[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"