Class Schedule

Class Schedule

Class 1: - Introduction to Salinger and the book. Discussion about controversy (profanity), culture (1940`s Americana), and character (Holden as hero?).

Class 2: - First 50 pages. Discussion about the Hero`s Journey, Character Arc. How will Holden change?

Class 3: - Pages 50-100. Discussion about morality, teenage angst, failure of education.

Class 4: - Pages 100-150. Subjective POV of Holden as narrator.

Class 5: - Pages 150-200. Discussion about sexual themes and character development. KMLAcatcher.blogspot.kr introduced.  `Fan Fiction Adaptation` creative writing assignment introduced.  Read several outstanding examples from past students.

Class 6: - Pages 200-224. Wrapping up the book. Compare it to other works and discuss modern significance. Adaptations due.  

Class 7/8: - Summary and conclusion. Discuss why the book has never been made into a film. Discuss why many `insane` individuals seem drawn to the book (Lennon assassination etc.). Is the book as good as people say it is? Evaluation and reflection.  Workshop/share adaptation assignment.  Discuss.

"The phone booth next to the hotel" by 21 안태규

I went to the hotel. I really did. I could tell that I shouldn’t enter that goddam building. It wasn’t like old Maurice was inside waiting for me or something, even if he did, I’m pretty sure he’ll ignore me as I passed by. It killed me to imagine Maurice giving his big, phony smile to those people who think they’re so grand. The idea of them exchanging those obnoxious smiles and saying stuff like “Welcome to the Grand hotel sir.”, “Why thank you!” I can’t stand that. The only reason why I don’t laugh my ass off every time I see those is because you have to stay stuff like that, or it just gets too hard to live around people. I swear to god sometimes I feel like I’m the only one in this whole world that actually thinks around here. 
Anyways, I had this peculiar feeling that I shouldn’t go in there. I had to get away. It was just one of those moments where you don’t know exactly but have a pretty good feeling that something bad will happen, it rises from the gut. At that moment, a man was practically thrown out of the doors completely drunk, and yelling at the top of his lungs. I knew it. I probably would have regretted going in there. I’m goddam psychic.
It was hell seeing that man moaning and groaning. Sure, it was a little sad at first, but now, I couldn’t take another minute staring at that shabby hotel in the background, lousy painting peeling away with billions of stains all over the place. Hell, it looked more like a grand-class stain museum. Anyways, I couldn’t take it, so I turned around and headed back. I didn’t know where I was going but I just had to get out of there. I looked at the dark sky, not a single star in sight. I put my hunting hat backwards and made my way down the sidewalk. I have no idea why, but the darkness reminded me of old Jane again. Maybe it’s because of the movies, I don’t know. It’s been such a long time since I saw here, and that kept me thinking what Stradlater would be planning to do with her. It killed me. I decided to give her a ring as soon as I saw that goddam phone booth. It felt like years since I’ve seen one, even though I probably passed dozens of them that week. I was just so anxious. I hadn’t felt this excited for anything for such a long time, and all. It flashed back, playing checkers and holding hands at the movies. I picked up the phone and dialed the number. I didn’t know what I was expecting. At that moment, the phone answered. I heard a voice that I could have sworn was so familiar. “Hello?” Goddam it Stradlater. I hung up the phone before giving him an answer. Who cares? It was late anyways. I sighed and leaned at the phone booth, and took my hat off for a second. Just for the hell of it.

"I Have No Idea" by Jinie Lee, 21st Waver

Catcher in the Rye (Fanfiction)

10m1 Jinie Lee

Considering the circumstances, tried to make this as short and simple as possible. Failed. But the storyline itself is pretty simple.

 

So I was there in the rain, looking at old Phoebe going around and around on that carousel. She seemed so damn happy, reaching out for the gold ring and not caring one bit about the rain drops splattering on her hands. It killed me to see her like that, just another kid playing around. Made me glad that I made the decision to come back home. It seemed so long ago, the day I was standing on that goddamn hill, looking down at the twin buildings that the teachers always fawned over.

Phony as hell, those teachers. Droning on and on about studying for the sake of learning itself and tomorrow’s bright fatherland, I called it bullshit. But that was nothing compared to the students there.

Well, there was ole’ Ackley, for instance. Every time I went into the dorms, he’d be hunched over his desk. Damn bastard wouldn’t even talk to me. Not that I wanted him to. He thought ‘talking in the dorms’ was a waste of time. But unless you shared a room with him, you’d never know. Outside, he’d be gushing over other people’s work and acting all swell, just your typical golden boy. The way he groveled in front of the teachers, came in and acted like he was above everyone else, and the way he promptly went to academies every weekend was the sheer epitome of phoniness. Studying for the sake of learning itself, hah. Never knew you had to dump money by the bucketful to do that. Should prance around waving a gold spoon, that bastard.

Or dear, dear Stradlater. He was a lot like Ackley in many ways, like when he acted all nice and jolly. But on the other hand, he does talk. And that’s the goddamn problem. The last time he spoke to me in the dorms, the conversation trickled off into another ‘behind-the-back talk’.

“Stradlater! Stop cutting your crumby nails all over the place!”

And then he looked up and was all “’kay Holden, just let it go.” And continued to cut his filthy toenails. I was about to snatch the damn clippers away when he blurted out, “You won’t believe what the school president said today.”

I rolled my eyes. It was kinda obvious what he was about to say. “I’ll listen if you stop cutting your nails. Or at least do it over the table, for Chrissake.”

He glared at me, but went on to say “Well, he had another fu-“

“Stradlater!”

“Another goddamn fit about campus dating. Pretty obvious he was referring to David’s Facebook profile.”

“What about his profile picture?”

He looked at me as if I was stupid. “The selfie he took with Sally at the Midsummer Party, idiot. The one that’s kinda clear that they aren’t dating. It’s frickin’ hypocritical, the phony bastard.”

Hilarious, how old Stradlater had the nerve to call someone else phony.

“Not only does he always overreact, he’s always so damn hypocritical. I bet he’s already dating the vice president behind our backs.”

And this is only one of the countless examples of Stradlater’s pointless rants.

Christ. Is anyone sane in this phony hellhole?

Glad. I’m glad that I dropped out. I don’t have to listen to the headmaster’s phony lectures about college, to the resident snobs in this helluva school, anyone. Standing here in the rain, with my red cap, my poetry books, and Allie’s baseball mitt in my backpack, I couldn’t be happier to get the hell out of Pencey.

Dear old Allie. He used to scribble stuff on his baseball mitt with that green pen of his, and then have a fit when I tried to read it. That always sent Phoebe laughing like there was no tomorrow, and soon after Allie would do the same. That always-

“Holden?”

It was Phoebe. She’d gotten off the carousel and now she was looking at me with those wide gray eyes of hers.

“You’re getting all wet,” she whined. She then asked me to walk her home. It might have been because I was so damn happy to see her, or maybe because I didn’t want her to catch pneumonia in the rain, or maybe because I was thinking of Allie, but I said sure.

Now what she did was she started twirling. We were walking home and she started twirling around in the rain.

“Christ, Phoebs, what’re ya doing?”

“Holden, will you come home?” I looked at her funny.

“We are going home, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but I want you to stay.” Her face damn near killed me. She was giving that pouty look that kids do and you can’t say no because they’re giving you that look.

“I guess.” Phoebe was probably satisfied, because she started walking along with me again.

I was looking down at my feet when I noticed the puddles. It reminded me of the lake.

“Phoebe?”

She looked at me with an inquiring gaze.

“Did you figure out where the ducks go? The ones in Central Park?”

“They migrate. The ducks leave in winter, but come back in the spring.” She said all smart-like.

“What do you mean they come back?”

“I learned it in school, Holden. It’s true.”

 

It’s funny how the ducks can come back, but some things can’t. Kills me, really.

"Hypnotized" by Seoyong Oh, 21st Wave

21st waver, Seoyoung Oh

>>This is an adaptation of chapter 26, when Holden finishes his story and says that he doesn’t really know what to say about the things he has been through. In this adaptation, Holden’s psychiatrist hypnotizes him as a treatment to help Holden realize what he really thinks and feels.

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A pocket watch or something like that swayed in front of me. I started to feel drowsy and all and things started to slowly swirl around me. It was so goddamn similar to stupid movies I’ve seen before. I could hear the psychiatrist guys voice calling my name, but it sounded weird like ‘Hoooooolden, Hoooooolden’. My head hurt like hell, so I closed my eyes.

 

When I slowly opened my eyes, God, I thought I was gonna die from a heart attack. The room I was sitting with the psychiatrist guy was nowhere to be seen and a long, long room, somehow familiar was where I stood. It smelled like it was raining outside and the floor was all stone. Boy, it was the museum. I Haven’t been there for ages. I suddenly got all happy and started to horse around the place. The museum echoed only of my footsteps. Tap tap ta tap, tap. Somehow that empty sound made me sad. I felt completely alone. So I stopped and slowly walked towards the glass case. Something was strange. I knew something was really, different.

Instead of a squaw weaving a blanket, there was Jane playing chess, her king in the back row. Instead of an Indian making fire, there was Allie writing poetry on his left handed fielder’s mitt. Morrow’s mother smiling, Stradlater combing his locks, Ackley snooping around, Mr. Spencer in his bathrobe, the prostitute taking off her clothes…and Phoebe, old Phoebe smiling on the carousel, in her blue dress, looking damn lovely once more was there. Everyone was there, standing still. Everyone was just the way I remembered them, but they somehow, well, seemed dead. I reached out to grasp Phoebe in my arms, but what I felt was the cold touch of glass. All was here, right behind that clear, solid glass. They were Goddamn safe and steady. I felt terribly depressed. No, this wasn’t at all what I wanted. No, this Phoebe is not real. “Phoebe!” I shouted with all my might, but no answer. Too safe, too steady. Then I saw myself behind the glass too, with my old red hunting cap on, smiling like the most innocent boy in the world. I screamed and everything began swirling again.

I opened my eyes and I saw the psychiatrist guy again. I still felt terrible from the crazy thing I just saw. I terribly missed everybody I told the guy about. Even old Stradlater and Ackley. I didn’t care whether they were phony or whatever. I didn’t care whether they have changed. I just wanted like hell to be with them all, just to talk with them, to see them alive and by my side. That was all I wanted. It’s funny, I guess.

 

"MOCK" by Kim Juyeon

MOCK

Mr. Garrioch,
I just liked it how “mock” had two different meanings – insult and phoniness, two things Holden really hates. I really had great ideas and I thought it started out great until I finished writing it and found out that it was all crap. I hate myself so much.

 

 

So, how come you’ve come here?

“Well, I sort of... don’t know. It’s all too complicated. Too long to explain.”

 

The hell, sonny! Who’d know it if ya didn’t, boy? Your momma?       

 

People laughed, probably to taunt me. Phoniness even here. For Chrissake, I’d never thought that criminals would be phony. I thought criminals were supposed to be cool and all, and where’s the cool in that? Maybe they were members of a gang, that’s why. What a shame to all the gangs in the world. The boss probably wouldn’t have wanted his kids to rot in jail scoffing at a boy that had nothing to do with them. Or maybe he did. Maybe he did.

 

Hey, son, ya not answering me? You scared? Want me to call your momma?

 

More insult. I decided not to listen to them anymore and started to think about home, and Phoebe and Allie’s baseball glove, and D.B. working in Hollywood and all. I mean I know I could talk and listen and think about all that at the same time, but, you know it just isn’t worth the effort.

And I remembered that they were all goners. Allie, young Phoebe, and.. and the real writer D.B. – they were dead, and the rye field no longer were filled with running people I knew and I’d never be the catcher in the rye again.

It made me feel mad, and bad for myself all at the same time. I mean, it was like this love-and-hate relationship between me and myself that always comes up in Rihanna’s song. What am I doing here? Why am I here, in this crumby stinky sticky place with all these stupid stinky people thinking about stupid stinky relationships? And all of a sudden I felt so lonely. I felt like running out of the room, except for the fact that there were more than three times the people that are supposed to be in this small stinking room and my leg was touching someone else’s and someone else was holding my hand and – and someone else was holding my hand? No. What? Yes, someone was. I looked round and found a small girl right next to me, and she was holding my goddamn hand. Goddamn. A girl. How long has it been since I’ve last seen a girl, a small girl even? I felt weird, because this girl made me think of Phoebe. She wasn’t the least similar-looking to her, but strangely, something in her eye made me… kind of want to puke. Not in a bad way, I mean. But it sort of disturbed me in some queer way. I don’t know.

 

I wanted to go to the rye field.

 

And this girl, she looks at me again and I feel the need, the urge to ask her this question, the question that has never been answered:

“Hey, do you know where’d the ducks all go in New York City?”

"Modification of Catcher in the Rye (Chapter 18)" by 20th waver Hae Min Cho

- Tried to relate to personal experiences
- Imitated mistaken generalization

Lauren was the first person who ever taught me a lesson about girls. I never got to know her that well or anything the whole time I knew her. I saw her playing floor-hockey once, though. She was the best on the team. I barely knew her face then, and I didn’t think I should cut in between her and her date, who was watching indifferently at the game. She was dating this terrible guy called James Lancaster. I didn’t know him too well, but he was always wearing those white baseball uniforms that stuck on his skin, and he was always throwing something around. Shattering windows, slamming doors shut, “unintentionally” targeting people and many, many more. He was this lousy guy who had attention deficit disorders, in my opinion. Anyway, that’s who Lauren dated. I couldn’t understand it. I swear I couldn’t. After we started going around together, I asked her how come she could date a show-off bastard like James Lancaster. She said she loved him. It’s a funny thing about girls. They didn’t even get their ID card or anything, yet they’re talking about ‘true love’. Every time you mention a girl’s date that’s strictly a bastard – very mean, or very conceited and all – to a girl, she’ll tell you she feels true love towards him. Maybe she does, but that doesn’t keep him from being a bastard, in my opinion. Anyways, too many soap operas and movies in their brains nowadays. Girls. You never know what they’re going to think.
I once knew this girl called Samantha who was having some affairs with her classmate. The school that I went to that time strictly prohibited dating of any kind. Most of the students there didn’t even really care; they were just excited that they could make fun of the “lovers” and have something better to do rather than mindlessly click the refresh button in Facebook for something new on their newsfeed. Girls who had a date didn’t care as well. Teasing was a matter of time, and everyone went through this at some point. But Samantha was different, she was dead serious about the tiniest things that no one cared about. And boy, did she freak about the jokes. I mean, if it’s obvious you’re going to hate the consequences so much, why would you even start? There’re so many more details I will omit, but just remember this. Girls. You never know what they’re going to think.

"The Sorcerer in the Rye" by Kim Jaeheon

 

This is a collaboration of The Catcher in the Rye and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

Synopsis: Holden is in a train going to the Hogwarts. He was in the same room with Ron, who keeps bothering Holden by talking to him, and things start to get too phony for Holden.

 

There was a knock on the door of our compartment and the round-faced guy I had passed on the platform nine and three quarters came in. He looked doleful.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

 We shook our heads. I was just irritated that there are so much phony people and all in the train. He wailed, “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

 “He’ll turn up,” I said.

 “Yes,” he said miserably. “Well, if you see him…”

 He left. What a boy.

 “Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” said Ron. “If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can’t talk.” He doesn’t know why I’m bothered, either.

 The rat was still snoozing on Ron’s lap.

“He might’ve died and you wouldn’t know the difference,” he said in disgust. “I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show ya, look…”

I wished he didn’t; he was a goddam bastard caring his rat and all, but he didn’t even give a chit for the toad. That annoyed me. Right then, he rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand, chipped in places and something white glinting at the end.

“Unicorn hair’s nearly poking out. Anyway –“

The compartment door slid open again when he had raised his wand. The toadless boy was back, but this time with a girl, who was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes and all.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth. She seemed to be the kind of a girl who thinks that she’ll be a hero and all when she finds some goddam crap for others. That annoyed me.

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn’t listening; she was looking at the wand in his hand.

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”

 She sat down. Ron looked damn taken aback.

 “Er – all right.”

 He cleared his throat.

 

“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,

Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

 

 He waved his wand, but nothing happened. He just told me how much he loved the rat, and described it as stupid and fat, I thought. I hate hypocrites. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

 “Are you sure that’s a real spell?” said the girl. “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter – “

 I stopped listening to her. She went way too much phony. She had lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth. I wanted to get out from the damn train, but the doors were all closed when I walked through the whole train an hour before.

 “Hey, are you listening?” The girl said. She told me that her name was Hermione Granger.

 “I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron muttered.

“Harry Potter,” I said. That is quite a nice phony name to introduce myself to others. I was satisfied.

“Are you really?” said Hermione. “I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

I think I’ve chosen a wrong name, but I didn’t care – maybe I’ll just tell them that I was using the transformation magic before.

“Oh really?” I said, and left the room, telling them that I was going for a walk. I went out to the aisle, looking outside. I should get outta this goddam place. I will run away as soon as I get out of this train.

"Everything Changes" by Kim Chae Young

-tried to write in viewpoints of Jane        

 

           Stradlater was mouthing right next to me. I wasn't really paying attention to him, because all he talked was just about how close he was with Ed Banky, his basketball coach, that even loaned him a car, and how he was outstanding at basketball team. Such a phony. I had no such interest on how he was proud on himself. Instead, I was thinking of Holden Caulfield, the guy who had lived right next to me. At the moment that I've heard Old Stradlater was living together with Holden, I damn near dropped dead. It was the only reason why I decided to meet Old Stradlater again because there's no such a reason for me to deal with this phony, even wasting my time to read another book.

           "So just before the game ended, I threw a three-pointer, and everyone, I mean, everyone at the stadium just cheered. And then.."

 

I couldn't just bear listening to that kind of stuff.

 

"Can you tell me how's Holden doing? I mean, does he still hate watching movies?"

 

I tried not to be nonchalant, but still, Stradlater seemed quite displeased about the fact that a girl is talking about another boy in front of him, who is smart, handsome, and even good on basketball.

 

"He just got kicked out."

 

That was the end. He didn't really like much about talking another guy, not him, so I just gave up. And I told him that I'm just signed out for nine-thirty. Of course it was not true. Holden and I used to make a lot of lies, because it made us laugh when phony-adults took everything seriously what we said, even though those were phony. Holden often chucked the old crap around. And that killed me.

          

           After I escaped from Stradlater, I had an impulse to call to Holden. Maybe he could be at his home since old Stradlater said he got kicked out. However his mother could get the phone. She didn't really like me. It's not that I liked her, but still, I didn't want to have a phone call with her. You should have to be in the mood. Maybe Phoebe could get the phone. She is a nice kid. She really understands what you're talking about, not the way how adults perceive your story-spurious.

           Phoebe, Holden and I used to go to the Museum of Natural History. Things never change in museum. They're not like adults who get spoiled and become "phony" as they grow up. The fact that museum's never gonna be phony made us relieved to be in that place. Since Holden's brother, D.B. went to Hollywood, we never went to movie. Also, after that day, Holden often kept saying "I felt like I was dying." To Holden, it seemed like death was the definite way to never change, and never be a phony. Even though D.B. has already changed, his another brother, Allie, is memorized by the time when he was still young, and to Holden, Allie will be still forever. Phoebe has yet not changed. For Chrissake, it made me depressed that Phoebe has "yet" not changed. Everything changes. Even I get different. I do not get the kings all lined up in the back row. I enjoy watching movies.

          

           That was the reason why I wasn't in the mood to call Holden Caulfield.

“The Sunny Side of the Day” by Song Huisu, 20th waver

           It was pitch black when I looked outside the window. The thumping sound outside the door was disturbing my sleep. Damn.

           “You should know that kicking the goddam door is not fun at all when you are to disturb someone’s sleep.” I shouted as I opened the door. It was Maurice, that scrawny elevator boy who worked here too.

           “Gotcha a deal. A stripling.” Maurice had a bad habit of making an appointment when you really didn’t want to. When I woke up in the morning, I discovered that there was not enough money to pay that goddam rent here. It has been only a year when I escaped that suffocating house of mine, and started working here. I just could not leave. Then I spent some of the money to buy myself some breakfast, because I was hungry to death. Afterwards I regretted not buying a bottle of scotch instead. The piece of bacon did no good to fill the hunger. Depressed, I fell asleep for the whole day. I really needed to be alone.

           “Next time, ask me first before asking those gentlemen.” I snapped back. When he got out of the room, I brushed my phony blond hair with my fingers and wore the green dress in the closet. Actually, it was the only clean one I had. Others were still in the laundry. I sighed and went to room twelve twenty-two.

           I waited a moment before I opened the door. I felt really reluctant. Of course, I felt reluctant every time before I went to work, but today was the peak. But I finally knocked on the door. Right after, something thumped inside the room. With some moments of hustling, I met the stripling Maurice has found. I almost laughed at the figure. This scrawny boy looked like he should order hot chocolate in the café, to be honest.

           “How do you do,”

Wow. That was the first thing that came into my mind. I wanted to ask him if he was trying to joke with me. However, I resisted that urge and asked if he was the guy Maurice has introduced to me. With moments of confirmation, he let me in.

           “Want a cigarette?”

           “I don’t smoke.” I didn’t expect much from that boy. He kept asking me my name, my age, where I came from, and so on. And then he finally confirmed that he had an operation. That was it. I turned sarcastic from that moment.

           “You look like a guy in the movies. You know. Whosis. You know who I mean. What the heck’s his name?” He flinched as I sat on his lap.

           “I don’t know.” From his voice, I could notice that he was scared to hell. Now that’s what I call phoney. These boys, they think that they are all grown up and call girls to come to their rooms. But what they do is a million miles away from an adult. Their petty pride keeps them from admitting it. I was not even amused by the effort to make a ‘conversation’ with me. That was the phoniest thing he ever did. Inside, they wouldn’t expect that an actual conversation would be made with a prostitute. They just wanna show off to girls like ‘sunny’, that how elegant they are, and enjoy somewhat peculiar experience that they could exaggerate and distort in, ah, novels or something. Maybe their crybaby diaries, too. I could have stick to his suggestions, but I was really not in the mood. Did he think that if he paid money, he could just manipulate my time?

           “Listen. I was sleepin’ when that crazy Maurice woke me up. If you think I’m- “

           “I said I’d pay you for coming and all. I really will. I have plenty of dough. It’s just that I’m practically just recovering from a very serious-“

           “What the heck did you tell that crazy Maurice you wanted a girl for, then? If you just had a goddam operation on your goddam wuddayacallit. Huh?” He grimaced and told me that he would bring the wallet.

           I glared as soon as he held out a five dollar bill. “This is five. It costs ten.”

           “Maurice said five. He said fifteen till noon and only five for a throw.” Does he know that he really sounds like a whining child when arguing so? Maybe he was not as that rich as I anticipated.

           “Ten for a throw.”

           “He said five. I’m sorry-I really an-but that’s all I’m gonna shell out.”

           I shrugged. Then I had nothing to waste more on this whiny boy. “Do you mind getting me my frock? Or would it be too much trouble?” He fetched me the dress. As soon as I wore it, I stood up from the bed.

           “So long, crumb-bum.”

           “So long.”

           The way back to my room was depressing. What a peculiar guy in the middle of the night. At least I got five bucks for that annoying visit, I assured myself and fell back to sleep.

“Epic Phoniness” by 19 김인하

19 김인하 “Epic Phoniness”

           I felt like a lousy senior who felt like becoming a phony these days. Of course, I’ve seen phonies my whole time in this goddam school that is so remote that it takes an hour to call an ambulance to get to this place. I suppose I’ve been overly sensitive these days but I sense a bit more phoniness lurking upon everyone. The morning assembly is as phony as nothing in this world where people just recite whatever they have been doing for years just automatically. After that, I have Mr. Zahl’s mathematics class where everyone tries their best to get a point or two more by presenting whatever strangest geometric theorems and they pretend they got the idea for that theorem through hard work and endeavoring. Oh phonies

           Morning exercise became easier than ever. At least we have a brighter start than the freshmen. But that’s it! We already all know how to get out of trouble while doing illegal stuff. The hardest part of taking this is that I am doing phony acts just for the hell of it. I feel like being clouded into the world of grey shadows. I can’t help but to keep on doing this; People that are bold enough to get back for whatever they do suffer, and those that were able to get out of trouble are doing excellent jobs even receiving model student awards. How phony are all these.

           I am looking down on the tiles of gym during the morning assembly. For all those gossip and lousiness the students beside me are talking about. Love affairs, grades, and etc. I don’t even bother to look at who they are talking about because they are all meaningless. A teacher came around and told us to look straight at the dais up front. I see the gigantic flag up in the center. Are we becoming patriotic because we salute to the flag every morning or is the flag there because we are patriotic. I only know one thing. Either way we are all part of epic phoniness.

"The Lake Full of Falling Ducks" by Kuh Jae Hee, 21st Waver

-tried to make a distinctive voice of Allie. Similar to Holden in use of slang and sentence structure; different in general tone and the way he perceives the world

-I tried to make subtle hints to Allie’s leukemia

-fenestella) falling: falling of ducks, Allie, Holden

-Poem is by Robert Frost

-title a pardoy of ‘the ocean full of bowling balls’ by jd salinger

The Lake Full of Falling Ducks

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Snowflakes land on my hair, probably making quite a sight- a stark contrast between red and white, I guess. I look down at my baseball mitt, something quite useless on a day like this, but just for the sake of it I clench and unclench my cold fingers several times, my eyes skimming over the green letters written in clumsy calligraphy. A portion of a certain poem catches my eye, and I recite it in my mind, trying to remember the rest.

Whose woods these are I think I know.  

His house is in the village though;  

He will not see me stopping here  

To watch his woods fill up with snow.  

I feel a tug on my sleeves. It’s just little Phoebe. My sister. Her hair’s less red than mine, but noticeable enough. She writes funny little stories that just kills Holden. She kills him, she really does. And me too, at times like these, when she’s staring at me with big curious eyes.

“Allie, can’t you hear Holden calling? Are you tired? Again? Let’s go,” she chirps, twisting herself in anticipation and all, eyes flickering towards Holden. “Alright,” I say. I hold her gloved hands and go to join Holden. Holden’s just two years older than me. He’s like a magician-everything he says is absolutely compelling. He knows much more about me about the world, and he says it without fearing repercussions, while all I do is read and write and study and play baseball. He reads and writes and studies and plays baseball too, of course, but not today.

“What if the lake’s all frozen, Allie? Then we can’t use your little boat,” he questions.

“It won’t be! It was fine yesterday!” I assure him.

“If you say so.” Holden shrugs and leads the way.

A few minutes and we’re here at the Central Park South. The willows are all leafless and dormant, but their branches still droop down and we have to part them open to reach the lake.

“Uh-oh,” Phoebe murmurs.

It’s all frozen. In fact it must’ve been frozen for quite a while considering how it’s coated in white powdery snow.

“I’m sorry,” I say, staring at the surface that reflects nothing. Staring, like I could melt it with my eyes, huh. I feel real bad- I mean, Phoebe’s been anticipating this little excursion for quite a while, and Holden wants to play with me every spare moment, naturally, considering the circumstances.

“It’s alright-there are lots of things we can do instead, see,” goes Holden.

Phoebe leans to him, trust in me gone. Maybe she’s a bit mad, I hope she isn’t. “Like?”

“We can borrow sleds.”

“Don’t see any around.”

“We can just walk on the ice.”

“No! If Allie slips he’ll get all bruised again.”

My mind wanders away. I bend my knees a bit and peer into the snow-covered ice- bumpy and opaque. I wonder how deep it is. Considering there are remnants of the reed that flourishes in the autumn, the water probably was really shallow. But, by any chance, it could be deep. Maybe deep enough for turtles to hide in. Maybe deep enough for fishes to dance in schools. Maybe deep enough for, say, ducks to dive in and catch fish. Maybe deep enough for a whole person to fall in and stand up in and still not reach the surface.

“Allie, Allie whatcha looking at?”

I jerk up. Holden and Phoebe are staring at me now, probably done with deciding what to do.

“The lake,” I say honestly.

“And whatcha thinking?”

“That it might be deep enough for…ducks. For ducks to dive in and catch fish,”

I see confusion pass over them “I see,” says Holden. “Was wondering what was so special about a bunch of ice.”

My mind drifts of to the poem. I remember now.

My little horse must think it queer  

To stop without a farmhouse near  

Between the woods and frozen lake. . . 

“Allie,” pipes up Phoebe again. “You’re being weird! Focus!”

“I was just wondering. About the ducks. Where do you s’ppose happens to all those ducks then? In the winter?” My words surprise myself. I wasn’t really thinking, I feel a bit weary for that already, but somehow my mouth makes up all these questions. And in fact I am a bit curious about the answers.

“They’re migratory. They go south, as you probably know.”

“Yes, but how?”

Holden shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. Do you, Phoebe?”

“Nope!”

“Then guess,” I sound very imploring.

“Okay, okay. Maybe they just stick their legs in the ice and fly away to another place, the ice held by dozens of them?” Holden says with the slightest hint of sarcasm. Phoebe lets out a little burst of giggle, and I smile too, because how funny is that? A bunch of ducks, feet stuck in ice, flapping in unison. And imagine, what if they fall? It’ll be quite a sight. A bunch of ducks bringing each other down, not intentionally, panicking like chickens. Holden’s chuckling too by now but suddenly he calms down and looks at me, eyes all intense.

“I’ve got no idea why but your questions feel a bit funny today.”

“Funny! Sure I’ve noticed that too.”

“Sort of, let’s say, phony, you know? Like why are you asking all these trivial things?”

Phony? “I am curious about the answers.”

“Right.”

A brief silence. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I won’t be phony.”

“You weren’t being phony, not if you were really curious.”

“I know. But still.”

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,  

But I have promises to keep. . .,

“So what are we going to do?” pipes Phoebe, her bangs dangling above her blue eyes, as restless as she is. “Let’s just go and walk maybe?” I suggest meekly. Holden shrugs and goes off. I turn and follow Holden.

…And miles to go before I sleep,  

And miles to go before I sleep.

[…]

Then I thought of something, all of a sudden, “Hey, listen,” I said, “You know those ducks in that lagoon right near Central Park South? That little lake? By any chance, do you happen to know where they go, the ducks, when it gets all frozen over? Do you happen to know, by any chance?” I realized it was only one chance in a million. 

The Catcher in the Rye, a short story. 20th Waver Jaeho Park

The Catcher in the Rye, a short story.

20^th Waver Jaeho Park

This is an excerpt from The Catcher in the Rye. Holden Caulfield views Christmas as a phony holiday, but when he spends it at school, without his family, for the first time, his negative thought on Christmas slightly changes.

         

          Damn Christmas. It’s pretty much the time of the year, when sparkles of love and happiness fill the air; only to cover up the loneliness and guilt spread upon the ground. It’s a day that sings about hope and opportunities; while nothing has changed within. And it’s a celebration of the phonies, for the phonies, by the phonies. Damn, I’m sorry to Lincoln for using his words in this way, especially to a president of a Christianity-based country; but hey, don’t think of it as a blasphemy. A blasphemy itself is merely a “solution” applied to a problem with no answer. Anyway, this was my thought on a typical Christmas, but that was when I spent it with my family. This year, it was the first Christmas I spent alone, at school. And damn there was no shitty “Christmas spirit” anywhere. That killed me.    

          Well, I woke up at noon, on Christmas. I mean, the fact itself was crazy, as millions of other people would have woken up early, excited by the charming day ahead of them. I jumped off the bed, and hit the floor with a sleepy, yet refreshing laughter. Was kind of amused to start away Christmas by sleeping through the half of it. Then, I went outside the dormitory, only to see a sunny day with a clear, blue sky. White Christmas was nowhere to see. That really made me laugh. And like this, I spent hours of time, just simply appreciating this refreshing feeling the new Christmas gave me. At evening, I went back to my room, and discovered a Christmas tree my roommates have made. It was made with an umbrella, a few socks, and some string. The tree looked so trivial, and the efforts of my friends to mimic the Christmas tree seemed so pathetic. But somewhere within myself, the words “Merry Christmas” seemed to slightly emerge for the first time.