Foreword Greetings and welcome to the ninth issue of Kaleidoscope! Before introducing the theme of this edition, I must express my gratitude towards those who have made 2014 a very special year for this magazine. This year saw Kaleidoscope’s transition from an annual to a biannual publication, the establishment of a new Public Relations department, and the magazine’s very first offline poetry exhibitions and fundraising events. The number of staff members at Kaleidoscope has doubled; support for this magazine, both on and offline, has increased tremendously. I would like to thank all of the crew members, who have participated in this effort with the utmost enthusiasm and passion, as well as all my teachers and colleagues who have given their support for this publication. I can’t be more grateful (and excited) to have made it to this point. Back to issue number nine. With zeal and zest, the writers and illustrators of Kaleidoscope have probed into a theme that could resonate with any reader, of any culture or gender, and perhaps, of any age. Fairy Tales — childhood companions, mirrors of childlike curiosity and innocence, the stepping stones for some of humanity’s greatest works of literature. The stories, poems, and vignettes in this issue of Kaleidoscope shed light on the different facets of this theme, and raise a variety of questions: Can the naïveté of fairy tale princesses be recreated in the modern world? Does age destroy a person’s enthusiasm for bedtime stories, or can a grown-up still be fond of Rapunzel’s window-side serenades and Jack’s beanstalk heists? Should all fairy tales begin with “once upon a time” and end with “happily ever after”? I wish that the features of this magazine, the pastel landscapes and watercolor castles, the odes to romance and eulogies to childhood, the satires and plot twists, will entertain you (better yet, shock you; the way you think of the Little Mermaid and the Sleeping Beauty may never be the same again). Most of all, I wish this magazine will provide you with a pleasurable reading experience. Thank you. And always, as our motto says, Look into your Kaleidoscope of Creativity!
Editor in Chief,
Eunice Yoona Lee
Table of Contents PART ONE: Of Noble Birth A Boy and a Girl- Kyoo Young Hwang ------------------------------------------------ 2 A Lurching, Flapping Thing- April Lee ---------------------------------------------- 8 The Story of a Chair- Soomin Cho ----------------------------------------------------- 10 To My Dearest Child- Soohyun Hwangbo -------------------------------------------- 12 PART TWO: Make a Wish The Castle- Eunice Yoona Lee --------------------------------------------------------- 15 The Willow Tree- Inhye Jeong --------------------------------------------------------- 22 Stories of My Grandpa- Kyoo Young Hwang----------------------------------------- 24 - Jiin Jeong ----------------------------------------------------------- 26 The Story of an Island- Soomin Cho -------------------------------------------------- 28 PART THREE: Spindles, Slippers, Sea Witches Who Am I- Jiin Jeong -------------------------------------------------------------------- 31 Knives- Kihyun Kim --------------------------------------------------------------------- 32 Cold Cereal- Ohyoon Kwon ------------------------------------------------------------- 34 Black Moonlight- Woojo Jang ---------------------------------------------------------- 39 The Letter of Briar Rose- Eunice Yoona Lee ---------------------------------------- 40 PART FOUR: Happily Never After A Princess's Soliloquy- Ga-in Oh ------------------------------------------------------ 44 A Stepsister's Soliloquy- Ga-in Oh ---------------------------------------------------- 45 Untitled- Kihyun Kim ------------------------------------------------------------------- 46 The Child Inside Me- Ohyoon Kwon -------------------------------------------------- 48 A Tale Named Reality- Soohyun Hwangbo ------------------------------------------ 49 To a Grown-up Child- April Lee ------------------------------------------------------- 50 A Lost Dream- Woojo Jang ------------------------------------------------------------- 51 Happily Ever After- Inhye Jeong------------------------------------------------------- 52 POETRY EXHIBITION Masters of English Poetry: From Edgar Allan Poe to Shel Silverstein ---------- 54 THE KALEIDOSCOPE STAFF
Written by - Kyoo Young Hwang Illustrated by Jiyoon Park
Lily and I, we always go to the edge of the town. There is a fence that distinguishes the town and the forest. We play there, because of Mr. Groom. Mr. Groom is the old stump whom our canvas when we want to draw with a chalk, and our groom at our weddings. (Lily how he got his name.) because she stepped on the puddle of mud yesterday, and got stains all over her pretty little lacey dress and so Mama, I have Grandma. that I go to the edge of the town. She said it dangerous. She said that there lived a monster with two glaring bloody red eyes, a gigantic nose, and mouth which was so big that it can swallow me in one bite. The monster loved to eat a girl, especially a foolish girl who would not listen to her grandparents. To be honest, I was terrified of the monster. It came in my dreams and I am big enough to take care of myself now. I have never gone to see Mr. Groom on my own, so I was really nervous. I thought come. So I bravely stepped out of my house and started the journey to meet Mr. Groom. When I saw him, proud of myself, I ran toward him. Then I realize that there was a man. of the fence. Even the representative of our town, who could lift a truck, did not dare to cross it. The representative told me that one day there was a big fire, and all the trees burned down. Trees have grown again, putting their roots in the ashes, so it looks okay now, however, people still preferred to stay away from the forest. The man kept on standing there, staring at Mr. Groom. I wondered who he was, than it stroke me-he must be the monster! I wanted he will hear me and follow me and eat me. Terrified, all I could do was just stand there like I was frozen. He looked up and our eyes met. His eyes were Grandma said, it was ruby red sort of really pretty. I cringed back. They got really big, and he approached toward me in a quick pace, almost hugging the fence.
I hesitated to answer. Who was Sophie? The name sounded familiar, but none of my friend was Sophie. He had a nice voice. It almost felt as if he was singing. Unable to control myself, I blurted out.
to get eaten by a monster! ...
He grinned at me.
I liked an apple pie very much. In fact, it was my favorite. Everyone who likes apple pie is gentle and nice. So he must be okay, too. I was so glad that he was okay. I never said this to Lily, or Mr. Groom, but sometimes, I want to play with other people too. I asked, with a curiosity bubbling inside me. he answered. I asked. A small crease appeared in his forehead. . Groom? A story? I loved stories. I always asked people to tell me stories. However, Grandma wanted to hear a new story.
the magic word.
Oh, I have forgotten the magic word. Grandma told me to always say
in the whole wide world.
She was the most beautiful person
breathtakingly beautiful princess, and she falls in danger, and there is this courageous charming prince, and he saves her! I read them again and again. She was a princess, She had faultless white skin and fair blond hair that fell smoothly to her waist. Her almond-shaped eyes seemed to contain thousands of twinkling stars. Best yet, no one could compete her smile. She Tiptoeing, I stared into his eyes and knew that he was no longer with me. His eyes seemed to gaze pass me, into some void.
line. black from the sunburns and dirt. His hair stretched out uncontrollably in every directions as if he was stroked by He let out a deep sigh. the forest met. There was no fences then. Only a big tree. He would stare at the light grey smoke coming out of chimneys, gardens filled with various flowers of all colors, and Also, he would stare at a girl. He would admire how pretty she was. He longed to be her friend. However, he knew better than to enter the town. No He stroked my hair several times. her ribbon slide off her hair. It flew along the wind, towards the forest. She followed it, trying to catch it. I was startled to see the ribbon flying directly towards me. It hung on a low tree branch. The boy grabbed and held it out to her. She stopped in front of the boy. Holding her knee, she tried to catch her breath.. Then, she looked up at the boy and said hi. appearance, not even his ugly red eyes. It was days that felt like a dream to the boy because he was so happy. The girl, so gentle and innocent, could not stand the thought that the boy ate and slept in the forest. She persuaded him repetitively to enter the town. She believed that everybody will welcome the boy. She was so na誰ve, and I was stupid and desolate enough to dream along her words. So one day, he followed her into the He sighed heavily again.
fact that he lived in the forest seemed unnatural. They came to a conclusion that the boy was a devil. They scolded the girl harshly, and beat him up and kicked him out. They shouted at him to never It was her crying that was the reason for his great agony. He waited on the boundary. However, the boy kept on waiting. One day, like an illusion, he saw her running toward him.
anywhere near the forest. So that she escaped at the very first chance. The boy, so caught out later. They locked each other in embrace. Then, the boy pulled back and tuck a lock of her blonde hair behind her ears. Out of impulse, he
bent down and kissed her. It seems like only few seconds has past when they heard a lots of bustling noises. Blasphemy! appeared, each holding a plow or a torch and swarmed towards them. Holding hands tightly, the boy and the girl ran. He grew up in the woods, so he knew the forest better than the town folks. They hid under a log and watched people search them. Until one of the town folks, in order to smoke us out, set the forest on fire. The boy and the girl had no choice but to run. People chased them as if they were chasing a prey. She fell. running so far, so hurriedly, and so desperately. Many hands stretched out and grabbed her shoulders, waist, and arms. Run! She screamed. Run, and never come back to this town! Promise me, okay? He He turned back and ran toward her. No! She kicked toward him. Run! Promise me you will be safe! For what it seemed like an eternity, he just stood. Confused bewildered, not knowing what to do. Promise me! She shouted. He promised to never come back and stay safe. Then run! He looked at her once more
? They could get married where there i town folks
I was sad. I wanted
Grandma will be so mad if she finds out I was at the edge of the town! I was running for Grandma when I remembered something. I knew I had to rush, but I really wanted to tell the man what I have remembered. So I ran back to him.
l her So
my Grandma calls
The man suddenly shifted his foot and stood in a funny way. Stiffed and awkward. Auntie likes to plant trees. She said when she was young, there was really big fire, untie. She is really sweet. I wish I could see her more often. My Grandma said she is insane, insane
to spend her whole life waiting for an unnatural boy. But I know a prince on a white horse will come and get her! I told this to Auntie one time, and she said her prince will I guess I said all I wanted to say. So I waved at him again and ran. When I glanced back, he had a smile on his face. A smile like a flower petal.
Written by- April Chaiwon Lee Illustrated by- Jiyoon Park
You have a dream: a lurching desire you have never spoken of ever since you learned the workings of the world-it is harbored in your heart. Sometimes during the day, you unfold your imagination and sketch the details and at night, it comes more vividly, in colors. In fact, you know the whole story already. Often you do feel like speaking of it, when it halfcrawls, half-flies, its flapping, tickling and prickling-up, up, with alacrity!...then turns into a thick cloud that makes you choke and wonder at your own complicated emotions. suck on the spreading sweetness in contemplation. You have the right traits and qualities, and some talent, perhaps not worth much
otherwise, time will leak and trickle down your fingers only to get absorbed by the sundried ground over there. Your diligence, motivation, and good heart will push you forwards. You have feasible plans. No, there is no need to cower at all! Also embedded in your head are frequent thoughts of the satisfaction and rapture in realization of the dream. Gazing to the future, your hopes spiral and soar as high as the proudest tower, and the ivy vine that spins around it, and anticipation quickens rehearsed getting through the sensation, it returns as something always new; you would happily experience it again and again. Throw yourself wholly in the flow, yes, you will! Let it carry you everywhere and anywhere! All other things are earthly business and you declare yourself free of the responsibility to be tied down by them. Really!
Really? Focusing your vision on the surrounding, you see many things, everyday things, lying around and think, There would be as many mediocre tasks as the dust rolling on th
You weigh likelihoo
How much time is left for me? Well, there is no knowing without trying.
A thought claws at your insides, which makes it quite uncomfortable, and munches your pleasant feelings. Yet it is too important to flick off. In colors of gray and blue, you watch a cruel play. Ha, a self-ridicule, of the dream unrealized after all! Could you bear a life missing the very essence of it? Would you grow strong enough to nonchalantly shrug over such an ending?
it, and live in it. Instead, it will live in you, for endless replay. Anyway, beauty is best preserved when it is frozen in ideals; impetuous hand venturing too close will shatter it. For the umpteenth time, you wrap up the fantasy like so, to keep that thing that flaps flapping.
Written by-Soomin Cho Illustrated by- Kim Gahyun
was born but maybe that was because it was too young back then. But what mattered what that it was healthy and had lots of friends in a classroom. It had not seen any humans yet and was quite excited at the thought of having someone like sitting on it. The new school term started and the students came in. They were small and timid and seemed afraid of their surroundings. The chair was fascinated at the sight of its first humans and was anticipating its first owner with both excitement and fear. Its other friends, just new like itself, were also trembling with anticipation. A little girl with glasses as round and large as her eyes and short piggy-tails gently sat on it. The chair let out warmth, hoping to comfort the nervous girl. The girl glimpsed at the chair, feeling its warmth with doubt, but nevertheless smiled at the chair. The chair spent a year with the little children and watched them adjust to their new school lives. After a year, it had not only close friends but also felt satisfaction at the sight of the children in its classroom growing up. The chair started to understand, although not that much, what the life of being a chair required. During the long winter vacation, it was able to become even closer with the other chairs and was able to feel happiness that had never been felt before. The happiness was never going to be felt either. A new school term started and another group of nervous children new to school entered. The chair felt the same anticipation and excitement, but not for long. A sixthgrader entered, explained briefly to the teacher that his classroom lacked one chair and grasped it much time for the teacher to reply. With rough hands, the chair was dragged across the corridor and faced a situation it had never even imagined. People, much older than the kids it was used to, were
to go in. While resisting, the chair silently hoped for anything, even a student, rescue it from its situation. A miracle that the chair found hard to believe happened. The teacher from the that chair even the friends waiting for it in the classroom, would know. The teacher gently stepped into the classroom, hugging it in its arms. As a boy with glasses as round and large as his eyes sat on the chair, trembling, it gave out warmth. The boy, feeling the warmth, smiled. The chair let out a bit more warmth than usual, thinking about how it would tell the story to its friends.
Written by- Soohyun Hwangbo Illustrated by- Cheongho Cho Grow, grow, grow Wondrous dreams and hopes of childhood, May your fantasies never be tainted by Dark, looming hands called r-e-a-l-i-t-y Weave your sparkling golden threads Hold onto your idealistic, happily-ever-after fairytales Soak and indulge in the luxurious privilege of bedtime stories Being able to dream, my Dearest, is an invaluable gift
Unfortunately, you will be struck with sudden swirling mass of facts and figures That there were no prince-charming for rescue, Or little fluttering fairies, unicorns, and grumpy dwarfs No brilliant castle in sight, no magical mechanisms of fairy godmothers Had ever existed, and fairytales were merely Trancelike hallucinations of carefree childhood The reality will sink through your skins someday; And devour, crush, poison the innocence Once you are a grown-up Sadly, already too late to satiate the true gleefulness Of freely dreaming, imagining, fantasizing Because, oh pity, they will be forever tied and bound to Numerous obstacles and hindrance of the adult world
My Dearest Child, So do retain the current state Don
And end up as a trash-like mass of worldly materialism With all the goodness, amiability and purity sucked off Never become a person Like me
The Castle Written by- Eunice Yoona Lee Illustrated by- Cheongho Cho The taxi driver dropped me in front of the biggest mansion I had ever seen in my entire life. To me, a freelance writer who lived on cold burgers and fries, the idea that a single person could occupy an entire seven-story mansion was inconceivable. The sheer distance between the limestone gates and the main building was intimidating; the rose bushes and the cupid statues at the entrance made the place look like one of those garish pictures on 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzles. I had been hired to write the biography of the great Madame Annette Bouchard: a multimillionaire, who was, back in her heyday, one of the most eminent figures in the visual art industry as well as the tabloid magazine star of her age. At the age of eighty-seven, she was one of those rich, old, and dying people who felt important and wanted to have their biographies published.
that hulk of a building
A waiting at the entrance of the mansion. Though probably in her thirties, she looked like lent her the drabness of a pepper shaker. When I approached the secretary, she squinted through her huge glasses and scanned me from head to toe.
cancel appointments when visitors are more than five minutes late. Punctuality is very, The secretary introduced herself as Thelma Meyers. Somehow she reminded me of my dreadful history teacher from third grade, but I could cope with that. I followed l with marble floors and nice air conditioning. There was no one except us. The afternoon sunlight filtered through huge oblong windows made of stained glass, and the tapping noise of was. Bouchard Galler
field trips, and Muslims. Version B is the one that contains explicit content. Not pretty. I
less su after hearing that the entirety of the seven-story structure was crowded with her artwork, and that there was another huge storage building in her backyard crammed with hundreds of shrink-wrapped paintings. Early Years (1927brown-eyed baby crammed into a tiny velvet dress. Thelma cleared her throat and began her presentation (which she had memorized, word by word) with the clamor of a trombone. wealthy French-American family. At a young age, little Annette Bouchard astounded her parents with her interest towards the study and creation of aesthetic beauty. To your
Above a sign that read Still Life, 1930, pastels on paper was a pathetic, napkin-
apples and which were the ba to write. Thelma went on. education, and there her talent began to bloom as she won dozens of prizes a year in art competitions both nationwide and worldwide. To your right is a painting that garnered her thirteen awards, Baby Brother Goes to Toilet (1935), which shows her mastery of
our left are a few more award-winning paintings, Mother Taking Pills (1937), We Bought a Forest (1938), and (1938).
Through research I later learned that such a society never existed, but I
decided to put it in the book anyway. I saw a dozen more paintings, like Dollars (1931), Daddy Likes His Cigar (1932), Mommy and Daddy Fight over Pet Tiger Mortimer (1936), and so on and so forth. One y to make a nothing appear like a something. I began to realize how little Annette had won all those prizes.
Sheesh, the power of money.
huge photo of a plump, curvy, tall, liberal woman, with the same chubby cheeks and the same big eyes. by graduating as the valedictorian of her high school and getting admitted into the Academy of Visual Arts in New York with a full scholarship. the head of her peers. Her fame in the visual art industry soared at an incredible speed which surpassed that of any Hollywood actress or Broadway singer. As you can see in the pictures, she was also a trendsetter who was always ahead of her peers when it came to style and beauty. Madame is, in fact, known to have worn cargo pants almost half a I saw a collection of photos, this time in color, of young Annette Bouchard. She was attractive. In every picture her hair was either pomaded or tonged into large curls, and in every picture she was wearing a dress that was either red or strapless or both. She was a rich, fashionable New York party girl. The part about cargo pants, though, was a little less convincing. the most avant-garde of her time. She had a tremendously unique style that was incomparable to the unoriginal techniques of Mondrian or Pollock. (I almost laughed here.) Madame used her face to paint her pictures. She did it by squeezing a mixture of paint onto her canvas, and simply pressing Yes, I could see the fine outlines of her face and hair on an orange and black painting called Rapture at the Dance Hall (1954); I imagined a plump lady kneeling on the floor and burying her face in a wet, messy canvas. Maybe she did need a pair of cargo pants to do that.
Perhaps art critics were capable of seeing something beyond those eyebrow-
shaped, nostril-shaped smudges of paint; according to a written introduction on the essence of life, death, decomposition, and reincarnation, as well as the Judeo-Christian faith, the Islamic faith, the philosophy of Confucius and Mencius, Plato, Diogenes, Theodosius, Bacchus, Zeus, Hera, Aphrodite, Marco Polo, Igor Stravinsky, the Founding Fathers, and Buddha. Her artwork is a warning against the dangers of American consumerism, and, at a greater level, an admonition against the self-interest of the doodles of her preschool and kindergarten years. From the relatively concrete ones, like the bilious green and yellow blotches of Save the Forest (1953), or the magenta and white and black of (1955), I could at least get what the young and ambitious Bouchard was trying to portray. Yet the awfully abstract pieces for instance, the storm of blue and gray in Chili Burger (1954), or the clouds of purple and pink in Calculus (1956) were too puzzling for a layperson to comprehend. 1959. It was a huge sensation; the marriage of a Hollywood actor and a daring female artist. The paparazzi would follow them everywhere. Their five years of marriage was were most sensual, most flamboyant,
There were some voluptuous red and pink paintings like Ecstasy (1959) and Pleasure (1960) and Lips (1963). When I asked Thelma, as innocently as possible, how these paintings came to be, she curtly reminded me that I was listening to Version A.
afflicting her with serious depression and insomnia. It was a national tragedy. Madame
I began to imagine what Version B would have been like.
and the most miserable one. There was a photo of the middle-aged Bouchard, now with droopy cheeks. and sixties. While hospitalized, she continued to paint. The doctors advised her not to use with her face, so she returned to the classic technique of watercolor painting. This abstract, and turned back to the concrete world which she used to portray in her earliest
They sure were concrete. Syringe (1966), The Ward (1968), Bedpost (1968).
Insanity must have, ironically, driven her back to the petty details of reality. the art industry. Her watercolor painting, (1971), was sold at an immense price of 95 million dollars. Madame continued to make money while she was There were pictures of ill Bouchard swathed in white bandages and nailed to the bed. She seemed to be in a violent spasm after having going through an insulin shock therapy treatment. Next to those pictures were photos of auctions and exhibitions. People in suits, the very pe top of the Most Influential American Artists list, the very conspirators behind her immense success, were throwing their own luxuriant parties, shaking hands, signing contracts with fountain pens, posing in front of the camera all in the absence of the painter. then switched back to t
We came to an underground bunker of some sort.
The painting was cased in a special structure made of bulletproof glass. There was a special type of ventilator installed on the ceiling, and even the lights seemed to have been positioned in a calculated way. The air was so well filtered that the room smelled of absolutely nothing. There were thirteen different thermometers and hygrometers in the room wearing the mask and the gloves, I certainly felt like I had become a surgeon.
A plastic sign read Princess in Her Castle, 1986-1988, watercolor on paper.
I saw two things. First I saw the Princess, a nebulous figure of a tiny brunette in a white gown, gazing out her window, her left hand propped up against her chin in boredom. The second was the most shocking thing I saw in the gallery the whole day. The Castle. It was an explosion of details: a myriad white bricks that were put together in precise right angles and subtly differed from each other in color, large pellucid stained glass windows portraying Jesus and Mary and all the saints, pointed towers of baroque elegance, gargoyle statues that seemed alive, gardens, and gardens, and gardens, and so any French chateau, Greek temple, or German cathedral that I had seen in the
encyclopedias; so splendid that the princess quickly faded out of my attention.
little Annette lived in as a toddler, it was the conservatory she attended as a young lady, it was the luxury house she lived in with Guy Sylvester, it was the hospital the helpless Annette Bouchard in the picture, though her face had been concealed from the viewer, seemed to screech out for attention. Her l ew minutes to gaze into the west wing, in which the eighty-seven-year-old Annette Bouchard was dwelling like a sleeping fossil.
This biography was going to be more difficult than I had thought.
The Willow Tree Written by- Inhye Jeong Illustrated by- Kim Dasom
There was a legend that out of all the wishes made in front of an ancient willow tree in our town, only one would be granted in a decade. My dad always claimed that it was his wish that was granted twenty years ago when he married my mom, but no one really believed him. My sister Leah and I always went to the willow tree to play, making flower garlands and just talking. I was always careful not to make a wish in front of the willow tree. If only one wish would be held valid, then I figured I should save it for when I needed it the most. As I grew up, I turned too old for legends and wishes and soon forgot all about the I cried myself out in front of that willow tree the night she passed away. Hours later, my dad found me, asleep with my face still wet from tears. Gently shaking me awake, he motioned for me to follow him back to the house. For a few minutes I did so quite passively, staring at my
the silence that had dominated the two of us.
Melissa Richards and have two beautiful daughters. That was it. And my wish was granted. I never wished for an e
p. Not only did the fact that my mom was no longer with us haunt me, but the thought of the willow tree still lingered in my mind. I got out of my bed. My sister Leah was sound asleep next to me. I walked downstairs. My dad was asleep in the sofa. The sigh room that he had shared with my mom. I softly pushed open the backdoor and started sprinting through the forest, towards the willow tree. The moon was bright that night. It shone upon the willow tree, as if preparing a spotlight for a star. It was only when I stood in front of the willow tree that I realized I breath. A wish. I would make a wish that I had been saving ever since I was little. I would make it carefully, so that there would be no loopholes. What did I want? I wanted my dad to be happy. That was all I wanted for now. I took a deep breath. Then, I stated my ever. I wish that he no longer has to sleep on be able to move on, to enjoy his life without her. I really want him to be happy. Because when he is happy, I am. Plea The wind blew against my face, and I watched the willow tree sway its outstretched arms. For some reason, I felt comforted, as if my wish had been really accepted. Touching After glancing at the willow tree once more, I walked back to my house. My dad was still asleep on the couch. I placed a blanket over him. I went back to my room, curled in next to Leah, and fell asleep. Next morning, I found my dad asleep in his room, on his bed. I smiled. Wish granted. Thank you. I would be happy.
Written by- Kyoo Young Hwang My Grandpa was a big fat liar. Who was he trying to fool? I entered elementary school this year. This means, I know all the truth about the world. My Grandpa would sit me on his lap and tell about extraordinary adventures he had when his hair was blacker. I used to believe him when I was young. But not anymore. Here is some stories that my Grandpa would tell me:
I was a treasure hunter. Back then, I was young and thought that money was everything. Every treasure hunter hopes to find Eldorado. I was too, obsessed with the thought of finding gold. Every night I dreamed of sliding down a mountain of gold coins, living in a total luxury. After years of searching, I finally found the entrance of Eldorado hidden in the jungle of Amazon. I was bruised and aching after slashing through thorny bushes and fighting off wild beasts, but I laughed until my lungs hurt so much that I could not breathe any longer. I went through the entrance and voila! There it was, my mountain of gold. So I slid down the mountain, just like my dream. You see? So I asked my Grandpa where all the gold was now. If he had found that much gold, surely we would not be living in this small old apartment. He answered that he was really reckless and used it all. Here is another one:
I served as a knight in a small country in Europe. I trained hard and studied all the court rules to become the royal guard. When I finally became the loyal guard, my first assignment was to protect the Princess. Trembling with excitement and nervousness, I went to her chamber to report for duty. When I saw her for the first time, I knew instantly that I had fallen love with her. I did my best to protect her. She fell in love with me too. We abandon everything, her position, her wealth, and her family. Still, we ran because we knew that love is worth giving up all we have. And the Princess is your Grandmother. which country in Europe is the setting of the story. His stories are endless. I remember the most dubious one:
I was a merchant who sold silk. I brought silk from East Asia to Europe through a path by the wind on a steep cliff. In order to pass, I had to hug the precipitous rock face and walk inch by inch. I also had to carry a heavy bundle of silk on my back. I had to be careful with my every step. One time, I took my friend Joe with me. It was his attempt and he was
too eager to gain fortune. He walked hastily and in a split second, he was dangling on the edge of the cliff. He had missed his step and fallen down. I tried to pull him up. However, he was too heavy. So I ditched my bundle and heaved up Joe. He arduously got on the path again. He was sorry for losing the bundle, but I was not because I knew that life mattered more than wealth.
would disbelieve and n Grandpa for so long that I have forgotten that I had Mom. So I was really surprised and confused. Grandpa said I had to follow her and it was all for the best. He promised that I could still meet him every day. That was his biggest and fattest lie. Mom took me to a me a train ticket and said I should really go see my Grandpa. She gave me a new address, saying Grandpa had moved. It made me sad to think that part of my life which I believed would last forever is gone. I knew something was wrong when the cab driver set me down in front of small hospital. I went inside and asked for Mr. Richardson. It seemed awkward to call my Grandpa that way-I just always called him Grandpa. A nurse took me to the furthest room of the corridor. Grandpa was lying on a white bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. I grabbed his winkled and wizened hand and cried while he smiled and stroked my head. At night, lying beside him I asked why he made up all those tales. This was his answer: I wanted you to think that I was someone special. I wanted you to be proud of me.
Also, I wanted to tell you the things I wished I knew earlier. So I made the egoism and lessons into a great adventure. Listening to the faint breathing, I decided that my Grandpa was not a liar. To me, he was the treasure hunter, the knight and the merchant.
Written by- Jiin Jeong Girls step up to say hello. They bat their eyelashes, try to flirt, I smile, reply, bow low... I act regally, the way I should. The only remark they make is of clothes and food. They bore me to death with stories of Boys in their neighborhood. I yawn. I can't deal with this anymore. Looking for a quiet place to pass my time, I silently walk out the door, I wait for one o' clock to chime For that's when the ball will end. Night air is cool, so I stroll around, And look down the road that leads to my castle, When I hear a strange sound, And an orange pumpkin carriage catches my eyes. 'Pumpkin, seriously?' I think, Then go out to greet the daring girl, Wondering if her dress was hot pink- Something crazy to match her carriage. The door creaks open and I stare wide-eyed... Out step a beautiful girl dressed in blue. I turn bright red, then look for a place to hide. 'What is this?' I ask my beating heart. I start crawling towards a bush when I see her fall, "Woah!" I shout and catch her in time. I smile. It must be her first ball. She blushes. She's as nervous as me. "May I?" I ask, offering her my arm. She grabs the arm to steady her wobbly knees.
I stifle a laugh. This girl must've grown up in a farm, For she cannot take a step with those slippers of hers. Tripping, stumbling, we awkwardly climb the stairs, I open the gate and gesture her in. We're received by open mouths and curious stares, I wave to my father who is beaming with happiness. My favorite song is on, so I take her hand, Show off some moves, hoping she'll follow. I nudge her. "Come on! Don't just stand!" She echoes my movements, clumsily and slowly. Song after song, I dance my heart out. Song after song, I realize I'm falling in love. I sneak a look at the girl and seeing her still, I pout. She looks nervously at me and starts dancing again. The clock strike twelve. I can't believe it's midnight. The girl starts running towards the door. Not wanting to lose her, I chase her with all my might. "Wait!" I shout, but she doesn't even turn around. It's funny-before, she couldn't walk a step with those slippers. Now, she's running, sprinting, bolting out of my castle. She loses a slipper while hurrying towards her white horse. I pick it up and watch her go. I lost her but I don't care, for I'll find her no matter what it takes.
Written by- Soomin Cho Illustrated by- Kim Dasom
Once upon a time, there was an island. It was a beautiful island with flowers and trees that pleased the eye. Exotic creatures would sometimes sneak a look at the outside world from their homes, or show off their showy colors to passers-by. Around the island was a beautiful, blue ocean that sparkled in different hues at every second. There were also people who lived in the little wooden huts that they had built for themselves. The inhabitants never forgot to thank Mother Nature for her gifts and held many rituals for her. When more than seven fish were caught in a net, they would always spare one for e, flat rock that was thought to be a way of communicating with her. When there was rain, they would thank her by dropping some of the rain they had collected on the rock. Then one day, a man decided to build a larger house with wood and stones. Many islanders watched the construction in awe. The finished work was magnificent and it stood out from the rest. Children would glance at the house with eyes of envy and other men started to feel that their houses were not big enough. One by one, other men started to build larger and better houses. The island was small but there were too many people wanting to build large houses with stone and wood. A competition started amongst families. Building a better house was up to cutting down a better, taller tree and getting hold of a larger rock. People fought over who
deserved the better material. Families started to turn their backs from others. The islanders started to care about the benefits of their own family and theirs only. Less of everything was given to others and voices started to get rougher. Mother Nature was not happy, but she trusted the once-peaceful people. She decided to wait. The number of trees decreased rapidly, and the competition for trees and rocks became even fiercer. Time for meals was kept at a minimum and even the children started to carry as many stones and pieces of wood as they could for a better home. People started to forget sparing the one fish for Mother Nature and dropping rainwater on the holy rock. They were all too busy caring about their own houses that there was no time for anything else. Mother Nature was now angry, but she decided to wait.
were no more large rocks left in the island and men were fretting about their uncompleted houses. Everyone glimpsed at the holy rock but dared not touch it. But one man did dare. He suggested that the holy rock be cut into large pieces for everyone to share. Many fretted about the consequences but no-one denied. The holy rock was smashed. As soon as the holy rock was divided into two, a thunderous voice shook the -sightedness. I have seen and felt rudeness that I had never imagined. You believe yourselves higher than
saw what had never happened on the island before. A huge wave was approached their island. People ran towards the highest volcano of the island. Children were carried by their parents and everyone climbed as fast as they could to the top of the volcano. Everyone watched as the first wave shredded the houses by the shore into pieces. Waves endlessly pounded at the island and a storm with howling winds blew everything apart. The people held onto each other and watched their efforts being engulfed by the wrath of Mother Nature. The island was destroyed in a matter minutes. There was no mercy. The people, despairing quietly, bowed their heads in front of Mother Nature.