By Seokjun Dan Choi

Holden Caulfield, 18th Waver

This is an adaptation illustrates Holden as an 18th waver of KMLA. It doesn't really depict a specific part in The Catcher in the Rye; it's really general, you know. Enjoy~^^

           A tsunami of discomfort slapped me hard as the morning bell began to ring. Another corny love song. I mean, why the hell does the school play a love song when they ban relationships between boys and girls? It's just like eating meat vigorously in front of a bunch of Buddhist priests. Every time students try to forget their painful fate, the morning bell harks it back. The teachers probably want us to start our day with low spirits. Teachers, it's the way they are. They're obviously the evil itself.

           I wrinkled my third backbone, recalling the fact that a new week just started. Boy, did I suddenly get negative. Actually I am always pessimistic. Goddam the fact I have to wake up every day at 6 a.m. Goddam my Catcher in the Rye adaptation essay. Goddam Mr. Myeongsoon Kim. Goddam everything. I just happen to hate everything on Earth. Wait, I hate astrology too, so I guess I hate everything in this cosmos. I really do. It's quite a wonder that I'm trying to write this anyways.

           Well, right after I wore this cumbersome kendo suit, I found out that the time was past six thirty. What is with this school's time, I roared as I somersaulted across the goddam school to the gymnasium. The process was actually quite simple: get hollered at by Master Jeon, earn a penalty point, and get yelled at by Mr. Myeongsoon Kim again. God were those people loud. I don't know if their vocal cords were always that healthy or they simply want to make a fool out of me. They definitely woke me up, though. I really appreciate it.

           Anyway, after some sets of the phony KMS gymnastics(proudly named after Mr.Myeongsoon Kim), we 18th wavers staggered weakly toward the cafeteria. About KMLA's food, it's okay. No need to explain that. It's just one dang thing. The menu kinda repeats itself. I can feel it. The cafeteria ladies probably ran out of recipes, I guess. It is delicious to a freshman like me, but eating the same food over and over for three full years? No surprise the ramen consumption of KMLA keeps going up.

           As I practically threw my food on my plate, I heard a familiar "Hola!" from behind. I turned around to discover a fat boy talking with Mrs. Kyeongjoo Kim, our Spanish teacher. What a phony. He was doing it just to impress her. By the way, I wouldn't have said a word about him if he likes using Spanish. I caught him as an English Only Policy violator just yesterday! He then even swore about the school making students use foreign languages. And here he stood, a proud macho. I abhor dishonest guys like him. Well, actually everyone is a phony, really.

           I was reading The Catcher in the Rye written by J. D. Salinger inside my filthy room. The book was sorta funny especially its breakout character Holden Caulfield. I think I resemble him a lot. Anyway, I was really focusing on this part where Holden picks up a prostitute when my ho-mate Yeongwook barged in. There was no need to turn around to recognize him. His horrible stench of male hormones was quite enough. I endured it without a word, concentrating on the book. With a guy like Yeongwook, if you started speaking with him you were a dead man. You were a dead man anyway, but not so quick if didn't speak with him right away. His silhouette slowly approached me, and I could feel this weird tension get bigger and bigger. Boy was he a monster. I fixed my eyeballs on the goddam book.

"What the hellya doing?" he asked. He probably didn't know what reading was.

"Reading, duh."

           Yeongwook then shoved the book to see its cover, god would he just leave me alone. He then began picking his nose. To be honest, picking his nose was relatively a sanitary act. He'd done worse before. Yeongwook plucked a booger out of his goddam nostrils. He looked at it with a grimaced look, as if it was the dirtiest thing in the world. I guess he doesn't know himself very well. He would have committed suicide if he just looked at the mirror. Yeongwook then flicked the dang booger off his finger and left the room. He never exactly broke your heart when he went back to his own room, you know.

By Ryu Han-seul

Ryu Han-seul

Mr. Garrioch

2013.04.01

“The Catcher in the Rye” Fan fiction

This is an adaptation of Chapter 25 of “The Catcher in the Rye.” Holden wanders in the streets and suddenly thinks he’s about to die. He wants to find Phoebe for the last time and say good-bye. In my adaptation, a KMLA student is wandering around the school during IR period with nothing to do. She goes into the forest around the school and suddenly decides to escape from her surroundings like Holden.

It was 7^th and 8^th period. I didn’t know where the hell to go. I didn’t want to go to the quiet, drowsy library again. So finally all I did was I walked over to the stone arch in front of the field track. I figured I’d sleep there, soaking in the sunlight. So that’s what I did. I only managed to sleep for thirty minutes because shadows of people passing by kept making the shades of my eyelids light and dark and light and dark. And these stupid, long as hell skirts of giggling, phony girls kept making breezes. So I sat up. The headache was even worse.

I didn’t mean to, but I kept thinking about the useless week I had. AP exams were coming in about two weeks and did I do anything? I was sort of caught up in weird paper documents about a club. Who cared if Mr. Park put his weird signature that looks like an upside-down three on the paper or not. He wasn’t in his office every time I went. I don’t’ know if he flew around or dug hole in the ground or something. He just wasn’t there.

I found a piece of paper, folded in half and stuck in one of the columns of the bridge. I started reading it, thinking it’d make me stop thinking about my useless life here. But this damn piece of paper made me feel worse. It was all about microfilaments. AP biology stuff back in chapter 10 or something. Then I read the next sheet about some Parkinson’s disease. It sort of said that the muscle tremors or poor balance means you have the disease and your brain is dying. I had this muscle cramp and tremor in my right leg for a month. I figured I’d be dead in a couple of years because of Mr. Parkinson. I really did. It certainly didn’t make me feel too much better.

It sort of looked like it was going to snow. In April, for God’s sake. I went for this walk in the woods anyway. I kept walking and walking up the trail that Mr. Ganse had shown to me in the woods. Then all of a sudden, something spooky happened. Every time I came across a goddam large tree in my way, I had this feeling that I’d never get around it. I’d just go sideways and sideways and nobody’d ever see me again. I started sweating like hell. Then I did something else. Every time I’d get to that stupid tree, I pretended my dad was alive. “Dad, don’t let me disappear. Please, Dad.” And then I reached an open road and I’d say thank you. It would start all over again as soon as another goddam tree was in the way. I knew it was stupid. But I kept going. I think I was too scared to stop. I don’t remember, to tell you the truth. The only thing I know is I didn’t stop till I was till the end of the trail. I sat down on this big rock. I could hardly get my breath and I was still sweating like a bastard.

I sat there for I guess an hour. Finally, I decided I’d go away. I decided I’d just see my best friend Suk-ho and sort of say good-bye. I decided then I’d start hitchhiking my way South. I’d go to Busan or something where nobody’d know me and I’d get a job, fishing or something. I thought what I’d do was, I’d pretend I had that Alzheimer disease or something. That way I wouldn’t have to learn anything or take goddam stupid useless exams. If anybody wanted to tell me something, they’d have to persuade me I knew them. They’d get frustrated as hell and then I’d be through with talking for the rest of my life.

They’d just let me catch fish, clean the nets, and lie down in the bottom of the ship, dirty as hell. Yeah, I’d cook all my own food, eat Raemyun and instant spaghetti. And no sagam will open the damn door and make check marks on my name. I’d want it to as sunny as hell all the time, instead of trying to talk the clouds into raining every morning to skip exercise. I’d use the computer all I want and get rid of the stupid blue and orange Microsoft program icons. I got excited as hell thinking about it. I really did. Pretending I was going insane was sort of crazy but I liked it anyway. But I did decide to get the hell out of this place. All I wanted to do first was say good bye to old Suk-ho. So all of a sudden, I ran like a madman down the slope. I don’t know if I went around the trees or I went through them. But I know I didn’t disappear cause I went past Dasan building. I ran past all the cars to the road I always used to go volunteering to some school on Tuesday. I ran like a madman until I couldn’t’ see the school anymore.

By Gina Lee

<The Last Night in San Francisco>

So yeah, it was the last day of our goddamn trip. I mean, after all the fun we had with fresh $4.00 nectarines, chocolate buses, the Golden Gate Bridge, gays in flower pants, and the warm breezy weather, it was hell depressing to leave the place. Even though we had not planned to stay there for a long time, I was longing for a couple more days to enjoy San Francisco.

Coming back to the hotel I was tired. Not just tired, but like freaking tired. My roommate was kind of a phony, saying that she has unlimited energy or something for shopping; if somebody dropped her in front of an outlet store right now, she would be able to roam around for hours, not tired at all. Rolling my eyes, I slumped against the bed. I was probably like a slice of melted cheese.

I do not know how. But my eyes flew open, and I was still in the same position, flopped over the top of the bed underneath my backpack tossed on the pillows. Rubbing my eyes, I looked outside – it was getting dark. I probably dozed for an hour or too. But it was not just getting dark, but it was goddamn raining. I hated rain. I hated anything that was cold and wet. Rainy day was gloomy. I always felt like I had to damn cry or something for no good reason.

But that day, it was a little bit different. Perhaps I had gone mad, too tired out. The little droplets of rain falling down from the sky seemed, I don’t know, cute, I guess. I was, for the first time in my life, appreciating a rainy day. It was so nice and everything – the quiet sound of rain. I suddenly felt an urge to run out in to the rain. I wanted the rain. I wanted to get wet.

My roommate was asleep, so I slipped on a coat and tiptoed out with a key. When I went out to the lobby, the outside was already goddamn dark. At first I thought I should just go back up to the room, but that would be a phony. I was just about to run out when a guy at the front grabbed me.

“Don’t you need an umbrella, miss?”

He was really kind. The way he smiled and all that made me feel comfortable. But umbrella was not what I wanted at that moment. I needed freedom. I needed rain.

“No thank you. For some reason I don’t right now.”

The guy looked puzzled, but just grinned and went back to his work saying ‘okay’. He would have thought I was a retard or something. But that didn’t matter. I ran out, unarmed.

It was goddamn cold. But I just stood there, in the middle of the parking lot. In a few minutes, I was soaked. With my hair glued on to my face and my shirt stuck to my body, I probably looked like a drowned corpse or something. But I was feeling good. I felt so damn happy, if you want to know the truth. I don’t know why. It was just that the rain was so damn nice, the way it kept on gently tapping on me. I mean, it was like, the most, oh, I don’t know, tingling moment. I still don’t know what that impulse had been, how that possibly occurred. But God, I wish you could’ve been there.

By Yunjo Jung

Application of Holden Caulfield in Reality

Before starting, I just want to say this:

I wrote this at 3 A.M. in the morning, so however the story flows, I might not remember what I wrote. Also, just so anybody who's reading this knows, what I write here might sound a bit nonsense.

Here we go.

I'm sitting on my chair. Half lying on my chair, if you ask me. My legs are on the desk, and I'm staring at the laptop screen, not knowing what to write for my English Composition class tomorrow. And I have to get it done quick, 'cuz I really want to sleep right now.

Maybe I should just screw this. I mean, what use is it to write an essay about school life? Isn't sleeping more important than scribbling a few phony words to satisfy the teacher?

But I can't go up there. For mainly two reasons.

One, I'm comfy here. I might as well sleep here and all, my chair's so cozy. I don't want to bother going up to my bed.

Two, my teacher. He's phony as hell, really. If I didn't write anything for tomorrow's class, he'd be nagging at me for that for the rest of my life here in KMLA.

And of course, I wouldn't want that. I can barely stand him nagging at other people these days; no more nagging on me, thank you very much.

Luckily I can stay awake thanks to my roommate who's making funny comments - they're funny to me, although I don't know what he thinks about what he says - about his looks. He's asking me if his new glasses look good on him. And I say, "I don't see anything different, my pal." Hearing that, he sounds disappointed as hell, but what could I say? I can't say, "oh man you look beautiful" and all.

Anyways there's my roommate in front of me, his eyes fixed to his own laptop screen, frantically hitting the keyboard and all. I thought he was doing homework, but -not surprisingly- he was playing games. Something phony called OSU, anybody heard of that? It's like Guitar Hero without the guitar and the singers; you use the keyboard to hit the notes raining down from the top of the screen. Personally I don't understand those people who play that kind of game; what's so fun about using keyboards to play a prescribed melody?

Anyways, my roommate goes up to bed to sleep. He asks me if I could wake him up for morning exercise, but what the hell. I wake up at 6:40 and he's gotta wake up at 6:15. No way in the world I'm providing that kind of charity service. Hell no.

That's what I tell him, and he gets all phony and disappointed, so I give him my alarm clock, the one that could wake up the whole neighborhood if it needed to.

Maybe I was stupid to lend him that clock. It would probably wake everyone up.

But screw it. I'm going to sleep. And I probably won't hear that clanging alarm clock.

My mind....

is....

dozing.....

of....f.....

Stupid Studying Room - Jiyun Sung

Stupid Studying Room

*This is fiction, an adaption of The Catcher in the Rye. This is the part where Holden goes to the Museum of Natural History in New York, and stops before he goes in. The narrator is a boy similar to Holden Caulfield.

The thing is, there’s a special studying room for seniors on the 11^th floor. But it’s kinda phony, since it can’t hold all seniors. So we cast lots, boy, cast lots! The lucky lots get seats, and the unlucky bits don’t. I got one, too. For Chrissake. I’ve never been lucky in my whole life, and I’m using my luck in this sort of phony stuff. But I take my seat anyway. It’ll be mine for one year. Unless I get kicked out, that is.

My seat is number 26. It’s by the hallway, far from the entrance. Fourth aisle. It’s seat is blocked by a partition. That’s the whole point of this “studying room”. You are supposed to not get distracted by others. On the left partition, some sounavitch wrote “12^th grade”. God damn it. Who the hell doesn’t know he’s a 12^th grader? Right on the bookshelf, there are traces of good old scotch tape being ripped off. On the smooth, waxed desk there are strange engraved Chinese letters. I don’t know, they’re the company name that made this desk or something. The first day I got in, I stared and stroked the engraved letters for a long time. I kinda got curious. Who did they do that? I took out a penknife from my pocket and started to saw my desk. It was waxed, but still, it was wood. It couldn’t resist my knife. Finally, I left a tiny mark on the desk, and it was as straight and deep as the letters. From that point on, my desk never changed. 

I kinda liked having a seat in the room because you get to get the same seat every time and get to leave stuff there. And as long as I don’t touch anything, nobody does. I mean, everything stays in place- the old scribble, ripped tape, engraved letters, even my own incised mark. Nothing’d move. I could go there a hundred times, and that scribble would still say “12^th grade”. Nothing’d be different. The only thing that would be different would be you. Not that you’d be so much older or anything. It wouldn’t be that, exactly. You’d just be different, that’s all. You’d wear black socks this time. Or your hair would be all tangled and messy. Or the kid that was next to me would be different. Or you’d just talked to Mr. Yoon for an hour and a half. Or you’d have decided to break up with your boyfriend. Or you’d have just fallen off the stairs. I mean you’d be different in some way- I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it. 

One day I went into the studying room, right on time. The thing is, since they lack seats, anyone who’s not using the studying room properly is kicked out. Late or absent three times in a week and you’re out. To prove it, you’d sign some stupid paper that you were there, right on time, in stupid Chinese letters. I stood in line in turn to sign that damn thing. Then a funny thing happened. When it was my turn, I didn’t want to sign it. I jumped up three floors in a hurry just to get in time, but I didn't want to sign it. I mean, in my aisle people are frequently not in their seats, doing something else on the outside or having classes or something. Some of them almost never actually study in there. And still they keep their seats just because they signed that stupid paper. And a number of students are dying to get in there and have a seat! Well, that’s because you can’t use your laptop inside the room, so anybody who has to use their laptop frequently rarely come in there. But they still keep their seats! For Chrissake. What phonies. Why don’t they just get out of their stupid, never-occupied seats?

So I didn’t sign the damn paper, three times in a row. I mean, I don’t want to get fettered by some stupid studying room rules! I have my own rules. And maybe the next-in-line would have more use of that stupid seat. I don’t need it, anyway. I can just study in my room or at 11^th floor, outside the enclosed studying room. And I got kicked out, damn it.

The not-so perfect aspect of the school I was kicked out of - YunJi Kwan

22

Sub-title : The not-so perfect aspect of the school I was kicked out of

           When I came back, he had the pillow off his head all right- I know he would-but he still wouldn’t look at me, even though he was laying on her back and all. When I came around the side of the bed and sat down again, he turned his crazy face the other way. He was ostracizing the hell out of me. Just like the archery team at KMLA when I left all the goddam arrows on the subway.

           “How’s old Chulsoo Kim?” I said. “You write any new stories about him? I got that one you sent me right in my suitcase. It’s down at the station. It’s very good.”

           “Daddy’ll kill you.”

           Boy, he really gets something on his mind when he gets something on his mind.

           “No, he won’t. The worst he’ll do, he’ll give me hell again, and then he’ll send me to that goddam boarding school. That’s all he’ll do to me. And in the first place, I won’t even be around. I’ll be away. I’ll be-I’ll probably be in Seoul, the Dongdamun market.”

           “Don’t make me laugh. You can’t even ride a subway.”

           “Who can’t? Sure I can. Certainly I can. They can teach you in about a minute.” I said. “Stop picking at that”. He was picking at that adhesive tape on her arm. “Who gave you that haircut?” I asked him. I just noticed what a stupid haircut somebody gave him. It was way too short.”

           “None of your business,” he said. He can be very snotty sometimes. He can be quite snotty. “I suppose you failed in every single subject again,” he said- very snotty. It was sort of funny, too, in a way. He sounds like a goddam schoolteacher sometimes, and he’s only a little child.

           “No, I didn’t.” I said. “I passed English.” Then, just for the hell of it, I gave him a pinch on the behind. It was sticking way out in the breeze, the way he was laying on his side. He has hardly any behind. I didn’t do it hard, but he tried to hit my hand anyway, but he missed.

           Then, all of a sudden, he said, “Oh, why did you do it?” He meant why did I get the ax

again. It made me sort of sad, the way he said it.”

           “Oh, God, J, don’t ask me. I’m sick of everybody asking me that.” I said. “A million reasons why. It was one of the worst schools I ever went to. It was full of phonies. And selfish guys. You never saw so many selfish guys in your life. For instance, if you were sleeping and needed to go to the morning exercise, nobody’d wake them if they were some dopey, pimply guy.

Everybody was always locking their mind’s door when somebody new wanted to come in. And they had this goddam secret academy-associated intimacy that I was too timid not to join, as well. There was this one pimply, fat, but not-so-boring girl, A, that wanted to get in. She kept trying to join, and the girls were having no problem with her. Only the boys wouldn’t let her into their minds. Just because she was fat and chubby. I don’t even feel like talking about it. It was a stinking school. Take my word.

           Old J didn’t say anything, but he was listening. I could tell by the back of his neck that he was listening. He always listens when you tell her something. And the funny part is he knows, half the time, what the hell you’re talking about. He really does.

           I kept talking about old KMLA. I sort of felt like it.

           “Don’t swear so much.”

“It would’ve made you puke, I swear it would,” I said. “Then, on every Monday. They have this day, when we have to stand up for about a hundred minutes, that all the members of the school come together and sing the national anthem and stuff. And there are sometimes students who give speeches- and you should’ve seen this one old guy that was about to be knocked out of the stage, nearly. What he did was, he came onto the stage and asked us if we’d mind if he told us all to sit. That’s what even teachers are careful about! You know what he said? He said he wanted to question the school and the authorities why the reappointment of the principal was done without any notice, and he wanted to see if they had any hidden absurdities. So his speech was getting uncontrollable, almost. He kept talking to us the whole time, telling us how the school’s girls dormitory wasn’t still built yet and where did the money go. Boy, did he shock us! I don’t mean he was a bad guy- he wasn’t. But you don’t have to be a bad guy to shock everybody-you can be a good guy and do it. All you have to do to shock somebody is give them no beforehand knowledge while you’re giving them shocking information-that’s all you have to do. I don’t know. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t been all out in the stage. God, J! I can’t explain. I just didn’t like anything that was happening at KMLA. I can’t explain.”

Kwan Yu Ji – 18^th wave