Profile

My writer’s portfolio consists of 6 short stories, 2 speeches, 3 essays, 2 poems and 2 scripts. All of these works were completed during my last 3 years. Enjoy and please contact me for any more information

2009135@appleby.on.ca
416- 357-6625

Table of Content

Short Story

She was in Love
Is and Was
Replacement
Diary of Dorian Gray
Picture 3 short story
Why do chopsticks have to be separated


Speech

Upper two speech- power hunger
Senior two speech- tales on bathroom wall

Essay

Comparison essay
Where do you see yourself in 10 years
Hamlet


Poem

Smolt and Fry
Two of a kind


Script

Melodrama
Once upon a time in Chicago

Comparison Essay

Stephen King and Carol Shields both write in very different styles. After reading the two articles, it gave me a clear impression of their writing styles. I found Stephen King’s writing technique to be very precise and organized while Carol Shield’s technique was more free willed. Stephen King’s sadistic characters were created through well organized creative ideas. Carol Shield wrote more of humane novels. She exposed and sometimes exploited the characteristics of actual real human. In King’s article I found “never look reference text during first draft” very interesting. I agree with King’s idea of embracing raw materials.
I found King’s choices of characters and Shield’s choices of characters very different. King enjoyed more of fictional characters such as fantasized or completely made up characters. On the other hand, Shield was more comfortable of realistic characters. She even created characters from her own personal experiences. Shield’s regard toward creating characters that were in fact a disguise of her companions was very interesting and agreeable. As a writer myself, I also enjoy creating characters and scenarios from my own personal experience or from a story I heard from a friend. When I am writing about a made up character or a scenario, I tend to imagine myself in the story exploring to be the protagonist or the antagonist exploring through a surreal world. In a way, every character I create embodies partial characteristics of me.
The two writers both embrace creativity in both of their articles. The reason why I enjoy writing is because I can transform simple words into characters, scenarios and even a world where its existence is only approved through my words. I can make a word mean seven different things and I can make the simplest thing into such complicated algorithmic problems. And I’m sure these are the reasons why King and Shield enjoy writing as well. As shown in Shield’s article, a writer can hear 3 facts about the Arctic and write a whole novel on it. Imagination can replace the rest of the forty-five thousand words which the “3 facts” cannot cover.
By reading these articles, I observed my necessities in terms of being a writer. I think my most concerned part is my ability to organize. Sometimes my ideas tend to scramble across the page and it can make my sentence and paragraph structures seem very arbitrary .In terms of character development, I should create characters who the readers can relate to, rather than me being the only person laughing at the characters’ inside jokes. Like stated on Shield’s article, when a character can persuade the readers to believe and relate it is a big compliment. I believe writing is the greatest lie. You can write that the sky is pink where yellow elephants fly, then no so long after, you will find yellow elephants flying across the bright pink sky looking for his friends. The world a writer creates will be the reality for the readers’ world while reading your piece. It is the writers’ skills and ideas that make turns blurry delusions into reality. Persuasion to convey the readers to actually live in a “world” the writer creates is the ultimate task which every writer must accomplish.

Diary of Dorian Gray

I

People capture everything right? People capture turkeys for their thanks giving dinner. People capture scents so they can smell like roses, tulips but they all stink of retch. But capture of beauty? An imprisonment of god’s beauty. That euphoric glimpse of a scent. Just even an aroma.
I saw, I saw a rebel against the god’s commandment.
Every day, every second I lose that beauty. It crawls away from my pores. I can feel it, and it tickles. But I hate being tickled, it disgusts me. That tension, I feel as if my inners are escaping and my skins are to be left hanging on a coat hanger 2 sizes too small. And I want that coat to be pristine.
I want to be interchangeable.



Blasphemy

Exterior, interior beauty. Blasphemy






Envy

I envy thee who stand still without a blink. I envy the heart that never beats. I envy that lung that never suffocates. I envy that frame and that pastel board and that untouchable splendor. Monet, Renoir and I are different. They created eternal beauty. I am eternal beauty.

Portrait

I was beautiful.


Love

Beautiful it was. She lied, in front of all those people. She said she was Julia McCain. I knew she wasn’t but they believed it. She said she was in love. They believed that too. She cried and they started to tear in morose. The beauty of disguise, she was that blush and powder that covered that big zit on your forehead.
She made the world look beautiful. She covered that blasphemy zit right in front of those grueling ignorant perverted audience.
That guy with a pot belly bigger than the devil’s sin, that bald guy who’s most prized possession was his 3 strand of hair. And all those other’s who I won’t mention because my aching finger isn’t worth mentioning those peasants. They were all in love. They pictured her silky red dress gliding down her fine perky breasts, like a drop 1787 Chateau Laffite (wine) dripping down so gracefully down the body of a crystal wine glass. They pictured their indulged disjointed figured hands, gliding up her snow white thighs, like stepping on the first snow field in the mid December on Fen Dion field. Those disgusting footprints.
I pictured, I pictured her being Cleopatra, St Maria, and even Jesus Christ. I pictured her ruling all over Egypt, then magically giving birth to Jesus Christ himself. Then pictured her writing the Bible itself, and I was beside her all along.
Now that’s love.


Sibyl Vane

The funny thing about love is that it always brings reality along. She said she loved the fact that she can be herself in front of me.
Did she hit her head on a stage pole of something?
Blasphemy I shouted.



Confinement

These days, I feel disgusted. Has my moral value been brought down? I sometimes picture her from the perception of a peasant. I pictured her soft perky breasts tangled in my hands. And her snow white thighs gliding against my snow white thighs. But, every time my imagination painted along the canvas, blob of black paint splattered along my vivid illustration. A thick rope snatched her neck from the back. Her foot twitched like a ballerina.
Pique, pique then a pirouette.
Then I saw a stain of 1787 Chateau Laffite on my shirt.
But then again, it was only my imaginative hallucination.







Beauty

There were creeks running down my arms. I felt it shrivel as my pores opened its way for sunlight. It felt like a black hole sucking in every drop of 1787 Chateau Laffite. I was drunk. An alcoholic. I saw 2 in 1 and I saw ballerinas twirling around my bedroom.
Was I drunk?
Am I drunk?
Drowning in your own saliva, your own blood. How would that feel?
This skin, I want to rip it off.



Portrait

It’s hideous.

Once Upon a Time in Chicago

BB- Beet Boy
CC- Captain Carrot
BM- Broccoli man
MT- Mistress Tomato

Act 1
Scene 1
BB- This is ridiculous! 5 consecutive nights with our largest banks robbed!
CC- Yes, I know, the city is crumbling into a mashed potato. We know who it is, we know it. I can smell his revolting yucky stench and his green bushy afro. Im’a beat him up until he runs out of his V8.
BB- So what is your plans Mr Carrot?
CC- Its CAPTAIN Carrot! I did not come here all the way from New York to a punk who isn’t eve red yet!
(Captain Carrot walks out very frustrated. He slams the door behind)
SLAM!

Scene 2
BB- Gee… He seemed to be pissed off wasn’t he?
MT- Yeah… but he is so charismatic. (Imitating CC) It’s CAPTAIN Carrot!
BB- MT, I’m telling you, you can do so much better. He’s just an overly muscular carrot!
MT- But have you seen his packs? And his perfectly orange tan? Oh… what a dream he is…
BB- Yeah MT, you think whatever you want. But you’ll never understand me!
(BB runs out the door and he slams the door shut)
SLAM!!

Act 2
Scene 1
SIRENS
Polices- Freeze! We have you surrounded Broccoli man!
BM- (talking very sarcastically) Oh.. geez.. god.. BITE ME!
(Sound of small explosion and people shout looking for BM)
(Sound of a sinister laugh)
BM- HAHAHAHA
CC- Stay here squad and cover my back!
(CC runs into the bank)
(Suspenseful music plays as CC carefully tours through the building)

Scene 2
CC- You can come out now Brock; it’s only me, Carl.
(Sounds of clear sharp footsteps)
BM- Where are the other men?
CC- They are outside the building, covering my back.
(They both start to laugh and start to talk in a Italian accent)
CC- Muah! Muah! How is father Mozilla? And mother cheddar!
BM- Muah! Muah! Their good good! They’ve just opened up a new shop. A restaurant, you should come by sometimes. It’s called “Momma, Poppa! Where is the cheddar!”
BM- How is your family! How are papa and momma doing!?
CC- Good Good, couldn’t be better.
CC- What is with that hair do, an afro now?
BM- no one could recognize me. How did you know it was me?
CC- HA! Well, no one could break into the vault faster than you. You still have your cucumber face beneath that furry afro.
BM- Well… what do you want to do now… Carlito?
(Dramatic music comes in)




Act 3
Scene 1
MT- Hey BB, have you seen captain carrot around these days?
BB- Well, how should I know! Why are you always asking me these!? Don’t you know how I feel about you!?
MT- I told you before BB, your just not… red enough. You’re still a yellowish green young boy. I need someone who can out-red me. I’m sorry kiddo.
BB- Well you just wait and see! I’ll turn redder than red that you’ll be blown out from your skin.
(BB Slams door behind)
SLAM!

Scene 2
(Sad music plays)
BB- Sigh, why did my mother make me like this? All my friends are sunbathing brightening their red tans. Whenever I get a tan, I turn into a poop green!
SWOOP!
BB- Hey pal! Watch where your goin… Captain Carrot?
(The man gets up and runs very fast)
(Music suddenly changes to a more fast paced and dramatic music)
BB- Hey wait up! You dropped your wallet! Captain Carrot! Gasp.. gasp…
(BB soon gets tired and starts to gasp for air)

Act 4
Scene 1
(BB running in)
BB- MT! MT! I sa…w Cap….tain Carr….ot! (trying to catch his breath)
MT- whoa whoa slow down there kiddo. Breathe first.
BB- (breathes heavily)
BB- I saw Captain Carrot just now…
MT- Really? Where?
BB- Just down in downtown. He bumped into me. Well, he ran me over basically. Then he dropped his wallet so I called him but he would listen and he kept on running away. I tried to chase him but oh man he was fast.
MT- Do you still have that wallet
BB- Yeah! Certainly
MT- well let’s look at it; it might not be Captain Carrot’s.
BB- Ok

Scene 2
(sounds of things ruffling)
BB- hmm… lets see… three 5s… one 10. A credit card, Library Card. Oh! There is a badge~.
MT- So I guess it WAS Captain Carrot.
BB- Um.. What’s this. Lubricated… please use… safety…
(MT giggles)
BB- Shut up MT!
BB-There are lots of receipts from… Momma Poppa where is the cheddar.
MT- what is that… a restaurant?
BB- yeah or maybe like a bar, he had like five shots of V8.
MT- Yeah Yeah I heard that name before… momma poppa.. Cheddar. Remember that really notorious mobster named Carlito and Brock?
BB- yeah! Named… V’ate or something.
MT- Yeah. Their “slogan” or their sign whenever they robbed a major bank was “Momma Poppa, where is the cheddar.” And it has stopped ever since Carlito “mysteriously” disappeared. Some people say that he went underground to live quietly and some people say that he went undercover in a police force to gather major information for his families.
BB- But wouldn’t tha…
MT- And the things is! That “slogan” came back! 3 of our last 5 consecutive bank robberies, there was a saying written in black spray paint, Mother Father where is the cheddar.
BB- Then… do you think Captain Carrot has to do something with these bank robberies?
MT- He just came down from New York though, do you really think he is involved. Besides, we were the ones who called a special intelligent agent for help.
BB- I don’t know MT… I smell something very vegi around here.
MT- Hey! I’m a vegetable too!
BB- well you’re like half half.

Act 5
Scene 1
(Music playing and back ground noise of people talking)
BM- Hey Carlito. I think we’re almost ready. Just couple more days and my whole army will be here. Then, we can rule the city like in the old days
CC- Ha! Can’t wait.
(Both laugh)

Act 6
Scene 1
(Door opens and background noise of people talking)
Waiter- How many?
BB- Two
Waiter-Follow me please.
(Whispering to MT)
BB- Watch out for Captain Carrot.
MT- I really don’t think this is necessary.
BB- You’ll see Mt.

Scene 2
BB- I’ll just have a martini please
MT- Me too, dry.
(Choking on the martini)
BB- Cough! Right there! Captain Carrot! And the Broccoli Man. What are they doing together?
MT- Oh my god. You are right. What are we going to do? Bust him?
BB- No, no. We wait. We wait and follow them and then..
MT- their leaving!
BB- Ok Ok, be steady, act normal but do not reveal yourself. Follow me
(suspenseful music plays and sound of foot step and the door opens)
(a foot step sound comes in once again and door opens)

Act 7
Scene 1
BM- we’re being followed, turn left in the left corner.
(Footstep sound continues then ends. Then an approaching footstep sound continues.)
BB- They turned left corner.
(Sounds of clap and gun cocks)
CC- Well done Beety. I never would have thought that you could get this far. You know, people always doubt my abilities and I hate that. So I’m planning to show everyone what I am made out of.
BB- So you ARE Carlito! You villain! You damned smiling villain!
CC- Do not use quotes from Hamlet for I am not comparable with the peasant.
MT- Oh~ mini carrot~
BAM!
(Sound of bat swing and a blunt hit)
MT- You want some too? Bronci?!
BM- Oh… damn.
(Sounds of siren approaches)

Scene 2
MT- Hey! Your red!
BB- What? Am I really?
MT- HA! No…
BB- ARGH!! MT! Come on! You know I can’t get a tan. I’ll turn into Pooh Green! You won’t like that…
(Dialogue fades as music comes in)

Replacement

Jacky walked back in. He forced his tremulous shivering to stop like a statue. He walked very awkwardly like a robot needing some oil for the joints. “What is it?” asked Jess. Jess was Jack’s girlfriend who he has been dating for 4 years. Jack carefully observed Jess as if she was something extraordinary. Jack placed his hands on Jess’s face and strokes it gently. He felt her smooth chubby cheeks sliding through his fingers as streaming water would slide through your hands.
“You’re freaking me out Jacky. What’s wrong? What was it out there?” asked Britney. Britney is Jacky’s oldest friend. They’ve know each other even before their preschool years. They were friends even with their limited vocabularies and syllables. They attended the same elementary, middle and high school together. And College was another path they took together.
Jacky slowly turned his head toward Britney. With his eyes wide open and lips trembling, he started to move toward Britney. “Jacky! Stop it! You are scaring me!” Britney stretched her arm out trying to keep distance from Jacky but jack grabbed that arm and pulled Britney right up to his face. With his face so close to her. Britney could feel Jacky’s pulse and their nose and lips were almost touching. It was almost sexual in a way but no one thought of it like that. As Jacky breathed, Britney’s eyebrows twitched. Jacky inhaled for about 2 seconds than with a somewhat barely traceable smile said “nothing”.
Then he busted out laughing. Then Britney exhaled with a laughter indicating her relief. Tommy, who is Britney’s girlfriend and Jacky’s best high school friend, started laughing and said “I knew it man, I knew it. I saw that look on your face from the moment you walked in that door.” Jane’s face bloomed with relief and smiled out of silliness.
Then all of a sudden, Jacky insisted “Guys, I have a surprise for you. Go into that closet and come out when I count to 100.” All the other guys looked dumbfounded and kind of amused. “Well you always have a surprise for me Jacky, and I do too for you” said Jane slurring out some syllables. “I’m serious, I’m sure you guys will all like it. Just come out when I count to 100” said Jacky ignoring Jane’s seduction. Forcefully, all of the guys sluggishly dragged their feet into the closet.
“Man what is this? What is wrong with him” complained Tommy. “HA! Don’t worry guys, I’m sure his planning something” replied Britney. As they waited in an absolute dark, their visions dulled as their hearing sense sharpened. “What is he doing out there? Yo Jacky! Jacky Boy! Can we come out yet?!” Only a Blank echo answered back. “Jacky Honey… are you there?” No answer was replied. “Hey Jacky? We’re coming out now ok? Jacky?”
Then all of a sudden they heard a knocking on the door. It was more of a banging than knocking. And Jacky’s voice blared from distance. “Hey guys! Hey guys!”
“Ok, this is ridiculous I’m going out” Jess grabbed the door knob, and the knob was intact, not turning rightward or leftward. “Step aside” said Tommy. With his size 14 feet, he kicked the door several times. Then with a loud grunt he body slammed the door collapsing it as they broke free.
The banging on the door became louder and more frantic. “Hey guys! Guys! Open up! I’m back; it’s freezing out here hurry up!” As Jess, Brit and Tommy peeped through the peep hole, surely there was Jacky standing outside in the rain. They opened the door and Jack came rushing in complaining and shouting at the guys for letting him in so late. “But, you told us to go into the closet Jacky. Remember?” Asked Jess with a very doubtful expression. Jacky stood dumbfounded, “What are you talking about Jess? I just got here, can’t you tell? And why do you have that black smear all over your face?”.
They felt something sweeping by, not physically but mentally. As the three gazed through the room they all stopped and stared where their last 15 minutes of memories occurred.
Jacky walked over by the fire, sitting where the guys were sitting before. Jacky looked up and smiled with partial teeth showing, gesturing them to come sit. He was waiting for the other 3 to fill in the spot.

Melodrama

Act 1
Scene 1
(sounds of window rustling and water boiling rises. As there is a sound of door opening the dialogue begins)
M- Frendrick, it’s time for supper.
F- I’ll be right in mother.
(Mother sighs deeply)
The door opens and Frendrick walks in.
F- Gee it smells awesome! Snff Snff, I smell little bit of beef? Pot roast? Some gravy as well? Yummmmy.
M- Sit down…. F..rendrick.
F- Yes Ma’mm
Frendrick sits down and there are sounds of plates rustling against forks an knives
M- Would you like some carrot dear?
F- Yes please.
Silence rises and only hears chewing sounds. Frendrick tries to talk with food in his mouth
M- How was your day dear?
F- madflkanfleaekjahfe forest alfdjaelafe blue
M- Frendrick, please chew your food before talking.
Frendrick chews and swallows the food
F- Today I went up to the mountain behind the Hiku Village. And I saw a man in blue halmet. And it wasn’t like those blue halmet that the next door Tommy wears whenever he goes on his bicycle, it was those… how do you say.. Army ones?
M- Oh army you say? Did you talk to him?
F- No, I saw something very terrible. I heard a loud bang and as soon as I turned around, the man in a blue halmet was down on the ground eyes half open with gushing blood on his head. And I looked…
Mother cuts off Frendrcick with an awkward laughter
M- Frendrick dear, I’m sure that was just a nightmare. Please finish you food.
F- But mother I’m serious!
M- Frendrick please. You sisters and brothers will be here soon. Please finish your food.

Scene 2
Sounds of footsteps approaching, then door opens
Fred- howdy ma!
Tom-We’re back
Lucy- Smells good
Willy- Awesome!
Sarah- Super!
Stacy-It’s cold outside
TJ- Howdy pop

M- Howdy Fred! Tom! Tom Junior, Willy!, Sarah! Lucy! Stacy!
Lucy- Hey pop! Why are you here so early!
Fred- Pop?
Only silence rises with a blend with sounds of chewing and dishes clustering.
TJ-Hey Ma! Why is there so little corn on my plate!?
T-Shush TJ
M- Sorry TJ, there is only so much corn left
TJ-Can’t like Tom not eat? He doesn’t even like corn!. Besides, his way too fat!
You hear a slap across a face and a deep voice arises
P- Keep it down.
TJ- sorry pop…

Act 2
Scene 1
Sounds of water running and dishes clustering as the mother does her dishes
F- Do you need any help mother?
M- No I’m fine dear.
F- No, no allow me mother
M- No, no I’m alright; instead can you bring me my wallet from my closet? It’s inside my closet.
F- Oh certainly. What color is the coat?
M- it’s you…. it’s brown

Scene 2
Frendrick opens the closet door, Frendrick is humming a song looking through the clothes
F- Now, where is that brown jacket… oh! Here it.. oh never mind.
Frendrick shouts
F- Mother! What color was the Jacket?!
No answer replied
F- Hm… brown I think it was.. oh! Here I found it!
Rustling sound of clothes
F- Hm… is this my mother’s coat? I don’t think it is my father’s coat, this looks way too small to fit him.
Frendrick starts to snicker and laugh
F- Ha Ha my father would look hilarious wearing this tiny thing. With his beard and his broa….
Strange music appears indicating Frendrick’s De Ja Vu.
F- Whoa! I swear something just happened. Just happened… Jus t did happen? I remember this coat, I remember this room and…
Mother shouts
M- Did you find it!?
F- Yes mother I’ll be right there.

Act 3
Scene 1
Frendrick goes into his bed and his mother comes and kisses him
M- Good night dear
F- You too mother
Kisses her back
Tinkling music plays and soon snoring sound gradually increase.
Then another hardcore music plays as Frendrick mummers
F- mmmm what mm
Screeching sound of Alarm blares, but soon it dies out as a screeching sound of a boy screaming replaces the alarm sound.

Scene 2
Frendrick wakes up as he gasps for air
F- GASP!( continues to breathe heavily) Where am I?
Gush! (sound of mud)
F- what is this, where did my blanket go? TJ!?
Sound of winds whistling
F- What is this? This isn’t my blanket, this isn’t eve my bed. Why is there a hold in my bed?!
Gush (sound of mud)
F- ew… did someone poop in my blanket?
Snf snff( smelling it)
F- is this mud….?

Scene 3
Frendrick is petrified and cries for help
F- Oh man, Oh man, Oh god. Where am I. mother! Mother! TJ!? Lucy?! Sarah!? Anybody there?! It’s not funny guys! I’m going to beat you up TJ. I’m going to rip your teddy bear’s head off Lucy!
Wild animal howls as wind whistles.
F- Am I really in the woods? What is this smell? Ew…
Frendrick gags
F- It smells like rotten fish! Guys?
Wild animal howls
F- Is this a dream? This has to be a dream.
Frendrick starts to tear up as his voice cracks
F- guys..?

Scene 4
Sounds of walking on mud
Frendrick talks with cracking voice
F- Guys…? How am I suppose to go back home?
Sounds of walking on mud continues
F- moth..
Sounds of branch breaking and ground breaking as Frendrick falls through a hold
F- Ahhh



Act 4
Sound of shower handle turned and water runs. Water splashes as the mother gives Frendrick a bath while Frendrick is unconscious.
M- Where has this guy been? Oh god, if you are listening with your deafen ears and if so, please listen very carefully to my dialogues as it rings the bell of insanity. If you are watching with your blind eyes if so, blink 3 times and nod for I cannot comprehend your command. Oh god, if your existence evident the bible, please save thy…
Dialogues fade away as the sound of the running water ascends

Act 5
Scene 1
Frendrick wakes up
Frendrcik coughs and tries to get up.
Sounds of bed rocking
F- Am I…This is my room…
Sound of hand gliding through wet hair
F- What the heck? My hair is still wet?
Frendrick shouts
F- Mother ! Maa!!
Sounds of Frendrick running
F- Mother! Mother! I just had the strangest dream! And and I think that dream followed me here! Look! My hair is wet and I swear I didn’t take a shower just now and and..
Frendrick tries to calm his breathe and breathes slowly and heavily.
M- Frendrick its ok. It was probably just a dream. Your hair is probably wet because you sweated like a pig. Please Frendrick sit down and have some breakfast.
F- But mother! I swear!
M- Frendrick… please
F- Okay mother..
Scene 2
Sounds of dishes clustering and sizzling sounds indicating cooking breakfast
Brothers and sisters run down for breakfast
All together- good morning ma! Pa!
Lucy- Are you cooking fish ma? I smell fish?
Willy- Ew. Fish for breakfast?
Sounds of kids gather around, chairs and tables hitting each other.
Sounds of eating
Lucy- Hey pa?
Sounds of eating continues
Stacy- Why is your hair so crummy? Did you fix the garden?
Sounds of eating continues
F- huh!? Me??
Frendrick mummers
F- Crummy hair? My face?
Suspenseful music plays
Scene 3
Frendrick looks and notices the extra spoon in the holder.
Dramatic music plays
F- Mother?! Why is there an extra spoon in the holder?! Where is father??
Willy&Stacy- Pa?
F- Mother! Answer me please! Where is father
F- Mother! (shouts)


Act 6
Scene 1
Frendrick goes frantic
F- Mother are you hiding something! Is father dead? Is he kidnapped? Did the guys in blue helmet take him away?! Mother!!
M- Please! Calm down!
F- I need a father to shape up my adolescent mother! I need a father figure. Who is going to coach my how to throw a Frisbee and who am I going to have the father son talk with!?
M- Frend..
F- Where is he?!
Kids start to cry
All together but scattered- pa..
Scene 2
Frendrick joins the kids and starts to cry
F- Where is pa!?
Then the kids stop crying
Soon after Frdnrick stop crying
Awkward silence rises.
Scene 3
Fredrick mummer gibberish
F- Isolation am I in? In? in what the hole that I fell in? Am I still asleep.
F- Mother .. what is going on. Who does that spoon belong to? Where is my father? What is wrong with my hair?




Act 7
Scene 1
Mother starts to cry
F- Mother, are you ok?
Mother starts to cry harder
M- Call me something else
F- Pardon? Mother?
Mother runs off (sounds of running and door closing)

Scene 2
Sounds of people walking away
F- I should fix my hair first.
Sounds of multiple doors opening and closing
F- There must be a mirror around here somewhere. Where has all the mirrors gone?
Sound of screaming from far away

Scene 3
Sound of walking gets louder. Sound of door opening.
F- mother…? Are you ok? Are feeling ill? Do you want me to call the doctor?
Dialogues fade away as calming music comes I n

Act 8
Scene 1
Sound of lighter fliker. And sound of cigarette burning so silently.
F- Mother, please put the cigarette out. It is very bad for your health and..
Mother exhales smoke on Frendrick’s face.
Frendrick coughs

Scene 2
Frendrick gets angry but subconsciously
F- What do you think you are doing woman. Did you forget who I am? When you took the vow, you were entitled to me! And now you stand in front of me and puff that shit to my face? Has Zeus strike you with a lightening?! Try that shit again and I will bury you alive!
Silence rises
Scene 3
Only silence and the sounds of cigarette sizzling echoes.

Act 9
M- Fred! Fred!! ….. Fred!!
F- Its Frendrick mother
M- Frendrick..
F- What just happened? What happened? Weren’t you smoking here just now?
Mother screams frantically takes Frendrick to the bath room
M- Come here! Come here!
(sounds of tussle)

Scene 2
Frendrick is very scared
F- What is wrong mother? What? Are you ok? Are you mad? I’m sorry mother
Frendrick’s voice start to crack
F- I’m sorry mother, please forgive me
Scene 3
Sounds of water splashing
M- Come here Frendrick. Look inside this bathtub. You must look, you must.
Voice cracking
F- Mother no, I’m scared. What are you going to do? I don’t like the look of that water. I don’t want to die. I’m only 13 years old.
Mother shouts
M- You are not 13!
They wrestle each other. Sounds of grunting and crashing.

Act 10
Scene 1
Wrestling sound gets louder and grunting sound gets louder as well.
F- Mother!!
Frendrick pushes his mother too hard and she flies into the wall
Big THUMP sound

Scene 2
F- blood…?
Frendrick calls his mother hysterically.
F- Mother! Mother!! Are you ok!! Please answer me! Mother!!
F- Father! Where are you! Mother!!
F- Maa!!
The dialogue fades away as gloomy music turns on


Scene 3
Silent cry of Frendrick
F- What did you want mother, this water?
Frendrick stirs the water(sound of water splashing)
F- What di..
Dramatic music turns in

Scene 4
Frantic sounds of water splashing
F- What is this!!? Who is this!? Mother?!!
F- Who are you?
(Water splashing)
F- What are you doing under that water?! What are you doing in my bathtub?
(Water splashing)
F- Am I dreaming?! Are you a ghost?!
(Water splashing)
(Frendrick is gasping for air)
F- Wha.. Who.. Father?
Calm and gloomy music plays
F- Honey…?

Within 2 minutes

She was in love, a love in first sight. He was a complete stranger. Her stomach wrestled for the title. Her fingers twitched like a lost cat wandering for that big hairy mean looking guy who in fact was harmless and gave warm milk. She was sure he was in love too. He was a very handsome man around the age of 35-40. His eyes, oh boy she loved his eyes. His eyes were like a new born puppy’s baby blue eyes, about to get neutered. His legs were shaking like hers; his fingers were twitching like hers. His lips, they were shivering trying to make out a word.
God……sorr…….y…….. I would like…… Amen……
That what she made out from that scribbled jam.
She stared at the vivid imagination in front of her, perhaps a reflection from the sound proof glass door. Was it imagination? She stared and only saw herself within his images. She… or he had broad shoulders in pair with nicely built arms, along with a nice set of B-Cup breasts. She smiled at him.., a beautiful face figure, the golden ratio, and lips of a goddess to be found under a bushy mustache.
Dsldkfjahdkidlsiendncna’qpe’qladsfljadf’oopeaolfavnvlsndoefadadf… now write a 1000 word essay about the relation between the average baby food sold versus Mesopotamia society, from the Italian’s point of view. Using the alphabets provided above.
But, but there is like nothi…
Shut up
She was a beautiful woman. Or at least that’s what she thought he thought. She fondled her hair trying not to make an eye contact. But his eyes were such a bastard which just kept on mummifying her into a descending emotion.
He stared vacantly through the window. He saw 4 strangers. 1 woman, 3 men. That’s the entire fan he got, 4 stranger’s for his last glimpse. He hated it; he hated everyone, especially that stupid woman who kept on staring at him. He was gravitated by that feeling of abhorrence; he was disgusted by her “smile”. So there he sat stared blankly through the glass wall.
He was in a glass box. He was like an adored pet grasshopper. And that grasshopper was sitting on a chair unable to hop and hop and hop. His arms were strapped and his legs were strapped. She could see his skin ripple against the leather straps around his arms. His pants were rolled up and his right leg was shaved. He was wearing a funny looking hat made out of some kind of steel. Connected to that big hat, there were many different wires connecting machinery to another. He looked like those really big brained genius about get his brain switched with a monkey. In a way, he looked kind of like a used bullet with a blunt tip… with a face on it. He looked like a big baby. As a matter of fact, he was wearing a diaper. His teeth clenched and his eyes started tear up in remorse.
She never saw him before.
He never saw her before.
She never talked to him before.
He never talked to her before.
She had this twizzling feeling down her spine. She was in love, love in first sight.
First time she saw him was at this moment and every 60 seconds made up to be the last minute she’ll see him. Who cares; she was in love, love in first sight.
.
.
.
.
.
.
..
Silence was the only thing that smothered. Muted and deafened, only her diluted pupils wandered around ahead carefully observing the room in front. There were 4 or 5 guys in the room. One guy was sitting on a chair all strapped and wired up with an iron hat on. He looked like a bullet, locked up and reloaded in a Colt M1911 about to blow someone’s friggin brain out. The 4 men who were standing, made out to be officers, started to get busy. One started to strap the chair, one on the iron hat, another one on the leg and the last one on the microphone.
Mhmmm~
He cleared his throat
But sir it is just impossible to write a relationship between baby foods versus Mesopotamia. Plus, I’m not even Italian. There is like nothi…
Nothing? Nothing is when I give you a blank sheet of paper. Even blank sheet of paper is something. You can write something on it. Which makes it everything. Which means everything is something. Then nothing is nothing.
What are you sayin…
Shut up.
He felt the cold steel press against his clean shaved head. It gave him the shivers. That strange quick chill exerting through his skin made him recoil, but soon it became soothing. But he hated that stupid lady who keeps on staring at him more than anything else. That look, he felt as if she was mocking him, imitating him and congratulating his last goodbye.
Any last words?
That struck him like a thunderbolt.
Um… murmuring in trepidation he spotted that damn lady again. She had her eyes squinted, trying to make out a word.
God……sorr…….y…….. I would like…… Amen……
He saw, and what he saw was reality striking out his life, a shadow of a blanket coming down his forehead to his eyes then all. His face was now in a bag. He saw nothing. Nothing?
It was pitch black. All he said to himself was
Damn
She never let him off her sight. Well he couldn’t move so it was pretty easy for her. The guards now placed his face in a bag, a black bag.
She watched in silence
The guard’s hand started to get busy. Some were tightening the bolts and double checking it. And then silence, then the guard’s hand fell. Along with it, the lever was pulled. She saw it all in one blink, and he suffered it all without a blink. 15000 bolts jolted through his body. His muscled tensed and his pelvis sky rocketed as if he was in the 80’s. She saw it all in one motion and still, she thought he was dancing. He looked so glamorous she thought, like those rock stars who always thrust their hips. 1/3 of a minute passed, and he stopped dancing. Silence rose from the scattered buzzing sounds.
She blinked 3 times to be exact. She stood up, turned around and walked 15 and a half steps toward the exit. She grabbed the door knob before anyone else and turned it rightward to open the door.
Baby food price gone up in Mesopotamia period.
He was paralyzed. He was dead. He didn’t move an inch, his head was steaming. The guards took off the mask and the straps. His face was purple and looked as if it was about to burst, like a grape squeezed really hard on one end. She looked at him for 2 blinks of a second. And she turned and walked out the door.
She was in love, love in first sight. And he was still a stranger sitting on that electric chair.
Damn.

Why do Chopsticks have to be seperated?

Life and death is the most basic fundamental principle of life. As we breathe in we breathe out, as we raise our left leg we swing our left arm back. As ones action is played, the other is affected by it. This is the principle of life. The two very contrasting yet comparable subject of life and death raised a question to me, why do chopsticks have to be separated?
Just like life and death, leaving ones you love and hold on so dearly onto is a very atrocious thing. I wondered as I reached down to grab one of these fellows, “Are they in love?” When you think about it, they are logically inseparable. They cuddle in a slim paper cover for who knows how long, and they don’t come off each other very easily. It resembled me of my old girlfriend and I, we “were” inseparable. Then that magical hand came along and separated us apart. Then as I looked down in my hand, there were those fragmented memories of mine. Cuddling like there is no tomorrow. I started to tear up a little and was stuck in a dilemma. What was I to do; I couldn’t possibly rip the chopsticks apart. Then on the other hand, I saw my noodles getting colder by the minute I spent in that dilemma. So I decided, I dipped the chopstick into the bowl, and stirred it. I lifted the noodles up with my chopsticks, and I raised them toward my mouth. It was so close; I could feel the steam rising up my nose. But then it slid away. It slid away like those dreams I had the night before my final exam. One by one, those slick white noodles slid away. Was it too much to eat it without actually separating the chopsticks? I looked at the noodles then I looked at the chopsticks. My stomach started to send out signals. Those signals then steamed through my nervous system and triggered my brain which enhanced my motion to bring my other hand toward the chopstick. Was this the end of the couple? As I drowned myself in morose, the tip of my elbow ticked the noodle bowl. In an instance, the bowl spun 360 degrees and splattered all over my floor. In a mixture of shock and relief, I looked back at those damned chopsticks. I picked up the remaining of the noodles and tossed them into the garbage can. Then I looked at the chopstick again and with mixed feeling of frustration and liberation I chucked it into the garbage can where inedible noodles lied. From that day on, there was a shiny stainless steel fork lying on my desk, ready to serve.

Tales on a bathroom wall

As all your grief and pain flushes down clockwise with that swoosh of water, an electrifying tale has already begun in that inexplicable booth. As those four sided walls are engraved with texts and images of holy enchants, your so called “chis” exile. That’s right. In the mist of all these insignificant gibberish, I am talking to you, you poopers. We all enter that stall with a one purpose. Maybe it varies for certain situations, but majority of you and I enter that stall for a relief. Then that magical stall starts to talk to me, “I am your mama” then I answer “no you’re not”. Those undeniable questions echo through my conscience and I myself also take out a utensil and jot down my principles. Sometimes it speaks of foul languages, and sometimes it even whispers so gently in the name of love.
Those walls are like virtual Facebook and MSN for those who share the same stall. People show off their rhyme skills and punch lines to make the occupiers think. Now I am here to teach you how to write everlasting bathroom stories. Ones that will impale one’s heart and make it tingle every time he or she goes to take a dump. Writing on the bathroom wall and reading it is like good poetry. Rhyme scheme is for most effective yet simple way of getting people interested. Couplets, sonnets, haikus whatever. Ones like
Here I sit all broken hearted
Tried to shit but only farted
Then one day I took a chance
Tried to fart and shit my pants
If this doesn’t get them, make them really think. Make them wonder who in the right mind would scribble this crap and still sound clever. Maybe make reference to the higher power but don’t offend them too much cause karma comes around. Some names like “Bush” is nicely established name. Sexual reference always takes up about 93% of the bathroom scribbles. Don’t be too cliché and draw a penis, be more creative. The stall is your canvas; use your brilliance for an innovative revolution.
To be a true bathroom scribbler, you must always be prepared with smooth comebacks. Your limited excess and time limit shouldn’t be a problem. Keeping these in mind, always have your pen and your creativity reloaded.
On average, a person goes through the phase of “toileting” 6 times a day. That is about 2 and half years of your life spent in that magical room. Imagine amount of people who will be inspired by your scriptures. Now I challenge you to go beyond the worlds of your imagination. It only begins with rattling noise of belts and ends with a flush of water. And in between is your time to shine. Now take that cap off and click that pen into the midst of Holy Scriptures.
Thank you.

Power-hunger

The thumb resembles the meaning of victory, satisfaction and mercy. In the Roman times, during a game of gladiators when the king’s thumb was pointed up, higher than its pinky, it meant to spare the lives. Today, everyday this thumb is pointing directly toward the cold dry soil where a lively village once existed. Bombs are flying everywhere blowing up our dreams and our self authorities. The index finger is used in a variety of ways, to pick a nose, to point at something, to make a V sign, but today, everyday this finger is used to pull the trigger of a gun. To stop the last pulse of the prey’s heart, to stop the blood rush and start the blood gush. Today, just this moment as I’m standing, as every breathe I take, there is somebody out there who is taking his last breath, their last stand; their last moment.

For decades, triggers have been pulled by citizens under the command of a leader. Regardless of the leader’s intentions, the followers held onto their leader’s sleeve, moving as the leaders moves their arms. As the leaders point in a direction, all the citizens move toward it. The followers are rooted with a vision in which the leader is embedded. Notorious leaders such as Kim Jung Il and Hitler resemble characters of evil and destruction. However all the residents in North Korea have a picture of Kim Jung Il up on their walls, obeying him for his work. There are thousands of civilians dying from hunger and human rights violation in North Korea and yet, there are millions of civilians who would give their life for their leader in North Korea. Regardless of the deed of evil or good, the followers support the leader’s vision.

Even though Saddam Hussein glued a horrific image in our heads, he had many supporters. Even though Adolph Hitler left us a horrific gift called WW2 under our trees, he had many supporters. The amount of power and support these figures held was probably enough to establish themselves as gods. However they decided to use it against the human kind, to do what they believed, discriminating against those who weren’t like them. The soldiers in Afghanistan today fight for their leaders in the Taliban. They have rules which might seem outrageous here yet seem normal there. The whole perspective differs by the different eyes the visions are seen with. When you have a control over something, when you are the power, you can make the followers believe anything.

Power is like a blanket which covers the ants of followers. The followers move as the blanket move, not actually knowing which way they are going, what actions they are causing. There are rebels who try to go the other way, but the tedious effort from one individual won’t matter for the massive sheet. We all live in our little blankets, we all live in our own little worlds. Not knowing where we’re going either, colliding, dodging, and sometimes finding somebody to hold on to. Like the famous saying, there is never a good war and bad peace. They are controlled by them, we are controlled by us. But the day the last man takes off his blanket, all he’ll see is the vast, empty nothing, because war does not determine who is right, it determines who is left.

That thing looked at me weird. Was it him? Her? It? I didn’t know, I didn’t care. Its eyes, it was filled with morose and yellow fat. It smiled at me, it was smiling, no, it is smiling. Its neck fat was folded back making triple, quadruple smiles starting from below its nose until the end of his neck. I bet you it can only talk with one of those ripples though.
Its stare, it was as if an armless guy was in the middle of a standing ovation. Yeah that’s cruel, but what this thing in front of me has gone through probably sucks more. How much longer do I have to look at this thing? Can I get up yet? Has my 2 minute passed yet? Every time I look up, it was snickering, probably telling jokes to his friends.
Hey look at him! His bowing to me
Yeah what are you like god?
Pfft if I was god, I would blind them so they would have to see through their hearing, and deafen them so they have to listen through their talking, and mute them so they would have nothing!
That’s cruel…
Yeah so are they
I looked over to my right I saw more faces I didn’t recognize. I recognize some of them I guess…but not all of them. It was like a brick wall, and doodled on it 2 days before. I remember some, but I would have to go over them again with my utensil to remember what I’ve drawn.
I heard Schubert, Mozart, Beethoven and Jesus playing Texas Hold’em. Beethoven said Jesus had a full house. Jesus gave him the cold devil look as if he was going to hell. I didn’t see them, I heard. I heard the look, like how I heard that thing in front of me talking. I said shut up but didn’t listen.
That stupid face in front of me. I’m still waiting; I was waiting for like 1 minute and 27seconds. For that stupid standing ovation as if I saved the world from a burning hell.
My muscles tensed and every single one of my fingers scratched the floor as if the mosquito bit the floor. That stupid piggy in front of me was snickering making winks trying to seduce me. I hate it, I can’t stand a second of it. It made the pork chops in my stomach growl. They were communicating I’m sure. My tempo started to beat more rapidly than my heart, my heart started to pound against my bare ribs. That glare was driving my insane.
Suddenly I felt a breeze of air with a feeling of reduced gravity. Then I heard, and saw, that friggin standing ovation I’ve been waiting for so long.
Clap
Clap
Finally, I stood up on my right foot and for the last time looked at that head. I said bye and made an oath to never meet again.
Bye Bye now
And here are my 500 words.

Is and Was

Maybe it was from the time my mother spilled her blood from her womb for me, or after my head steamed with a hole through, sometime between or after, I was chosen. Chosen for many things, some I did not want, some I did want. I saw my life through like the hole in my head, but I didn’t recognize what my head was leaning against.
Right now I’m walking down the Mount Pleasant Rd.
As I walk, I’ll tell you my story.
This chosen thing wasn’t new for me. However being able to choose was a different one. Back home in Somalia, everything was chosen for me. Even my name was chosen for me, Nayanik, meaning god’s gift in Ghana, and I’m not even from Ghana. I didn’t even have a choice of stepping in this world. That doesn’t mean I’m not thankful, but it also doesn’t mean I am thankful.

My father and my mother were both executed because they stole two live chickens. They were both executed in the middle of the town hall with a single bullet to the head. I still remember the thick air that time. It was like a festival, everyone in the town came out to watch, and I got a VIP view. I couldn’t swallow my own saliva; air was sluggishly slithering through my muted throat and then it crawled into my shivered lung. Every time I breathed in, I could feel my ribs and when I breathed out, I could feel my hairless skin stretching out of my stomach. They said that my parents were making an example for the thieves around the village. My eyes were glued to the finger of a man. He was awfully small, compared to the size of the gun he was holding. I kept looking and looking, neither at my parents, nor the executor but at the finger. I had my eyes squinted and stared at his finger with all my strength. I could see the wrinkles and unorganized hair strands on his finger. I even counted them. It lay on silver steel. When he tensed his finger, his veins crumpled, his fingers spread out and wrapped around the trigger, like a mother holding a baby for her life. And when the baby cried, so did the mother, and so did I.

This is the reason why I never eat chicken. I think I’m internally allergic to it or something. After my parents were executed, my sister was adopted by another family and my brother was sent to the military. So you see; my life hasn’t really been in my power. The world revolved around me and I was always swept up by some magnetic force, always attracted to the things I did not want, and always repelling away from my desires. In this North and South Pole of my life, no fragments of imaginative creatures lived; Santa didn’t live in North Pole or South Pole.
Oh now I turn right to Broadway Ave and here goes another 20 minute walk.
Now, there is another thing I was chosen for, I was chosen for a full scholarship in Landry’s Musical School in America. It’s kind of funny because I never played an instrument my whole life except my little drum. Ever since I can remember, I sang and danced. Any noise I heard I composed it into a rhythmic beat. My favorite noise to compose was gunshots, too bad I couldn’t find those delicacies in America too often. For this, they called me gifted. It’s kind of funny because I really am god’s gift. One time, one of the soldiers saw me and told his friends about my “talent” and you would be amazed how fast words can travel. The word caught interest of Principal McGill; the principal of the Landry’s Musical School and he decided to give me a full scholarship with meals and boarding expenses paid. This opportunity has given me a choice of leaving my muddy life. I chose, I’ve decided to get on the plane. Even though I flew over 50,000 miles to get away from home, I still couldn’t divest from the muddy footprints which followed me like an echo, telling me bedtime stories.

14 years I have lived; that’s 5110 days, and 5110 meals. Within those 5110 days I have never seen a plane, a building or a white person without authority. In those 5110 days I always believed that the Trima Tree was the tallest thing ever standing and nothing can go over its apex peak. Not in those 5110 meals have I had green vegetables or red meat. I have never even had 3 meals a day, nor have I even dreamed of a life like this because I was oblivious of the “world”. How can I imagine when I don’t even know what to imagine? So there I was, oblivious even to the air breezing across my arm. My 14 years of life was just a bunch of burnt up ashes for my new fire, a new life. So there I was, 1 year old American, 14 years old Somalia. I was just an infant learning how to walk with shoes, eat with spoons and forks. It seemed like my heart and my brain got switched, my heart just stopped and my brain started to beat rapidly, because there was just so much stuff to hear, just so much.
So there I was, trying to tune in to this life. Trying to understand, trying to do whatever they told me to do. Principal McGill gave me time to catch up. He gave me a year off with a place to stay and food to eat. The language wasn’t a big problem for me because English was my first language. However, I still felt invisible, deaf, mute and disabled in every way possible. A year later I was back to the educational center. As years passed, I learned more about Somalia, my desire and my ambition grew. Luckily enough, I aged faster than others. In my fifth year, I caught up to other people. There I was, a 19- years old American, standing proudly as I graduated from the Landry’s Musical High School with bliss and pursuit for happiness.
Just another 5 minute walk.
There isn’t much to say about my five years of American life. If I were to summarize it, everything was new for the first two years, and then the next two years were spent fitting in. The past year, I was thankful for everything, and since last week I realized the unfortunate fate of people who were like me. I couldn’t reconcile with a simple fact for 19 years. I was blind, deaf and disabled in every way possible. Before this surreal life, I was too busy and cornered with my own survival. Now when I was able to breathe in reality, I choked and everything I knew or thought I owned shattered into pieces forbidden to find. I thought God ruled the Supreme Court and served everyone with rightful justice. But then, during my five year-stays in America, I have come to realize that a trial can always be rigged. These 5 years of my life I was too traumatized. I was numb and tranquilized by injection of surreal life, and even when reality approached and struck me, I didn’t even budge. Just Last week, I got news informing my brother is now in a war with the Ethiopians and my sister ran away from her foster family. My format of identification was disfigured and now unrecognizable. My head kept on rambling meaningless words “But… They… I… differ…” I was missing, even when I walked, I walked hollow, even when I ate, and I ate for survival. It was back to the Somalia life again. Perhaps this is what they call an epiphany, or a failure. So I went through my Lost and Found bin, and evoked my life for the last time. Underneath the memories of the bloody town hall, my first flight and yesterday’s dinner, I finally found my lost shreds of vacancy life. Like a year old balloon, it was all shriveled, a balloon that once hung high up in the air celebrating a boy’s birthday.
I didn’t know if I should take it out of the Lost and Found bin and wear it. Wear myself again to redefine myself? What I found was devoured by the saw dust of cut scenes of reality.
Here I am, 465 Broadway Ave West.
I chose the one on the top right shelf because the clerk said it will get the job done precisely and quick. I gave him my savings and walked out.
I pressed the cold steel against my tempo; the steel had no human temperature on it, just steel. I could feel my tempo tense as I clench my teeth. I felt the pumping beat through my tempo, another music beat I suppose? Ta lala Ta lala on the third verse, I did my solo. With my muscle tightening and my music blaring through the street of Thomas Ave, my finger wrapped around the trigger as if a child was holding dearly onto their lifeless parents. When the child cried, I cried, but they remained silent.





Dongsoo Eum U2

To Know of To Not Know, That is The Question

Knowledge can be defined as the assurance to guarantee the beliefs one champions. Just as Hamlet seeks answers, everyone likes to be assured of their so called “answers”. But sometimes, oblivion is debated as the better solution for peace and harmony. As there is to all questions, there are always answers. But those answers cannot always satisfy the craving of the solutions. Not everyone can solve their problems in benefit of their personal needs. The only thing that can be assured is that “knowledge” brought nothing but destruction and chaos to the characters in Hamlet. The journey of attaining knowledge is an ongoing motif in the play Hamlet. Many characters including Hamlet yearn for the assurance of their beliefs. The most concrete example is Hamlet’s assurance of the existence of the ghost. Despite his traumatisation of the ghost’s shocking dialogues, Hamlet’s actions were held back by his quest for knowledge. And this led his surrounding characters into chaos as well. While his impotent characteristics were masked by his acts of being “insane” it stirred up turmoil amongst the surrounding characters. Their curiosity arose as their fate descended through the sword of Hamlet. However, his “act” is debated as his actual characteristic as well. Hamlet’s struggle to recognize his sanity or insanity only convinced Hamlet to be self destructive. It is clear all of the characters’ curiosity led to their own destruction. Therefore the attainment of “knowledge” brought nothing but devastation and the characters’ curiosity only conveyed revenge and destruction which eventually led the characters into their ultimate doom.
It is displayed that Hamlet’s pursuit for knowledge about the ghost only sabotages his quest for revenge. Ironically, Hamlet’s quest for revenge was demanded from the ghost. This is evident, when the Ghost states “Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder (1-5)” which demonstrates the very moment when the ghost commands Hamlet for revenge. Despite this command, Hamlet continues to doubt the ghost’s existence revealing Hamlet to be a suspicious and hesitant heir who is wasting his time on “assurance”. In the scene when the ghost first encounters Hamlet, the ghost directly reveals himself as the spirit of Hamlet’s deceased father. However, throughout this act, Hamlet never mentions the ghost as a link to “father” despite the fact that Hamlet is aware of the ghost’s “existence”. This is shown when Hamlet states in scene 5
O all you host of heaven!
O earth! What else?
And shall I couple hell?
Oh, fie! Hold, hold my heart,
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me stiffy up.
Remember thee!
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe.
Remember thee!
Yea, from the table of my memory. (1-5. 92)
Hamlet assures his mission of revenge. However, from the quote there is a sensible factor of tremulous tone which indicates his indecisive decisions at the moment. Also he approaches the ghost as a “poor ghost” rather than his once “glorious father”. This delays Hamlet from fulfilling his ultimate goal of revenge because of his caution of doubt. He is doubting the ghost as a devil as shown in the quote
Even with the very comment of thy soul
Observe mine uncle. If his occupied guilt
Do not itself unkennel in one speech,
It is a dammned soul that we have seen,
And my imaginations are foul. (3.2-82)
In this quote, Hamlet insists Horatio to observe Claudius during the act since there is a possibility that the ghost they encountered was a devil. However, the “play” Hamlet organizes to spy on Claudius only brings further suspicion on Hamlet’s plans due to Hamlet’s outburst of his emotions. And this even concluded Hamlet to be exiled from Denmark. All of Hamlet’s suspicions directed delay of the revenge and the aftermath of the exile resulted in tragedy.
The quest for knowledge also led other characters to their doom, and the curiosity which arose around Hamlet was the main reason for the doom of all the characters including Hamlet. After receiving a demanding message from the ghost, Hamlet starts to act crazy. As a result, people revolving around him began to worry and became curious. Hamlet’s most prominent scene of insanity is well illustrated in the quote
He took me by the wrist and held me hard;
Then goes he to the length of all his arm
And with his other hands thus o’er his brow
He falls to such perusal of my face
As’ would draw it (2.1-86-90)
The quote above shows the deep “love” Hamlet shows Ophelia. By the time, the king and queen brings in Hamlet’s old friends in order to try figuring out what is happening inside Hamlet’s mind. As the quote “My too much changed son” (2.2-36) states Gertrude is very worried and yet curious about Hamlet’s strange behaviours. And from this, Polonius convinces Claudius and Gertrude that Hamlet’s insanity was brought due to Hamlet’ obsession for Ophelia. This assumption is shattered when Hamlet insults Ophelia while being spied by Claudius and Polonius as shown in the quote
You should not have believed me, for virtue cannot so
Inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I loved you
Not. (3.1-120~123)
This disturbs Ophelia greatly. Later on, Polonius was once again spying on Hamlet in Gertrude’s room, and as a consequence Polonius was pierced through Hamlet’s sword. Not so long after being insulted so brutally by Hamlet, Ophelia is once again heartbroken to find her father murdered by her “love” and it eventually lead Ophelia to commit a suicide. After the death of Ophelia and Polonius, Laretes who has lost his entire family in a flash, joins Claudius to take a part of Claudius’s plan of killing Hamlet. Ultimately, the involvement of characters who requested the knowledge of Hamlet’s “plans” joins the path of a twisted tragedy. This concludes in a tragedy of death for Hamlet as well as Claudius, Gertrude Laertes and Polonius.
Lastly, Hamlet struggles to define his inner knowledge which is the line between his sanity and insanity. This leads Hamlet to his ultimate doom. After the encounter with the ghost, Hamlet claims his actions arising from his “acting” of insanity. In the beginning of the play, He claims to be very poised and clever. However, later in the text, his actions inevitably guide Hamlet in the direction of a lost control of sanity. The sense of his sanity slipping into insanity is first accused in the quote
Get thee to the nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder of
Sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could
Accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had
Not borne me (3.2-124~127)
This quote shows Hamlet insulting his “love” Ophelia in a very grotesque manner. If Hamlet was well aware of his actions, the insult toward Ophelia and her father was a very bizarre action. That caused suspicion and spectators began to doubt his ability control his temper and actions. Later on in the text he approves the existence of insanity in the quote
Who does it, then? His madness. Ift be so,
Hamlet is of the faction that is wronged.
His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy (5.2-223~225)
In the quote, he directly blames his biggest foe “insanity”. Perhaps this was done to conceal his plans even till the very end. However, considering the fact that it was the last scene of the play where Hamlet’s doom laid, it is as if Hamlet has been conquered by his insanity. As shown, his actions throughout the play are very indecisive. He acts and talks with the poise of the heir of Denmark, and yet makes very poor decisions acting on his temper. His anger detonated during the conversation with Gertrude as shown in the quote
No, not by the rood, not so.
You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife,
And- would it were not so!-you are my mother. (3.4-14~16)
And this event led to the scene when Polonius is murdered. Some critics complain Hamlet to be a perfectionist and some complain him to be too doubtful of his ability. This vague characteristic which Hamlet portrays led Hamlet into his own grave. If Hamlet has been consistent, there wouldn’t have been as many speculations around him which in consequence led everyone to be deceased. Hamlet was born again as an insane character in a tragic mask of the Heir of Denmark.
Everyone in the play Hamlet searched for answers. Those answers were believed to be the assurance of their doubtful speculations. Ophelia waited for Hamlet’s true feeling while Hamlet went insane waiting for the assurance of the purpose of his revenge. Claudius and Gertrude both questioned Hamlet’s behaviours while Polonius ended up speared to Hamlet’s sword while spying on Hamlet’s words. All of these conjectures gathered everyone in a bubble of tragedy. Hamlet’s journey for knowledge only delayed him from fulfilling his ultimate revenge. That led to other people’s snooping and his inner fight against his sanity and insanity arose with the tag of tragedy. The assertion of Ophelia being the most tragic character created by Shakespeare can be debated. It is Hamlet who wears the jagged throne of tragedy, who has been drowning in his own blood, gasping for his last breath of assurance.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

It’s ironic how our sense of dream and vision shrinks as we start to face our realistic individualities. Then as we discover our abilities, we broaden our appetite to satisfy our lifestyles. This question first struck me with a bold answer “I see myself working”. But then, I started to value the given topic 10 years and I started to envision my dreams. In order to look 10 years ahead, I had to look 10 years back to when I was only 8 years old and I remembered all of the dreams I had. I would often say “I want to be the president of Korea”. Then as I became older, my standards of my dreams started to become lower; I wanted to become a writer, artist and lawyer. When I look ahead 10 years, I see myself graduating from the Schulich BBA and then continuing my study in North Western University (Kellogg) for the MBA degree by receiving the most paramount education in fully understanding the fundamentals of business. I would fuse my interest of creative writing and art with the fundamental of business by broadening the field of commerce and marketing. Then I will return to Korea with the dreams I had when I was 8 as well as the skills and the knowledge which the Schulich and Kellogg administration will allow me to develop. I will return to my home country grown into a man with a renovated dream of my own. The shell of the name “president” will perhaps meet my destination someday, but for now I will be the ring side coach as the Korean markets compete in a worldwide stage as I stand tall as a marketing manager representing Korea’s markets.

Smolt and Fry

Dried up to the ground
And yet the eye of the trout
Flooded with no sound

Two Of a Kind

Two of a kind
As my visions drown
The inert suffocates
As pairs of everything lie still

Those that once gazed
Remain locked with its key vanished
Images preserved under the deep emerald sea
Those worn out brushes which once painted so gracefully
Now there isn’t a canvas that will allow its dancing
Those two caves which life and death crawl out of
Only shivering chills creeps through the crack
The pair of once pink roses
Now shiver into dark purple ravens
Ravens with impaired wings whom cannot even consume for its life
For I stare and worry for its offspring

Those oaths meant to be splintered
Now hang on the threads of a reaper
Giving a charming wink through its empty sockets
As it staggers along the darkness

Have thou cheated with death
Like I have cheated with life

I am a pair
In my own despair