[Mr. Menard] 052412 Seventh assignment

**For this essay, I don't have the first draft that should have been written in class time because I was "officially absent" for the class due to the late AP Chemistry Exam on May 24.

Although I have gone through only four stories written by Ernest Hemingway, I could somehow feel his repetitive style of writing in all of them. According to my research, Hemingway called his style “the iceberg theory”, which means that he had the facts floating above water with the supporting structure and symbolism operating out of sight. The concept of the iceberg theory is often called the "theory of omission." Hemingway described one typical incident while he was giving an entirely different message for the readers deep inside. For instance, Nick Adams was depicted as he was fishing, but we could interpret this as Nick Adams concentrating on fishing to the extent that he does not have to think about anything else. It is not difficult to find these deep-meaning descriptions in his works.

Not only the style repeats, but the overall theme and plot somewhat agree with each other in Hemingway’s stories. This seems to be true among at least four stories that I have read: The Old Man and the Sea, A Farewell to Arms, A Way You’ll Never Be, and Big Two-Hearted River. Simply saying, all of them can be put together into one big plot of a protagonist trying to fulfill his desire. Even though the way each character in the stories follows in order to overcome their disadvantages is a bit different, it is still quite similar in whole. Most of them, though they don’t get to get everything they have desired throughout their journeys, the ending seems to be quite successful in a way they could at least realize the fact that they at least tried to do something and that there is a great potential under themselves.

For instance, Nick Adams, the old man, and Frederic Henry are similar in a way that they first start their journey by facing or realizing the presence of obstacles in their life. Nick had a post-war trauma; the old man felt powerless in front of his continuous failure in fishing; Frederic was trying to overcome his grief caused by his wife’s death. Although there does not seem to be an easy way that they can break the walls made right in front of them, they repeatedly try to find a new way, while feeling impotent sometimes. But, at the end of their journeys, each of them have made a change in some sense of their life, returning home. Even if the descriptions don’t directly tell you how they have made difference and how significant it could have been, we can interpret the sentences more than what he has written, considering his iceberg style of writing.

After reading all those stories, I became concerned about whether I’m pushing myself to make any change in my life. My answer was no, for now. Being educated and brainwashed in a way that establishments want so, I sure realize that my environment itself is an obstacle for me and that I should do something to change it, or at least try to get out of it. But the thing is that I keep making justifications for not paving the new ways of my life, by simply claiming that “Oh, I’m just so busy studying,” which is the worst justification that a student can ever make. What is the point of studying when that process is being done in a condition that does not fit my own way of learning things? What if I am currently in the state of the old man staying in a shallow sea before going out to the broader one where he truly develops his potential?

Starting from finding out the similarities in the style of Hemingway’s short story pieces, I learned something more than the repetition itself. I alarmed myself to become more aware of the changes I could make in order to develop my inner sense and explore my potentials. It seems like I found the true meaning of all this process of reading Hemingway. It is time for me to adopt those teachings given by the literary pieces into my life, in order to make my potential fully developed in many senses, not only by fulfilling my desires, but by exploring what I can really do to make some changes in my life. Thanks. 

Catcher in the KMLA

Some things are hard to remember. I’m thinking now of when OT got back from her date with Seok. I mean I can’t remember exactly what I was doing when I heard her goddam stupid footsteps coming down the corridor. I probably was still solving the AP Chemistry questions, but I swear I can’t remember. I was so damn worried, that’s why. When I really worry about something, I don’t just fool around. I even have to go to the bathroom when I worry about something. Only, I don’t go; instead I go to Mr. Liu’s office. If you knew OT, you’d have been worried, too. I’d double dated with that bitch a couple of times, and I know what I’m talking about. She seemed to forget which one she was dating exactly. She really did.

Anyway, the doors were all made out of paper or something and all, and you could hear that huge bitch’s goddam footsteps coming right towards the room. I don’t even remember which problem I was solving when she came in- acid-base equilibria, titration or buffer solutions. I swear I can’t remember, even the number of moles of NaOH.

She came in griping about how cold it was out. Then she said, “Where the hell is everybody? It’s like a goddam morgue around here.” I didn’t even bother to answer her. If she was so goddam stupid not to realize it was Saturday night and everybody was out or asleep or home for the week end, I wasn’t going to break my neck telling her. She started getting undressed into her most basic clothes, as usual. She didn’t say one goddam word about Seok. Not one. Neither did I. I just watched her. All she did was thanking me for letting her wear my pink-white gorgeous uniform. She hung it up on a hanger and pit it on the closet as if nothing special had happened.

Then when she was removing her awkward makeup, she asked me if I’d done her homework for Mr. Tame’s English literature class. I told her it was over on her goddam bed. She walked over and read it while she was unbuttoning her corset which didn’t really fit her. She stood there, reading it, and sort of stroking her bare chest and stomach, with this very stupid expression on her face. She was always stroking her stomach or her chest. She was mad about herself.

All of a sudden, she said, “For Chrissake, Synthie. This is about a goddam innocent love.”

“So what?” I said. Trying to be cold as hell.

“Wuddaya mean so what? I told ya it had to be about me. Do you think stupid innocence of love goes with this sexy babe?”

“You said it had to be cool. Whay the hell’s the difference if it’s about innocence or not?”

“God damn it.” She was sore as hell. She was really furious. “You always do everything backasswards.” He looked at me. “No wonder you’re flunking the hell out of here,” she said. “You don’t do one damn thing the way you’re supposed to. I mean it. Not one damn thing.”

“All right, give it back to me, then,” I said. I went over and pulled it right out of her goddam hand. Then I tore it up.

“What the hellja do that for?” she said.

I didn’t even answer him. I just threw the pieces in the wastebasket. Then I lay down on my bed, and we both didn’t say anything for a long time. She god all undressed, down to her panties, and I lay on my bed and start Kakao-talking. You weren’t allowed to play with your cellphone late in the dorm, but you could do it sneakily inside your blanket. Besides, I did it to annoy OT. It drove her crazy when you interact with other friends. She got no friends other than me. It was only me.

She still didn’t say one single solitary word about Seok. So finally I said, “You’re back pretty goddam late if he only signed out for nine-thirty. Did you make him be late signing in?”

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, cutting her goddam toenails, when I asked her that. “Coupla minutes,” she said. “Who the hell signs out for nine-thirty on a Saturday night?” God, how I hated her.

“Did you go to Wonju?” I said.

“Ya crazy? How the hell could we go to Wonju if he only signed out for nine-thirty? We went to Sosa.”

“Cool.”

She looked up at me. “Listen,” she said, “if you’re gonna Kakao-talk on the bed, how ‘bout turning that shitake cell phone off?”

I ignored her. I really did. I went right on texting like a madman. All I did was sort of turn over on my side and watched her cut her damn toenails. What a school. You were always watching somebody cut their damn toenails or squeeze her pimples or something, for chrissake.

[Photo Essay] "My Third Home"

[Extra Post]The Box Incident (revised)

“What? You can’t come, Mr. Ryu?”

It was like an unexpected volcanic eruption that killed uncountable numbers of people in Pompeii. Well, at least for us. We, the class number five, had been practicing this ridiculous box dance for the last two weeks, just to win any place in the Cheerleading Contest. Though none of us really “wanted” to do it, we put every ounce of our energy towards winning the contest. This was significantly because our adviser, Mr. Ryu, was participating very hard. I recorded the background music, Isabella made all the dance moves one by one, and everyone made his or her own box-head to wear; we even skipped numerous meals for practicing.

Considering all our effort, the sudden announcement of Mr. Ryu saying he could no longer participate in the contest on D-day was quite disastrous. Of course we understood how much he wanted to help us, and how he was so upset being forced to go to the seminar for the teachers. But understanding was not important at that time. We only had the 30 minutes left for the lunchtime; we had to choreograph the new movements from the start, in order to pretend as if Mr. Ryu’s space was not empty. We were all exhausted, but Isabella, as usual, demonstrated her leadership as the class president. Deliberating for about 10 minutes (we could not spend any more time on the thinking process), we decided to make one person be the fake-Mr. Ryu. And that was me, apparently.

Wearing Mr. Ryu’s Hanbok school uniform, tying up my long hair, and finally putting the box on, I turned into a real Mr. Ryu. The disguise itself was quite a bit more successful than expected. It was quite fun to face some of my close friends bowing at me. Even Mr. Sung stared at me with weird eyes, probably asking himself, “Why in the world is he wearing that hideous box? He is my age.” Before Flora, my overly talkative roommate, and Violet, my fairly talkative roommate, revealed the truth to every single person they met, it seemed like no one really noticed this awesome box-head was me. The talkative one did me a favor of pushing the button for the fake Mr. Ryu, as it is shown above.

Finally, the contest began. We were assigned to perform as the 11^th team out of 22 teams. Watching the other teams showing their best on the stage with wonderful performance and costumes, we had to feel somewhat discouraged, to tell the truth. One of the previous teams even played Taek-won-do and Kendo at the same time. However, it did not take much time to cheer up the classmates, since we don’t usually go with the words “discouraged” or “downhearted”. I asked Mr. Kwak, the general manager of this event, whether we could quickly go outside to practice for the last time. Right after the approval, we ran outside the door and began rehearsing. Unfortunately, it did not seem to work well. Half of us were exhausted and the other half were confusing the dance movements. Despite the failure in the last practice, we had to come back in. I am pretty sure most of us, including me, had 근자감 (unreasonable confidence) on how well we would perform at that time.

Last but not least, I would not talk about the details on how we did on the stage. We did pretty well, at least I believe. The fact that we did not get any prize was not that important. My dear classmates were already discussing whether we would have a barbeque party or some other get-together events. This is what I love about my class. We don’t get obsessed on the results that already took place, but we seek for something more fun, something more valuable. We put all our effort towards what we have to do, and the way we do it is what is significant to us. I guess I found one great proving example for that statement that I’ve just said. How cool.

[Mr. Menard] 050312 Sixth Assignment

The Garden Lodge

For more than millions of years since humans were created, or evolved from monkeys, there has been a subtle, yet distinct, division between the “suggested” characteristics between men and women. Men have been considered to be masculine, strong and incorruptible in some sense, where women have had to be homely, emotional and sensitive in most of the times. Although there should not be any discriminative rules regarding gender superficially, there are still stereotypes existing in people’s mind on how each gender should be. In “The Garden Lodge”, Willa Cather, like some other modernistic authors, gives a rather new perspective on the matter of gender stereotypes.

             Caroline Noble, the protagonist of “The Garden Lodge”, is a strong-minded woman who seems to bear more masculine sides compared to what an ordinary female is thought to be at that period of time. One day, her husband Howard Noble asks her whether she would agree to break down their garden lodge. Although it was to build a new summer house there instead, Caroline becomes melancholy, remembering the time spent there with tenor Raymond d'Esquerre. Raymond visited the town for his concert, and shared some happy memory with Caroline last summer. Feeling nostalgic, Caroline stays in the garden lodge that night, singing the songs that she sang with Raymond. She agrees to tear down the lodge.

             Considering the image of an ideal woman at that time, it might be easier to expect Caroline to be sad forever and live desperately for the rest of her life. However, Caroline is much stronger than that. After reminding herself about some good memories, she stands over it. She has power in herself to get over it and find a new way of her life. By showing the masculine side of a female protagonist, Cather paved her original way for the readers to think more about the concept of “feminism”, or feminist characteristics. Taking this short story, it is also possible to relate it to the overall gender roles of the society that we are living now.

             Although separate gender roles are less pushed nowadays, meaning that there are men doing housework and women working outside, there are still the ways that people expect each gender to be like. For instance, my grandfather tells me “be like girls” whenever I talk much about the current issues, such as politics. He does not think that it is “appropriate” for a young girl like me to participate actively in social matters. Even some of the male teachers at KMLA make sarcastic remarks on me for studying chemistry because they think all I have to do as a girl is to meet a good husband and raise some kid at home. Realizing that there are some people around me who are still living the 1800s, I felt a lot after reading this story.

             “The Garden Lodge”, even though it was rather a simple story about a housewife recalling her memory with another guy, it gave me some important points to think about. As a girl, I want to be a person who not only charges the society for the discrimination towards female, but can also control to be a strong human being myself. There are still a lot to fix in this world; and to fix them, I have to be strong, bearing some “masculine” sides. Whenever I feel weak, swimming in the nostalgic memories of the past, I will think of Caroline, and try be like her, putting effort to pave out my way for my life.

something special with the boxes? ^,^