A letter

This was an essay that I wrote for English class when we had to explain the concept "death" to a child

Dear a seven years old child,

Hello, to a child who cannot believe and understand that your grandfather is not ever going to come back. You are so confused about your emotion that you do not know what to feel and how to react. You are squeezing out your tears, trying to imitate lamenting adults at the funeral. I know you are wrapped around by fear that death is a shared fate of every person in the funeral, including you. You then, consequently, fear the pain that comes with death. Overwhelmed by the terror, you start to stare blankly at grandfather’s framed photo across the shoulders of the mourning people.

            You do not have to be possessed by the fear of the pain of the death. Death is not a ruthless destroyer who crashes all the deeds and achievement that you have made. Grandfather was not in severe pain when death came to him. Your grandfather was watering the orchid after breakfast, as usual, picking up the fallen leaves on the fish pond in the garden, firmly tying your shoe laces for you, and walking the dog after the dinner. When he was about to pull his socks off from his feet after the walk in his room, death gently tapped his shoulder. Though death was not a plan that your grandfather had chosen, he willingly took the hand of death, and death gracefully walked him out of our world. Death politely stopped him from going on in his routines and gave him rest.

            The funeral gave you a reality check that death indiscriminately comes to everyone at any time. But you do not have to be scared by this common law of humankind. Simply accept the order of the nature that there is an end to anything that is created. Everything that you can see around this funeral hall will die at one point. The flowers next to grandfather’s picture are perishable. The mourning people will die one day. The shiny coffin will decompose and vanish into the soil. Even the funeral hall will become dilapidated and be torn down in the future. This is the only unchanging law but something not to lament about. This is the most fundamental order of our world that people have to follow. I understand that it is depressing to accept that everything will vanish one day, but you do not need to stay dejected.

            Accept the fate, but live your life enthusiastically. My advice seems to be contradicting and nonsensical since I have listed gruesome examples of the impermanence of any existence. Once you are always thinking of death while you are in school, chattering with your friends and eating your lunch, you are not living anymore but dying. That thought of death will eat you from inside, like a little parasite and leave you with paralysis. Embrace every moment that you spend with your family and your friends. Listen more carefully to them, respond with more earnestness, and go out to have new experiences. Today is the first day of the remaining days till your death. Treat every day with the excitement and enthusiasm that you had on the first day of your school.

            I hope your fear lessens and you now understand a little better about death. If you still have no idea of how to react to grandfather’s death, just think about the times that you spent with him, and remember what he said to you in your mind. A person truly dies when he or she is completely forgotten by others. You might be mourning the futility of people, how there is literally nothing lasting after one’s death. Although grandfather’s death seems to have no redeeming value, his death might not be a mere end to his existence. According to the Bible, Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels – a plentiful harvest of new lives.” Ironically, death leads to life: a deliberate scheme behind the order of nature. 

Runaway

As I cross the border, I take one last look at my mother country. I think back to all the experiences I had back in my home. Where I took my first steps, where I spoke my first words, and where I lost my whole family. I stoop down to feel the grass on this side—it is fresher, moister, and greener. It has the texture of a bird’s feather, soft and structured. However, it is not the same. This grass is not the grass I ran and stumbled on as a child, the grass that I literally grew up on. But, alas, running from my home country is the only way to escape the torment and tyranny of it.

            The year is 2050, and I am a middle-aged man desperate for the freedom I grew up in. I remember when I could walk across the street to purchase a candy bar as an adolescent, unafraid of getting shot. I remember when I could travel the world as I wished, unafraid of being blown to pieces by a bomb. I remember when I had right to believe as I pleased, when my family could attend the community mosque without fear of being heard by government spies. I remember when diversity of religion and culture was a benefit, instead of a crime.

            I remember when my wife and two daughters could express their political stances, without being brutally massacred in public.

            My hands sweat with nervousness, as I seek refuge in this neighboring but foreign country to me. I know that if the government finds me, they will kill me. At times I feel like giving up, and letting them take and kill me. But my family did not die in vain. I will make their deaths a driving force for me to continue, to raise awareness of the government’s horrible actions. The Salvation, as they call themselves, is the government which has mercilessly killed over 500,000 of my people over a course of one year. They are a foreign group of people who took over the country, after 10 years of my country’s courageous battling.

            It will be hard to begin my life again in my new home. The other people are kind and helpful, but I feel as though I am not one of them. I do not belong to anyone anymore. I do not associate myself with my ancestors’ land, because I would be killed. The environment in this new place is different. I occasionally think back to the days when I was young, when my mother was still alive. When I came home from playing with my friends each day, she would always make me hot soup—my favorite. I will never forget the way it tickled my tongue during the winter, and the way it tasted in the spring. I dream of how often I disrespected her as an adolescent. I would do anything to have her with me here in my days of hardship. She always gave all her love to me, and never raised her voice. I miss her with all my heart. I miss my father, with his stoic and reverent attitude, when he always used to give me advice when I had trouble, and when he always pushed me to do my best in school. I hated him so much when I was a teen, because I always thought of him to be too strict, holding me back from fun. Only now, when it is too late, do I realize how much he really cared.

            I will never forget my wife and two daughters. They were the brightest, most intellectual, and most caring family a man could ask for, and now they are gone. If only I had learned to appreciate them while they were alive, before all this tragedy struck my country.

            As I begin a new life of successes and hardships, my only regret is the fact that my family is not here with me. Never again will I take my freedoms, my new country, or my skills for granted. Hopefully at the end of this life, I will be sent up to the gates of heaven, to see the faces of my loved ones once again, and to look down upon all tyrants and evil-doers, burning in hell.   

The Journey

I never thought I would die like this. Blood courses through my veins at a pace never yet calculated. My knees buckle with every step, my legs have gotten numb. My brain functions like a computer dumped in a pool, haywire and disoriented. I have no power to fight back, no energy to try. My heart beats and beats, like a drum before an intimidating battle. I fear the monster of death, as do I detest my disaster of a life. I am in Limbo, a no man’s land, far from my hopes and dreams. My actions have disappointed my goals, as they are of 2 different worlds. This battle I cannot win, for both results would be a downward spiral. What am I, a speck in the gargantuan beast of the universe? What does it matter if I live or die, no one would remember my name. I take short strides, while trying to keep my composure. I feel like curling up on the ground and crawling into a blanket, safe from the scary reality of life and destruction. But, alas, I am a grown man, not a fearful child. So why should I hide from the fact of death, when it is so clearly heading my way?

The time has almost arrived, the time of eternal peace. My legs betray me, walking my death route, as my mind shouts and whines to run away. “Come hither, come hither!” the angel of death calls to me casually, as if it has no effect upon him. Who is he to take my life? What noble act has he committed? If I were to take the life of this “angel”, he would rot and decay along with his soul, for no angel of death would come to retrieve him. I wish to make this ‘thing’ suffer, for he has no right to take my life without good reason. I trudge forward, dismayed and discouraged. My march is almost over, and I am almost free. My confidence is depleted, like a runner’s energy after a marathon. I allow them to push me, shove me, as they treat me like a pile of dirt. I am almost there.

Orders, screams, insults. All these distractions are flushed away from my ears. My mind is focused on acceptance of my destiny, the bare, naked truth that every man, woman, and child must eventually encounter long down the road of life. This is not a happy fact, nor one that is looked forward to. This fact is death.

They say a man’s life flashes before his eyes right before he dies. I am here. It is time. I am not scared; I am not worried. I know I am not meant to be here, but I accept the fact anyway. It is a fact of life that is meant to be accepted. Curse you, angel of death, and all your followers.  For one day you will pay the price, for all the lives you have taken with no reasonable purpose.

Here I am, an innocent man, hanged for his crimes against the earth. 

Scary Story

Here's a scary story I wrote this summer as an extra thing for English.

Dear Brother,

I have made a grave mistake. I know we have talked countless times of my twisted past, how I crave the sight of blood and how I love the sight of death. I am writing to you because... I... well I-- I have broken our pact. Killing mom was an accident, you know that! It was years ago! Didn't I promise I wouldn’t do anything like that again? I am so terribly sorry, for I fear I have broken the trust which runs between us yet again. I dreaded the day when I would say these heart-wrenching words again, but for the sake of your knowledge and my safety, I must. Dear, beloved brother, I have committed the gravest sin of all. I have taken the life of a child.

Oh, please believe me—it was not a planned act! I tried and tried to keep our promise, brother, but the bloodthirsty monster inside of me consumed my conscience and took over. I had a good reason, as well! Oh yes. This child had many flaws, oh, God, too many to count, innumerable! He talked like a fool, and he was just so... awkward! I always said hello, good morning, but that idiot never bothered to reply! After I said one word, he just ran into his home. I know I have a “mental disorder”, according to you, but I’m just more observant than others. I think Samuel was like me. Samuel is the name of the child I murdered. Heh heh. It is a funny subject, because, ironically, killing again made me feel so alive and free. Remember those days, brother? I wanted to move to the big city, but you said I was too “unstable”. I used to not know what that word meant, but now I do, hee hee! Unstable: adjective. Not stable; not firm or firmly fixed; unsteady. Are you proud yet? That was always my goal, to be like you and to make you proud. You were just like mom…I do not think she left, though. Oh wait, I killed her. Heehee. That is quite funny.

But I digress! Samuel was quiet. He seemed like a nice kid, for the most part. He was about eleven years old. I wanted to learn about him more, so I crept into his room one night and watched him. Unfortunately he awoke and I... well... I did what I do best! I did what had to be done! If he screamed, then his parents may have rushed into his room and seen me and they might have accused me of doing bad things to their child. I could not risk this. So I took out my ruby-encrusted Persian dagger (a gift from you, oh thank you, oh it's so shiny and sharp and beautiful) and made a gorgeous crimson river flow from his neck. Then I remembered you, remembered mom (was it mom? What happened to her again? Oh right) and I felt shame. I was frightened, panicked, so I ran back to my home and now I am writing this letter to you.
The guilt is eating me alive. I cannot sleep. My hand shakes as I write this to you, so I decided that this is the last thing I will ever do. I decided that the only fair thing to do is to have the same fate as my victims, mom and Samuel. I will kill myself. I must. I will have eternal peace of mind, and it is the right thing to do. I love you.

Goodbye, brother. 

The Courtier

Here's something I wrote for AP Euro in which we had to describe our own Renaissance man and I got a little weird with it. Have fun availing yourself of this short story.

TED Talk

[In a commercial tone] Are you happy with yourself? Are you content with your appearance? What’s the matter? Does your flat nose bother you? No problem! With couple shots of calcium hydroxiapatite or simple injection of bioplastic, your nose will become as prominent as that of Dustin Hoffman. Oh, you say you don’t like the fats around your waist? Easy. Try the new diet technique Lipsosuction, a type of cosmetic surgery which breaks up and literally sucks fat from your desired part of body. What? You don’t like being a man? Hm. [Briefly ponder in silence] No worries! Through sex change operation, you can be the most beautiful she-male among your friends and colleagues. Yikes, you say you don’t like anything about yourself? Just bring it on! Through any means of modern surgical technique, you will be recreated. Welcome to 21^st century cosmetic surgery industry. 

            

[Back to my normal voice] What is your response to this quite exaggerated and sarcastic imitation I just presented? Is it disgust? Humor? Or perhaps and most likely, indifference? Regardless of what types of responses you have got, I believe that we, hopefully, get the sense of cosmetic surgery’s growing popularity and appeal to many people in current society. In fact, throughout last ten years, cosmetic surgery industry increased by 700 percent with staggering twelve million operations conducted. There is an increasing belief that looks matter in success in modern society—that beautiful people gain more social recognition, make more money, and have more opportunities in anything. Given the belief, it is quite understandable that cosmetic surgery is popularly used as a method for career improvement or for any future social success. However, we need to acknowledge that the modern society’s aesthetic concerns are missing out a key word, realism. By this I do not mean to point out plastic surgeons’ failure to create realistic and natural looks for their patients. I mean to indicate people’s false belief that somehow seeking cosmetic surgery to alter some aspects of their body will change and improve their genuine human values. Although people can be happily content with their aesthetic advancement, the question, which I initially asked, still remains: Are you happy with yourself? Are you really “you”? Today, I would like to reveal and analyze the modern society’s increasing concern about aesthetics and the plastic surgery’s fostering misguided human values.

The history of plastic surgery traces as far back to 800 B.C when the first “plastic surgery”, perhaps this is an anachronistic term to use for then, was conducted in India. However, not until the early nineteenth century did plastic surgery start to gain growing popularity. War played a huge role in the history of plastic surgery. World War I and II presented doctors with immense number of serious facial wounds and burns as modern weapons went through significant improvement in their destructiveness. Many doctors devoted themselves to create new techniques to heal those wounded from the war. As surgeons met with the increasing demands and showed many notable successes in operations, people not only became aware of the modern medical development, but also fully realized the influence of appearances on their lives. After a few decades, restorative plastic surgery began to lose its popularity and the modern, and more well-known, cosmetic surgery started to rise. Plastic surgery, once developed for restorative purpose, seems to have digressed to meet capitalistic search for profits and most importantly, to serve as a method of recreation.

According to the online survey website “Do-It Survey”, approximately 44 percent of adults have once considered the cosmetic surgery and 11.1 percent of those have received the surgery. Also, 80 percent of those who have experiences of cosmetic surgery responded that through fixing body image dissatisfaction, they can attain more self-confidence and self-esteem. As it is surveyed that body image dissatisfaction is often related with decreased psychological well-being, it is also clear that people’s concern on their beauty stems from their self-consciousness. Since consciousness is closely associated with the awareness of the surroundings, the logic convinces that the popularity of cosmetic surgery is not just an issue of personal discontent. It is in fact a social phenomenon. Antonio Armani, a Beverly Hills cosmetic surgeon specialized in hair transplants, said this: “In the corporate world, there’s a lot of emphasis on image, and image goes with self-confidence”. In truth, modern society’s emphasis on image and its expectations are causing people’s increasing self-consciousness about their appearances and thus intensifying their aesthetic discontent. Simply, the issue is not intrapersonal, but interpersonal.

              

In the book Looks: Why They Matter More Than You Ever Imagined, Gordon Patzer, a longtime researcher on the impact of physical attractiveness, criticizes society’s discriminatory tendencies based on people’s aesthetic value. He says, “Almost all of us, if we would admit it, and it may not be conscious, we do make pretty quick impressions of people”, noting that beautiful people tend to have tremendous and universal appeal to everyone. Though we may not be aware, as Patzer says, there are innumerable discriminatory judgments we make in our lives. Women with thinner waistline and bigger breasts tend to be more likable. Men who are handsome and tall are also favored over those who are not. Cuter newborns are touched, held, and talked to more than those less attractive. School teachers may unknowingly favor and hold higher expectations for better-looking children. Parents may be disappointed and less protective of their dysfunctional children. Such overlooked discriminatory behaviors that we as a society enforce indicate that we are responsible for this potentially destructive phenomenon.

         Instead of leaving you void of solutions, just like how all writers, such as Dawkins, Greene, and so on, like to do, I will suggest the idea that can an enlightening torch out through this difficult social problem. The amendment should simply begin with an acceptance that we are not perfect. Let us remind ourselves with humility that we are full of flaws and so are others. Although the advanced medical technology of our time might cover our physical flaws perfectly, it cannot genuinely recreate us or even restore us with any redeeming value. Our essence is inviolable with scalpel. Gandhi once preached people to be the change they wish to see in the world. We can be the revolutionary force to transform the phenomenon. Perhaps we can prove that unattractive person can take a leading role in Hollywood or be a model. Perhaps we can date ugly people or be ugly dates (Beauty or beast). The true joy as a human is not accomplished through changing our appearances, but through changing others’ minds and our own. 

      Now, I ask you again. Have you been “the change”? Are you happy with yourself? If not, are you ready to be the change and be happy? [pause] Thank you. 

My Trip to Dokdo Island

An unexpected enlightenment struck me during my trip to Dokdo Island, a place at the heart of the recent diplomatic conflict between South Korea and Japan. While struggling with the seasickness and boredom in a small ship, I, being increasingly impatient, was constantly checking with a crew member about the arrival time and looking out through the window to see if there was any slightest glimpse of Dokdo. After three hours of arduous ride, I finally reached the island with a feeling of great expectancy. However, I was soon engulfed by great disappointment. Nothing was there. The scene with few policemen, a guard dog, uneven roads, and spinning radar on eroded cliffs did not impress me a bit, angering me with a sense of futility and discontent. Frustrated, I began to question, “Where lies that beauty people have been talking about? Am I missing out any scenes? Is the unattractiveness of the island coming from the island itself or my irrationally insatiable expectations?

Because of the policy to protect the island, tourists were only allowed to stay on the island for 20 minutes, duration that made my whole onerous ship ride unworthy. Reluctantly saying to myself “Whatever, I want to go home”, I got back on the ship, waiting for the ship to sail away from the island as soon as possible. The ship soon detached itself from the port and quickly sailed away from the island. I was still angrily swearing that I would never come back again and was even delighted to leave such remote, meaningless place alone. However, I, with a peculiar ambivalence, a sense that perhaps indicative of my lingering attachment to the island, ironically looked back at the waning shape of the island. And suddenly, I was thunderstruck by the scene: Dokdo standing firmly alone in the middle of the East Sea. Mesmerized by Dokdo’s bold solitude among vast and monotonous East Sea, I was pondering the similar image of trivial humans among the unfathomable wonder of nature. I laughed at my own ignorance for judging the island’s worth with my vain standard. Dokdo is not a meaningless and commercially exaggerated place as I once thought it was. The genuine beauty, which I have questioned earlier, is the island’s solo existence