begrudging attachment of my as a figment of their imagination.
owner’s unprincipled proclivities.
Through my circular lens, all Jeffries perceives is
a snapshot of a moment in time, and what ensues I feel trapped. Here in this apartment, in this city,
between those implacable windows will forever I am just as much to blame as they are. In fact,
remain a mystery. I may even be more culpable, as I am the one
providing him this confined, abysmal view that
He says he wants to help them, but does he really? I so despise.
If that were true, he would see that the composer,
though surrounded by people and vivacity, still You can see so much through a camera, they
feels meaningless and alone. That after Miss think, but really, by viewing the world through
Torso closed the door on yet another stranger a lens, one sees so much less. The shutter’s
last night, she lay down and cried, desperately menacing click-click reverberates through the
trapped in a mere charade. room, each time he attempts pry into another
innocent person’s life.
It is with utmost reluctance that I reveal
We are a free society, but our own actions and the panorama to his hungry eyes, but he has
thoughts imprison us in a life we do not always complete control. With the press of every button,
want. Has life in this world really become so cold the plaguing guilt, the tacit sanctioning of this
that we must turn to this immorality in order to sustained invasion, comes crashing down on my
feed our desperation for entertainment? fragile frame, chipping away at my now illusory


A VCE English response to Alfred Hitchcock’s 1954 film Rear Window,
focusing on the malevolent threat of an unknown, but tangible fear.

A Temporary Existence

Caitlin Pridmore | Year 12 I discern a scorching sensation in the back of my
neck. The hairs that once stood proud and alert,
As night falls, the cobalt parade gradates to now severed and weakened. The sound of footsteps
resplendent hues of rusted-oranges and rupturing the spines of fallen leaves, correlating
malevolent reds which envelop the sky, their pace with mine, and I attempt to conceal myself
redolent with sinister intentions.  What solace will in the shadows, praying that the arcane embrace of
dusk provide? darkness could provide cessation.

Parents hastily usher their children into their warm My eyes, sharp sheets of glass, are bankrupt of tears,
houses, peering out through the key hole as their yet my breath hitches and my broad knees become
quivering fingers attempt to fasten the lock.  In the nimble and fluid. In the edges of my peripheral
hushed quiet of nightfall, the children lie inert in vision, a polished black boot protrudes from the
their beds, clutching their blankets in a wakeful verge of the cobblestone street, whilst in unison, a
disquietude that this may be their final gesture. hand grips tightly on the rusted fence.

There are minimal places left for me to seek solace. The pink tinted livelihood swiftly removed from my
The once blooming and cheerful garden of blood-red cheeks, I feel a certain remorse resurrect within as
roses, now shrivelled and pleading for the grace of the figure’s gaze sweeps across me. The azure eyes
water in their distressed state. Towering street lights intently decipher and decode my appearance as a
cast their garish phosphorescence down onto the sharp throb on my head clouds my vision. I clutch
cracked and weed-ridden cement, daring any soul to my cranium in haste as the man violently grips my
enter its illumination, whilst the iron gates, welded blood tainted collar.
to the decaying bricks of the houses, condemn the
courtyard to a sentence of entrapment. Surveillance I have faced this man before.
cameras intently observing the shadows stalk the
blind spots of these rectangular repositories of the A watch is strapped tightly around his leathery
living, like ravenous dogs hunting their prey. wrist, the embellishment L.B. just discernible. My
vision embraces this momentary clarity as a piercing
My tattered boots now a polluted brown, fill steadily light ensnares me, exposing my physiognomy and
with the excrement of the cobblestone guitars and rendering me vulnerable to scrutiny.
I pause to observe the chiaroscuro of the street,
exquisitely embellished by the nervous line of No one is exempt, no one is immune. Not even me.
mortar exuding from the apartment walls. But as
my feet scurry along the jagged and tarred sidewalk,


If I stay here I turned, confused. And then I was running as fast
as I could. Trying to catch my breath. After a while
Words Kinuli Ranaweera of running which felt like an eternity, I stopped.
Realizing that I was nowhere I’ve been before.
Aratchchige Don | Year 8 Somewhere unwelcoming.

Art Anabelle Parissi | Year 10 With that, a beep came from my bag. “I watch you
everyday Avery. While you walk to school and even
The breezy, cool air chilled my cheeks, my red when you go to sleep, I’m in your dreams, in your
dress hanging at my feet. At this point my nightmares. There is no point in running Avery, I’m
heart pounded, sweat dripping and leaving here to take you,” it read.
marks against me. I had to get away from the party.
With nothing to do, I saw a flicker of light. A sign
My vision blurred and images popped into my head of hope. I picked up my pace and went to see the
of people I have never seen. The sun had left not shelter. Doing it, I was thinking about what the
too long ago, the trail heading for home was pitch message read. I have always felt as if someone
black. I turned around to see if anyone was behind shadowed me my entire life, all the nightmares I
me, I could feel it. There was no one though. I looked had to conquer and all the screams and wails made.
ahead and saw a shop. Good, I’m nearly home, all ‘’Now I need to choose whether to leave to another
I had to do was turn around the corner and walk world, a world of eternity,’’ I thought.
down the narrow road.
I ran to the small shelter realizing what would
Just as I turned and started walking, a twig snapped. happen if I did leave my family; which would be gut-
The sound seemed far away, but it was close enough wrenching. At the creaky door, a boy stood in front
to hear. I turned around to scan the perimeter of of me,
the road and trees. It was then as I turned myself
around, I saw a man standing in front of me. I froze; “Hi I’m Liam Lewis,’’ he said.
“Hi, I’m Avery Grey.”
He had a smirk on his face and he looked somewhat
familiar though, as if I’ve seen him in my head. “Is there a place where I could stay?” I hesitantly
Which only made me scared more. asked.

He had a lean face with a straight nose and with “Absolutely, many to fill,’’ he answered.
dark arched eyebrows that sat upon his stunning
green eyes. “You shouldn’t be here by yourself alone His eyes locked into mine, and I looked back,
at this time of the night, little girl,’’ he said. speechless. Those eyes, they looked as if they had
witnessed so much before. It’s as if I have seen this
I forced a smile and said “Yes, I’m heading home now.’’ boy before somewhere in my dreams.

“Do you know who I am, Avery?” “Don’t worry, I’m not one of them,” he said.

“How do you know my name?” I stepped back from “You’re running away from that boy, aren’t you?”
him. he asked me but looked scared as if he said it to the
wrong person.
“No need for introducing, but simply I am here
to take you into somewhere better, somewhere And then I knew it, from all those books I read it
different. It is time,” he said. made sense now. This is Liam Lewis, a Warlock, a
man who survived the transition to be an immortal.
He saw the realization dawn on me and said, “I have
experienced him before. His name is Nickolas. An

‘’He is an immortal that has been in your dreams
for eighteen years. He will need to have someone
to take him back to Everland. It’s a place where
human surface hearts are broken which is now and
then you will turn into one of them; an Everliving.”


Liam showed me to my room; it was dark and a
little dusty. As we talked, he shared that once he
was trapped to be an immortal himself until he
broke half of his human heart to decide to stay

Liam explained I had very little time to decide to
which world I go or otherwise I get forced or need
to break half of my heart. I have to make this fast.
A world that I can live forever, or a world I can
live in once, but experience with my family.

A noise shocked both of us to our feet now. Liam
came back with a knife in one hand and a huge
silver dagger in another. Tears burst from my
eyes in fear as I grabbed the knife and dagger.

The front door was opened, but there was no
one there, chills ran through me. At that, the
stunning greenish eyes were now glaring at us.
Nicholas, the Everliving Immortal.

“What are you doing here, Nicholas?”

“I see you know my name then,” he hissed.

“I know exactly what the Everliving is now
Nicholas, it’s not just butterflies and unicorns
and the chance of living forever, but a world of
killing is what it is,” I shouted, at last declaring
the truth.

“You might think so Avery, but all those nights
of dreams and nightmares were the sign of what
happens at the Everland and of what happens
here. You only get one life here, and forever,
there,” he said.

“What is it Avery, a world of pity, or a world of

“Look, Nicholas, without the power of love, I
would have never gone through this, but you
don’t know what love is - all you do is traumatize
people and invade their thoughts about Everland.
You think you can do that to me, Nicholas. Well,
you’re wrong. I know I might die one day, but I
would rather die having loved and been loved.”

As I stared fiercely ahead it was as though in a
matter of shots, sparks of fire and dust surrounded
the air.

The miraculous green-eyed, olive-skinned boy that
was standing in front of me disappeared, ashes on
the grounds; the ground where I stay now.


An interview with Nano Nagle, was an educated spirited woman who gave
up her life of privilege to minister to those on the margins
Nano Nagle of society. In times of adversity, Nano gave her ‘all’ to the
poor and needy. With her pioneering Nano set up a religious
Words Monique Mason | Year 11 congregation, now known as the Presentation Sisters of the
Art Felice Todd | Year 8 Blessed Virgin Mary

What was it like growing up in Ireland? Why did you join the convent?

I was born in 1718. Ireland had been under Ann and I returned to Ireland to live with
British rule for 200 years and was oppressed by our mother in 1746 after our father’s death.
very limiting Penal Laws. These laws restricted There I was faced with the desperate poverty
the Irish economically, politically, socially, and on the streets of Dublin and saw the enormous
most importantly to me, educationally. To teach generosity and kindness Ann showed to the poor
Irish culture was considered a crime of treason on our visits to them.
and to practise the Roman Catholic faith was
forbidden. After the devastating deaths of my mother and
Ann, I returned home to live with my brother at
Why did you go to school in France? Ballygriffin. There the misery, vast poverty and
hopelessness the Irish people were faced with
My family were relatively wealthy Catholic inspired me to go to France where I entered a
landowners, who managed to retain their land Benedictine convent at Ypres to pray for them.
through my Protestant uncle. Despite it being
forbidden to travel to the ‘continent’ and be What did you do after joining the convent?
educated in the Catholic tradition, when I was
ten my family took a great risk and sent my sister I realised that only praying was not enough and
Ann and me to a Benedictine convent school in at the age of thirty six, I had to do something else.
Ypres, Flanders.
I went to Cork where Joseph my brother lived in
I left Ypres when I was sixteen to continue my 1754 and in great secrecy I set up a cabin-school
education in Paris. There I enjoyed a lavish and in Cork’s Cove Lane. Initially 35 girls enrolled.
exciting life as a beautiful debutante in Parisian Within a year we had 200 students, and in fifteen
society with, if I do say so myself, a wonderful years we had 7 schools in Cork.
singing voice and yes.... with many suitors.
I employed teachers to teach basic literacy, and
What values did you learn from your family? life-skills while I walked every day to teach
the catechism and prepare the students for the
I learnt the immense value education holds and sacraments. Education is power and it empowers
that sometimes rules need to be challenged and people to lift themselves out of poverty.
changed to make them fair.
How would your parents react to your work?
Was there a particular turning point in your
life? I believe they would have been proud as the
core Catholic beliefs they raised me with were
I distinctly remember one night when I was specifically about charity and helping others.
twenty-two, returning from an all-night ball. As Their sacrifice and risk in sending Ann and me
my carriage rattled over the cobblestones I saw overseas showed they understood the value of
a small huddle of poor working people waiting in education. Our family motto is ‘deeds not words’
front of a church for the doors to open for the early and I believe I did my best in living this out the
Mass. I was overcome by the contrast between best way I could. Although when my brother first
the lives of the poor compared to my own empty discovered what I was doing he was fearful of the
life devoted only to empty pleasure. It was at that recriminations that the whole family would be
moment when I knew I had to do something in faced with but his wife supported me and advised
order to restore justice. him to do so also.


How did you fund your endeavours? My sisters were known as “Nano’s Walking Nuns”
as they also walked the streets bringing comfort and
I used my own wealth which was mainly giving aid to those in need.
what I inherited from my uncle Joseph’s
estate and when that money ran out I What is the message you want young people
begged on the streets. to take from your story?

What was your biggest concern? I want them to realise we all have opportunities to make
a difference in the world and whilst it is important to
Besides the danger of the authorities do our best while we are being educated it is crucial
discovering what the other teachers that we do not lose sight of the need to not only better
and I were doing in operating an illegal
Catholic School, I was very concerned ourselves but to better the world for others.
about how I could provide a financial
base and organisational structure to
continue the schools and other works after
I was gone.

In 1771 I built a convent for the
Ursulines from France hoping they
would teach in the schools, but their
rules and traditions did not allow them
to go out and serve as I and others did.
This was a huge challenge.

How did your order come about?

In 1775 when I was fifty six I invited
two of the young women who worked
in the schools to join me in our own
religious order.

My dream was to have a group of
dedicated women who would educate
those in poverty and continue to
challenge the injustice of the social and
political environment we lived in.

On the Christmas Eve of the same year
our congregation was established - the
Sisters of Charitable Instruction of the
Sacred Heart of Jesus.

This name was changed to “The
Presentation Sisters of the Blessed
Virgin Mary” in 1805 when the order
was approved by Rome.

I received the habit with the others on
the 29th of June 1776, taking on the
name Mother Mary of St. John of God.

Why are you called “The Lady with
the Lantern”?

I spent my nights visiting the poor
through dark and dangerous roads
finding my way with a lantern, offering
whatever help I could give to the ill,
elderly, imprisoned and destitute.


Save me from the nothing I have become

Empty Vessel

Words Hirushi Desanayake | Year 10 It is all gone. I never had the chance to pack
anything, never had the chance to say goodbye or
Art Amaya Kao | Year 7 say ‘I love you, mother’, one last time.

An ominous silence hangs in the air. No The men at the front holler loudly at everyone
one is talking; it is an absolute waste of to move; we slowly get up, grunting in pain.
precious energy The people at the back are still sobbing as their
tears mix with the red sand, their faces stained
The only thing keeping me sane is my steady crimson red. I sigh in defeat and begin walking
heartbeat that pounds in my ears, wavering again. Slowly, steadily, gaining momentum.
My muscles are tight and sharp pain shoots up
Like a breath of hell the sweltering heat licks at my hip every step I take. I have no choice, I carry
my face and the nape of my neck. Sweat trickles on. I have to disregard the pain: the pain in my
down the sides of my face and pools on the corner legs; the pain in my heart.
of my mouth, salty and warm. I am unsure if it is
tears or sweat at this point but it’s the only source Every town we have been to has thrown us out like
of water I have. lepers. Our mother tongue is not spoken by many
in this strange land. Who in their right minds
Lost - I follow the few remaining people of our would accept a bunch of sickly, half dead people?
town. My hands are cold and numb yet clammy.
They are battered and bruised. Scarred beyond We are stared at with amusement and curiosity
recognition and missing a few fingers. Useless, as if we are talking animals. On a few occasions
my hands are deprived of all sensation. That’s they even throw us into giant cages patrolled by
what you get when you disobey. armed individuals for a few days. They stalk like
prey, watching and calculating our every move. Is
Shuffling breaks my thoughts and I look up to see this what being welcomed feels like?
the front of the group come to a halt. I abruptly
stop and my muscles scream in agony. My bones We have nothing to offer. Nothing to give.
creak and shudder, like a weathered building. I We are nothing now. We are empty vessels.
clench my teeth and clutch my arms.
Three winters pass since I last saw home; since
You must show no sign of weakness, child. Show I went on wild adventures with my brother,
no sign of weakness. The last thing my mother hunting for gazelles; picking wild berries. I
screamed at my face before she was ripped from survive on barely a few drops of water and scraps
my arms and slaughtered before my eyes. The of jerky for at least a week. The lack of hope is
thin, unravelling, blood-stained fabric wrapped miserable and torturous.
around my shoulders is the only remaining thing
that I have of hers. I rub my chapped lips together, tasting the metallic
tang of blood in my mouth. I tighten the fabric
Tumbling, the others at the back collapse onto around my gaunt frame and continue forwards.
the ground, crying, whining - groaning. No one If we manage to find a new town in this barren
has any belongings with the exception of sticks, land, I pray that they will accept us and we can
faded fabric and burnt photos. Burnt memories. wake to the sound of birds, not bullets. Where do
The photos are all gone. Our home, our people, we go to now?
our dignity that took years to establish crumbled
in mere seconds. You have nowhere to go. We don’t have a home.
It wasn’t yours anyway. Our loved ones are dead.

You should have died too.



Warmth uses imaginative techniques to create and recreate a literary work. Inspired by Maxine Beniba Clarke’s short story
Hope the author explores the language, voice, form and structure of the original text, speculating about the writers’ purpose.


Words Dinelle Hettiarachchi | Year 12 Art Catherine Panagiotakopoulos | Year 10

Auntie Willemina was ready with hot towels ‘Itta yours.’ She remembered Reginald saying. ‘Da
within the palms of her dark-chocolate shop and everything in it, for yuh, mi Mina.’
skinned hands.
She remembered his toothy grin, as wide as a ripened
The baby’s mouth had found Millie’s black and rough banana, ripe enough to be delighted with.
nipple. “Itta lovely name, dat Eddison.” The sound
of the baby’s lips smacking against his mother’s As the months grew colder, letters became less
swollen breast and the sudden jerks of his tender frequent. Whether it was Jamal’s displeasure to
body warmed Willemina’s heart. deliver at this time of year or Reginald’s work
overtaking his ability to write frequently, all
Dust had begun collecting in the corner of Willemina knew was that each time Jamal failed to
the shop. Willemina hastily brought out bring her hope her heart grew heavy and still.
the elderly, wooden broom to sweep away
the stubborn dirt. ‘Cha chi cha’ she sang with The gentle murmurs of baby Eddison’s usually
the rhythm of the sturdy bristled broom and its jarring cry had rocked Millie to sleep. The
encounter against the uneven wooden flooring. cold night urged mother to seek son, and
son to seek mother. There was a knock on the door,
It had been four months since Reginald’s departure Willemina opened the door a fraction to reveal
to Haiti and Willemina’s thoughts were clouded Jamal. “Good Evening Jamal, any lettahs?”
by the days of their last moments together. He
promised that he would return, as soon as the ackee “Just da one Auntie.” Jamal shuffled through his
ripened, and as the bees began their fuzzy, muffled satchel and handed Willemina a white envelope with
orchestra. ‘Millie’ scribbled on the front.

She looked down at the small lump that had “Mi tank ya kindly.” Willemina held the letter tightly
begun forming in her belly. There were many days between her calloused fingers. Jamal nodded before
where she had wished that the mass inside of her getting back on his scooter and driving off, the dusty
was a growing collection of bammy cake, but the road creating a storm of dirt and debris like in those
sudden aches and acidic uprising in her throat said cartoons. Willemina’s chest seized and her throat
otherwise. Reginald still had no knowledge of the tightened. It not for yuh. It for Millie.
baby growing steadily inside of Willemina.
Willemina placed the letter with the others, in a small
It took Willemina another ten minutes to finish circular tin that used to contain sweets; the dusty
closing up the shop that Reginald had given to her container was kept underneath Willemina’s bed, out
and waited outside for Jamal, the postman. The cold of sight. Just as she pushed it back, she heard a clink
night nipped the tip of her nose and the toes that - the sound of two metals colliding. She bent down
were exposed by her worn out leather sandals. lower, her body pursuing against it.


She grabbed another tin box from underneath, this Dear Willemina,
one was much more rusted and worn. It contained
Reginald’s letters. Reginald, just as Winston did, I’m sorry for the delayed response. I’ve used up
resided in letters. And Willemina knew that just as countless amounts of papers in my attempts to write
Reginald left her heartbroken, Winston would do the to you. I’m sorry Willemina, but this will not work and
same to the poor child. this letter will be my last correspondence with you.
Willemina, I cannot leave my wife and the thought
Willemina carefully dug through the dozens of letters of my own son being raised by someone other than
before the tips of her fingers hit the bottom of the tin, his own father is too great a burden to bear. Perhaps
she picked up the first letter he had ever sent. I did love you once, but that, like our encounter was
seemingly a lifetime ago.
My Dearest Mina,
Good luck with the baby and the shop.
I hope you are well. Haiti is fine and Francesca and
William are too, doing well. I miss you so much my Reginald.
little Mina. I hope the shop is working well, it should
look after you, if, you look after it. It has been difficult From outside the rusted window, the bronze-flecked
hiding our paths, but I won’t let myself forget those sun eased up upon the sparkling water and bounced
two months we spent together. The way the warmth off the fruitless ackee trees.
of our bodies...
Willemina’s eyes were sunken and puffy. Sweat
A squeaky, curling cry carried through the walls, had condensed in the follicles of her hair, rolling it
Willemina carefully but swiftly placed the letter back way past her eyes, cheeks, panting mouth and chin
in the tin, and the tin under the bed. before landing in the pool of blood that had built up
on the uneven flooring. Fat tears welled in her eyes,
“Auntie. Auntie.” Millie hollered from the other room. as her hands quivered in tune with her irregular
heartbeat. Two bodies in the back shed of the shop,
Willemina watched as Millie’s fingers ran across the only one heart beating. Willemina, nor her body
buttons, ribbons, needles and then to the metre rolls craved for the touch of a man, anymore. She rested
tidying any materials that were out of place. her head against the cold corrugated shed and wept
until the black and white warblers concluded their
Baby Eddison was wrapped tightly around Millie’s lengthy morning chorus.
breasts and shoulders with a sunset yellow coloured
cloth from the shop. It became apparent that Millie The burnt orange coloured flame of the candle
often thought that Winston and the ten months provided the only light in the moon’s subtle
following their encounter had been a dream. illumination.
Willemina tried to not notice the wandering of the
girl’s mind. But today she placed the thimbles in There was a pang within Willemina’s body, but she
the plastic container clearly labeled ‘needles’ twice couldn’t differentiate between what was real and not
- a mistake she has never made before. She had to real. Her body often creaked and jerked at the most
carefully empty the content of the container to sort sudden movements, and her thoughts often gave
them out. out. Millie walked out with baby Eddison. Sweet
child. She sat herself down on the worn out wood
“Cha, Chile, what gwan on in dat head of yuhs.” next to Willemina, facing the stillness of the night.

“Nothing, Auntie.” Millie wasn’t one for chit chat “Hello Auntie.” Baby Eddison’s freshly fed body let
and the shrugs belonging to Willemina also said the out a gargle and a burp. “Eddison. Dis yer Auntie
same. The two remained silent for a few minutes, Willemina.” “Auntie Mina.”
the clink of metallic needles and thimbles filling the
empty room. Millie’s heart thumped limply like that Willemina’s body felt warmth once again.
of a fish thrown onto a boat. Cha, Chile.

“He nuh gwan come back.” The room became silent
once again and Millie’s heart squeezed.

“Mi nuh thinking-”

“Just nuh rely on him. Men let yuh down, all da time.”

“Yes Auntie.”

Willemina knew that her words were far from
comfort, but that did not bother her at all. Betta a
calloused heart, den a broken one, chile.


Words Natasha Bellizia | Y10 Art Catherine Walsh | Y12, Zoe Sergianis | Y10, Rachel Fleming | Y10

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The Manly Woman
behind the Womanly Man:
A tale of the treachery
committed by Macbeth
and his manipulative Lady

Words Natasha Bellizia | Year 10
Art Maja Kosavic | Year 10

Gang Leader Duncan, the criminal assembly
began to rupture within. Immediate suspicions
began to form around his closest henchmen, who
appeared almost too eager to claim his position after
his death. With the Police and armed forces far away
from picking up their trail, the travesties that occurred
could only be by the hands of reputable members.
Knowing this, Malcolm, his heir to the gang escaped
to avoid trial and tribulation as he knew what people
would suspect of him. However, for Macbeth, Thane
of Cawdor, his intentions didn’t immediately appear
as clear to the other members. We give the inside
scoop of the events leading up to the catastrophic
exposure and destruction of the Dagger Gang and its
undeserving leader, Macbeth.


Words Angelica Nimmervoll | Y10 Art Liana Barbis | Y9, Marlee Langdon | Y8, Steffani Briek | Y10

blood of your
An environmental Which dead Dunsinane King Duncan.
movement has occured, citizen are you? enemies?
literally. You Will Be Missed.
The answer may
surprise you!

Angelica Nimmervoll
fills us in!

Until the 13th of September, the Dagger Gang was a News of the gang had spread throughout the city, and
mere myth to members of the public. But, when the soon the police began to search and seize almost every
blood had leaked out of Duncan’s heart and onto the member, except for Macbeth and his wife. Then it
thriving streets of Edinburgh, it began the trail of a happened. A public outburst, where Macbeth claimed
case that had only been a tale up until this point. to see the ghosts of what were eventually revealed
to be his victims. It had become apparent that his
“I remember seeing it. That’s right I saw him I tell ya. lack of morality had taken detrimental effects on his
A big tall man, strong build and a tidy beard. Duncan conscience. Lady Macbeth and Macbeth were arrested
was walkin’ down the street. The man came up behind and charged on the 1st of August for the homicide of two
him, grabbed his throat and threw ‘im to the ground. men, and for multiple other heinous crimes relating to
Then he took a dagger, a real fancy one. It had a big
green gem on the end an’ gold threaded throughout their gang involvement.
its handle. He pierced his skin with the blade, an’
he stopped to stare at the wounded man. Then he Alas, after almost twenty days of fear, distress and
stabbed him again, and again, like a ferocious animal. trauma, Great Britain had risen to a life with little crime,
I watched the light drain from Duncan’s eyes, and the and an absence of a major game player, the Dagger
humanity from his. This hadn’t been the first time Gang. But one thing had Detective Macduff stumped.
he’d killed someone, but it certainly appeared as if this He had spoken to multiple witnesses about Macbeth’s
one mattered to ‘im.” A recount from an anonymous temperament. He appeared loyal to the leader, with no
onlooker, who watched the murder unfold. desire of claiming his place. He had been by his side for
many years, so what made him change? Despite being
On September 20, a second murder had taken place, a criminal, his change in behaviour seemed unusual, or
this time in Glasgow. Banquo and his son were dining somewhat sinister. Then he decided to interrogate his
in one of Scotland’s most highly esteemed restaurants. wife, Lady Macbeth.

From Coward to Criminal, “Her morality was lost when her over-ambitious
What or Who was the Motivator? thought became the sole driving force for her actions. I
asked her why her husband did it. She stared at me for a
They had been seated in a private area where no one, few moments before beginning to rock on her chair. She
aside from the waiters, was allowed to enter. began to convulse and repeat the phrase “A husband’s
will always bends to the word of his woman.” I stared
“I heard glasses shatter, then I knocked on the door for into her eyes to look at her soul, and all I saw were
permission to enter. After about five minutes, the man’s fragments. The only remainder of her human psyche
son sprinted out the door. Then I saw the work of a killer. was her inability to cope with the blood on her own
Banquo lay limply on his chair, dead. Blood leaking from hands.” An official statement from Detective Macduff.
his slit throat, and two men escaping from the window.
The lights went out, and I thought I was next…” The It is the human condition to seek power, however it is
experience of one of the waiters, on that fateful night. one’s ethics that assist in maintaining the natural order
of the world. In this case, Macbeth acted under the
control of his Lady, who had not given her conscience
a chance to decipher the meaning of her dreams.
Ultimately, it cost the lives of two men and ended in an
eternal sentence of insanity.


Why do
we still

Words Beatrice van Rest | Year 10

Art Vara Tyrikos | Year 9

The works of William Shakespeare have
endured centuries, been translated into
over one hundred languages, embedded
themselves deeply into education curriculums
and survived even the most unorthodox of
interpretations. The name, ‘Macbeth’ still instils
fear of death and destruction, and romances are
still compared to that of the fateful Romeo and
Juliet. And yet, Shakespeare is just one playwright
in million, so why is it that this sixteenth-century
England literary genius holds a position of such
high esteem and awe in a high-intensity, twenty-
first century technological age?


The answer is a simple one. It’s just as easy to be caught either intentionally
or unintentionally quoting one of his histories,
Shakespeare wrote about the nature of humanity, tragedies or comedies as it is to quote a line
an ever-evolving yet timeless mystery that is from one’s favourite novel or film, if not easier.
the muse of all artists, playwrights, dancers and Of course, it cannot be forgotten that the great
painters alike, and poses questions we will forever dramatist didn’t simply leave his imprint on paper,
be trying to answer. but in theatre too. His plays were composed to be
performed live, an effort which evokes a different
He wrote about the behaviour of individuals response in the audience and is a means by which
when placed in highly tense, but often trivial, people can be captivated by a visual story as it
circumstances. Human nature is something that unfolds before their eyes.
has and will always remain a constant.
The ability to connect people from all the corners
Over the course of twenty years Shakespeare wrote of society and over centuries by a common thread
thirty-seven plays and one hundred and fifty- is a formidable feat. Shakespeare was a pioneer
four sonnets concerning themes that continue to of literary genius who, in a time of great societal
resonate today. Love and loss, guilt and jealousy, challenges, touched on a realm that had never
politics and honour, are among many emotions been explored before.
and issues that are inherent to our human nature
and the societies in which we live. William Shakespeare has left an impact on the
English language that has lasted for over four
Whilst it may seem unlikely that an ordinary hundred years, and for this reason, he is more
person would be compelled to brutally assassinate than memorable. He is remarkable.
the king and fellow innocents because of three
supernatural witches, an unstable mental state
and overweening, all-consuming ambition, it is
natural for people to feel guilty because of selfish
acts or choices, and it is normal for people to
choose what will be of benefit to themselves in
the first place. That’s not to say that there aren’t
evildoers or tormented souls like Macbeth in our
world, but rather to suggest that we all have
weaknesses. Eventually, if we allow ourselves to
fall victim to a weakness or a powerful influence,
it will lead to suffering. Therein lies a perpetual
truth about human psychology conveyed by the
famed playwright with rich language, complex
characters and intriguing narratives.

Not only has he been revered for his talent, but
Shakespeare can be credited for inventing the
use of certain words and phrases that are still,
to this day, used in common language, another
explanation for his literary longevity. To ‘swagger’
and ‘bedazzle’ are verbs coined by Shakespeare
and often take up places in contemporary writing
and spoken word, just like the idioms ‘heart of gold’
and ‘in a pickle.’ In the over seventeen hundred
expressions that we owe to him lies the familiar,
‘laughing stock,’ and even the cliché, ‘to kill with


Escape from the Trench

Words Emma White | Year 7 Art Christine Rigopoulos | Year 10

It started as an expedition on a cold and windy morning. We were in search of a ship that had been
carrying 1,000 people until it went missing, fifty kilometres off the shore of Bermuda. Yes, in case you
were wondering, it was inside the mysterious Bermuda Triangle. Although we called in a couple of favours
to get there, we made it. The team and I had all come from Dublin. Our curiosity towards mystery drew us
together, leading us into the case of the “Buenos Tiempos”. Conveniently, Dublin was where the boat was
originally assembled, so we had easily gathered information on the boat.


On the 15th of May in the year 2020, exactly a We have to get out of here, I thought to myself. We
month after the Buenos Tiempos sank, we were made a break for it. Swimming as fast as our legs
afloat over the lost wreck. It was not hard to would allow us. We swam towards the furthest
find despite being roughly 12,000 feet below the exit from the sea monster.
surface. Thankfully, the wreck did not sink in one
of the deepest trenches in the world, instead it We were ducking and weaving beneath the wreck,
settled in the sand beside it. To help find it, the not daring to enter the open water. Fear struck
discovery of some floating debris led the way and through me, I think the mysterious case of the
we began searching the area. Half an hour later Buenos Tiempos, is no longer a mystery or is it
we found the ship split in two, on the sandy ocean even more so now?
It was very likely this creature was carnivorous.
My brother Teddy and I volunteered to dive down Whether or not it had sunk the ship, only two
to the shipwreck to figure out why it had sunk, that words came to mind then. The Kraken. An old
was why we were there. As our crew fixed the air myth of a squid-like creature sinking ships all over
cylinders to us, we prepared the cameras to record the Bermuda Triangle, using its large tentacles to
the whole experience. Clutching our cameras we drag its prey to the sandy, ocean floor. Okay, let’s
dived backwards off of the boat. 3...2...1… and think this through, the “Kraken” was chasing the
then our bodies fell into the briny, choppy, deep fish towards the rear of the ship, surely the fish
blue sea. have travelled elsewhere.

Down...Down...Down we went, flapping our Teddy and I looked at each other, it was now or
flippers furiously through the calm, endless blue. never. Teddy counted down from three using
As the surface became distant, the shipwreck his fingers, it was like diving off the boat again
called to us, like its ghostly inhabitants screaming 3...2...1… Then swim for your life. Swim to the
for our help. light don’t look back. Swim to the light don’t look
As we got closer I looked at Terry, he gave me a
nod, that was the signal to split up. On inspection, We are almost there! I wanted to say, but under
there was nothing odd about the ship, besides the water, I could not be heard. I looked at Teddy
the fact that it was split in two under 12,000 feet who was just as desperately trying to reach the
of water. Just by looking at the outside the only surface. And then I saw it again.
obvious theory was that there was a hole in the
ship and it filled with water and sank. However, It was following us, no wait, chasing us! As we
there were some oddly shaped dents on both sides attempted to swim from the Kraken, a thought
of the hull. How curious. But what was even dawned on me, we did not stand a chance. I turned
stranger was the fact that on the inside, there was to the face of death, although I had no idea what
no one. No captain, crew, passengers. Nothing. If to do. I prepared to fight no matter how futile it
the ship had truly sunk on its own, the bodies of might be.
the crew would be inside. All six lifeboats that the
vessel had, were still attached to the ship. As its monstrously large eyes watched us with
hunger and thirst for blood, it had claimed the
As I inspected the crew’s quarters, my attention win. The beak of the Kraken clicked wildly at us,
was redirected to a burst of tropical, coloured fish, like it was already eating its prey and its slimy
swimming past the window. Moving closer to get tentacles reached for us. There was no escape…
another glimpse of the beautiful fish, I instantly Then, without warning, from the depths of the
reversed. trench, a pair of large jaws attached to a shark-
like creature, with tentacles, crab claws and razor-
An eye like a shiny pearl bigger than the window sharp fins started heading toward us. It had bright
itself, floated past following the colourful fish. The red eyes and a light like an anglerfish, mouth open
eye was followed by a pure white shape, and long wide and squealing like dying cat. Closer, closer,
glossy tentacles. Without actually measuring, I closer it came. Then, in one swift movement, the
was sure the creature was the biggest on earth, it sea monster closed its massive jaw around the
was more than 100 meters long! I tried to scream Kraken and swam back down into the blue with
but only bubbles escaped my mouth. I turned the Kraken between its gnarly teeth. We hadn’t
towards the doorway. Teddy was right behind me, moved the whole time.
clutching the decaying door frame with fear.
The only thing I felt I could do, was look down at
my camera, still recording.


Long Live I cannot help but ask myself, was it worth it?
Macbeth And why do I ask myself this only now that I’ve
lost everything?
Words Isabella Zois | Year 10
I left my heart in a puddle of my king’s blood,
Art Martha Sarumpaet | Year 10 and I left my mind with the spirit of my friend.

It’s over, isn’t it? Their footsteps beat upon my I... think I left my whole self with my lady... but...
ramparts like rain beats upon the shallow I can’t say for certain.
graves of those who lay to rest in this path I’ve
carved to kingship. How does a ghost know that they’ve died? I can
touch, and see, and smell, but... I don’t feel alive.
The spot that stained our hands turned into an Not anymore. Each soldier I killed became a face
ocean, and I, stepped so far into this blood that I I would not remember come morning, but these
should wade no more, can no longer see the shore faces, they haunt me. Some, more so than others.
line from where I started.
“Long live Macbeth!” was all I longed to hear them
This cursed dagger still hangs before me despite it cry, but the only cries I could hear were their
all, no matter how much blood I pour to cover it, it screams.
still sits there, suspended. I can only wonder what
its purpose here still is. Was it worth it? No, but that doesn’t matter now.

I’ve seen it through my dreams, my nightmares, It’s too late to dream dreams of tomorrow, because
now, even in my waking moments! I thought it for me, there will be no dawn. Tomorrow, how I’ve
some morbid prophecy, to disappear once fulfilled spent my whole life chasing you, and falling short.
but what more can I give?! Oh, tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, how
each day drags on, the same as its sire, continuing
What more can I take?! I give my life, my sanity, to do so until history’s final page.
and still it hangs there, mocking me. I’ve taken so
much! My king, my friends, my love... What else Every day we live is someone’s last, each day a
can I rip from mother earth before she swallows candle lighting the way to his death bed. Snuff
me whole? the light, for life’s no more than a shadow,
a poor actor, who struts through his emotions in
I fear I am too close already, balancing my fate on an hour upon stage and then bows out.
but a dagger’s edge. May the stars hide their fires,
let not light see my black desires, for I fear should Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of noise, passion!
the fire of our hearts meet they would fall to mine But meaningless.
malice, and leave us all in darkness.
I may not see tomorrow, but I will not yield. To
40 THE CURIOUS MINDS PROJECT | AVILA ANTHOLOGY 2018 kiss the group and be baited, Pfah! I must try the
last, and at least when they ask, “Had he his hurts
before?”, they will say “ay, on the front”, I am still
valor’s minion, and I will pay my soldier’s debt.

All must go off in the end, and when I am brought
off the field I will do so knowing my ill checked
ambition died with me. This horrible monster
that destroyed the lives of all, least importantly
myself. I, its mother, and I, its knowing sponsor.
I deserve whatever comes next.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow will not
drag on, and I’ll finally meet tomorrow’s dawn
with my love, and may she find it in her heart to
walk besides me once more.

But for now? This dagger still looms, and its call I
must answer. I will grasp it with my spotted hand
and fulfil this morbid prophecy.

I will fall here, but this... these deeds will stain the
pages of history until the very end, my name with
them. And at last to meet the end, I go!

“Long. Live. Macbeth.”


Scientia potentia est
or scientia est potentia

and finding a balance with understanding

Words Claudia Chmielewski | Year 11 Art Charlotte Kuek | Year 10

Sir Francis Bacon, philosopher, English deep rooted connections with all fellow Aussies.
lawyer, statesman, essayist, historian,
intellectual reformer, philosopher, and Cultural and religious understanding is
champion of modern science coined the phrase fundamental to the creation of a welcoming society.
“Scientia potentia est” or “scientia est potentia”; We can learn so much about each other through
knowledge is power. books, lectures and the media, and we must also
be prepared to learn from each other, engaging
To our contemporary view, this means that learning in meaningful conversations and listening to our
yields power by providing an understanding of the shared experiences. Just this term, whilst visiting
complexities of not only the world around us, but a Mosque on our Religion and Society Interfaith
the captivating people inhabiting it. excursion, we shared morning tea and exchanged
stories with followers of Islam who had welcomed
Gaining knowledge and a greater insight into the us into their sacred space.
many rich and beautiful cultures and religions
of our world, often so vastly different to our own, In this way, I learnt of the experiences of many
enriches our society and empowers humanity as a Muslim women who on a daily basis, suffer as a
whole. direct result of the ignorance of those who choose
to remain insensitive and uniformed. In our
When we display ignorance towards other religions own small way, we endeavoured to build bridges
and cultures, there is a certain danger of creating between our communities, recognising the many
unnecessary divisions within society and an “us similarities between us all, but also perceiving
vs them” trepidatious ideology. Encouraging clearly the challenges that a lack of empathy and
insulting stereotypes only develops an inequitable compassion provoke.
representation within all aspects of society - the
arts, sports and even political stages. It is inherent in our human nature to be curious
about things unfamiliar to us. We must allow
Representation matters, as it inspires and ourselves to follow this curiosity so that we learn
motivates those who are often marginalised and from and about each other, celebrating both our
under represented in our society to achieve a commonalities and differences.
greater sense of self worth and push past society’s
limitation to realise their own potential. It is only In fact, in learning from each other, we also learn
through greater representation of all people, most more about ourselves and our human capacity to
especially of those often pushed to the fringes, that grow, in our thoughts, our values, our identities
our Australian society will become more tolerant, and most especially in our perception of both the
more compassionate and better educated in regard world and people around us. For it is through
to cultures other than our own, ultimately creating acknowledging that our initial perceptions are
at times flawed, and educating ourselves about
cultures and traditions that differ to our our own,



tiHnoosswptiareyd stay inspired!

Words Martha Sarumpaet | Year 10 Step Two.
Art Catherine Walsh | Year 12 Dare to
As a teenager, it is often easy to find yourself yourself
constantly bored and in a ponderous state with friends!
of mind.
Friends and family are an essential aspect of one’s
Feeling irritable and stagnant can make you feel social life. When it comes to friends, it is said that
as though you are stuck in a rut, which can affect we attract what we are.
school work, relationships with people, and your
perspective on life. Perhaps in your own friendships it is clearly
evident that you are surrounded by likeminded
That is why, it is essential for us young people people. This can be beneficial to staying inspired
to stay inspired! You might be wondering, “how as being around people of similar interests will
exactly can I do that?” give you a forum to express the things you love
Well, there are three easy steps you can follow:
On the other hand, your friends may have differing
Step One. opinions on certain topics or personalities to you,
Dare to which is also a great thing! People who have
explore different interests will introduce you to new things
new things! and new perspectives, which can inspire you to
approach things in a different way!
Whether it’s trying a new food, going to see the
new exhibition at the NGV, or joining the Avila Step Three.
debating team, exploring new things is essential Dare to
to keeping yourself inspired. reflect on
your experiences!
For a lot of us, it’s easy to step back and stick
with what you’re familiar with, because after all, An experience is an experience, whether it be
who doesn’t love being in their comfort zone? But, good or bad. It is only natural for us humans to go
exposing yourself to broader horizons will help through the ups and downs that life throws at us.
you approach things with an open mind as well as But fret not, because we can always learn from the
stimulate new ways of thinking that will help you things we experience!

Whether it be through writing about your day in
a journal, meditating, or confiding in a friend, it is
important to reflect on the things we experience.

This will help us grow as individuals, as we will
know what was successful, what we need to



‘My teacher was a strong advocate of the power of language and I tried my
best to use the most powerful words …’ Christian der Kinderen

Interview with an Author

Mieke de Vries | Year 10

Publishing a book is a great accomplishment and for teacher Christian der Kinderen, it signified another
important milestone in his life journey. The creators of Avila College’s very own children’s book, Where is Ms
Purr and The Scarlet Ribbon were privileged to meet Christian and assist him with the challenging task of
selecting finalists in the Holy Family Primary School book writing competition. Here Christian generously
shared his insights on the process of writing and publishing a book.

You have written and published a children’s The Holy family student books we read had all
book. Can you give me the title and where the elements - great characterisation, quirky
did it originate from? illustrations and pathos. How do you encourage
young writers to respond and write?
The Blobs. I originally had lots of wacky titles that
the publisher didn’t like and they convinced me to Children naturally have incredibly imaginative and
keep it simple. Fortunately the title is the easiest creative minds. They need support in keeping their
thing to change but so important in piquing a ideas succinct and ensuring that they’re not going off
reader’s interest. on a tangent. They also benefit from lots of discussion
and illustrating their ideas before they lose them. 
Was the writing process a difficult journey?
Do you have any ideas about your next book?
Immensely! With children’s picture books you
generally have a limited number of words to keep I would love to write a book that teaches children
your audience engaged. I spent many hours trying about the great pacific garbage patch to increase
to make the sentences fluent and easy to read as awareness around plastic pollution.
well as making subtle changes to the wording to
make it as descriptive as possible. What are common traps for aspiring writers?

What or who was your inspiration?’ Trying too hard. I believe that if you let the ideas
come to you naturally that’s when your best ideas
I spent a year backpacking through South occur. I also think being too proud or shy to show
America and Asia. Towards the end of my trip anyone. Reading your work to others often provides
I was searching through my friends list on my very constructive feedback.
Facebook page. I was very proud that I had such
a huge range of friends of various cultural and In terms of inspiration, do you deliver what
religious backgrounds. I think travelling helped the audience demands or find it elsewhere?
me to let my guard down and be open to making
new friends so I wanted to create a picture book I try to keep it current and topical. At the time I was
for the children I teach to help them do the same. writing The Blobs the world refugee crisis was all
over every news channel. I felt it was important to
How long on average does it take you to try and give those people a voice.
write a book?
If you could give your younger self or other
The Blobs took around 9 months. Each young writers some advice, what would it be?
manuscript can vary immensely. Sometimes you
get on a roll and write it all in a week, at other times Be patient and edit your writing! I was always in a
you get stuck and don’t know how to finish it. rush to finish. Also, figure out what is the message
you are attempting to convey and the writing will
take care of itself.


A VCE English Creative Response
to Margaret Atwood’s ‘Cat’s Eye’
embedding the themes and ideas.


Words Grace Munro | Year 11

Art Carly King | Year 12

Footsteps approach as I sit on stinging as I trace her many scars.
the old, hard kitchen surface. I
sit still and undisturbed. I feel As I travel through, I observe the inner turmoil for which I am
pressure being suddenly released, the supposed panacea. Great scars are etched across her heart,
as my cap is frantically unscrewed. the remainders, reminders of lost loves, failed friendships and
I realise the short-lived fate that a life of lies. I am not her only poison - toxic thoughts and toxic
awaits me; label ignored, never memories haunt her.
seeing the light of day, not even a
chance to breathe. They taunt her with ideas of what might have been and the wreck
that is. It is as if the grooves of her mind mirror the divides within
Clutched by the neck, the brown herself. A fractured mind, a fractured woman.
paper bag concealing my contents
tightens around me. I am lifted to I encounter a rather barren expanse - with the sole inhabitants
the gaudily painted lips of a woman. being some cheese and crackers, remnants sitting as a homogenous
Not even touching the sides, a lump, just teasing the idea of sustenance. I continue on.
cascading torrent, I fall towards my
destination. Her body’s defences attempt to break me down, kicking in,
attacking from all sides. Their efforts prove futile. Unable to cope
Following our fleeting introduction I - I have won.
know that once the bottle is lowered
from her lips, a sigh will escape Having broken through I take over. I am everywhere. Intoxicating
them. It is an addict’s sigh - long yet the mind - it is too late for her. The weight that was momentarily
unsteady. lifted upon that first sip comes crashing back down. She is buried
under the crushing weight of the lies she has used to build her
My scent hanging heavy in the air walls. The walls hiding her true face, her attempt to fit into
signifies she has achieved it. Her society’s mould, a desperate attempt to conform.
relief, her sanctuary from life’s harsh
realities. Little does she realise how Now her walls are no more. Built without stable foundations, she
ineffective I shall prove numbing her will be revealed for what and who she truly is.
pain. I shall not heal her wounds
rather, I shall seep through the
cracks of her elaborate facade,


Last Night in Paris

Words Victoria Sarafian | Year 8 Its interior plays homage to a classic French bistro
on the Champs-Élysées, with vintage chandeliers,
Art Wynter Susanto | Year 8 potted foliage, burgundy velvet banquettes and a
cabinet of French pastries, just waiting to be eaten.
Isit perched on the bar stool on the café terrace,
and notice the world around me. My arms rest on The sun peeks through the trees and I feel its warmth
the bench, and the cold carrara marble raises the spread throughout my body, a warm chill cascading
hair on my arms, providing relief to the brilliant, but down my backbone. Through the glass I notice the
intense rays of the sun. sunroom, light pouring through the windows, chords
of soft light spearing down from above, bathing the
It is a sunny afternoon and I am with my family, tiled floor in gold. I look as far as my head can lift.
at a French restaurant, opposite Melbourne’s Royal
Botanic Gardens. The restaurant itself is beautiful
on its own. The decor is classic and whimsical. It feels
like you are in a Paris bistro - except no messieurs
with curly moustaches, or posh poodles propped up
in madames’ bags.


The sky resembles a vast blue veil blanketing the The next few weeks in Paris were the best few
clouds. Birds chirp synonymously through the weeks of my life. I thought to myself, ‘is life going to
branches of the caressing trees above me. I notice get better than this?’ I was with my family, in the
the sun-kissed geraniums that adorn the balcony, all most incredible place, eating the best food, making
in full bloom, and the smooth humming of the bees new memories and the constant thought of a new
circling them. The whirrs of conversation dominate adventure every day was exhilarating.
the sound of French classical music playing in the
background. A couple sit over a basket of frites as they Another highlight of the trip was our visit to the
chat away like tomorrow won’t come. Steak frites are Chateau de Versailles, former home of Louis XIV.
flying out of the kitchen; one plate after the other. Every room I stepped into was more grand than
the other. It was perplexing, and I was awed by
I close my eyes and listen to the sound of clinking its grandeur. Detailed religious paintings adorned
wine glasses and conversation surround me. I take a the huge ceilings, giant marble columns reached
deep breath. Instantly, I drift into another world… a the brilliant gold cornices. Vast rooms were
world of light, of romance; of magic… illuminated with sunlight and chandeliers. The
gardens were a whole different story. The fountain
It was early in the morning on June 15th when we was the focal point of the gardens, surrounded by
arrived in Paris. The sun had barely risen; spears of perfectly groomed trees. Grass mowed in detailed
light pierced through patches of clouds and awakened patterns lied on the floor; swirls and circles shaped
the sky from its sleep. I was tired, but ready for an with flawless precision. I breathed in the fresh air,
adventure. and I felt safe in the shadow of the sky-high hedges
and the gentle sprinkling of the fountain in the
I was expecting our hotel to be luxurious and grand; distance.
the lobby ceiling covered in crystal chandeliers, a
pianist playing a classical piece and maybe (if I was That night we dined out late in a restaurant in the
lucky) waitresses coming around with macarons and Trocadero. I’m pretty sure I stared at the beauty
miniature baguettes on brass trays. of the Eiffel Tower for too long; so long that my
Quiche Lorraine was cold when I ate it. It was so
As usual, my hopes were too high. We stayed in a mesmerising. My eyes were caught by the wondrous
small apartment block, just off a main street. We interlacing iron and the beautiful beaming flashing
unpacked our things and made ourselves comfortable. lights: it was a truly magical moment I had never
Dad decided that we should wander around a little, imagined in my wildest of dreams.
to ‘get our bearings,’ he said. We were off, walking
the streets of Paris. How nice it was — so different to That was one of the last nights I spent in this
home. Cobble stones lay the path of where we walked, breathtaking place. All the people I met, all the
and it made me think of how ancient this city really things I did and saw, food I tasted and the memories
was. Finally, after and hour of walking, we arrived at made were things that would stay with me for the
the heart of this ancient, beautiful city: the Champs rest of my life.
The views of Paris out of the plane window flashed
I have seen it in photos, but the feeling you get when silver one more time, and its soul-swelling magic
you’re there is indescribable. The Arc de Triomphe followed me all the way home.
marks the centre of the city; each tree-lined road
dividing the city into twelve arrondissements. We pay
the ten euro to climb to the top. The view is incredible
— I felt like I was on top of the world. I could see the
whole of Paris surround me and I took it all in.



Words Meg Allan | Year 10
Art Caitlin Beyrooti | Year 7

As our mundane world grows,
We stand in awe
Of what we want, what we crave.
Our own small universe pales
As beside us loom magnificent orbs
Of light, of life.
We wish,
We dream,
We aspire,
We dare,
These shining lights
Further inspiration
For the hopes we hold,
For what we will become.

Yet, we watch,
We learn,
We aspire,
We dare,
To unravel the questions they create,
To fulfil our dreams,
To do all we can.
And we sit, sorting through the chaos
Of life and death.
Soon, we shall journey the sky,
Mystery gone; unravelled by our own past,
Life now only answers in a sea of questions.


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