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

Game of Amateurs - Adaptation by Ja Eun Kim

JaEun Kim, 121024      

Mr. Garrioch

Catcher in the Rye Fan Fiction

2013. 03. 31

This is an adaptation of chapter 1 and 2, where Holden walks past the football game and visits Mr. Spencer.

Anyway, it was the Saturday of the club fair. The club fair was supposed to be a very big deal around KMLA. It was held only once in a year, and you were supposed to present all your goddam cheerfulness and pretend like your life was all about the goddam club activities. I remember around 11’o clock in that morning I was standing in the middle of the crowded Dasan lobby, right next to this crazy club which thought they were digging up all the injustice in the society. They were singing a song about the school’s corruption, and it was noisy as hell. You could see the whole event from there, the juniors reaching out and grabbing the freshmen to make them sign up for their club and all. You could hear them all yelling, because practically all the juniors and freshmen of the school were there.

           There were never many happy dudes at all here at KMLA. We were only allowed to think about the future. It was a terrible school, no matter how you looked at it. I like to be in somewhere at least were you can see a few happy dudes around once in a while, even if all they’re doing is just scratching their arms or playing the goddam Frisbee.

           The reason I was stuck in the middle of the goddam crowd, instead of occupying a table, was because I’d just finished the goddam Samuchim performance. Very big deal. We practiced for it from the early in the morning. Only, the crazy performance didn’t go well. We were supposed to shake our heads like madmen and pretend like we were crazy about the music and all. But I suddenly didn’t feel like it. I wasn’t in the mood to shake my goddam head. You really have to be in the right mood when you are doing such a phony stuff. So I threw the drumstick away in the middle of the goddam performance. Everybody was gasping like madmen when I just did it, but they soon resumed to carry out their phony fair. Look, nobody even recognizes me now.

           Anyway, I got out of Dasan and started to climb up the hill toward the English building. It was icy as hell and I damn near fell down. Everybody run out of their damn breath when they are climbing this hill. They complain, but they still climb. They all knew goddam clearly that this climbing business was damn hard and they also knew that they don’t want to do it. But they do it anyway. It’s the way this school is. As I was struggling along the empty road, I felt like I was sort of disappearing. It was that kind of a crazy morning. Terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything, and only distant shouting of students down at Dasan was heard.

           Boy, I knocked that door hard when I got to the old Mr. J’s office. I was really frozen. Goddam Nubi is actually no good at all and I felt like my cheeks were falling off. “C’mon, c’mon,” I said right out loud, almost. “Come on in.” Old Mr. J finally answered it. They never open the door for you. They always call you out to give you a goddam lecture or make you do the goddam errand, but they never open the door for you.

           The reason I went all they way up to his office in the goddam weather was because he left me a note to come see him. It was probably about the ‘advisee homework’, I guess. He sent us a questionnaire that was loaded with a bunch of goddam phony questions. And I barely answered any.

           “Have a sit”. He said it without giving a glance at me. I sat down. And he never said anything. They do it if they want you to know that you’re in a trouble. He was typing something as if I weren’t in the goddam office at all, but I guess he was probably glancing me through the corner of his crazy eyes. To make sure that I was nervous and all.

I started to look around the office. Lots of old papers were stuck on the whiteboard. “Be the only one, not the best one.” and “Move their hearts, and Transform them”. Plus all those crazy sentences in Chinese characters. KMLA teachers are crazy about Chinese proverbs.

Why should I be someone special? I don’t mind if I had nothing special compared to the guys around me, if the guys were happy dudes who were nice enough to get along with. I won’t bother to transform anybody if they were already happy by themselves. The thing I guess I’ll probably do is just playing the goddam Frisbee.

           He finally opened his mouth. After a long, long lecture about how I should live the life wisely and set a clear goal to apply myself, he said, “Life is a game. You have to play it like a pro.”

           That killed me. God, he said it like thousand times since February. I don’t want to play anything like a pro. I don’t care if nobody was giving me the money or the goddam college acceptance letter for what I was doing. I’ll throw the goddam drumstick away whenever I feel like it. There are some games that you don’t need to play like a pro. For example, you can never throw a Frisbee exactly as you planned. They wobble and twirl like crazy as they fly off. But it never really matters, because the other player will catch it no matter how you throw it. It doesn’t really matter even if the other player misses it. You can always have a good fun playing Frisbee.

There were never many happy dudes here at KMLA.