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Thirty Random Thing About Me

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1. I relieve my stress by eating Petitzels or drinking soda. 2. I love Disney. I grew up watching Disney. Disney is metaphor of my childhood. I learned important values that I still hold today. Even though I was born in US, I can say I learned my English through Disney. For me, Disney did not only teach me values and language but also taught me about what story is. I believe every work that I do related to theatre and film is from what I unconsciously learned from it. 3. I believe being realistic does not mean being pessimistic or not being innocent. 4. For most cases, I love to make myself busy. I am known for having a busy life in KMLA. My busy life keeps me motivated because I know myself that I am doing activities that I really want to do. Such life taught me of responsibility and helped me know what I am interested in.  5. I love trees. I love nature. But trees are what I especially like. Back at home, there are trees that I go under when I want to organize m
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Suddenly and Slowly

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The Look of Silence. Directed by Joshua Oppenheimer. I met this film - rough, unornamented, and unprocessed emotion - on September 14 th , 2017. I stared at him approaching to me near. He was dressed with peaceful ambivalence. From him, I could see the old man with personalized glasses holding the look of emptiness and innocence.  I waited him unarmed. Silence of the serene rustic town was what he brought to the very first moment I encountered him. He looked right through me. I followed his horizontally infinite look. Following his look, I was in the middle of the yard watching the trees under a dry sunshine. Under the tree, there was the old woman chopping fruits. Suddenly, at the end of his look of silence, the old video tape was running in front of the man with tired rage all alone in a room.  The giggling, uncomfortable voice of the old man with power in the screen hanged on the end of the look of the man with tired rage. The voice of the old was molten in
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What If You and I were Very Alike

What if you and I were very alike You and I have very different eyes We see different flow of waves through people We see different flow of thoughts through minds Your eyes full of clarity inside the colorful webs delicately made Mine full of insanity inside the serene forest sprinkled with stars and rays Your webs brown and blue are shaken by my butterflies from the forest darkly sparkled My butterflies leaving a gentle breeze from every flow of the wings confuses your webs My butterflies wanting clarity fly into your arms Your webs wanting shaking insanity gently embrace my butterflies My butterflies teach your webs the fragrant of the wild forest peaceful and free Your webs teach my butterflies the replete of nothingness - no, not even a single breeze  Your webs learn the insanity My butterflies learn the clarity   What if you and I were very alike You and I have very different voices We accept different flow of waves through the moment We accept different flow of vo
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Bo

   “Ahhhh!”    “Okay, okay. You are doing well.”    “Ahhh!”    “Yes, I’m here, honey. Take a deep breath and…”    “Ahhhh!”          “Madame, it’s she. Congratulations.”         From the very moment I became eighteen, the fragrance of my life and the world I am living in has changed. When I was seventeen, I have felt the scent of maturity, going closer to the edge of being an adult. I have felt the responsibility for myself and my life. Now, at the point of me being an eighteen years old high school kid, I see the broader scope of that responsibility. I am actually conducting my life in a way which nobody can expect, including me.       “Mom, here. Take her. She loves to cuddle.”    “Oh, wow. Hi, there. I am your grandma. Honey, name her, Bo.”    “Bo? Why?”    “It means ‘wave-like’ in French.”    “Why ‘wave-like’?”    “Oh, how adorable. Look at her. She sure loves to cuddle.”    “Mom? Why Bo?”    “Do you remember
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Hi. I am eighteen. Expect me.

    From the very moment I became eighteen, the fragrance of my life and the world I am living in has changed. When I was seventeen, I have felt the scent of maturity, going closer to the edge of being an adult. I have felt the responsibility for myself and my life. Now, at the point of me being an eighteen years old high school kid, I see the broader scope of that responsibility. I am actually conducting my life in a way which nobody can expect, including me. I am paving it up. Slowly and gradually, I see myself becoming lenient. No more to the morals that were so deeply ingrained in me seem as important. I used to be that A-student. My mom never so much cared about much of what I did so long as my report card like my dad’s monthly salary had the right numbers on them. At school, I am a bright kid, friendly to everyone, an extrovert – but in the inside, my soul festers more and more each day. I cannot break down into tears, because I know that I won’t be able to stand up again, gath
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Capitalism: But, it is not impossible.

Capitalism is known to be a great method that gives everyone a chance to reach their potential. It is supposed to let the one who puts the effort gains the crown. However, this is reexamined by the story of Carlos, a very smart poor boy. Capitalism kills them and oppresses them, under the ideological condition for the fair equality: give effort then, you will own the crown. Everyone has their own problems and their own obstacles. Life is hard for everyone. However, the result and the burden of the obstacles for a child are very dependent to his/her financial status quo. The weight of the obstacles the poor kids go through is way much heavier than the rich kids. The criticism about this should not lead to the black and white conclusion: the absolute sympathy for the poor and the absolute neglect for the rich. The poor kid and the rich kid are both fragile human beings we cannot estimate their pain neither absolutely nor relatively. However, we can strongly point out the structure
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Perfectionism: bursting out ideas to color the world

       The imperfection of a human makes a human perfect. Human is perfectly imperfect. I believe the perfection that a human tries to approach determines one’s color and idea. In perfectionism, there is no right or wrong answer. I doubt with the existence of ultimate truth, too. However, the approach that a human makes to what ze thinks is perfect is the attitude, I believe, that we should have. This does not mean that ze should make no mistake. It means the one should make best effort to voice and burst out his/her color and ideas, trying to color the world with his/her existence. This leads me to two questions: what if the idea that the one bursts is wrong, or will be wrong in the future; why should the one try hard to make a best effort for the burst.   I feel naïve for all the possibilities of answers. Thinking about how the ultimate truth (if it does exist) would criticize the perspective that I hold makes me naïve. For instance, the concept of civil disobedience can only b
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