Lee Eun Young/ Chapter 4 Final Draft - On the roof/ Narrative composition Tue3-4

On the roof

201202631 Lee, Eun Young

 

 

I was raised by my grandma until I became eight years old for my parents were busy for the living. I spend most of my time with my grandparents. My grandparents lived in Yongho Dong in Busan. It was an old house. All the stickers from the gums and lots of scribble were on the faded and worn wall. The steps were gray colored and it was quite steep. The door was made of iron and glass. Every time I opened that door, the door scratches cement floor and made awkward screeching sounds. I didn't like the sound of that door. The house was so old that even restroom was outside of the house. Whenever I had to go to the restroom, I called my grandma to company me. Although it was physically uncomfortable and old house, it was the most calm and comfortable place to me.

What I liked most was the roof of the house. Because we lived in the second floor of the building we could use the roof freely. It was somehow special but unusual roof. About half of the roof were flat and covered by gray cement. My grandma used to put lots of croaks of all kinds of sauces on that gray part. Whenever I go up to the roof, I could smell little all the odd smells. Another half of the roof was covered by red roof tiles and it was a slope that looked like the half of triangles.

I liked to lie on the red roof with my grandma, especially during the summer night. In the day time the roof was heated because of strong sun shine. So, in the evening when I lie on the roof with my grandma, the back of my body was warm and the breeze on my face was cool. Even though we had dinner, when we were lying on the roof we loved to eat something. We ate corn, potatoes and watermelon. The potatoes little bit over baked with yellow sugar were my favorite. While lying on the roof, we could see lots of lots of stars. The stars were so twinkling and sparkling that I often felt that I was lying in the space full of stars. Sometimes, she told me how the Big Dipper looks like. She also told me lots of fairy tales on the roof. While listening to her stories, I fell into a sleep and leaved to adventures in dream.

When we were lying on the roof, my grandma always burned green spiral mosquito repellent incense so that mosquito can't bite me. I didn't like that smell too. It smelled like burning trashes. However, ironically, that smell always made me comfortable because it gave me a feeling of being protected by my grandma. I knew that she used mosquito incense only when I was with her. When she was working alone on the roof, she never burned mosquito incense. That horrible smell was also the scent of grandma's love.

It was the warmest moments in my life. I loved my grandma, I loved potatoes and I love the heated red roof. I just loved that atmosphere. However, when I became 8 years old, I started to live my parents, and when I became 13, my grandparents moved to another place. So after that I had no chances to go to the roof and lying there with my grandma. So, that memory is very precious to me. When life gets harder and harder, and when I start to feel that this world is getting colder and colder, I think of the warmness that I felt on the roof. The roof where warmest food, warmest smell and warmest love had exist……

 

JeeEun Kim/6296.8 Miles Away from Home/ Narrative Composition/Tuesday 34

           A few years ago, I had the chance to go to Nairobi, Kenya to serve those who desperately needed help. For the whole eighteen years of my life, I have been to numerous countries, but never have I stepped out of the Asia continent. I was excited, thrilled, nervous, and worried at the same time. But just the thought of being able to help, calmed my fast beating heart.

           After a long 18 hour plane ride, our team finally arrived on the land of nature. When I took my very first step onto the land, I looked around and saw nothing. In Seoul or Taiwan, all I could see was building, buildings, and more buildings. But here, it was empty. It seemed like there were no ends to the roads. When we finally got our bags and started hitting the road, I was surprised at what I saw. I've always thought of Africa as a poor country with no food, but when we went into the city, I saw tall buildings, department stores, supermarkets, and a big national park. I was so astonished with what I was seeing. Just by looking at how beautiful the city was, I wouldn't have known it was Kenya.

           I expected hot, sticky, and humid weather that would drive us crazy, but the weather so amazingly good. If I weren't in the shades, I would feel my skin burning. I still remember the time when I had put on 3 layers of sunscreen for one of the outdoor activities we've planned for the local kids. After only 30minutes of standing outside out in the hot blazing sun, my friends started to call me the "lobster". "Oh my goodness, Grace! After three layers of sunscreen, you're still so burnt!" yelled all my teammates. Within that short period of time, my skin lost to the power of the African sun. Luckily, I brought aloe.

           Playing with the kids in the villages were the most memorable times. Each village we went to were so far away everything. When we went to the very first village to help, tears started to fall down from my cheek. The house they lived in were the size of my bathroom or even smaller. They tried to sell bracelet's they've made. There were flies all over the children's faces. Some were in their eyes, some in their nose. But they still greeted us with smiles. Those children were so happy they gave us big warm hugs. "Hello! Hi! Halo!" the kids would scream.          

           Although these kids and the villagers had absolutely nothing, they had the warmest hearts. Through them, I learned to be thankful for the experiences, opportunities, and how privileged I was. 

Nayeon Kim/The Fertile Ground/Narrative Composition/Tuesday 11AM

There was a place I called "safe haven". It was the 'playground' in my high school. The place was huge. In the middle there were grass fields with fences around with the sign "protect the seeds from being trampled". Since it was a girls' high school, there were not many girls who played sports. We did all of the PE activities in the school gym, so the playground was of no use in there. Other than the times when the girls rushed past the ground to eat lunch and dinner, no one walked past the ground during the day. The ordinary "playground-not-for-playing" was used as a parking lot for the teachers.

It was after dark when some people started to loom around the ground. At night it was hard to see who was on the ground because the school buildings shadow. Bored students would walk around the shadow of the buildings to hide from the teachers who always shouted at us to go in, stop talking nonsense and study. As per their efforts, the number of students who remained in the shadow of the buildings diminished. Maybe it was the time-ticking noise of the CSAT-College Scholastic Aptitude Test, an equivalent to SAT in the US in Korea-that shooed students away from the resting place.

However, in my case, for being a senior in high school with the CSAT drawing near, it was so suffocating to be inside the classroom where everyone in there was hyper-sensitive. It was as if they could boil me alive with flames shooting out from their eyes when they heard the otherwise slightest, unnoticeable noise like page-turning sound.

The place I found refuge was the ground. I previously did not walk around the ground because, although it is a shame now that I think back, I maintained a condescending attitude towards who did not study when they are supposed to do. One day after the early admissions were over, I felt useless. I felt as if I had nothing to do anymore even though I had CSAT left. I wanted to take a rest for a while, from all those people making a fuss over nothing. I walked out to the playground for the first time. When I walked around, it felt as if I was a human being again, not some machine that could heighten the place of my school on the hall of fame, in other words, 'schools with high CSAT records list'.

The place did not have anything much. There was a rusty basketball board that made cranky noises if touched, some trees and a human sculpture. The sculpture had a name tag on it, which read 'the founder of this school'. There was a legend that the object will make your dream come true if someone make a wish in front of this sculpture at midnight. Although it was not yet midnight, every time I walked past it I wished I could find out who I am and why I am here, the lost questions remaining unanswered in the battle toward college admission. Although I did not memorize some sociology terms and solved math questions, the times when I walked around the playground became a fertile ground for me to grow as a human. The times when I contemplated on what was the essence of growing up and being a human helped me to be a more challenging person.

Jang Won Woo/Chapter 4 essay final draft/Narrative composition Tuesday 34

Finding my memories

201203025 Jang Won Woo

 

"We are selling fresh fruits! Here are apples, grapes and tangerines! All fruits are very fresh and sweet!" "Help yourself. Buy what you want. So many vegetables are here." A Street is filled with the voices of merchants. They told the customers that their commodities are the best. With many things that were attracting customers` attention - ridiculous phrases or the voices prodding their ears - they were really ardently selling their commodities. It was the landscape of the 'Monday Market'.

           When I was an elementary student, I really hated Monday. I had to go to school after having weekends. However, I had a reason why I waited for Monday. The Monday Market was opened on Monday, as its name. After I finished the school, I ran to my home. In my home, I took my shoes off like slinging them and ran to my mother. "When do we go to the Monday Market?" I asked my mother continuously. "Do not worry. Definitely, we will go to there." As she knew what she had to say, she automatically responded my question. When the sun was falling down to the horizon and sky was dyeing by the orange color, we took the shoes on and took an elevator to go to the Monday Market.

           The Monday Market was the market in which merchants sold their commodities like fruits, vegetables, groceries on every Monday. The street was occupied by merchants and customers every Monday. We crossed streets and passed so many buildings and apartments, we faced the street where the Market was held. First I could see lights under the parasols. They were shining and throwing lights on merchants and commodities. Except for foods, many clothing merchants were calling the crowd. "You can see many fancy clothes!" I thought they were not fancy but hilarious. A pant whose pattern was composed by only small flowers was called 'monpe'. But, it looks very comfortable. It was so wide and elastic that working women liked it.

           The real reason why I liked to go to the market was foods. Of course there are so many snack bars in the market. The snack bars were steaming when they cooking delicious foods. Fish cake bars were contained in the big pot with boiling broth. I liked to eat the fish cake bars. It has many kinds of fried foods including fired squids, vegetables and eggs. Still, the smell of frying reminds me the memories of the market. I really liked to see a cook making the foods. He made 'hotteok' with dough and sweet stuffing. Also, he loved children, so, he gave me the foods free. I was very happy when I get some free foods from him. In the market, I could not realize that the sun was already gone and the moon was shining in the sky.

 

           In the pitch dark on Monday, we came back to home. After we finished doing shopping, we were exhausted. I lay a small shopping basket down and sprawled out on the floor. Soon, my mother made me take a shower. Although it made me tired, I fell asleep with the enjoyment. The market was the place I saw and experienced how other people lived. As I was young boy, I enjoyed seeing other people`s life. When I became a high school student, I heard that the market was closed. However, it lies in my memory and will be reminded ever.

Kim Tatiana/ Chapter 4 essay. Final draft/ Narrative Composition Tue 3 4

The Room of Solace



Unfortunately, or not, but when I think about the meaningful place for
me, nothing comes out. Except one room in my former house. All my
childhood was there. Almost my every birthday was spent there. When my
friends came they also preferred to stay exactly in that room. The
room saw my happiness, my anger, my tears, my excitement – in short
words, every single moment of my life.



As much as I remember myself, there always were only two colors:
wallpaper's peach color and furniture's wooden color. The desk,
wardrobe, door, even floor, practically everything has in wooden
color. But to be more honest and specific they actually were made of
wood. Also there was one really huge and wide window, and right under
it there was a super long battery that literally was made from three
smaller ones. So the room always was in warm and had lots of light,
and not only due to enormous window but also because the room came on
the south-east side.



The room was on the first floor, so anytime you look through the
window on the street it always gave a feeling of having a stroll, it
could seem like you are already into the yard. If the window was
opened you could feel the smell of the grass and asphalt – a strange
aroma cocktail, but I liked it so much. I even moved my desk near to
it just to be as close to the window as it possible. And when I had
difficult times, or just needed some time to think things over, I
leaned back in my chair and put my eyes on the yard. And indeed it was
helping and healing but I still don't have even a tiny clue how
exactly to share those feelings. When I just needed some space to be
alone for a while, or to cry my tears out, or to concentrate on
something important, I couldn't find a more comfortable place. And I
probably never will.

Yoo Jin Jeong / A Room with a View of Home / Narrative & Composition Tuesday 3,4

 

 

           Back when I used to live in the Philippines, my family lived in one house for almost ten years. Since I was the only girl in the family I had a room to myself, and having my own room for almost ten years made it a rather special place for me. It grew up with me, and it changed as I changed, always keeping that familiar vibe. It was filled with memories I kept from my past.

 

           My room has cream-colored concrete walls and wooden flooring, which isn't that uncommon in the Philippines. It is also quite small - as I'm the only one who gets a room to myself, it is only natural that I get the smallest one. It is on the corner of the house, though, so it gets two windows, one facing west and the other facing south. Depending on the day this can be either a good or a bad thing, because windows can let in many unwanted things into the room. Sunlight in the Philippines can be blinding, even indoors, and on New Year's Eve, the eternal sound of fireworks, the neighbor's off-tune singing, and dogs barking are projected into my sleeping ears. But sometimes, when on a sunny mid-afternoon I enter my room unsuspecting, I am greeted by a golden bath of sunlight that splashes my room with a warm, fuzzy hue. The air is fluffy and dry, or as dry as a tropical country can get - it feels like covering yourself in your thickest blanket fresh out of the dryer. Living in a tropical country means humidity sticks to you every second of the day, and although my dry skin appreciates the extra moisture, these small pockets of dry air are special moments that make me smile.

 

           At the corner of the walls between the two windows stands a short wooden bookshelf. My dad made it himself when he saw that the floor couldn't effectively sustain my ever-growing book collection. The wood is rough, especially round the edges the sandpaper missed; the line of nails are slightly crooked, and not all of them are hammered all the way in. The varnish has uneven patches, and near the top there is a strip of dribbles that dried before they could crawl all the way down. But it has held my books, notebooks, textbooks, stuffed animals, and boxes of secrets for years, and I am grateful for its services.

 

           Right before the door there is a small table, which is really too small for anything except piling things up on it. As a matter of fact, it is so small that the plastic chair that was intended to go with it doesn't fit between its legs. So I long gave up all attempts of trying to work on it and chose to leave my stuff there instead. It holds an unused mug, filled with pens and pencils, next to my lotion and toner. There is a plastic box holding my hair ties and pins, along with a small jewelry box. Whatever book or papers I have been reading occupies the rest of its surface.

 

           Then finally, there is the bed. It is a sofa-bed made of thin metal frames and an even thinner mattress that on some nights I tuck myself in and realize I can feel the wire netting beneath me. It creaks and squeaks if I move too much, and sometimes wobbles when I turn over trying to sleep. But it has been my bed for more than ten years, and the discomfort it may seem to others now comforts me in familiarity. This is the bed where I studied basic sentence structures and algebra and texted my friends all night. This is the bed where I cried myself to sleep on a particularly bad day or lay doing nothing because I couldn't bring myself to focus on anything. I brought to this bed my textbooks, teen romance novels, and my first laptop. We have known each other for a long time, and I love having that little companionship.

 

           Having your room in more or less the same state for years has a big advantage when you live away from home for the majority of your year, like me. I feel like I never truly belong anywhere, and I have a hard time finding where my home really is: is it in the Philippines, where I grew up? Is it in Korea, where I was born and am now living in? But that one place that I do feel like I belong in is my room, and the familiarity that never leaves the place always comforts me. When I return home for my winter break, I will see the coconut trees and hear the call of the street vendors, but not until I open the room to my door and see that it never changed will I truly feel that I am home.

 

 

Hee Sun Kim / Chapter 4 Final Draft / Narrative Composition / Tuesday 11am

<The magical number 416>

 

 Happiness, sadness, friendship, excitement…. All of these memories reside in the number 416. You might consider this number somewhat common, but it is the most magical number in my entire life.

 

The high school I attended was a foreign language high school, where students from different areas gathered around in order to get higher quality of foreign language education. Unlike local high schools, our school was located in a place far from the city so that students can concentrate on study more. Therefore, every student had to live in the dormitory. Every semester students had to move to different rooms and meet different roommates but the room where I had happiest experience was room 416, the very first place I lived in my dormitory life history.

 

Entering the wide glass door of the reddish-brown brick dorm building, what you can see is a silver elevator. This elevator leads you to all the floors of the building. Floor 1 and 2 were for boys and floor 4, 5 were for girls. The 3^rd floor was for teachers. As you might have already guessed, my first room was at 4^th floor since the room number was 416. The room was at the end of the long, long corridor.

Opening the heavy, turquoise door, the first thing I could see was a small square front door with a wooden shoe shelf which could keep only a few shoes since it was too small. Inside the room, there were four bunk beds. The first floors of the beds were desks so that we could study. The desks were large enough to handle a lot of books and other stuffs such as cosmetics. And the second floor of the bunks had beds to sleep on. The sheets of the beds were dark brown, and the blankets had vivid orange color. I remember I had loved the blankets because they were very soft and fluffy. I felt so cozy and relaxed in the orange blanket. In order to go up to the second floor of the bunk to sleep, we had to climb up a ladder. It felt cold whenever I climb the ladder since they were made up of iron. In the morning, we were so tired and half asleep so sometimes one of my roommates failed to step the ladder properly and fell down. It was so fun teasing her about that silly mistake. Beside the desks, little closets were attached so that we could put our clothes in. My closet used to be always messy with unfolded clothes.

The toilet was right next to the front door. It was not so big, but enough for one person to have shower and do one's business. The warm, orange light of the toilet somehow made me feel comfortable.

 On the middle of the wall, there was a little window with dark green frames. It was very small –almost the size of a regular computer screen. Sometimes we could hear dogs barking through the window late at night which made us very annoyed.

 

 At first glance, room 416 might seem stuffy and uncomfortable since it's really small and doesn't have enough spare space for four people. However, with the memories my roommates and I had made in the room, the room has become the best place in my entire life.

Since we had to share one room, it took very little time to get close to each other. Every night when all the lights were gone, we climbed up to the beds and talked for hours about our school life. We talked about gossips at school and mostly talked about boys. It felt as if I was on camping every night. Every night our room was filled with chatting and giggling voices. We always had to keep our voices low because if we get caught by the dorm inspector, we got punishment.

 Sometimes we hid secret things like instant cup noodles in my messy closet so that the dorm inspectors could not find out. They could never find out since my clothes were piled up mountain-high. At that time, we were officially banned for food from outside such as noodles or chicken. But we were fed up with the school meals. Moreover, at the end of the day, we were so starved because of studying so hard. We wanted some savory, mouthwatering food from outside! After the roll call at night, we quietly went into the toilet and locked the door carefully, trying not to make any noises and hoping not to catch the inspector's attention. Inside the toilet, we poured hot water into the cup and waited impatiently for the noodles to be properly cooked. We had to be careful for the smell because it could leak out to the corridor, so we used deodorizing agents like febreze a lot. The midnight feast was awesome. It was more delicious than any other cuisines in the world, at least for us. Sometimes we got caught because of the smell and got punishment, but it was still a very enjoyable moment.

 

We had made tons of episodes in room 416. I cannot tell them all right here, but it was definitely amazing and I had so much fun in room 416. Thanks to my roommates of 416, I could adapt to the school life. We were almost like a family; we always stayed together, relied on each other. For some people, when they see the dormitory rooms they had lived, they might recall the boring, suffocating atmosphere. However, for me, I had one of the most wonderful experiences at the dorm, and the number 416 reminds me of those memories which make me feel some kind of home sick. I miss those times when we liked each other without any conditions. I miss the times when we could giggle at night in the dark room on the second floor of bunks, sharing secrets. If I could choose one moment to go back to the past, I would definitely choose the time when I lived in room 416.