Year 8 English Writing Works

Year 8 has been studying 'Voices in the Australian Landscape'. This unit involves studying different forms of text that explore the Australian experience.

A recent task was to create a story based on the short story 'Exotic Rissole' by Tanveer Ahmed. The students were inspired by Ahmed's exploration of culture and diversity within Australian society.

Two writing examples from Year 8 appear below:

The warm evening air carried the scent of a barbecue, mingling with the salty lake breeze. My aunt and uncle’s house, nestled among tall gum trees, glowed under fairy lights. Cicadas hummed, kids splashed in the pool, and laughter echoed through the yard–a true Aussie summer night.

This belated Christmas dinner was relaxed but meaningful. Family arrived on time, eager to be together. There were no speeches or strict traditions like other families might have, just easy conversations, shared memories, and the joy of a warm summer evening.

The table overflowed with classic Aussie Christmas foods: fresh prawns, Aunty Tracey’s signature golden roast turkey, smoky grilled meats and veggies, and creamy potato salad. Ice-cold drinks consisting of beer, soft drinks, and crisp white wine were buried in ice inside of the esky, keeping everyone refreshed. Small bowls of salted sunflower seeds and chips of various flavours were passed around, hands reaching for them between stories of the past.

Kids ran barefoot through the grass or lounged in damp swimmers, whilst adults embraced the laid-back style of shorts and sundresses. No guest of honour–just a celebration of family, food and togetherness.

As the sky darkened, plates emptied and refilled, candlelight flickered, and music began to play. One by one, voices joined in, carried by the warm summer breeze.

By the time the barbecue’s embers dimmed, some leaned back, full and content, while others lingered, savouring the night. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was unmistakably Australian – a family feast under the stars.

Caitlin D., Year 8

The aroma of newly cut grass greeted me as I walked into my new home, the beginning of my adventure from Singapore to Australia. My Appa always instructed me to enter first with my right foot, something that I did not fully comprehend at age six. Moving meant leaving home, family, and friends behind, but my Amma reassured me, "Moving here is going to be good for us, I can feel it."

Residing in Seven Hills, where there was a large Indian community, I grew to find comfort in my 94-year-old neighbour, Dorothy Nan Leonie, who became the grandmother I never actually had. With her gentle, creased hands and warm heart, she welcomed me to her home, where the smell of lavender and freshly baked scones was in bold contrast to the turmeric and curry leaves that filled our kitchen. We formed a bond through food, she introduced me to pavlova, while I introduced her to Amma's fish curry, watching as her eyes widened like saucers with delight at the burst of flavours. Food was the unspoken bridge between our cultures, when Amma cooked her signature masala biryani, its aroma of cinnamon, cardamom, and slow-cooked basmati rice wafted through our home.

I would bring a plastic box packed tightly to the brim to Nan, and she exclaimed, “Life’s too short to miss out on this” and repeatedly asked Amma when she would make it again. As we ate delicious meals, I would listen to her stories from the 1940s and the time her husband left her at the hospital when she was giving birth to her firstborn and I would tell her everything that went on in my life, she was one of my best friends.

We spent the evenings in either our garden verandah, spooning sambal rice into steel plates, or sitting at Nan's table for shepherd's pie and a clinking fork. It was during these moments that I grew to cherish both this new culture that I was learning and my heritage. But as time went on, she moved out of her house and into a nursing home and one day Nan was gone. No warning, no final goodbye - just an empty home, a porch chair with no basket of knitting sitting on the chair, and a hollowness that was too much to bear. Her blue-flowered ceramic cup remained untouched as if waiting for her to return. I was going to go visit her that evening, to deliver Amma's biryani as always, but life had other plans. The guilt overwhelmed me, the words I never got to say ringing in my head during the midnight hours.

I wished I had told her how important she was to me, how she had replaced the space left by my grandmother. Her warmth was a memory now, but with every chew of Amma's biryani, I relished pieces of her, her laughter, her generosity, her love. I understood that home was not a place, it was the love we shared with food, the stories we exchanged, and the people who gave us a sense of belonging. From food, I have learned that culture is more than traditions, it is a binding connection, understanding, and bonds that transcend time and space, even when those whom we love are no longer around. Food was truly the bridge between our two worlds and all bridges break down at some point, don’t they?

Jenolin P., Year 8