Depressed

Clouds always follow the sunshine, they say, yet it is the second of the worst in this year. Maybe it is more than the first, regarding that my mind has been ever trained to such circumstances. So depressed! I had to take one month and a half to get through the first worst. Whole through the summer I struggled with my depression, you know. How much time would this one take for me to hold back coolness?!

Since yesterday I’ve tried to think of my favourites, but it doesn't help at all. I feel like being moved to tears from time to time. I have no time to waste in dejection, however. I must ignore all the negative feelings to meet my work dead-lined. Let the matter rest for the time being. Let’s call to mind just what November gave me, nice friends and an old friend.

Still I’m sad. . . No one to bare my heart.

Brit...

Serious or Earnest

She said to me, “You’re too serious. These days, no one lives such seriously.” Well, it may be right and maybe wrong. I’m serious when I think it needed, not always. I just try to be earnest in everything and to everyone rather than serious. I know, however, I cannot be such earnest as I am to be, because I’m selfish. To say again, I’m too selfish to be earnest, therefore I want to be.

Brit…

November

Nothing left in/from November, they say, but I didn’t think so. I’ve believed November’s nothing has been something the fullest. Why? I cannot tell exactly, because articulation requires artificiality. I just can say I perceived the nothing as by-product of overflowing. Yes, overflowing… that’s it! The over-flown fullness is the nothing of November, and it is not just exhaustion, or rather, pro-germination. I’ve loved November all through my life. Disguising barrenness, it embraces everything in the name of nothing, November. Time is snatching away my November, but I still love it.

Brit…

My new Friend

V. S.

There is something in his voice, a certain irresistible charisma. I could feel it from the start. Somewhat languid and low, it sounds cynical even when he expresses affection. I love it. I, then, didn’t imagine he was so young, much younger than I am and than I expected. He must have been much older than the forties to meet my guess. I don’t mean that his voice sounds old, yet it has some dignity enough to make me guess him to be much older than himself. Oh, if I were younger with ten years and more, I might love him as a man! Ha, I know how ridiculous I am, if fall in love with voice tone. I had too much reading and imagining. ))) In fact you know, I have so many lovers, some of whom are around my age, such as Sean Bean, Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Ian Bostridge, Mikhail Pletnev, Andrew the Duke of York, and so on. I think I always fall in love with my imagination, even though I’m getting older and older. That’s it!! I can’t help it, because it has been my disposition since childhood, you know. As the girl, so the woman, and I add more, so the nanny. You don’t have to worry about me, though, I won’t go over the line. ;)

Anyway, I'll remember 22th of November. I've loved November all the way.

Brit…

A short Review of Sam Shepard's FfL

Victimization or been Victimized?:

Love Scratched and Erased in Fool for Love

What is the meaning of love? The dictionary says it means “a very strong feeling of affection towards someone who you are romantically or sexually attracted to.” In this sense, the feeling between Eddie and May is a faultless love, even though they are obsessively attached to each other. They can/must not share such a desirable love, though, because they are siblings. However deep the love is, we see a ridiculed love of brother-sister incest, though they are just half-blooded. Convention or morality defines the love as irrational and sinful, which leads us to sense the absurdity of it, simultaneously victimizes it. I say “victimize” here, but cannot say it is right formulation.

Eddie says to Martin, “The reason you’re taking her out to the movie is because you just want to be with her” (78). Love claims to be with, and just starts at that moment. May and Eddie would “never stop being in love” (86) from the beginning, and they not only “couldn’t take a breath without thinking of each other,” but also “got sick at night” when they were apart (91). Eddie tried to love another and May did so, but it’s just like running their heads against the wall. Their love is like a curse to their father, the Old Man, who lived a double life. It might be also a revenge on the deeds of the father and their mothers. The mothers, one of whom might smell but tolerate her spouse’s adultery, the other stuck to a married man, both were finally causers and victims of family tragedy. Eddie's mother blew her brains out with his father’s gun. The father’s duplicity and selfishness begot his children’s destructive love, and the mothers’ adherent loves brought the ruin of their own as well as the children’s misery of heart. Consequently, the parents and the children victimized each other.

The scenes are performed in a cheap motel on the edge of a desert―the Mojave Desert―. The desert, which implies infertile dryness, initially determines the love’s fatality. The love results in the void itself, and seems like the imaginary picture at which the Old Man keeps staring. In the early part of the play, May tells Eddie “You’re either gonna erase me or have me erased” (48). Eddie is like a disease to May (59) to be erased, and May to Eddie. They know their perceptible love is destined to vanish into nothingness. It is away from the sight of the audience as well. Paradoxically speaking, the nothingness in this case can/might be something indescribable, but it should be formless anyway, as if it’s in a dream. This kind of paradoxical sophistication would serve as appeasement between the characters and the audience, who have many things to say but hard to articulate them. One cannot but let it be.

There is no absolute victim in the play. By victimizing one another, they all become injurers not victims, who accept being inflicted. Loves of the play deserve to be erased within the context of the text, because they―the children as well as the parents― separately loved in each own way, that is some addicted selfish way, scratching and devastating themselves. The love of the children―Eddie and May― lies in the heart of emotional ruins. Love has no victim but itself. We humans victimize feelings in the name of love, so love is done by its name.

Brit...

(Written on 9 November, Handed out on 10 November)

A short Review of B. Henley's CoH

A review of Beth Henley’s Crimes of the Heart:

Patriarchal and Racial Absurdity

(aka. Understandable Absurdity and Unacceptable Absurdity)

Before proceeding, I want to pay reverence to the work of an attractive playwright, Beth Henley. Of all the American dramas I’ve read till now for this semester, this one of Beth Henley’s was most comfortable for me to read at one glance. As compared to other dramas I read earlier, CoH has more moderate and easier dialogues with which protagonists communicated. I, as a woman, could share some emotional depth with those three sisters. Of course, the sisters are in different situations and their attitudes run cross to each other in some cases, so I feel empathy with them separately. This play has many things to be discussed, but this time I’ll choose just two parts about patriarchal and racial absurdity because I am to develop discussion in only a page.

Lenny as the eldest girl retains certain modulation of attitude toward the conventionally patriarchal order to which she has been accustomed. Her recognition of Old Granddaddy’s devotion to the girls (264) shows it well. We, however, become to know that all of three sisters were victims of patriarchal ideals in a sense. Lenny, due to her deformed ovary, was psychically branded as an unproductive woman, so has been regarded to make useless wife. Meg, who seems to be impertinent and liberal, was also a victim of [grand] paternal expectation as seen from Act Three. There she says “he’s just gonna have to take me like I am” and “finally I get my wits about me, and he conks out” (278, 279). Babe, let alone commenting about her macho/bad husband, was victimized by patriarchal convention, which has bound women with typical classification and stereotyped wisdom. Old Granddaddy “remarked how Babe was gonna skyrocket right to the heights of Hazlehurst society and how [bold/wild] Zackery was just the right man for her whether she knew it now or not” (240-41). Even Old Granddaddy, represented a good patriarch, dominated his granddaughters’ lives and served as causes of their miseries. There seems to be no need to take Zackery or the girls’ bastard father into discussion because we already saw authoritative patriarch, good or bad, exerted harmful influence upon women.

I declare the most serious defect of this drama is the dealing with the relationship between Babe and Willie Jay. Babe is twenty-four and the black boy Willie is fifteen. Consequently Babe had sex with a Juvenile and their intercourse is plainly illegal. Babe’s excuse of loneliness or her after-protection for Willie against Zackery and Hazlehurst society cannot compensate for her deed. Nevertheless, the play justifies Babe’s situation and makes readers sympathise with her. Its absurdity becomes clear when we consider other similar situations. Let us think of other three cases of intercourses: between adult black man and young white girl; between adult white man and young black girl; between adult black woman and white young boy. What do you think of those? I might not have to discuss further, and probably some definite answers can be supposed. In the strict sense, the defect I proposed would not be imputed to Henley, but to the social.

Family relation, that is, the confirmation of the strong ties among sisters, and self-awakening/self-realization of them as independent and positive/active women are partial virtues of the play. Simultaneously we cannot ignore the uneasiness that the play gives us, though.

Brit...

(Written on 31st October, Handed out on 3rd November)

Deadlock

1.

What sort of ridicule is this? Really, I’m not interested in it. I think I am absolutely misunderstood. I am not the sort of a woman, which he might think of me, definitely. I don’t like such a game, the emotional game, because I’m very weak at such folly and not witted about it at all.

Nevertheless, am I being swallowed up into the whirlwind of a certain emotional collision in spite of myself? What an absurd creature I am! Too frail to stand tall for myself!

2.

I’ve been proud of myself and have necessary confidence in me, and have been valued and loved by others. Now I, however, feel trapped within my own standards and other’s expectation. The aging and consequently lack of physical strength—that is, degenerating— are taking my ability away, and I realise my confidence is all but just an illusion. Now I fear of everything.

Brit...

Eager to Rest

Eager to rest for my eyes, for my head, and for my heart! I’m totally exhausted, especially my mind. I feel like crawling through long dark tunnel. Overwhelmed a certain gloom, I’m losing confidence in me. Is it melancholia? Well, it’s not such simple. This mess-up of mind is due to some complex disturbance. Maybe I know a little, or don’t.

Brit…

Words

I just don't understand why people are not responsible for their words. As for me, every spoken word of mine or to me is a kind of yoke. I'm bound with not only my utterance but also other's to me, so I don't speak any word easily and don't treat any word to me as worthless. For me words are important as much as the utterer of them, hence I hope my words can be valued as my self, too. Once I voice something, it always chases me up until fulfilled, therefore I cannot feel free from my words at any case. Of course, I know every spoken word cannot be fulfilled without exception, and I also do not keep every word I speak, but at least, I try to do it. Words as well as writings from me are the very reflection of my heart, that is, my soul. If I am not faithful to them―I mean the words and writings―, it means that I lose my soul. Without soul, how can I live on?

Brit...

My [New] Laptop

For my papers/articles as well as preparing my doctorial dissertation, two days ago I’ve bought a laptop, that is, a net-book not a notebook. Notebook computers are usually too heavy for me to carry with, so the lightness was the first option for the purchase. To write something I had to get home from school, the flow/rhythm of my thought was often deterred, and it irritated me. From now on I write and comment anything at anytime when something comes across my mind in the study room [in the campus]. Hooray! If I own it a little earlier, I could finish the paper which I am engaged in now. “The sooner, the better” was a necessary cliche for me, I think. I'm in our Campus Study room now, you know! :)

Brit...

My Whimsicality

My whimsicality might be exerted again. I can’t help it, you know. I cannot help myself! This or that, this way or that way… jammed by all indeterminacies and uncertainty, I’m lost.

Though he knows I am, he loves me. I know that. He said he loved me, but I would know that even though he didn’t say that. As for the line between us, he said that I’d never be able to draw the line, so he had to do it. That’s why our connection has been lasted for such long years. All has been due to him, not to me. If he were not so patient, we could not be friend. His perseverance, tolerance, and embracement have kept me in the middle of the road, even if it is, at least, on the surface. Anyway, since we met, he has performed as my guard against the harshly tempting world. Yes, I know the world is not the matter, the evil is in my mind, and I myself have made the deadlock of mine. I always tease him to clear the obstacles away, which have been made by me.

Brit…

Bloody Eye hindered...

The day before yesterday, I was about to see my tempting dentist because the resin between incisors was fallen off. Up feeling to meet him because I like him. He is a good dentist and has trustful nature. Gentle and warm, of course! We’ve not met for a long time, so my teeth need to be examined, let alone the problematic resin. I am heard that every time my children visit him he asks them about me. My daughter used to joke me, “Mom, the doctor was uttering only you during doing my teeth. He likes you so much.” She can say that because he is usually wordless to all patients, so looks blunt. I’m his senior alumna, and actually we’re all alumnae or alumni, because he and all of my family attended Pusan National University. Anyway, the most important thing is that he was the first dentist who made me comfortable during dental performing.

On preparing for him in the afternoon, however, on the mirror I found that the vein of my right eye burst and half of it full of blood. It looked dreadful like the eye on the horror movie scene. I would have such eyes when tired, but this time much more severe. I gave up meeting the dentist Mr. Kim, instead, had to see another Mr. Kim, the oculist—my regular eye doctor—. The oculist said it was from tiredness, I needed full sleep, and it would take time to clear the blood stain away. I have sleeping problem—a certain kind of partial insomnia—, you know, and many books to read. What a yoke!

Yesterday is a harsh day with one eye patched through the day. I could not help patching over the bloody eye because it looked so horrible. Couldn’t see things in a right perspective, and everything looked obscure with one eye blinded! Suffering headache and nausea all day long, utterly exhausted in the evening! I decided to wear dark sunglasses till my regular eyes turn back. I ordered new sunglasses adjusting to my eyes. It costs.

Brit…

Time, Condition, Night-talks

Time dizzily flies fast, which I feel all like a moment, but ‘yesterday’ seems like a long time ago. How odd! It is an irony, isn’t it? I just feel like hovering about eternity, the swift and momentary eternity. As going, might be the doomsday suddenly before me? Who knows the future? I’m afraid of the future. Can everyday-struggles call the better and happier future? Well, I don’t know.

Since this semester began, my physical condition has been down below. Strength seems to be getting weaker. Besides, I could not sleep well even though every night I almost lost consciousness from early in the evening. It is not insomnia, but between 70% asleep and 30% awake all through the night, I think. I don’t sleep like a log and often wake at midnight or after. Moreover, my chronic pains from disorder of nervous system are sometimes too severe, so hard to stand it. Since I usually smile even when feel blue or aches, however, nobody knows what is behind my smile.

When sitting up at night, I write e-mails now and then. I know my words of the night easily become baloney, which means the words are better not uttering, because I usually speak too bare in spite of myself at night. Too bare to keep myself armed with cold reason or necessary hypocrisy. Nights let me enjoy the time to contemplate myself and others, further on many things for which I couldn’t spare spaces in my mind, but sometimes make me unnecessarily veracious. My words from the unique feeling of the night hurt myself as well.

At night, writing or speaking alone is not bad, but talking to others may be dangerous. In writing to others I tried to keep the middle of the road, but unstable night-talks would destroy my vital vanity which has defended my pride, because nights robbed me of self-control of self-restraint. I often regret my night-talks, nevertheless, would make them again. Why? Do I feel lonely?

Brit…

Playing with Probability

Longing for P-

Crossing my mind,
Crossing on the road,
Crossing the played,
Missing, not bad.


I wished to see him, but we always crossed on the way. It's my fault because I know his schedule. In other words, I wish to see him knowing he is not there. Crossing is a play of my mind expecting for 'probability'.

Brit...

The First Native Speaking Teacher of Mine

Four weeks’ conversation class was over yesterday. Time flied away so fast and our class had last meeting at a coffee shop with free talking. We had to say goodbye as soon as the awkward feeling among us had been removed. Both students and teacher were really sorry for farewell.

At first I terribly hesitated about attending the class because I was a graduate student of English department. I thought it was shameful as an English-majoring student for me to be a belated practiser of English conversation with other young students, even though I majored in literature not in language. It had been long hesitation for years. The fact is that I had no courage to confront with the reality as a stammering speaker of English. In fact I would have taken verbal English classes much earlier. I finally realised that avoiding practise was more shameful than being a delayed practiser and such shilly-shally attitude was merely my conceited pride or vanity. Then I decided to challenge and took my first conversation class in my life.

I really enjoyed the class and appreciated my instructor Mr. Hylton for his educational devotion. Mr. Hylton is a decent older American from LA, who is a teacher naturally and literally. I didn’t imagine I would meet such a good man. How lucky I am to have met him as my first native speaking teacher! I don’t deny that his first name, which reminded me of Scottish historical hero, influenced my first choice of his class. It proved to be an excellent choice in the end. I like him and he is the one whom I don’t want to say goodbye.


Brit…

Given-Words-Story-Making 3

(Making a story with the given words)

make a revision of
give assistance to
have a preference for
have doubts about
give encouragement to
take into consideration
make a determination
be a reflection of
raise an objection about
give an authorization for / to
need to terminate
to transmit
to make a modification
to make an inquiry

---------------------------------------------------------

“Conversation between Two Friends”

Hey, Jamie, I got a job at an academy in Korea. I will teach English for Korean students there. It is the first time for me to educate someone, you know. I’m so nervous that I have doubts about my competence for such a work. Nevertheless I made a determination of taking this opportunity. No challenge, no gain! You have experience to have taught in Korea, and I expect you something to advise me. Please don’t hesitate to give assistance to me!

Oh, it’s nice to hear that. Korea really deserves to be visited. By the way, you have a preference for China to Korea, don’t you?

Yes, I do, but my heart tells me “Proper opportunity is not always coming. It is easy to go China from Korea. This will serve as a stepping-stone for my future success in Asia.” I could not raise an objection about that.

I agree. There are numerous academies in Korea. It is a reflection of their enthusiasm about education. Koreans! In Korea, teachers were respected, and would be given an authorization for decision-making on the studying course of students in the past. Nowadays, teachers’ position is changing, so they are required to be good supporters, but my Korean friend said that their educational tradition itself was not changed much. It is really different from ours. While some of traditions are necessarily preserved to transmit to the descendant, some of them become conventional and not easily discarded. Every generation has its surplus convention which sometimes needs to be terminated. Koreans have unique educational tradition.

I thought students were just students and they were similar everywhere. Am I simple? Do I have to make a modification on my opinion?

For instance, Korean students are usually shilly-shally to make an inquiry. Many of them are shy for lack of confidence. In some cases they think that making inquiries are bold behaviour, and I guess such attitude is one of the remains of Confucian tradition. You had better take their culture into consideration. Whenever you make a revision of a student’s task, you constantly need to give encouragement to him/her.

Oh, I see. Thanks for comments! Anyway I’ll try to be a good teacher to the best of my ability.


Brit… (24th August, 2009)

Writing as a Reader

Writing as a Reader on the Given Column
(The given column is by John Huer in The Korea Times, Saturday/Sunday, August 8-9, 2009.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Mr. Huer,

I read your column, “What Are the Ten Greatest Evils of Our Time?” Regarding the two evils you commented—2 and 4, i.e. Entertainment and Freedom—, let me articulate my impression.

Some issues you proposed evoke ambivalent perspectives both agreeable and sceptical. I wonder if it is because of your stance which sometimes seems radical, and sometimes conservative. It seems to me that a general issue you have discussed is prone to be specified, or narrowed into materiality/phenomenality. For example, the ‘Entertainment’ you remarked seems related only to TV shows operated by remote control. I’m afraid you specified one type of entertainment, in a sense typical one way. Apart from TV shows, there are many sorts of entertainment in the world, such as spectator sports.

I’ll restrict myself within your boundary. I generally agree that entertainment makes people stupid and slavish with juggling. It drives its audience to be thoughtlessly snobbish imitators. In a certain point of view, the dominant power often promotes entertainment over the dominated, because they don’t want their power to be challenged. Thoughtless people are easily cheated and controlled by despotic government. We could find one example in the 5th government in Korea, one of the viciously dictatorial governments, which had extraordinarily encouraged sports and media entertainments. They hated to be criticised as mass-murdering-citizen military government, but it was true, they took the power through the 5.18 Kwangju Massacre. Was it not so?

I’m sorry to say this that I think the freedom section in your column is somewhat confused. For instance, I hold, in a strict sense, the Americans in 1776 had fought for liberty, not for freedom. Their referring to it as liberty is definitely right, I think. Liberty and freedom are similar, but delicately different from each other, as we know. While liberty is closer to autonomy or independence, freedom more inclined to individuality and at times physicality—so to speak, one is able to act freely according to his/her own will—, even though the two often relate to the same meaning. I argue that the Americans gained liberty from the British, but plundered freedom and liberty from the aborigine simultaneously. That’s another story. Anyway, my understanding, the freedom you meant is approaching to self-indulgence or arbitrariness. If so, I agree it is quite evil.

From a point of view, we can say that the evils you selected are also the virtues as far as well-practised or controlled. When initiated in human history, they were all the highest values. Of course, it is difficult to maintain the middle-of-the-road, and moderation is the prime question in all spheres of society, from politics to individual lives.

Please excuse me if I appear rude! Maybe I didn’t fully understand your argument. I must say that I enjoyed reading your column. Thank you.

Sincerely,
Britannia (19th August, 2009)

Given-Words-Story-Making 2

(Making a Story with the Given Words)

hypocrite / hypocritical,
anxious / anxiety,
revenge / revengeful,
dread / dreadful,
blunder,
fragile,
reject / rejected,
catastrophe,
recuperate,
assert / assertive,
sceptical,
modest / modesty,
impulse / impulsive,
commitment / committed,
frugal / stingy,
sophisticated / sophistication
---------------------------------------

“Moderate Sophistication of Jason Hatcher’s Story”

Jason Hatcher is a well–educated young man of rich family. He is modest and sophisticated. His family’s richness is hereditary in a certain sense, but it is his father’s frugality to have kept the wealth unimpaired. Naturally, father Hatcher did not spend money lavishly on his son, even though he loved his son very much. Mr. Hatcher thought that money was the last means to show his commitment to his son, and wanted Jason to know exactly how and on what to use money.

Raising a child in one’s own way does not always meet his/her expectations. Parents’ anxiety about their children occasionally drives themselves to discipline the children dreadfully for their misbehaviour. It would be one of the causes for which the parents’ love is often misunderstood by their children. The Hatchers could not be an exception. In early years, Jason was sceptical about his father’s attitude. Even Mr. Hatcher’s carefulness looked fragile in his son’s eyes.

When he was an adolescent, Jason was full-blooded and sometimes impulsive. At school, the boy was popular among the girls of his age and also a leader of the boys, because he was smart, handsome, and active. As the leader of his aged group, Jason seemed that he could go through fire and water for his group’s sake.

One day, a friend of Jason had been battered by naughty boys of a neighbouring school without any cause. Jason and his guys were furious, and their revengeful indignation spread to fighting in groups. The boys of the two schools were confronted with each other at a snack bar, so quarrels exploded into hand-to-hand struggles. Many boys were hurt and lots of implements of the bar were damaged. The fight was ended by the police. As for the bar manager, it was like a small catastrophe.

Leader Jason was helplessly imputed to the prime mover, so the policeman sneered at Jason, “You committed a terrible blunder!” Jason’s father was called by the police as well as by the school. Mr. Hatcher rejected to appeal for forgiving management for his son, however. He said to Jason, “You are responsible for your behaviour, and deserved punishment. Reflect yourself for a few days and do proper things to be needed. I cannot help you because I love you.” Thus Jason had to stay in the police cell three days more than other boys, after that, had to work at the bar--the fighting place-- after school, without pay or time limit, as a kind of payback.

The more Jason thought of the father’s reaction, the more he became distressed. The angry son spoke to his father in an assertive tone, “Dad, your love is hypocritical. The fact is that you are too stingy to be generous with your own son. You’re just a hypocrite. I don’t want to hear you anymore. I’ll become richer than you, and revenge your meanness.

As penitence of the commitment, Jason sincerely served at the bar. He learned the value of responsibility, prudence, modesty, perseverance, and labour, but it was not easy to recuperate the affection for his cold-hearted father. Six months later, the bar manager called Jason and told him, “You have worked so hard till now. I assert you are a good boy. Now you don’t have to serve here anymore.” Then he paid Jason for six months’ work. In the end Jason found that his father already compensated the bar for the loss and arranged all this experience for him, his loving child. Jason realized that his father’s love was so deep that he could not imagine its depth.

Now Jason is grown up, frugal but generous like his father, and makes a wholesome gentleman.

Brit… (13th August, 2009)

Story-Making with a Question

Making a Story with the Given Question: 18 August

Question: Last Saturday I saw you were eating dinner at the Paradise Hotel with a handsome man, and he looked like a celebrity, a movie star. Is that right? Give me details!

Explaining Answer:

Oh, have you seen us that night? You were at The Paradise Hotel, too? So small world that I cannot do bad things! It is natural people mistook him as another man. He really resembled someone. When I first met him, I was shocked that I felt my blood go to the feet. I thought my favourite Sean Bean stood before me. I think you know Sean Bean, the British actor who played Boromir in The Lord of Rings. I’ve liked him since early ‘90s when he performed Oliver Mellors in Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Mellors is one of my loving characters in novels. Sean Bean also played Count Vronsky in Anna Karenina, and then I was utterly knockd out by him. In fact I didn’t like Vronsky reading Tolstoy’s novel, but Sean’s Vronsky was absolutely special. I love even bad guys in movies as far as Sean Bean plays them.

Anyway the Saturday’s man was definitely not Sean Bean, as you know. He said to me that many people used to mistake him as Sean, sometimes he enjoyed that, but he usually did not like the confusion much. He is actually my cousin’s brother-in-law and his name is Nicholas Owen. My cousin sister married to an American called Andrew Owen, and lives in Colorado. Nicholas is her husband’s older brother. I have never met Andrew, but regarding the brother, he must be handsome, too.

A month ago my cousin phoned me her brother-in-law would visit in Korea on business, and asked me to spare one day for his company. She said that after his business was done he wanted to break a day off for looking around Busan along the coast. That’s why last Saturday I took him to Taejongdae and Jagalchi-market, and drove for him to Haeundae via Gwanganli. We enjoyed being at exciting beaches that day, and almost exhausted in that evening.

In the restaurant, Nick and I talked much with each other. We found that we greatly shared common disposition. We both liked sea and sea food, both were fine swimmers, and both loved books and music. He knew well about literature and philosophy. Oh, I was deeply impressed with him. I’ve never met a man like him. What can I say, he was the very type of man whom I’d like to fall in love with. Ha~! Of course that’s impossible because I’m a married woman, you know. Don’t worry about me! We became good friends anyhow. The important thing was not that he was gorgeous, but that we could understand each other completely. It was wonderful to know him. I must thank my cousin.

That night he was my guest anyway, so I was about to pay for dinner since, but he already paid for it in my ignorance. By the way, did we make a fair match?

Brit... (18th August, 2009)

The Art of Eating Spaghetti

Writing Assignment 1 on 11th August:
About the Art of Eating Spaghetti (or Noodles)

“Story 1”

To eat spaghetti or noodles, people use chopsticks or forks. Chopsticks have been traditionally used in Asian countries such as Korea, China, and Japan. The chopsticks culture is generalised in those countries, and children usually begin to practise using chopsticks in early childhood. It has been routinely one of their home disciplines, a kind of surviving skill. It is generally believed that moving hands—especially fingers— freely is related with cerebral function. They say using chopsticks helps children to develop their coordinating faculties, so it is better using chopsticks than using forks. It would not be easy for little children to adapt themselves to chopsticks, but most of them eventually become well-trained.

These days many children as well as some adults feel uncomfortable eating spaghetti with chopsticks, however. This phenomenon has spread since Asians enjoyed Western food. In Korea, one would use chopsticks for noodles, and forks for spaghetti. Either using chopsticks or forks, to eat spaghetti or noodles, one has to observe the rules of etiquette. When one eats noodles, one must be careful not to slurp, and not to splatter sauce by letting noodles whirl around when sucking it into one’s mouth.


“Story 2”

Little Joe came to a restaurant with his family. It was a respectable Italian restaurant. He wanted pizza, but Mum and Dad ordered spaghetti. Little Joe had never eaten spaghetti till then, and thought, “What am I to do?” He looked at his sister apprehensively. Sarah, Joe’s older sister, liked spaghetti, but seemed to catch her brother’s concern, and whispered, “You’re getting to learn how to eat spaghetti. It is really tasty.”

The Italian server who was of commanding presence, smiled and winked at Joe, and said, “Please enjoy yourself with our special deliciousness, handsome little gentleman!” Little Joe blushed and tried to be imposing. He wanted to show himself as a true gentleman, and nodded, saying, “Thank you!”

Dad lifted his spaghetti up with the fork and sucked it into his mouth without noise. Little Joe admired him “Wow!” Mum exchanged a smile with Sarah, and said to Joe, “Look at your sister and do what she does!” Sarah forked her spaghetti and coiled it up and took it in her mouth. Little Joe did the same thing after his sister, but he often made the coiling big, so Joe’s mouth became covered with spaghetti sauce. Moreover, Little Joe could not manage the sipping sound effectively. Being a gentleman was not easy for Little Joe, especially when eating spaghetti.

Brit... (11th August, 2009)

Given-Words-Story-Making

(Making a Story with the Given Words)

aggravate,

descendant,

diligent / diligency,

gourmei,

lenient / leniency,

merchandise,

monotonous / monotony / monotonously,

personal,

personnel,

procrastinate,

punctual,

tranquil / tranquility,

tedious,

trivia,

sophomore,

subtle

-----------------------------

"A Personal Story"

I’ll tell you a personal story. I’m afraid it’s not proper to be open in front of academic personnel.

I don’t like monotonous works. They are definitely tedious and boring which usually need no thinking. Sometimes I feel my life goes on monotonously, with full of trivia, whenever which, I’d like to break its monotony. I don’t know what to do in many cases, however. Perhaps it’s because I’m considerably passive and timid. Now I realize life is not a gourmet’s item and it has a voracious appetite of time. I know procrastinating with languor/lethargy does not help me. Nevertheless I don’t want to be subversive or break the law.

I have a few cousin-brothers. One of them I liked most is two-years older than I. He was truly masculine and a type as punctual as a clock. Unfortunately he was implicated in a gangster business which is absolutely far from tranquility. It’s a kind of merchandising, but it seemed shady. He seemed to have been involved in that business since he was a university sophomore. It began from a part-time job.

My uncle, who’d been proud of being a descendant of noble blood, was very disappointed with his son. He was lenient and kind with children on the one hand, but a subtle and fragile man on the other. He wanted all his children to lead diligent and sincere lives, so he could hardly forgive his son even with leniency.

The relation between the father and son had been aggravated more and more. Naturally the situation worsened and their lives ruined. The heart-broken father committed suicide in the end, and the remorseful son chose a life of tranquil celibacy. He became a Buddhist monk.


Brit... (3rd August, 2009)

What can I. . .?

Said to Gen., “It’s no use saying such a thing now. Too late. Nothing can be retrieved. No need to excuse or explain. That’s alright as it is. If you earnestly loved. . . please just let it be.” Am I hypocritical? Is it really OK? Is there no bitter feeling? Is there truly no reluctance to give up?

Needless to say, there has been regret. (He would do.) Couldn’t help despairing. (Might he do.) It was a Hell in a sense, almost death. (Said he did.) Must have been beyond the death, you know. Through all odds, I’m here now. Cannot go back, cannot repeat, and cannot be down below, deep in a hole or void.

Had we really loved? Did I? Did he? Whatever is said, it is absolutely yesterday. The more we try to take it back, the more we’ll be miserable. (Definitely it’ll be.) I Don’t want to humiliate myself anymore, you know. Now it’s none of my business. Not to put it on me! I can’t help it, can’t manage it, can’t stand it. Want to keep the last thing I have, pride or self-respect. I don’t mind being said selfish. Yes, totally selfish, rather cruel, I know. I’ll just be in my way.

Bye Gen.!

Brit...

Slump or Grogginess

I’ve pondered over the cause of my emotional slump. The slump has been quite long since I began to fall into. It’s like a certain kind of psychological lethargy, definitely the cause was not simple, it’s complicated enough not to pick one or two thing as explanation. I’ve veiled it under the designed gaiety, however. That has worked somehow.

I ruminated myself again and again and hypnotised myself continually repeating “Don’t lose yourself, you can do it, try to live every best day, if you do with all your heart, nothing can make you down.” It didn’t help me so well, but I have only just managed my psychic grogginess now.

In fact I cannot stick to this gloominess anymore. Summer is passing (even though this year we are losing most of the season here in Busan) and autumn semester is coming. The new semester will be tough one to me. I’ll attend two seminars on drama, one of which is Theory of Modern British Drama—from Shakespeare to Oscar Wilde—, and the other is Studies in Contemporary American Drama. I’ll have to read at least 21 works of 19 dramatists, present two term-papers and six short papers, and give two-and-more oral presentations. Drama is not my major, but there is no novel seminar I’ve missed in the curriculum of the semester. I think plunging myself into dramas will be good experience to me. Anyway I have to begin reading dramas sooner or later.

Furthermore, doing the things mentioned above, I have to make some preparations for my dissertation, the doctorial thesis. God bless me!

Brit…

Reading Graham Swift

Last week I just read all the writings of Graham Swift under the slump. It is due to constantly self-nagging, “If you do nothing with forgetting yourself, it is like giving up the life. Do anything!” I had already read five works of Swift—Last Orders, Waterland, The Sweet-Shop Owner, Shuttlecock, and Ever After— before this year. This time I have taken the other five works, which are Out of This World, The Light of day, Tomorrow, Learning To Swim and Other Stories—selections of short stories—, and Making an Elephant, most recently Swift’s autobiographical writing. All of Swift’s books are doubtlessly attractive, yet I love most this essayistic Making an Elephant. On reading the book I realised why I couldn’t help falling in love with Graham. I found he shared so much thought/perspective and emotion with me. That’s why I understood him with no difficulty. Saying understanding is not enough, it’s a sort of uniting, absolute accordance with him. I love him ever more.

Brit…

Manito

I think of Graham Swift on reading his books. Each protagonist, who is absolutely his fragment, separately tells me his/her gnawing in author’s own voice with different tones. Sometimes it seems comfortable to understand them, their inside, i.e. pieces of the writer’s mind. It seems easy now and then. But understandable I hold that, it might be an illusion or a fantasy. Perhaps I am not able to pierce him faithfully, but only deceived by my childlike perception. Childish or childlike, I appreciate him of making me so. In fact, arriving at my age, it is not easy to be truly innocent. It’s almost impossible, I know. Nevertheless, a certain naïve feeling—I cannot articulate it— comes over me and so I can dream remote dreams already forgotten. Something has been pulling out from my unconscious oblivion. Something from the rooted amnesia, whatever it was, is, and will be, I am possessed by it in the shadow of the dream. Absolutely snatched myself away! Even though dangerous, I seriously don’t want to take my mind back.

As for Graham, I love all of his writings. He deeply delves into the inside of human being, especially of a man. I can feel he doesn't lie. I cannot but love this English man. He is “[Englischer]menschliches, Allzu[Englischer]menschliches!” :) I often regard him as real. Of course he is alive and a real man, but not in my world here. I say real, with which mean that he’s my man in my real life. You think it’s ridiculous or I’m out of my mind. Yes, I’m out for him. I want to be out of my mind and step into his if I can share my time with him, whose bottom of inside I am eager to deeply dig into. I’m afraid I would scratch him with my dull spade, but even so I’ll go on. Someday I’d meet him, I want to, even though there can be no coming-and-going free-talking because of my poor English skill. It’d be no matter if I utter nothing. The words inside can overwhelm the words outside. He’ll able to know it definitely as I can.


Brit…

At the death-bed of democracy in South Korea

Since yesterday the police/University staff line has barricaded all gates of our university with policemen/staffs and police/school buses to block the memorial concert for our late-ex-President Roh. It is about to be held at our university tomorrow, Roh's 49th day of memorial. But it seems not to be possible. They tried to blockade the performance absolutely and initially, so to speak “원천봉쇄”. Jesus!

I’m very ashamed of our university-president’s decision, which doesn’t permit the memorial concert in the campus with irrational reasons. The president Kim In-se of PNU, whose attitude resembles that of 2MB’s gangster government, is definitely obsequious toward that government. The 2MB ‘band’ always reacts obstinately violent and persistently stupid toward people of different opinions from them. They regard themselves as omnipotent. They don’t know what the communication is, who the lords of the country are, how to manage the state, and even what the democracy is.

President Kim’s reaction to the students’ movement is just like that of 2MB government. I already knew that he had no philosophical mind, but I didn’t imagine his brainless cowardice as low as this level. Desperate condition for students not to express their passion freely! It reminds me of the period of 3rd-5th Republic. It seems to be the ghostlike revival of the grey campus of our generation and seniors, who had fought and shed blood for the liberal democracy of our country. I cannot but lament all day long for the death of democracy watching the campus. I'm so upset and furious with our reality.

God save our country and people! Damn the devilish ‘low capitalist’ government!


Brit…

Note)
2MB refers to the President 'Lee Myung-bak' of South Korea. Because his family name 'Lee' is homonymous with number 2 in Korean. And 2MB also refers to two mega-bites, a computer terminology. Many Koreans use the term to satirise the President’s stupidity, which means his brain—i.e. cerebral capacity is just as much as 2 mega-bites only. I think it is more than deserves, it is absolutely down under even at maximum.


PS)
It seems to hold out a little hope of the concert. Later news from the Student Council reported the equipment for the music performance was carried into the campus after the hostile opposition between students/citizens and the police/U.staff. (Added on 9 july at 23:05)

PS.2)
In the end, they carried it through. The concert was finally held last night in spite of all odds and a great success yet though the police line guarded the main gate of the university. Long live the Democracy! Long Live Passion! Long Live Justice! (Added on 11 July at 11:48)

New accounts on the Internet

Recently I created new accounts on three Internet sites. They are Twitter, Facebook, and here Blogger.com. I decided to manage these homepages in English. Twitter and Facebook, which I joined due to the British Museum, may function as the gate for the world. I am globalizing myself. :)

It would be fantastic someday I come across my old pen-pals such as Jill, Bernd, Terri, Joseph and others. Jill is a British, Bernd a German, Terri an American, Joseph a Chinese of Hong Kong and the others South-African and Japanese. I daren’t expect anything about reunion, but especially with Jill, I really want to meet her, I miss her. Her full name is Gillian Barry, but she didn’t like it and wanted me to call her Jill. And she called me Keuty. She and I had been close friends for almost ten years. Her family once lived in Singapore, and then lived in West Midlands. Her brother, whose name is Stuart, who was already over 6 feet 2 inches tall, but still growing that time, Jill said.

This blog ‘In Time’ is my English homepage as you see. I manage it with trivia in life and light thoughts. Consequently everything I write may be my thoughts under the circumstances. I’ve already operated two Korean blogs on Naver and Egloos since 2003. Both are like the mirror image of each other with almost same contents. If you read one, don't need to visit the other. They are full of deeper thoughts as my own, suitable to my nick ‘SaengGakJaengEe(i.e. the Thoughtful)’, which nick a friend of mine chose for me. But this ‘In Time’ is totally different from the existing two blogs. This is literally for trivia because my English skill is not so good that I cannot handle deeper feelings or thoughts in English.


Brit…

Popped-Corn/Corn-Peong

Ate up a huge pack of [korean] popped-corn—not popcorn— by myself. The Korean popped corn is called 뻥튀기(Peongtwigi), which is popped without butter or oil. In short, it is absolutely oil-free except intrinsic corn oil in itself. I had eaten too much corn-peong unconsciously with reading all day long, and finally the pack revealed its bottom. Wondering what amount did I eat? Well, the size of the pack is equivalent to a 10-litered bucket (or more?). What a greed! Full of corns and lack of digestibility, my stomach is now in battle. Besides, the dried food like peong requires much water, and I’ll have to drink more water, I think. Wonder if I can fall into sleep easily, though now I am bloody sleepy. Tomorrow morning I may be swollen, especially face, hands and feet.:(

Brit...

A Seminar about the “Localization”

Attended the “Localization” seminar—i.e. a special lecture— presented by Mr. Jaehoon Noh. He is the president of TRADOS, which is a matchless [Computer/Internet] Localization Industry in Korea. The lecture, which was managed by the BK enterprise of our department, was mainly about the commercial translation. The TRADOS is said to be the unique company in the field. I am not interested in the commercial translation because it is too mechanical, but its technology seems fantastic. Along with the internet, various computer technologies including communication skills among languages have been rapidly developed, spread and popularized. Their progressive speed makes me—one of the Analogue Generation— dizzy. I have used computers over 10 years, yet I don’t escape from the level as computer illiterate.

I think that the excessive automation threatens the innocent humanism. Perhaps it is some naïve attitude, but I’m afraid that people may be driven to become automata. “Gain one, lose the other.” That’s life. Both the fortune and the misfortune are like the other side of a coin. Convenient emails take away people’s patience, you know. So does a mobile phone! We are all becoming the slaves of convenience and comfortableness. Am I oversensitive?

I didn’t join the dinner after the seminar. Not in the mood to! Not because of the seminar, but due to a certain kind of psychic reason, though I cannot explain with words. In fact, it’s not ‘can’t’, but ‘don’t want to’. The problem is on me.:( Anyway I feel sorry to Professor Lee, because the dinner was also a farewell party for him. He’ll have a sabbatical year and leave for the USA next week. He has been good to me.


Brit…

Alea iacta est.

I handed in a paper about Byron to a literary society. The dead line is 10 July, but I cannot stick it on any more because the more I look, the messier it reveals to me. My head is almost exploding. And I have many other things to do. I must read over 28 volumes of books this summer, 13 volumes of which are written in English. English always makes me hard variously, let alone speaking/listening.

The paper had been previously submitted last winter. I was absolutely smashed then. One of three judging panel harshly criticised the paper, saying that my argument was too inconsistent to be published. Besides, my paper—also the abstract in English— was considerably long, and so s/he said that there’s no need to be such long. Unlike the rest, his/her every criticism was so severe to me as if got a personal feeling of antipathy for me that I could not avoid being hurt by his/her expressions. Has personal feeling for me? Of course it can't be! :)

In fact I presented three papers to three separate literary societies in the first half of this year, two of which except the retreated have been published this spring. Frankly speaking, the panel was merciless to me, but I deserved to be. The retreated paper was not good also in my own judgement. My impatience drove me to hurry in making results. I had to elaborate my point of argument more precisely, but I didn’t do that. Furthermore Byron—i.e. poetry— is not my major!! Mine is British [modern] fiction, especially Joseph Conrad and Graham Swift. :)

After the spring semester I revised the handed-back paper in my own way with consulting the panel’s advice. I don’t know I did my best revising it, but at least I tried to. I asked Paul to examine the [English] abstract if it made sense in English. He said that it was well written and was an interesting read even though he didn't know anything about Byron. ‘Byron’ is not his forte, too. Anyway I thank God for having Paul as my friend.

I had thought over and over that I would re-present it to the same society, and I decided to do so. Just now I clicked on my email to them with the paper-file attached. The dice is cast. There's nothing more I can do. The only thing I can do with the paper is to wait for their reply during the summer.

Brit…

Exhausted forenoon

Today I dropped in the PNU General Hospital twice. My doctor is now abroad for an international medical conference. The delegate doctor made some errors on my regular prescription by miscalculating dates. On finding out the mistakes, I had to change direction on the way home in the tube. I spent whole forenoon on the road and on the hospital lobby. It didn’t cause my anger, but I’m exhausted myself repeatedly coming and going. Moreover, on the tube an unrestrained doggy irritated me, which someone took in the train. What a senseless person to take an animal on the public transportation and unleash it! Besides me, many people were annoyed by it. What is worse, I have an allergy for a certain kind of hairs. The allergy becomes worse in some cases, especially when I’m not in good condition. I was almost breathless.

Brit...

Anyway just opened...

But I don't know how to start. It seems to be a natural need for studying on the international web-managing. I'm busy these days, however. In fact I have no time to play with internet. I must be busy further on, at least over 2 years. And what on earth have I made this for? Ridiculous! Wish this will be not a hot potato to me!

Brit...