Celebrating Student Voice, Writing and Creativity

Nirimba Writers Competition

Wyndham College would like to acknowledge and congratulate all students who participated in the 2026 Nirimba Writers Competition. This year’s theme, Courage in Everyday Life, encouraged students to explore the many forms courage can take in everyday experiences.

We would like to acknowledge the participation of students from Wyndham College, St John Paul II Catholic College and TAFE NSW, and thank all students for sharing their creativity and writing.

Congratulations to Shanvi Shyla Prasad, Wyndham College, who was awarded first place in the 2026 competition earning a special podcast recording experience to showcase their winning piece. We also acknowledge Mohammed Faras, receiving a Highly Commended award and a book prize for his impressive entry and Heather Furey from Wyndham College for their participation and congratulate all students who contributed to this year’s competition.

Congratulations to Shanvi, whose writing was awarded first place in the 2026 Nirimba Writers Competition. We are pleased to share her winning piece, with permission.

ONE STOP BEFORE MINE

You got off one stop before mine,

Somehow, It felt right,

As if the roads had known before we did

That we were never meant to arrive together.

I remember the last bus we shared-

How crowded it was, how little room the world had left,

You held me close so I wouldn’t fall,

While I held that sugary drink you promised we’d get again

Sweet in my hands, sweeter in the thought “someday,”

Though someday never came.

Today, the same road was almost empty,

I sat with all that space between us,

Strange, how once,

I needed your arms to keep me steady,

Now I can stand perfectly fine without them.

I didn't know then that some endings arrive quietly.

Not with slammed doors or words that leave a scar,

But with two people becoming strangers

While remembering who they are…

Who they were.

I knew the sound of your footsteps,

The shape of your laugh,

The twirling of that curly blonde strand done without thinking,

And all the places I thought we’d arrive together.

But then…

I smiled after realising it was you.

Not because I wanted yesterday back,

But because once, you were someone I loved,

And I don't think love becomes a lie just because it didn't last.

Maybe that's what my daily courage was:

Holding a memory gently,

Without mistaking it for an invitation.

You got off one stop before mine,

Once, I would’ve wished you stayed.

Today, I just watched the bus move forward.

The roads didn't change.

The stops didn't change.

Even your cologne hasn't changed.

Only where you got off.

And for the first time, I realised.

You got off one stop before mine,

But I was still going somewhere.

by Shanvi Shyla Prasad

We are pleased to share Mohammed Faras' contribution to the 2026 Nirimba Writers Competition, with permission.

THE QUIETEST COURAGE

The world applauds the sword, the shouted oath,

the crowded march, the fist raised to command.

But water freezing in a seam of rock

splits what no army could, taking all winter, unwatched.

No banners wave for mutiny in the skull -

the locked jaw, the throat that swallows bile.

And yet the mind turns, questions its own truths,

and leaves the certitude it held behind.

It is the silent shield: to swallow heat,

to let the insult pass when fury begs

for one more word; to watch a known path turn

to dust, and cross the rotting joists in darkness.

Fingers raw from knotting fraying twine,

or shaping clay, unbaked and prone to crack -

to watch it shatter on the pavement stones,

then kneel among the shards, start again.

Cold grease congealed upon a single plate,

the lace untied, the fog a blinding wall,

the tap choked white with lime. The coat hangs waiting.

The key turned in the lock. Morning. Then the next.

A ledger closes on a column unread,

the lifetime's debt carried year after year,

paid down in portions small enough to hide.

They ate. The column balanced. No one signed.

Some things are refused by never being done -

the order taken in, then left to sit.

A grain of sand inside the running gear

goes round, patient, out of sight,

wearing the bearing hollow turn by turn.

What splits the granite, what holds the weld,

is the same cold work, unwitnessed, deep.

No trumpet sounds. The frost bites hard - but still

the engine turns, catches, and holds.

by Mohammed Faras

We are pleased to share Heather Furey’s contribution to the 2026 Nirimba Writers Competition, with permission.

THE QUIET KIND OF BRAVE

They tell us courage wears armour,

that it stands beneath a burning sky

with a sword clenched tightly between its hands.

They tell us courage is loud–

A battle cry,

A hero running towards danger

while everyone else runs away.

But I have seen another kind.

I have seen courage standingin front of a bathroom mirror,

staring at a reflection

it has spent years learning to hate,

and whispering,

You are enough.

I have seen courage

in the shaking hands of someone

raising their hand in class,

their answer trembling behind their teeth

because being wrong feels

like falling from somewhere very high.

I have seen it in apologies

that taste like broken glass.

In the words,

I was wrong.

In the words,

I need help.

In the words,

Please don't leave.

Courage is not always fearless.

Sometimes, it is walking into a crowded room

while anxiety pounds against your ribs

like fists against a locked door.

Sometimes, it is sitting beside the person

everyone else has abandoned.

Sometimes, it is speaking

when silence would be safer.

Sometimes,

it is surviving an ordinary Tuesday

when your heart feels too heavy

to carry through the day.

Perhaps that is what they forget.

Not every battle has a battlefield.

Some battles happen quietly

behind bedroom doors,

inside crowded classrooms,

at dinner tables,

and in the spaces between

what we feel

and what we are brave enough to say.

So no–

courage does not always wear armour.

Sometimes, it wears a school uniform,

or an apron,

or yesterday's clothes.

Sometimes, it cries.

Sometimes, it is terrified.

And still, it gets out of bed.

Still,

It chooses kindness.

Still,

it takes one trembling step forward.

And perhaps courage is not

the absence of fear at all.

Perhaps courage is simply this:

being afraid–

and choosing to live anyway.

by Heather Furey

Literacy and Numeracy Week at Wyndham College

Wyndham College recently celebrated Literacy Week with activities designed to encourage students to engage with reading, writing and the power of language. Students had opportunities to participate in literacy-focused activities and share their ideas and creativity.

We would like to acknowledge and congratulate Yethara Thanthrige Don and Heather Furey for participating in Literacy Week and for sharing their written responses. We thank them for their enthusiasm and contribution to this celebration of literacy across our school community.

As part of Literacy Week, we invited students to reflect on literacy, creativity and the role of language in our lives.

We are pleased to share Yetara and Heathers written responses, with permission :

SIX WORDS ONE STORY

Tell a complete story using exactly six words. Then add one sentence explaining the story or idea behind your six words.

My response: “He finally found words, time disagreed” → After years of withholding the words that mattered, he finally got the courage to speak, only to discover that some opportunities don’t wait forever.

by Yethara Thanthrige Don

“I love you”- from mum

I never expected those words to change everything.

Rain hammered against my bedroom window as my phone lit up in the darkness.

“Mum’s gone,” my brother whispered.

I stopped breathing.

“No.” The word barely escaped my throat. “No, she’s not.”

I laughed, but it came out broken. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the phone. My chest tightened, each breath scraping against my throat.

Yesterday, I had ignored her call. I was angry over something stupid—something I would give anything to remember now.

I opened her voicemail.

“Hi, sweetheart,” her voice whispered. “Just wanted to say I love you. Call me when you get this.”

I broke.

That was Mum. Always reminding me to call. Always asking if I’d eaten. Always saying I love you before hanging up, even when I was too busy to say it back.

Now her voice was trapped inside a tiny screen.

I played it again.

And again.

Until the words stopped sounding like a voicemail and started sounding like a goodbye.

I would give anything to hear her say them again.

But I never expected “I love you” to become the words I would spend forever wishing I had said back.

by Heather Furey

Please Return Texts

Attention Year 12 Advanced, Standard and EAL/D English Students. This is a friendly reminder to all Year 12 English students to please return your texts. Timely returns help us ensure that all students have access to the materials they need for 2027.

INCLUSIVE EDUCATION

Visual Arts