Short Faction

September 26^th, 2012

‘Faction’-Identity & Community

Mr. Menard/American Literature

11b4 111150 Ho InHee

  

The school backyard was covered with wet black pebbles. The frostily winter rain had wet the pebbles cold. I was stepping on those black wet pebbles with my black leather shoes, just like anyone else in the backyard.

“So who are going over to Heather’s house this weekend, exactly?” I asked, and the girls stole secret glances at one another.

“Shannon, Lizz, and Charlotte,” Heather answered, after some silence.

“Is she going too?” Lizzie asked, her eyes directed at me. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“Probably not, my mom told me to bring maximum three. I’m really sorry.”

Things started to go weird when thirty three shots were heard in a university nearby. I had absolutely no idea what that shots were, why they happened, who had done it, or anything about it. The only I knew was those shots seemingly irrelevant to me were enough to make the girls somehow shun me. Whatever the reason for shunning me was, I was confronted by a sense of severe exclusion. The isolation was a little too heavy for an eleven-year-old girl alone in the US all by herself to handle. I desperately needed somebody to share my agony. I needed anybody to have an attached conversation with.

Apparently, I didn’t. I was a total newcomer from a nameless eastern country. On my first day at this new school, all they asked me was how dangerous was my country right under Communist North Korea. Anyhow, they were very friendly and amicable to this newcomer. I learned their culture, and taught them few Korean words.

Then there were the thirty three shots. This one guy who had made these shots was somewhat very related to me. I merely saw his name on newspaper. But he was still very related to me. Because he was Korean. This simple fact was enough for my friends shun me. Friends whom I had woven hands on the day before didn’t wave back any more. Weird words always disturbed me, biting me. The planned sleepover was canceled only for me. The naked ostracism had left me alone in a continent where no one was with me. I felt a desperate need to cut whatever relation was between the guy and me, but didn’t know how.

Another day, we were getting back our math quizzes. Mark, the boy sitting next to me, sneaked a look at my quiz sheet, even before I took a look at mine. Then he burst into laughter, so loud that everyone’s attention was on him. I looked down at mine, too, and noticed I got one wrong.

“What’s a hedgehog?” I asked. One question asked me to figure how many hedgehogs there are when there is a given number of total legs. Hedgehog sounded somehow similar to ‘hen’, and I assumed hedgehog was a kind of bird with two legs. After my question, Mark laughed even more hard. My ignorance was something to cause laughter to them. Or the fact that I, a Korean, got something stupid wrong in a math test was something funny, perhaps.

Similar pattern repeated until the day I returned Korea. By then, I wasn’t alone anymore, at least superficially. The ‘friends’ were not evils who were never willing to accept me forever no matter what. We were all eleven then, and ‘eleven’ wasn’t a number large enough to help us understand what nationality meant to us. I didn’t know then that I was shaping myself to be more non-Korean way, not caring about the grades so much and giving our creative (or even absurd) ideas. The only thing I knew for sure was that there were typical behaviors that made ‘friends’ be with me. 

+) 
Some memories not so pleasant. Anyway, writing this, I noticed I’ve changed a lot in KMLA as well. But the described ‘me’ in this story is what I had frequently heard about me till I was in middleschool.. or even till freshman year. Life in KMLA could very well be a good version2 of this faction about identity, maybe?

Identity and Community

September 12^th, 2012

The Conversion of the Jews-reflective essay

Mr. Menard/American Literature

11b4 111150 Ho InHee

 People oftentimes think communities nowadays are free and loose. Modern communities do seem less binding, less limiting than those hundred years ago. No religion imposes one to embrace every principles of it. Actually, no religion imposes one to believe in it. One is free to even disbelieve certain religion or be an agnostic. Similarly, in a broader view, people can solely devote themselves to a community, selectively adopt its laws, or totally go against it. So compared to the society hundred years ago, are people really freer in forming their identity? Or do they even know their identity fully?

Identity, on its surface, seems definable. I can tell I am a Korean and a Christian. But when I’m told to elaborate more on my identity, I get puzzled. I do not know where I should start, and how I should proceed. Perhaps I do not know my identity fully. But frankly, if anyone was asked same question (what is your identity) not many would be able to answer easily. In fact, most of the time in daily lives, people aren’t much aware of their identity. Then if people don’t exactly know their identity, how can they tell that they are freer in forming identity than hundred years ago? If they never can know their identity fully, are they ever allowed to make any speculation about their identity?

People become aware of their identity most when they are suddenly confronted by a new community. When an American girl moves to China, she is likely feel a great confusion of her identity. Why? Because the environment around her has drastically changed. The girl gets to meet the majority with apparently different life styles, values, and cultures. The difference, which she didn’t have to feel so much in her homeland, makes her feel excluded and isolated. There she starts to question: who am I? What am I doing here? These sudden questions flowing into her mind can be an evidence of a common image of identity existing in one community. Having shared quite a part of an identity with the members in her home community, the girl finds herself isolated in the new community. The new community, just like the home community, has its own common identity and the girl has to adapt to the new community, updating her identity. This American girl would have to learn a new language, respect elders, and keep away from boys. She might even have to dump all her slinky cloths. And yes, she would have to learn the common identity in the new community.

Then why do people think they can more freely form their identity than before? Perhaps because they have more opportunity to choose which community to be involved. They can now choose the country to live in, religion to devote in, and job to work in. But when choosing certain community, people implicitly accept to follow the common law. If a person feels he or she can never give up eating beef, that person wouldn’t probably go live in India. People choose a community that they consider is the most plausible to adapt. And once they get in the community, they emulate the common identity. Of course there are myriads of different communities around the world, and one is involved in more than one communities. The total combination of possible involved communities has significantly increased, and this may be the reason why the identities got diverse. But this doesn’t mean that individual identity is less affected by the community. Community still affects individuals just much as hundred years before. It’s just that the affects became less compulsive and less conspicuous. If one doesn’t follow the common law of the community, he or she is excluded straightaway. One is free to leave or transfer community, but in order to stay in certain community, he or she has to adapt to and emulate the majority in the community.

Childhood trauma-revision

September 1st, 2012

Childhood Trauma-1st revision 

Mr. Garrioch/English Composition

11b4 111150 Ho Inhee

“Why are you wearing just a t-shirt?”

The boy wearing a skeleton costume asks. She simply stares at the boy. Why is he wearing such weird clothing? Where did his pants go?
  She looks around. There’s one Tinkerbelle. One Snow White, one witch, and one Spiderman. There are even non-human things. One butterfly with big rainbow wings, one brown bear, one monkey with an exceptionally long tail. And a bleeding Dracula! What the hell is going on?
  She steps backward, puzzled and perplexed. She checks if she’s in the right place and returns to the hall. And yes, she is in the right place.

“Okay, kids. Knock on the door and say?...”
“Trick or treat!”

  A lady with a purple robe and a black crumpled witch hat asks, and a bunch of kids with weird, ridiculous costumes yells the answer. The hall, all dark without light, is filled with high atmosphere. Caspers - grinning nastily, riding a broomstick, waving hands, running after something, and making a spooky face - are floating all around the black colored wall. Above the wall is a white silky web that extends all the way to the ceiling. Among the uniquely dressed crowd, there is one girl with a uniquely plain clothing. Wearing a pink Gap T-shirt, white pants, and a white headband, she looks around the hall in bewilderment, nervously twirling her black hair. All the white ghosts on the wall seem to be shouting at her. The girl shrinks slightly.

Soon the loud, bustling crowd leaves the hall. Now the girl is left alone. No one’s in the hall. Wiggling her fingers, the girl nervously gazes at the door the crowd just passed through. She takes her step forward, but soon stops. She does not know where to go.
  She bursts into tears. Alone in the dark hall, she cries loudly until the witch-looking lady runs in.
  “What’s wrong, dear?” The lady asks nicely.
  The girl doesn’t answer. Still shedding tears, she holds her lips tight. The lady wipes the girl’s tears.
  “Honey, are you all right?”
  The girl shakes her head.
  “Do you feel sick?”
  The girl shakes her head again.
  “Do you want to go home?”
  This time, the girl nods.
  “Why, because you don’t have any costumes?” The lady asks in a soft voice, trying to soothe the crying little girl.
  The girl looks up with dark staring eyes, and after a while, she questions.
  “Costumes?”
  “Yes, dear. Do you know what Halloween is?”
  “Yes,” the girl mutters, her voice so muted the lady hardly hears her reply.

  Yes, the girl knows what Halloween is. She knows Halloween has something to do with orange pumpkins. She saw it in a cartoon. But costumes, she’s never heard about them. If ‘costumes’ are weird clothing, then she had seen plenty of them during New Years Day back in Korea. She and her mom wore long dresses with breast ties, and her father wore rubber pants and a vest. But those clothing look totally different from all the weird clothing people wear here. So what are costumes?

“We wear costumes on Halloween. You saw your friends wearing beautiful princess clothing? Those are all costumes.”
  Understanding less than half of the lady’s words, the girl merely nods.
  “Do you want to wear a costume, too?”
  This time, the girl understands the lady’s words fully. She nods strongly.
  “Great. Let’s make your costume."

  The lady gets the girl papers, color pencils, and a bunch of arts&crafts stuff. Costumes with papers, the idea simply puzzles the girl. She picks up a red pencil, puts it down. She then picks up scissors, and puts it down again. She repeats this simple action again and again until a great spark of idea hits her.
  “Ah!”
  She exclaims, holds a pink pencil, and dashes the pink color on a blank sheet of paper.

The girl puts her white headband back on. A paper-made rabbit ear sticking to the headband gleams white against her jetblack hair. The girl then sticks a cotton ball on her pants. She also puts the red clown nose she borrowed from the Tin man-like robot.
  “Do I look like a rabbit?” The girl asks diffidently.
  “Sure!” The lady answers with a big smile.
  Elated, the rabbit-eared girl runs out of the hall, joining the crowd. And later that day, a girl, with a rabbit headband and a white plumpy rabbit tail, vigorously bursts into her house. Both her hands full with overflowing Halloween sweets. And she yells out,
  "Mom, I'm home!"

Dialogue Situation

September 20th, 2012
Dialogue Situation
Mr. Garrioch/Creative Writing
11b4 111150 Ho InHee

           Elisa had never shared her room with anybody as long as she remembered. But as she attended university far from her house, it became inevitable for her to stay in a dorm with a roommate. Her first roommate in her life was Samantha, who always held a nice smile on her face. (This can be the reason so many guys feel affection towards her, and also the reason Elisa felt more betrayed by her friend Sam.) But with her adorable appearance, Sam started to bring her boyfriends into her room very frequently. It was the first semester of Elisa’s university life, and she decided lump Sam and wait one semester for a new roommate. However, it soon turned out that freshmen were to stay in the same room for a year unless under special occasions. So Elisa went up to the Dean describing her situation, but the Dean simply insisted that a roommate’s love life was not a very unique problem and that Elisa had to handle it herself. Elisa came to stay with Sam for one more semester. But when Sam brought a new guy named Samuel only a day after the semester had started, Elisa found it hard to tolerate any longer. She went out the room, contemplating hard the best resolution.

Elisa waited Samuel to come out of her room. When he came out, Elisa greeted Samuel naturally. After a few talk, Samuel tried to say goodbye by saying “Again, Sorry for interrupting you. You must have been uncomfortable to leave the room.” However, Elisa intentionally elongated the conversation by saying “That’s okay. It’s not the first time for me to do it.” Then, in a continued conversation, Elisa implicitly revealed how her roommate Samantha is a flirt. And in accordance with Elisa’s derogatory comments about Samantha, Samuel got upset and disappointed at Samantha. However, soon, Samuel found out that there were some contradictions in Elisa’s comments. (we didn’t decide what the contradictions are) Because of that, Samuel and Elisa fought with each other. The dialogue part would start from the part where Samuel apologized Elisa to the part where Samuel and Elisa argued with each other.

A very very rough outline of our dialogue situation..  with Soho Shim ;D

The Martian Chronicles-Quote (1)

 

 “Your insanity is beautifully complete!”

‘Beautifully complete insanity’ is a paradox-simply because the word ‘insanity’ doesn’t deserve such nice modifier. Insanity is something unpleasant. It is something unwanted in a society. Hence people defined to be insane are to be ostracized, or even, expelled. But who defines insanity?

Insanity is a highly flexible term. Anybody at any moment in any place can be ‘insane’. When David Rosenhan and his twelve associates pretended to be ‘insane’, they were admitted to psychiatric hospital. They were adjudged insane. But insanity is also highly fixed. When David Rosenhan and his associates wanted to be released from hospital, all but one of them was released under the name of ‘remission’. They could not be free from ‘insanity’, the hospital diagnosed. Though it is flexible when applying, insanity becomes definite once it is settled, as if it exists more for defining an insane ‘subject’ rather than for defining ‘insanity’ itself. Defining ‘insane subjects’ and excluding them, the society’s rules become firm. And as the rules become firm and minorities get excluded, the social solidarity strengthens under society’s stereotypical yet definite rule. Eventually a stable society is formed at last.

Martians in Ray Bradbury’s [The Martian Chronicles] are vulnerable. And in their subconscious, they are aware of their vulnerability. So they struggle to sustain their society’s stability and preclude iconoclastic ideas from permeating into their society. ‘Insanity’ is the way they pull this off. They thoroughly exclude new comers including new ideas, new cultures, and even new creatures under the name of ‘dispatching insanities’. And the readers, reading these Martians’ violent and radical reactions, may scorn Martians. And there might be an observer who looks down at the scorning readers and laughs at their audacity. That observer needs not be an omnipotent being. Ray Bradbury is an observer himself. Looking at the people trembling for their society’s breaking balance, the author depicts deep irony of kicking people out in order to strengthen ties among people within.

+)

I wonder-does the word 'people' in the story simply refers to both Martians and Earth men?

The Lottery

September 11^th, 2012

The Lottery reflective essay

Mr. Menard/American Literature

11b4 111150 Ho InHee

The title ‘the Lottery’ perplexed me. The first half of the story, characters largely seemed to be excited about their annual practice. People gathered in the square for the lottery smiled, greeted each other, and quietly shared jokes. And throughout the drawing, villagers were intensely curious about the result of the lottery. They were ready to run across the village to inform the result. Everybody was simply excited about the lottery. But the lottery turned out not to be the ‘lottery’ people generally think of. It wasn’t something to be excited of. If the ‘lottery’ in the story was something awarding, something the winner gets a colossal prize, Mrs. Hutchinson wouldn’t have denied her husband’s win. She wouldn’t have screamed desperately when she picked the marked sheet of paper. The ‘lottery’ was something unwelcome because winning the lottery meant the winner was to be hit with stones by the villagers. It wasn’t a game for prizes. The unusual property of the lottery hindered my comprehension at first. Why the ‘lottery’?

The story conveys several significances through the ‘lottery’. For the villagers, the lottery is a tradition that was held since long before. This time-honored tradition goes back to the remote past. There is no living witness for how it started. There is no clear cause, no clear origin for this tradition, as if carrying it out is in their nature. And the villagers put across their task to keep the tradition well. Remaining the black box as it is, they show their refusal to change even the most trivial part of their ritual practice. They all participate enthusiastically in the lottery-holding stones in their hands and throwing them at the ‘winner’. No one left out. Even the winner’s family takes part in this practice. And the winner’s family, relieved from being victimized, readily acts the tradition.

When Shirley Jackson’s [the Lottery] was first published in 1948, critics harshly condemned it. They determined it as ‘bewilderment, speculation, and old-fashioned abuse’. Going through a story revealing an uncomfortable truth about themselves, people cried down Ms. Jackson’s piece. Her subtle insight into uncivilized human nature was well put with good symbols in a very short piece of story. The story also was so straightforward that the story was somehow uneasy. But [the Lottery] was not the only or the first book disclosing uncomfortable human nature. Joseph Conrad’s [Heart of Darkness] is one example. Other than this, there are numerous books telling human’s brutal nature. But why is Shirley Jackson’s [the Lottery] particularly attacked more than any other books? Perhaps because [the Lottery] drew the present life. Most other stories discussed the ‘history’, showing the barbaric human nature through past events. These stories let people unconsciously believe that they are now in a perfect civilization and are safe from barbarities. But [the Lottery], by setting a plausible, modern background, indicates a modernized version of savage victimizing.

So, why the ‘lottery’? Dictionary says lottery is a gambling game or method of raising money in which a large number of tickets are sold and a drawing is held for certain prizes. Apparently, the ‘lottery’ in [the Lottery] differs from the term’s original definition. The winner, instead of winning a prize, has to be thrown pebbles to death. The death is a disgraceful, inhumane one. Every villager throws pebbles at the winner-kids, men, women, and even the winner’s family-and watches the winner slowly stoned to death. Then why is this tradition a ‘lottery’? There certainly is something the villagers attain from this tradition. Victimizing one person under the name of ‘tradition’, the rest of the villagers unite into one. So when they are acting the tradition, the whole village is divided into a group and an individual. The villagers get united under one common goal-killing the victim to death. But no one regards victim as a ‘victim’ for at the moment, the victim is just an enemy to be killed. This way the villagers have sought a way to sustain their little society’s stability. But this ‘targeting’ has more meaning than simple sustenance of certain society. The one hiding deeply in every human’s mind, human’s natural but strong desire to set an enemy is another explanation. Living in a society associating with thousands of people, one becomes a friend with some. But everyone can’t be friends with each other. ‘Enemies’ has always existed in society. Though America’s Jim Crow laws and Nazi’s Holocaust has become a disgrace in human history, and no more ‘enemizing’ seems possible now, there are still enemies out there. For the villagers, this enemy was Mrs. Hutchinson. And yes, she was one member of those ‘villagers’ just a second before Mr. Zanini had taken his slip. But from the moment Mr. Hutchinson’s election was uncovered, she was a potential enemy, and a real enemy when she drew a black-spotted slip of paper. All the other villagers then became friends who were together to get their enemy to death.

The denotative definition of lottery and the title lottery have a thread of connection in a sense that ‘lottery’ serves something people need or desire for. Villagers could enjoy their feeling of relief. They could remind themselves of how important and thankful it was to stay as villagers. They also could reassure the village’s security. All these was possible because there was some unknown enemy-which later turned out to be Mrs. Hutchinson. The word ‘lottery’ may be suggesting various ‘benefits’ which villagers got, and which we are possibly getting, from the existence of it.

Comments:

Yoonju Chung: I agree with your point that with hunting is around still. But what specific issue in the modern society can exemplify what you call as ‘witch hunting’? Like the video we watched during the class, we might be the ones holding pebbles on our hands and throwing them to one ‘sacrifice’ by overly paying attention to celebrities and pushing them to kill themselves eventually. It would be great if you add more real life experiences or specific issues reflecting Lottery by Shirley Jackson. Still, this was a great analysis of the story! :)

Hyejoon: I really liked how you related your own experience with the main idea of the story. Although I, too, experience many situations in which the majority hurts? ㅎ The minorities but I haven’t thought of writing about in on the essay. Good job :)

Chonghyun Ahn: I found two blazing sources of inspiration in this analysis, being the point of jealousy and the difference between ‘the Lottery’ and other stories. Maybe these two topics, especially the first one, could be a source of a greater analysis than this one. Discussing the ‘vaccination’ of such novels would be a great idea.

Hyunseok Lee: Deeply touched to the aspect of your personal anecdote with a connection to the topic of story. I agree that most of our lives were ‘crowd’ while it would be great if you expand your opinion about involuntary aspect of sacrifice. Also, if you put the concept of ‘outsider’ in the essay, your work would be fantastic.

+)

It was hard for me to distinguish the title [the Lottery] and the term ‘lottery’. Though I found some link between these two, I had hard time actually showing the link. The link could be something the author Shirley Jackson had intended, or it could simply be my overinterpretation. But at least I thought the term ‘lottery’ and properties of it can demonstrate ‘why’ such tradition is still held today-both consciously and unconsciously. 

piece of advertisement :)

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You fill your glass to the top. The pellucid liquid goes down your throat.
"That damn manager!" Your coworker grumbles. You nod. The two share drinks at a cart bar. You are an exhausted worker.

You lie on a floor. Turning the TV on, you see a man grumbling about his manager.
"I wish I had a manager to grumble about," you say with a sigh. You are the jobless.

You sit upright. The senior is staring at you. You see a man lying down, lamenting his misfortune.
"I wish I could lie down comfortably, too." You mutter. You are a newcomer in military.

You fill your glass again. At the corner of the cart bar, you see a new soldier studying his senior's mood.
"At least his life as soldier is over in two years." You mutter. You are an worker, fatigued with incessant work.

Everyone's life is exhausting in its own way.


Conclusion: Get an energy drink!! :)))) i like this ad

My Best(?) Character-Jean

September 2nd, 2012
Short Story on Random Characters
Mr. Garrioch/Creative Writing(IR)
11b4 111150 Ho InHee

[Name: Jean Andler

Appearance: dull

Personality: bossy, cocky

Age: 25

Unique trait: divorced three times

Environment: old cottage

Problem: doesn’t study hard]

I’ll admit, I was totally distracted and uneasy. Such a sudden divorce left me a heartbreaking pain and I needed anybody to get comfort from. That anybody had to be like me-divorced and not too older than me. I was captured by a thought that that ‘anybody’ would be able to understand me and smooth over my hurt.

I joined an online dating service. I skimmed through thousands of profiles and finally Ifound an exceptionally intriguing one. The man’s name was Jean, 25-year-old, divorced a year ago. Great. I clicked the ‘send an e-mail’ button.

Jean replied a day after. The reply simply contained series of questions about me. I answered to all of them quite enthusiastically. We emailed back and forth several times, and chatted online every day. Finally, we decided to meet in front of the Saks. And the real story starts here. The GREATEST date of my entire life. Jesus.

I felt relieved when Jean finally appeared after half an hour had passed since the appointed time. I was simply eased when I found out I was not cheated, at least. Jean’s first impression, I would say his first impression was, well, admissible. His appearance could be described ‘dull’, but I personally don’t like fancy-looking guys. Those guys, more than half of them, are cheaters. I learned this from excruciating heartburn. So Jean suggested me going over to his house for dinner. Well, I’m not entirely sure if ‘suggest’ is appropriate term since he rather ‘compelled’ me to do so. Anyway, I approved his suggestion.

I was a bit surprised when he caught a cab. A little disappointed that he didn’t have a car or didn’t even have a friend to borrow one for his first meeting with a new date. I was even more disappointed when we entered a sequestered backstreet, and arrived at an old cottage just about to collapse.

“Do you actually… live here?”

Before I knew it, I blurted out a rude word. I apologized right after.

“I take the apology, but no more disrespects, chick.”

This is just the beginning.

We went in Jean’s cottage. I stood in front of the smelly worn out red couch since he didn’t give me a word of approval to sit on it. Jean went right into the kitchen.

“You know how to cook, lady? Look like you’ve never gotten your hands dirty.”

“Uh…. I do the laundries, dishes, all by myself, but, okay. I’ll let you make the dinner if you feel good this way.”

He turned on the stove without a word. I sat on the couch doing nothing-there was practically nothing I could do. He then got out of the kitchen with a bowl in his hand.

“Frito pie?” I asked. Frito pie, that wasn’t the best menu for a first date.

“As you see. Any problem?”

“…No.” I answered reluctantly. No problem at all. At least Frito pie was edible.

We sat down at a table and started eating. The Frito pie tasted like a convenience food, but I didn’t say a word about it.

“So. What do you do now, you said?” I asked aimlessly, disliking the silence.

“Freshman at **** College.” Jean’s answer was quite concise.

I didn’t know how to answer. I searched desperately for something to say, until Jean continued to go on.

“I know you’re thinking, ’25-year-old freshman? This one must be a jerk.’ But just to let you know, that whole college stuff is a shit.”

What an outspoken man.

“You think college names and grades represent your intelligence of something? F**k that asshole. The college has already become unsuccessful by flunking an outstanding intellectual like me.”

“So… You were flunked?”

“For three years. What. You have any problems?”

I didn’t answer. I was looking for a perfect timing to stamp out of this horrible place.

“All guys need is virility, this manly energy. Ladies? Well for ladies, appearance is all. An empty-headed girl with slinky body, she’s gonna rule the world. Only horrid-looking losers mind about colleges and stuff. My second wife was that ugly bitch.”

“Wait. You were divorced twice?”

“Shush, you impatient lady. I’m telling you my story. I was divorced three times, and among those three, the second was the worst. Thank me for taking that ugly girl for a while. Don’t judge a book by its cover? That doesn’t go for females. You too, lady. Don’t be so smug about yourself. Your face is a total crap.”

Enough. I banged the table.
"I'm TOTALLY sorry my face is a crap. I'm leaving here now and never going to return to this place again, and YOU find a young, hot chick with your well fabricated profile!"
And I stormed out of that dreadful place. As I was heading the front door, a disgusting voice from behind said,

“You sure you don’t want a beer? I have two bottles of tequila, but those are such undeserved treatments for you, huh? You better-”
And I just shut the door.

[hey chick u sure u dont want another appointment?]
[maybe next monday?]
[what, u wanna drop with me?]
[ignoring me, huh?]
[really not going to contact me?]
[never?]
[stop being assy girl]
[sure u wont contact me anymore?]
[obnoxious.]
[hey]
[leave me message before today]

Jean still messages me in that cocky voice. Offending me with abusive words, he builds himself up. Those, not worth reading. And you know what I do: delete all the unread messages from him through the spam filter.







+) I tried to imagine Jean's profile, but I couldn't because apparently I have never been in those sites and so have no idea how the profiles are generally like. (such as what categories there are)

7 Characters

September 1st, 2012

7 Characters-selected

Mr. Garrioch-Creative Writing

11b4 111150 Ho Inhee

My First Halloween Party

September 1st, 2012

Childhood Trauma in 2nd/3rd person 

Mr. Garrioch/English Composition

11b4 111150 Ho Inhee

“Why are you wearing just a t-shirt?”

The boy wearing a skeleton costume asks. She simply stares at the boy. Why is he wearing such weird clothing? Where did his pants go?

She looks around. There’s one Tinkerbelle. One Snow White, one witch, and one Spiderman. There are even non-human things. One butterfly with big rainbow wings, one brown bear, one monkey with an exceptionally long tail. And a bleeding Dracula! What the hell is going on?

She steps backward, puzzled and perplexed. She checks if she’s in the right place and returns to the hall. And yes, she is in the right place.

“Okay, kids. Knock on the door and say?...”

“Trick or treat!”

A lady with a purple robe and a black crumpled witch hat asks, and a bunch of kids with weird, ridiculous costumes yells the answer. The hall, all dark without light, is filled with high atmosphere. Caspers - grinning nastily, riding a broomstick, waving hands, running after something, and making a spooky face - are floating all around the black colored wall. Above the wall is a white silky web that extends all the way to the ceiling. Among the uniquely-dressed crowd, there is one girl with a uniquely plain clothing. Wearing a pink Gap T-shirt, white pants, and a white headband, she looks around the hall in bewilderment. All the white ghosts on the wall seem to be shouting at her. The girl shrinks slightly.

Soon the loud, bustling crowd leaves the hall. Now the girl is left alone. No one’s in the hall. Wiggling her fingers, the girl nervously gazes at the door the crowd just passed through. She takes her step forward, but soon stops. She does not know where to go.

She bursts into tears. Alone in the dark hall, she cries loudly until the witch-looking lady runs in.

“What’s wrong, dear?” The lady asks nicely.

The girl doesn’t answer. Still shedding tears, she holds her lips tight. The lady wipes the girl’s tears.

“Honey, are you all right?”

The girl shakes her head.

“Do you feel sick?”

The girl shakes her head again.

“Do you want to go home?”

This time, the girl nods.

“Why, because you don’t have any costumes?” The lady asks in a soft voice, trying to soothe the crying little girl.

The girl looks up, and after a while, she questions.

“Costumes?”

“Yes, dear. Do you know what Halloween is?”

“Yes,” the girl mutters, her voice so muted the lady hardly hears her reply.

Yes, the girl knows what Halloween is. She knows Halloween has something to do with orange pumpkins. She knows it has to do with ghosts. She once watched a cartoon on TV about Halloween. In the cartoon, a white lonely ghost with a pumpkin lantern woke the boy up and took him to its castle. But costumes, she’d never heard about them.

“We wear costumes on Halloween. You saw your friends wearing beautiful princess clothings? Those are all costumes.”

Understanding less than half of the lady’s words, the girl merely nods.

“Do you want to wear a costume, too?”

This time, the girl understands the lady’s words fully. She nods strongly.

“Great. Let’s make your costume."

The lady gets the girl papers, color pencils, and a bunch of arts&crafts stuff. Costumes with papers, the idea simply puzzles the girl. She picks up a red pencil, puts it down. She then picks up scissors, and puts it down again. She repeats this simple action again and again until a great spark of idea hits her.

“Ah!”

She exclaims, holds a pink pencil, and dashes the pink color on a blank sheet of paper.

The girl puts her white headband back on. There is a paper-made rabbit ear sticking to the headband now. The girl then sticks a cotton ball on her pants. She also puts the red clown nose she borrowed from the Tin man-like robot.

“Do I look like a rabbit?” The girl asks diffidently.

“Sure!” The lady answers with a big smile.

Elated, the rabbit-eared girl runs out of the hall, joining the crowd. And later that day, a girl, with a rabbit headband and a white plumpy rabbit tail, vigorously bursts into her house. Both her hands full with overflowing Halloween sweets. And she yells out,
"Mom, I'm home!"

Some exaggeration and details added, but the story is generally based on my experience when I was six ;D