All posts by darshchauhan

‘There Will Be Blood’ Creative Response

Hi everyone, one of the film texts lots of classes have studied is There Will be Blood (2007). This is a creative response in the form of diary entries as part of an English assignment to the movie. It will make more sense to people who have watched it, but if you haven’t, I’d definitely recommend it! Enjoy and feel free to give feedback.

Saturday 24th November, 1937

To H.W, the man who was always there,

I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.

I am ashamed. I am humiliated.

Begrudgingly, but honestly, I will concede that this was all my doing, my harm. If I was not so insecure or disengaged and obsolete, then perhaps none of this would have occurred. Perhaps. But it doesn’t matter now. I am where I am and there’s nothing I can do to go back and change what happened.

I’m sorry I write to you in this way but it feels as if control has abandoned my body. You are well, I presume and I pray Mary is well. I wish it were the same here, but the truth is, our livelihoods deteriorate by the moment. What was once a tranquil, peaceful grassland where we merrily lived our simple lives has become a rotting hell for each and every one of us. We could hunt quail, drink goat’s milk and sing songs without fear once upon a time, without a care.

But as I lay here on this bench, I feel the warmth dissipating and it’s not because of the weather. I’ve snuggled myself up against this grey seat but nothing will take the pain away. My knees are tucked against my chest and I moan in pain. I call his name but nothing will bring him back. Nothing.

He’s done it, son. He’s insane and he’s gone and killed Eli. Eli. What hope there was for me before you left has been crushed in the hands of the man who went insane- Daniel Plainview. Boy, I would do anything to have him back, anything. They were speaking with each other in his house, Daniel’s house. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were arguing- there’s never been much the two of them have agreed upon. I watched them exchange insults from the corner of the room. I was a coward. I whimpered in anticipation just as I whimper here now, except now there is nothing I can do to bring him back.

Daniel, being the abusive drunkard that he is, hurled a bowling pin at the man who I have watched grow before my very eyes. I can’t comprehend him; his actions, his motives, the man is a foreign alien who came here and conquered and eradiated what didn’t please him and there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing.

Sunday 25th November, 1937

The night has done me some favours. Or perhaps it was forcing my thoughts onto a piece of paper. Either way, I am now more rested than yesterday. I wish time healed me as much as they say it does. I wish the hard things in life were easier, but again I ask for too much. If it weren’t for Daniel Plainview, that emotionless pile of scum, then I wouldn’t have to suffer today.

Daniel Plainview. Daniel Plainview’s arrival to me was a blessing at first sight. Here was a man and his innocent son- you, out for quail like everyone else. But he had a feeling about him- almost like an aura. He carried an attribution of authority and a mentality of nothing but intention.

That is what has brought us here. Intention. When the wrong intention is put in the wrong person’s head, then there lies no method behind his madness- only madness. Plainview’s intentions, however, seemed as just as his presence. His motivator seemed to be quail and the Sunday Ranch seemed to be the best place to look for it.

What was it that brought the most innocent of intentions, the merest of motivations to the downfall that I live and breathe every single day? From the corner of the room, I watched him make a mockery of the village I loved. I put his evil down to only one thing; greed.

Greed is what has gripped Daniel by the hand and never let go. His selfishness and desire for all the material wealth he could get his dirty hands on is what has led to the failure of this ranch. No success was ever enough to quench his thirst. With every dollar he gained, he lost one of his morals. Now he is the richest person on the land.

That’s enough from me. It is Eli’s funeral now and I must mourn the loss of another life since the appearance of Daniel Plainview.

Monday 26th November, 1937

This is not the first time Plainview and I have crossed paths. You’ll remember I said that there’s things I needed to tell you.

Many years ago, when the likes of you were learning to walk, I, like Plainview, mined to support my family. I’d spend hours toiling rigorously in the scorching conditions for a pebble who’s worth kept me living. I worked alongside Plainview for quite some time- we’d both bring our young children to the sites in the hope that they would watch and learn.

One day though, and I recall it vividly, on a Tuesday afternoon, I had a terrible accident. I was working with a team on a hole, including Plainview. To put it frankly, one of our team members, I don’t recall his name, made a simple miscalculation which resulted in me tumbling down the hole. I’ve never felt such pain until recently. This was a different kind of pain though, it was physical, not emotional. Anyway, I fell and my team could not locate me. I was assumed dead when they returned. Slowly but surely, after days of being trapped, my younger body found its energy and I crawled my way out and back to our head site.

Barely breathing, I took some water and looked around. There was no-one there. They had lost all hope in me and that is what still shatters my confidence today. I limped slowly around the barren room, an oasis in the scorching desert. In the corner of the room, crouched underneath the shadiest bench was a baby girl. I picked her up and she cried and cried. I didn’t know what to do so I cried with her.

I searched and searched for my own little boy but he was nowhere to be seen. Disheartened, he became my only goal for the rest of my life. For years, not a day went by when he didn’t cross my mind, but what gave me some hope was the girl who was still there for me.

She is all grown up now HW. And I consider myself a fool because I realise Plainview’s very same greed is what left her there.

She is his daughter. I named her Mary.

And the scariest part, HW, is that I named my son Hugh-Watford Sunday.

Now I have found him.

HW.

You are my son and I am proud of you.

To the man who really was always there,

I love you,

Abel Sunday

Written Explanation

In this sequence of diary entries, Abel Sunday reveals to HW that he is actually his father, and Daniel is Mary’s father. Amidst these revelations, Abel expresses a state of emotional confusion proceeding the death of his other son, Eli Sunday. This is evidenced on Saturday via the use of shorter sentences and an intentional lack of coherence in his thoughts. Abel is ‘ashamed’ and ‘humiliated’ and feels that ‘nothing will take the pain away’. The use of shorter sentences, such as ‘…nothing I can do about it. Nothing’, illustrates that his mental state is compromised by the grief induced by Daniel’s act of homicide. This is done in an attempt to convey Abel’s emotional state to the reader. On Sunday, Abel explores the personality of Daniel Plainview, and examines the relationship between his motives and actions. A thematic explanation of greed as a motivator occurs, and it is concluded that the greed in Daniel has ‘gripped [him] by the hand and never let go’. On Monday, the revelation and backstory behind Daniel and Abel’s previous relationship is given, and once again, a variation in sentence structure illustrates a state of mind compromised by emotion. The entry commences in ‘to HW, the man who was always there’, indicating Abel’s failed search for his son, and also ends in a similar line; ‘to HW, the man who really was always there’. Ultimately, the aim of this piece was to explore the theme of greed through a tell-all perspective from a minor character, Abel Sunday.

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My Slam Poem

Hi all, after hearing Safwan’s great slam poem about life and death a couple of weeks ago, I thought I’d share my slam poem from when I was in year nine. Hope you enjoy!

we are always asking questions in our life, about our life, how to fix our strife, what we perceive as rife

some questions we see as significant like, does God exist?

others we see as insignificant, like whose cruel idea was it to put an ‘s’ in lisp?

well we ask these questions and sometimes we get answers, other times we get the same responses as how do we cure cancer?

well let me tell you something- while you’re brooding upon these puzzles in contemplation,

half of our Earth’s population is wondering something else

they are wondering, ‘am I going to get dinner tonight?’, ‘or will I starve for a fourth day in a row?’

in this world we live in, everyone is equal

and that is not my opinionated opinion that is a factual fact and that is that

whether you’re a man, woman, white, black, Asian, African, Muslim or Christian, when we are born, we are born the same.

no one of us is superior over a kid living in poverty on the other side of the world, without an education, without food, without shelter.

we are as equal to them as 10 millimetres and 1 centimetre are equal to each other.

so when we get to eat meals every single day and go home to a roof over our head

and be at ease and without a second thought eat our sandwich filled with ham and cheese

do we ever? and I ask you this- do we ever take a moment to stop and say thank you?

do we ever think about people who aren’t as privileged as us and be grateful that we live a happy life?

or do we just convince ourselves that it’s out of our control?

if all people are equal, then why do they suffer like a snipe stuffed in a snuffbox?

they don’t deserve what they are going through

and to be honest, we don’t deserve what we are going through

we deserve worse

and they deserve better

what’s the first thing we like to do when we get into class?

we get on our iPads and check our FaceBook status or how many like we got on that photo on Instagram

no-one thinks about what they have

we like to think about what we don’t have though

those new pair of shoes, that level we’re trying to get through on our game, that piece of food we hate that has the audacity to sit there on our plate

and so when we don’t have something, we become envious. we judge people when they show off those new pair of shoes, or that level they’ve finally gotten through, or a meal with them eating that food we so diligently detest

we accumulate jealousy from all the people we want to be and trap that jealousy inside a jar and hope that those things can somehow come to us.

we never want to appreciate what we have in life

the moment you finish a PE class and run for the water tap and quench what you thing is an unmanageable thirst

some people don’t get a PE class, others don’t get water

it’s difficult to think about that when we spray that water on our friends just for fun

so please

the next time you decide to stare stupidly at your smartphone whilst trying to avoid a conversation- and I do it too

think about where it came from and

please do the person you’re talking to a favour

please do the world a favour

and please do yourself a favour

and say thank you.

 

My Poem

Hi guys, this is a quick poem I wrote yesterday before we were evacuated :(. Hope you enjoy and feel free to give feedback!!

Glee

If he was wrong, then I was a fool,

To have thought he was capable, capable of breaking the rules.

To explore is to know, and to know is to love to live,

To live life at its fullest, we must first forgive.

Yet to do so in this world, in this world filled with hate,

It is like already knowing knowing your fate.

An no-one, no-one knows their fate.

Not you, not me,

So let’s live life at its fullest,

Let’s live life with glee!

My English Othello Assignment: Hidden Scene and Sonnet

Hi all, I have a creative response to Shakespeare’s Othello I’d like to share. I’d appreciate any feedback, thanks!!!

 

Othello Sonnet, Act One Scene Three

 

I hath done nought to be condemned to thou,

Nor thy affairs of the patriarch State.

Me, forced to be witness to torment and how,

My lover with my father birthed their hate.

Grieving in self-pity masked in sorrow,

Whilst Othello spoke of our harmony,

Tears of the great green beast he put for show.

Behind him was only lonely money.

But alas, his status was all to him,

Higher t’was than the love of his daughter.

Or t’was on unjust policy he dimmed,

His slight of my being, not who “ought her”.

  • Yet for every mark he made on their kin,

My end may’ve come by my lover’s sin.

 

 

Written by Darsh Chauhan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Othello Creative Response Assessment Task Draft

Act V Scene III

Cyprus: Desdemona’s bedchamber

Enter Iago, bound in chains

IAGO [to himself]          And yet my chance hath not escaped me.

 

IAGO [crying loudly]            Tis most curséd fate! Thy who hath learned,

that not to be honest was in fact to be wise,

as seen and smelt and heard and felt by the Moor,

was masked under hate and jealousy,

whose solitary occupant was him.

 

Oh, take heed- if anyone be near

I cry from the bottom of my hurt heart,

I am sorry for the unfolded events,

Though I must conceal with great caution,

T’was never me who hath lied to thee,

But instead dishonest Emilia,

That harlot so claiming to be mine wife.

They do not call me ‘honest’ for no reason,

And I beg of thee all to listen,

And to forgive with gratitude and peace.

 

My wife, Emilia, hath made the foul call to you all,

By torturing Othello with their romance,

She hath forced death upon him and his wife.

She could not bear the guilt, nor the sorrow,

And placed this heavy weight on his shoulders,

Which were burdened as it already was.

Then he consoled me, as people oft do,

And out of confusion, out of hate, out of misery,

Othello did to Desdemona,

The deed he dared to do to himself.

 

And yet I am left. I am here,

Standing, bound, watching, waiting for you to come,

To understand and to realise,

What bad fate hath come to the people of Cyprus.

So come. Here me now, and come.

 

 

Enter lodovico and cassio

CASSIO               We hath heard thee. Our swords now be abolished from thy sight,

But not without caution, and hesitation.

LODOVICO                     Indeed, for when the Moor is lost, then all is lost,

And this palace will never be the same.

So let us mourn, let us pray, let us forgive

All that hath happened, and all that is to come.

IAGO                                             I could not agree any more. We must

Learn to grow and live, and recover from this.

CASSIO                                           Come Lodovico, let us release him.

Iago hath maintained honesty,

And love, and sacrifice amongst us.

Let this act of miscommunication

Rest in these chains as we dispose of them,

And all the pain that they hath caused us all.

LODOVICO                                                              Indeed.

 

They release Iago from his chains.

 

Come, my brothers, for we are left for Cyprus,

And Cyprus is left for us.

 

IAGO                                     Excuse me for one moment my good friends,

I have much to ponder on after today.

I will be out with you in a jiffy.

 

Exit LODOVICO  and CASSIO

 

A few moments later;

Enter BIANCA

BIANCA                                           Dear Iago, how do you fare?

Hath Cassio and Lodovico bade you bye?

IAGO                                                              Indeed they hath.

BIANCA                            What content have you made them aware of?

IAGO                                 Nothing any more or less than we hath discussed.

Dear my golden angel Bianca,

It is not many people who be aware

That t’is you and t’is me who hath foiled

The intentions of the infidel Moor.

Even now, Lodovico and Cassio,

Those two, poor and ignorant souls

Believe in my innocence, and only seek

The restoration of torn Cyprus,

Only with a sparkling crown on their heads.

Oh, dear, how greed, even now,

Troubles the good souls of the ambitious,

And optimistically bound soldiers

Of this already fallen State.

 

Come, my dear, for you hath done well,

In clouding the hazéd judgement to darkness

Of the once-valiant Cassio,

Who hath never, never been worthy

Of the position of lieutenant.

Of my position as lieutenant.

BIANCA                            T’was only you who hath carried out this master plan,

My brave and dearest Iago. I did but my part.

IAGO                                 You are more generous than you were, it seems.

Yet come now, my dear Bianca.

Come, for we have a State to rule.

 

Exeunt

Word Count: 610 words

 

Written Explanation

The above hidden scene was written in conjunction with the conclusion of Shakespeare’s Othello. The main concept behind this scene was to give some, but not absolute, indication of Iago’s motives for his actions throughout the course of the play. At no point, in either the play or this scene, are his motives explicitly revealed; instead they are delivered to the reader in such a way that he/she may interpret them in his/her own way. Iago’s deceitful character is upheld in this scene as he continues to lie to Cassio and Lodovico, as the reader finds out that he and Bianca had been planning Othello’s death for a long time. At some points in the scene, some internal rhyme has been implemented (e.g. as seen and smelt and heard and felt). This is to show the reader sensory judgement, and the repetition of and aids in illustrating the line’s significance. The decision to write the scene in Middle English was reached as it adds an element of realism to the scene and picks up accurately from when the play ended. Some other literary devices incorporated in the scene are assonance/alliteration (The intentions of the infidel Moor). There have also been some thematic references in the scene (greed…troubles the souls). This is to highlight greed as an underlying theme in the play; Brabantio’s view of Desdemona as property, Iago’s jealousy is motivated by his strong desire for the lieutenant position, etc. A vast majority of the incentives for the major events in the play are motivated by greed, and it is made to appear ironic that Iago reflects on this in Cassio and Lodovico’s desire for the attainment of Cyprus, when in fact, he is the antagonist. Conclusively, this scene gives some insight into thought process of Iago after the dramatic final scene as well as the unseen yet critical role of Bianca in the play.

 

Word Count: 302 words

 

Prompt: You enter your new, yet old house for the first time. As you walk into your room, you hear a shout of ‘help’!

This was from a while ago but I dug it up from my bag. It is mainly on the entry to the room. Please feel free to provide feedback and enjoy!

I tiptoed stealthily along the corridor, eyes wary and alert, ready to react to anything unusual. Stale dust wafted into my nose as I tried to suppress a sneeze. The wooden floorboards creaked me, moaning in pain as I walked on. I reached what my sister had told me was my new room, and stopped to stare at it.

I never wanted to move here. These old cobwebs replaced the image in my mind of a sunny afternoon, in the backyard at my old house. We could run and play in the grass without a care in the world. Well, there was just one concern. The rent was climbing day by day, and it seemed as if we hoped that ignoring it for long enough would make it disappear. But it didn’t. That’s why we’re here.

Here in this old shamble called a house. My mind returned to the dreadful reality I was facing. I reached out to the doorknob, hand trembling. Slowly I turned it, and walked into an empty room.

The last thing I remembered before the rising pale hand took me was a cry of ‘help’ from my sister in the next room.

And then I was gone.

Blog Post: 07/10/16: Darsh Chauhan

We have been instructed to write a post on this block today. I am unsure of what topic to cover in this post. Andre, one of the leaders, has offered to give a prompt to those members who are stuck as to what to write about. I need a prompt but then I want to give myself the credit for the idea that I come up with for this post. So thanks for your kind offer Andre, but I will pass today.

Looks like Reagan has just come in. I believe he owes myself and Alex a bag of Flanno’s cookies. They are famous around the school for their taste and value. But unfortunately, Reagan has forgotten to give me the cookies. I am encouraging him to return to Mr Flannagan’s office but it looks like he cannot be bothered. He says he’ll give us cookies for this post. Well once this post is up, I’ll be looking forward to those cookies.

Ashane, the group leader, has said that the person with the most views of a post by the end of the year will be given five dollars. Five dollars! I could do a lot of things with that much money.

I’m still trying to find something interesting to write to pass the time. I have table tennis tonight. I am looking forward to table tennis. My current writing ‘style’ reminds me of one WIG meeting where Edward introduced us to a form of writing where everything was written from a dull, logical perspective. Perhaps I am sounding dull now. Perhaps I am not.

There are now fifteen minutes left in this session. I believe I’ve done a reasonably good job so far. If you are reading this, please come and visit this piece over and over again so I get more views so I get the five dollars at the end of the year. I’m returning to that dull perspective again. Oh no. Oh god.

This is disastrous. I feel a burning sensation slowly overcoming my body, paralysing me, limb by limb. Perhaps I will die a slow and sudden death. Perhaps it will be over soon.

See, that’s more exciting, isn’t it? But it does take more effort. Ten minutes left now. Next I have geography with a substitute teacher. We have to continue working on our assignment but most people will probably play games. I need to work in that assignment though. Well, we’ll see what happens.

Looks like it’s time to go now. Please give me views. I hope you’ve enjoyed this post. Goodbye for now.

Crossing the Line

Hi readers, the following is a story I wrote for an English task at my last school. Attached is a statement of intention. It’s a long read but I hope you enjoy!

My name is Aryan Muhammad and four years ago, I crossed the line.
I was born in the summer of ’00 in Dhaka, Bangladesh. I now live in Melbourne, Australia, and attend Palacent Boys College. My mother died when I was born and my dad is in Dhaka jail over alleged terrorism charges. I live with foster parents and my thirteen biological elder brothers. Times are always tough, with our financial and social status within the thriving community. Being a Muslim has exposed me to constant racism, both in and out of school.
When I first attended Palacent Boys College, I was asked to give an introduction about myself to the class. I am an honest person, and the thought of a cover story to shadow the ugly truth was not the right thing to do, so I explained to them how I came to be.
“When I was born, in Dhaka National Hospital, my mother died a few hours after giving birth to me. I was brought up for eleven years under the gifted guidance of my father, who taught me all moral responsibilities in life. I attended a small primary school, and we were a tight-knit pack who helped each other out. In 2011, my father was falsely framed for working for a terror organisation. What was worse was that the person who framed him had been a family friend of ours ever since I was born. My father was sent to a maximum-security jail for life. The police took me and my thirteen elder brothers to foster parents, people from the other side of town we’d never heard from or come across. They decided, against my siblings’ wishes, to immigrate to Australia. We rented an apartment with the help of a bank loan, and with the last pennies in our pockets, paid for education here at this school.”
The class was, quite frankly, shocked. In Bangladesh, we were always nice to each other, and empathised in each other’s problems. I quickly grew to learn that in a large place like Melbourne, this was not the case. What I had expected was some verbal gratitude, what I received was physical harassment. Within the first three hours of being at school, I had earned at least three nicknames for each class. People called me a terrorist, orphan, and all sorts of other scandalous sobriquets. No-one was appreciative of my background, they thought I was a shady nobody who would grow to be homeless. Even the teachers’ demeanour became politically incorrect towards me. They would ask me questions like, “Do you support the fact that girls are not allowed an education in Afghanistan?”
But, despite the constant struggles, I remained strong.
I remained hopeful, and mentally powerful.
Although I did not expect this sort of reaction to my past, I embraced it and took it as a notion that would be able to build my personality into something that I would be known for. Everything the school threw at me, I knew that they were wrong. I knew that being a Muslim was not an indication that I was a terrorist, but a humble, frivolous character whose values shone out in defining me.
Soon, the whole community knew about me, and the taunting and heartbreaking comments I received spread like a wildfire outside of school. When I joined the cross-country team, even my opponents from other schools would tease me before, after and even during the race. Whilst I was running, they’d push past me with intended aggression and scream out words of utter brutality. The feeling was is if I was being shot at by an archer or a gunman.
But through thick and through thin, I did not break.
I did not crumble into darkness and leave an imprinted image stating a message of cowardice and pusillanimity.
Some nights, I tried to consult my brothers on how they deal with the situation, hoping that their cultivated knowledge would be able to set me a direct path and approach to the long-term situation. They would offer their best condolences, but did not have a strong message that stood out from mere sympathy. Though I did not blame them. They too, were facing troubles at school, and there was simply not enough time to deal with the situation. My foster parents were working hard to keep us happy and healthy, and it was for that reason I decided not to pursue to subject with them, worried that they already had plenty of things to think about.
Despite always being the centre of victimisation, I was able to make one trustworthy companion. His name was Jared Samuels, a Christian boy who stood up for what I believed in. He and I would play handball during the school breaks, and talk together in class. He told me that he believed my father was innocent. I was rather intrigued by this thought and asked him why, without any materialistic evidence, he believed me so much. He said he was inspired by my introductory talk at the front of class, and praised my courage for standing up for what I thought was right, despite being put up against so many people. This made me feel joyful. But it was what he said next that made my heart leap.
“My father is a lawyer. I’ve told him about your dad. He said he is willing to help. Would you like to come over to my place this afternoon so we can talk about it?”
I was more flustered than anything else, but after a few seconds, I realised this was the perfect opportunity to solve everything. I agreed to his invitation, and before I knew it, school had finished and I was sitting at the desk of Mr Samuels.
Mr Samuels was a very smart man, both metaphorically and literally. He told me it was a huge bonus for him because he’d been looking for a big case for four and a half months. I told him it was going to be hard to free my father of a crime he didn’t commit, because a lot of authorities and officials in Bangladesh are corrupt, and do anything for money, be it right or wrong. He replied sheerly with confidence, doubtless certainty to get there in the end. I must say I was pleasantly surprised with the sudden invite of help, and also the respectful hospitality I received upon entering the Samuels’ house. Jared’s mother had been quick to offer me drinks and snacks, and also gave me her benignancy in relation to the issue.
From then on, at least three times a week I would visit the Samuels’ house, and each time Jared’s father and I would work one step closer to freeing my wrongfully convicted father. Their home became a place of hope and blissfulness, it was almost like a second dwelling to my own house. After Jared’s father and I would discuss all the legal matters, Jared would come into the room and we would spend quality time together. We would discuss the latest video games, sport news and academia for school. And each time I left their house to return to my own home, a dawn of light would reflect in my new-found smile, and the message carved into my eyes was of optimism and prosperity, knowing that someday, justice would be served. Not only would my father be set free, but the modern-world issue of racism would be solved, and people would truthfully execute their moral values.
We are all human beings. No religion, nationality or skin tone is superior or inferior to another. The innovation-inspired positivity of today’s world is overshadowed by its issues. Racism is something that can be permanently halted if all of us make the effort. No spiritual belief is incorrect. We all look upon them through different eyes, through a different perspective. No-one should have the right to disenable anything you say or do based on your race. Whatever religion you are, whatever skin complexion you have, whatever your nationality is, it is important that you are proud of it.

Statement of Intention
I chose to change the story but convey the same message of the memoir, ‘Crossing the Line’, written by Bronwyn Bancroft. The story is about a girl whose father was Aboriginal and mother was a white settler. Throughout her life, she experienced racism, and wrote about how being a ‘tweener’, meaning cross between a black person and a white person forced her into a corner of victimisation and disgrace and hatred. Contrarily to how she was approached, she adored the fact that she had Aboriginal descent, and spoke from the heart about places she loved spending time at, such as the lake, where she could swim to her heart’s content, forgetting about the harsh realities she faced in her life. The message of the text was that she was persistent and proud of her heritage, and refused to believe that she was an outcast.
What I did with this story was modernised it, keeping the previously mentioned message of the story constant, but exploring the problems of today’s world, covering topics such as being the ‘new kid’ in school to going as far as the problem of terrorism today.
The story is told from the perspective of a Bangladeshi emigrant, whose father is in prison over terror allegations and mother is dead. He is a constant bullying victim at school, and his teachers are of no help to him. But, just like in ‘Crossing the Line’, he remains mentally positive and strong, and works with his lawyer and best friend to free his father, who was falsely accused, and be the symbolic ambassador in racism.
The story does not finish on whether the emigrant’s father was eventually freed or not, this is because it distracts the reader from the main message of the story.
Overall, the message conveyed is in strong relation to identity; both Aboriginal and modernised. It is a battle that seems impossible to win, but through the practice of displaying values, is victorious from the former victim.