Post #7

The semester is coming to a close and it’s almost time to pack my bags and leave the dorm – the place I used to call home for a handful of months. This will be my last blog post that has any form of relation to my writing class and it feels…strange. I remember coming into school, nervous, like a puppy awaiting its new owner after months of being in a shelter. Now, I’m much more confident in myself and I’m no longer the shy little hermit crab that hides in its shell when someone nears them. I can express my thoughts, not only to my peers, but to the professors that I meet. 

My life in university was a roller coaster, and it still is. It escalated quickly to the climax in a matter of days, and it fell just as fast as it rose, leaving me breathless and screaming for help. Help came in the form of a variety of people – students my age, a year older, and even professors that have decades more of experience than I do. Regardless of age, ethnicity, and morals, all who came to my aid lifted me up and it feels nice to have people who are there for me. 

I know I mentioned earlier about a flower pot and someone who sprinkles it with water. I hope, next semester when I return, that I can learn a lot more and be both the flower pot and water to see both sides of the picture. I want to grow like a sunflower, tall and mighty. 

Post #6

With every day I spend in class and working on the pile of assignments that have, quite literally, taken over the empty spaces on my desk, I can feel every ounce of motivation I’ve had depleting. It’s as if someone has shot a syringe into my arm and extracted the energy I used to have, only for it to be in no one’s possession – all that optimistic thinking spilled down the drain. Even those around me that used to don bright smiles that reflect a crescent moon are dying into the norm of a “Korean student”, but what’s even more devastating is that we’re in university. If we were all back in our senior year of high school in this country, it would be understandable, but at our age and the grade we’re in now, it’s a little…odd. It feels as if we were all tulips – not roses, since they are highly cliché – that have been grown in darkness, then taken out of the closet to be exposed to the beaming rays of the sun on the windowsill, only to be placed back into the dark abyss, even though we’re promised freedom again in, in this case, a few days. The darkness of stress that brings down the once happy friends around me are putting a strain on a number of things that shouldn’t be regarded as difficult. The sunlight, the freedom we need, is only a few days away, but the process of getting there is what’s killing us all on the inside. 

Maybe the pessimism will be free from my system as soon as I finish what I’ve been working on all semester, but there’s no actual guarantee of it, which is what scares me the most. I’ve been dying to write like I used to before I entered school, but I cannot find the time to do so, nor the energy. I’ve replaced all the creative aspects of my words with academic ones and it’s getting harder for me to start where I left off before. It’s as if I’ve been traveling for years, rested at a shelter, and opened the door, only to see snow covering the entire land that I’ve traveled and yet to travel – there aren’t any footprints to direct me and I have to start anew. Maybe, just maybe, I can make my hands spew out the art it used to before I let it all drain from my fingertips. 

Post #5

Tonight, I rediscovered a song that I used to listen to on repeat for weeks and weeks this time around a few years back when I was still in high school. Three years ago, I listened to this song because it was recommended by a friend who had similar music interests as me and she told me that a famous rapper was the one who created this group – a group that ended up becoming the center of my living existence for a year or so. Of course, I fell in love with the song and the entire album, but these tracks weren’t the only things I was in love with. As cliche as it is, I was in love with a boy that happened to fit the lyrics of the song that I was entranced by the most. 

That was then, and now, when I listen to this song, I feel nostalgic and sentimental, but in the end, everything is just a memory. Even as I write this, I feel like it’s the perfect way to be expressive about the way I feel, but when I look back a year from now, a month, even a week, I’ll feel as if it was so long ago. The relief I feel now because of a successful forum rehearsal and the happiness of being able to sing along to a heartwarming song; it’ll all just fade away into something that I’ll eventually forget until something triggers the memories back. 

That’s life.

We spend endless amounts of money on pleasurable things that we can feel on the outside, but why? It’s just going to fade into memories in the end. That $5,000 vacation our family took? We won’t remember half of it by the time the next year rolls by. 15 years in the States? The only things I remember are the periodic table of elements and how to do simple math. All those nights I cried about boys, every essay I wrote, every sleepover I had – all of my experiences are just memories, and all of my future ones will continue to be memories until there’s nothing else left. Eventually our memories will fade, just as we’ll fade from the memories of others. 

Post #4

In a technologically advanced world like today’s that actually dominates when it comes to literature, it is easier for a creative writer to find a profession, though the stability of it might not be very clear. There are boundless choices for a creative writer, some of which that consist of the chance to become a novelist, writing coach, screenwriter, legacy writer, and even a greeting card author. Different levels of creativity that jump from the norm are needed to become each of the listed, but one unique job that is not very commonly found within creative writers is a comic book writer. 

Being a comic book writer is different than other creative writing jobs because most comic books consist of ideas that don’t relate to the reality of humanity. For instance, the idea of superheroes and what kind of animal hybrid they are, or what powers they have take certain sparks and long spans of time to come up with. Also, when writing a comic book, there is the concept of having to think visually and communicating these visions through drawings, rather than words to leave the most part of the comic to the reader’s own interpretation towards the end, especially when there is a cliffhanger. 

One of, and if not, the world’s most famous comic book writer, Stan Lee is well-known for his cliffhangers and the way he changed comic books in general. He captured the world with his superheroes and the plots he made them undergo. His comics were influential enough to be turned into actual films that have now reached more than a majority of the top ten comic books turned into movies. Stan Lee started his career filling inkwells and erasing pencil streaks for artists and eventually worked his way up into becoming the marvelous writer he is today.

Succeeding in this certain area of writing is a struggle and some, like Mr. Lee, were struck with luck and born with a great mind of creativity. Although the future is not steady in such a field of writing, it is important to continue on with what one does if it is what they truly desire, regardless of the time it might take to reach success, and though every comic book writer might not reach the level of Stan Lee, having an idol or successor to look up to is always an optimistic way to perceive certain paths.

Post #3

There’s a stereotype that’s been around for a long, long time about writers often having depression or being suicidal. A long list of famous novelists have been known to be diagnosed with depression, a few of the most widely known being Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allan Poe, and Sylvia Plath. Though these writers are only a few of many, out of the millions of writers in the world that do and did exist, it is not a must for writers to be depressed or suicidal. 

Of all the things I do on a daily basis, there is one thing that brings me more relief and happiness than anything else and that’s writing. When I have the power of a keyboard in the hold of my hands, I have the freedom to express myself in any way I want without restriction and it also gives me a chance to release any thoughts that are either too harsh to say out loud or complicated to say verbally. Though none of my writings are in print, nor do I plan for any of them to be, I write whenever given the sliver of time and consider myself to be a writer, too. 

I’ve noticed that my thoughts tend to plummet much more deeply and quicker than they did before I started to write and I’ve wondered if, maybe, it was depression. I’ve heard the stereotype and read about it more than a handful of times and took it into sincere consideration, but I realized that in the end, it was about my own perspective about life. I took out any upset thoughts in my head out and let them flow through my fingertips onto other blogs, successfully getting rid of them and stopping them from spreading any further. 

In the end, stereotypes are about a group of people and just because someone is a part of that group doesn’t mean they have to conform to the prejudice that’s been given. 

Post #2

Even though it feels like the world is growing out of its bare state with the famous cherry blossoms of spring starting to bloom, I feel myself start to crumble apart. The little bits and pieces that break away when I’m most vulnerable are starting to take a few more particles as if they’re afraid to go alone. The stress that bottles itself inside of me is tapping at every inch of me from the inside, ready for its chance to slither out when I blow, but in the end, it’s up to me to stay strong and overcome the struggles that try to root themselves to me. 

It’s getting harder every time I live a day filled with people who refuse to cooperate or communicate in general. I try so hard to be like the watering pot that sprinkles the little, growing sprouts – supporting them to become stronger and better. It’s my job as a group leader, isn’t it? To bring out the best out of those who are relying on me? But sometimes, the one holding the watering pot loses balance and the water spills over completely, ruining and killing the plant it was trying to help. Hopefully, that won’t happen to me by the time I’m finished with what I need to do. 

Post #1

I decided to make creative writing the theme for this blog because I think it’s much easier and convenient to express my thoughts and feelings in writing, whether it be through my fingertips online or with a pen and paper, than it is to verbally speak the words that swim around in my head. I have time to find new, “big” words that can express exactly what I feel instead of having to settle for the mediocre vocabulary I seem to carry around in person. Creative writing has always caught my interest and it’s different from academic writing in so many ways. I don’t feel pressured to write about one certain subject. I can write about how cloudy days are still sunny behind the masses of fog, or even compare the daily lives of human beings to the process of deforestation. 

For the rest of the semester, I hope to write as much as I did before I entered school and to express myself as well as I did back then, but my writing is rusty from weeks of rest and I hope to improve through this blog. I want to express every little thing I feel and awe people at the same time, changing the way they look at me. I want my peers to stumble upon this blog and what I write, so they can think, “Wow. She doesn’t look like they type of person to ever say things like that.” I want this place to be the location for my intellectual thoughts and for those nights when I set down my smile, or perhaps let it spread, as I write and share what’s going on in my head. 

Hello and Welcome

I am Joyce Kim and I am majoring in International Relations.