Creative trial exam memorise

intro section

The wind slams the front door, sending an ice-cold shock through my veins. I catch myself holding my breath just as I did all those years ago- back when a door slam meant the tsunami was gaining momentum. Then I hear a scream. My daughter comes racing down the hallway, launching herself into her father’s arms for protection from the violent storm raging outside. He catches her, laughing, as she buries her face into his chest. My heart settles as I begin to breathe again, but the memories of my childhood have already begun to flow.

TSUNAMI paragraph 1

My mother and I would laugh all day. We played Barbies and dress-ups, made crooked paintings and scattered art supplies across the kitchen table. When it was just us, the room sparkled like rays of sunrise reflecting on morning dew. But when that front door opened, something shifted. The laughter ceased. Mum’s smile disappeared.

TSUNAMI paragraph 2

Friday nights were always the worst. It was a ritual for us to silently pray for his footy team to win- but if that failed, Mum would quickly whisk me off to bed as he stumbled through the door. He would stride past my artwork without a second glance, followed by a heavy, bitter smell that turned my stomach inside out. I still heard what he did. I still felt the seismic vibrations through the pastel walls of my room. Sometimes, I could even sneak a peek at the ferocious tidal wave that pummelled towards my mum.  ***

TSUNAMI paragraph 3

I didn’t understand that the laughter wasn’t supposed to end when someone came home. But I could tell exactly when the colour would drain from my mother’s face by the sound of leather soles on our verandah.

TIDE paragraph 1

It was a cycle that never ceased. The white foam would fizzle out, the water would draw back out to sea and there would be glimpses of us as a family. Sometimes we would laugh around the dinner table, play board games and watch movies together. But the water would surge once again, triggered by days that brought unspeakable pain and a trauma I was too young to comprehend.

TIDE paragraph 2

As I grew older, I began to notice that my family’s story was not ours alone. Again and again headlines appeared: another woman killed, another family left shattered. Australia has spent years talking about a national crisis of violent against women, yet an unwanted and unwelcome cries ‘why didn’t she just leave?‘- the recurring question taking the spotlight of too many stories. ***

TIDE paragraph 3+4

Growing up around violence taught me that it isn’t always announced as a crashing wave. Sometimes it lives in the heart-stopping silence after a door slams. Sometimes it is a woman changing the way she looks or speaks to please someone else. Sometimes it is a child’s ears pricking at the sound of a key in a lock.

Once you have become attuned to the tide, you can see it everywhere.

BREAK paragraph 1

The first time my mother left, she took almost nothing. Not the photographs lining the hallways, not the jewellery hidden in the back of her drawer, not even her own mother’s blue cardigan. She took only my hand.

BREAK paragraph 2

For years I thought that my mum’s strength lay in the moment we finally left. Now, I realise that she is strong in so many more ways. She found the courage to leave again and again, when staying became familiar, our house became constant and leaving looked impossible. It took more than one attempt, but her bravery lies in refusing to accept ease over safety. That is the strength I see in her now, and I am proud of her every day. ***

BREAK paragraph 3

Each accusation, each whisper of ‘why doesn’t she just leave?‘ pours into the whirlpool of ignorance, dragging women further below the surface as they desperately gasp for air. Leaving is not as easy as walking out a single door. Behind it wait thousands more: financial insecurity, housing, custody battles, isolation and coercion.

BREAK paragraph 4+5

Still, so many women remain caught in a cycle of threats followed by apologies and empty promises to change that they return when the waves settle and the water looks calm again.

Breaking the tide requires more than just individual courage. It requires doors that actually open to safety, to housing, to financial security and to justice. And it requires us to teach our children to recognise the tide before they are caught in it.

OASIS paragraph 1

The tide ends with me. My children will grow up safe. I don’t blame my mum for where we ended up. The greatest gift she gave me was the hope that fear would not follow me into my future. The sound of a key in a lock once sent my stomach swirling. But my children will not inherit that same fear when their father arrives.

OASIS paragraph 3

No.

When that front door clicks open, their footsteps race down the hallway, my daughter leaps into his arms, their warmth spilling through the house like sunlight. We laugh uncontrollably and make mistakes without fearing what will come next. My daughter drags her father to the lounge room and desperately shows him the Barbie she has dressed up.

OASIS paragraph 4

Sometimes I will watch her and see myself and my mother as we played with Barbies. Only now, the storm remains outside. It can crash against the windows and howl beneath the eaves, but never does it cross our threshold. Our door opens and nobody inside holds their breath.