Meteors

There was supposed to be a meteor shower today…according to meteorologists. (no pun intended.) I didn't get to see any although my huge ass garden is pretty dark. I saw a few meteors in my garden before and they were one of the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It was when my aunt from Korea came by…and she was going through a lot because of some random trial, which ended cause she was totally innocent of what happened..(she's a MD) and we just went out to the garden and we were looking at the stars and one just fell. We were like… wow. My aunt was so adorable. Haha. She whispered like a little child, "Quick, make a wish" and I could see her eyes watering and a single tear fell across her face and I realized that I was taller than her that day. She couldn't come this year because she had to wrap up some things in korea but she is the best of my 3 aunts. 

Confession

Guys, I have a confession to make. Peter…I am ga..ah...uh…a ninja. I am legally considered a lethal weapon. If I hit someone with an intent to hit (playing around does not count), it is not just assault but attempt of murder/ assault with lethal weapon. For those who already knew this, too bad, just listen, because I am lethal according to the government. I am in fact, however, an innocuous little virgin boy who has hurt people inadvertently before. Well…that was during sparring which does not really count for it happens and I got hurt before. Anyways, I need to get to the point of this. All of you probably heard about Jeff and Marshall's experience. Oh yes, also the je…I mean Nitkin. Jeff's is a rumor. I did not cause Jeff's head injury. He himself caused it. Marshall on the other hand, was almost hurt by me. The Story goes like this. The usual group of guys were relaxing in the common room. We somehow ended up discussing about how I can kill or do backflips. Marshall then asked me if I was going to kill him. Because I was rather grumpy the whole day, I said maybe. I picked up the silver sharpie on the table and aimed a spot next to his head. I threw it. Jordan Alper jumped, swore, and jumped. Again. He was the only one who spotted the actual action taking place and the pen swishing past Marshall's brightly illuminating hair. We checked the wooden double door. There was a dent, an imprint of the sharpie. Therefore, the legendary ninja story began. Everytime I appeared in the common, the room became silent. I remember Dallas saying "Dude, I love how your being in here changes the room's atmosphere completely" May the imprint remain there until I return to cherub for some random reason. May that imprint be a reminder to future cherubs that once, a ninja was a journalist.

Untitled

Well, why is my title untitled? Maybe just to be funny. No, it is because this blog writing constitutes more than just one of my memories here as a cherub for the last five weeks. For those whose eyes are tearing up, don't. It is not like we will never see each other again. I mean, we are all going to be somewhat related as cherubs, right?

We will all keep in touch…..maybe just for future connections. As journalists (even if you guys don't become a professional journalist, you will still be journalists with Medill training), we will help each other throughout our stories. As we have learned, stories are not just articles. Our life is a story, our experiences are stories, and you know, everything is a story.

    The past 5 weeks of journalism we shared, is a story. A valuable experience, excuse me, experiences, that will be forever remain in our heads. The time when all of us shared the information from the All-Day-Story, when we didn't even know each other. When we encouraged each other during Fourth of July Parade in the rain and 50 min, no 15 min walk, when we were barely getting to know each other. The economy story, when we shared ideas and helped each other with leads and attributions. The trend story when people interviewed one another and helped each other find sources using all the connections they have back home. These experiences will be kept as memories of a journalist in my mind.

    Let us promise each other that we will not cry. It is not because we are heartless but because we are journalists, and 'you don't cry in journalism.'

Peter Smith

The moment you see this name, posted up on your dorm room (supposedly) after carrying your heavy bag with you up to the 4^th floor, (Well, the first luggage was carried by the elevator. Second was not) you think of a very ordinary individual. Someone you might read about in your 1st grade text book. Peter ate an apple. Yay. Mr. Smith mowed the lawn. Yay. I always had the trouble saying the word lawn in the U.S. I am digressing. Well, Peter Smith, from Wichita, Kansas (all I knew about Wichita at the time was that it was in Kansas and was bigger than Kansas City) proved me wrong.

 

Well, the first day when I first saw him, his attire was rather…normal (not that what WE usually wear is not normal…just…unique) however. His Hair. Yes. His hair caught my eyes, and the moment I saw his smirk after realizing that we basically had the same experiences as the creators of our papers, I realized I met the best roommate I'd ever have in my life. (this is when you guys say aww)

When I saw that he had a vest and we inadvertently matched, I was probably very very very happy. Yes, I was happy my roommate had similar taste in clothing with me. Therefore, the Cherub Duo of the year was created. (You guys better had picked us as inseparable, cause yeah, uh huh, we are inseparable) So for the next few weeks, we tried to avoid matching as much as possible. Some days I'd just feel mean and match with him on purpose, sometimes, inadvertently, but too bad, its not my fault we were born with similar taste…or at least developed them.

Last week, it was awesome of him to share his records of my behaviors with everyone. The only problem is…he only mentioned the ones from that week.

He forgot to mention that we shared laptops, woke each other for classes, looked after each other's clothing (style), bought each other food, and one time he gave me two dollars as an allowance for the week (yes, he is my daddy). There was an instance when I bought him breakfast at Peep's after the Michael Jackson Spitlist. So yeah, we looked after each other for the last four weeks…and…probably one of the most awesome thing he did. On my birthday, I woke up (as he described in the journal, around 8:00) with sleepy eyes to stare at Peter, dressed up for class, smiling and saying "Happy Birthday Clemence." He bought me lunch on my birthday, after chuckling and saying "Heck, its your birthday, You are not paying for it" That. Made my day.

Yes, you guys are supposed to aww.

The past 4 weeks, was probably amazing thanks to everyone, but what made those days special was because of my roommate Peter.

Well, Peter Benjamin Geoffrey Smith (with a Geo) is an extraordinary individual with a super ordinary name with awesome middle names.

Love you Peter, I will visit Kansas as often as I can. I wonder how long it takes for me to drive from Cali to Kansas.

Returning emotions?

I think just until this week, I will go on with my boring blogs. I have never considered life to be really entertaining since high school. It was more of a vessel that kept me on the ground. Chaining me down and restricting me. To think that my perspective have changed a little these days. It is rather a surprise. I can see some light in this...human life of mine, and it is interesting. Life was all about acquiring things, living to obtain more knowledge, more acceptance, more skills. Now, it is a bit different, there is some hint of hope in life right now. It may be love, it may be that I am graduating in a year and ready to move on to a new set of life, it may be because I met wonderful people here at Medill, maybe its because I met Tom G, nevermind. Roger Boye, that's it! …or...it may be something else that I have not quite caught on to yet. However, life has been more joyful, and I feel like I am becoming that once optimistic, idealistic, and happy, Clemence Dongwoo Kim again. Cogito Ergo Sum, is my favorite quote. Now, I think I might want to change it so that I feel, therefore I am...rather than..I think therefore I am...My logic is now telling me that even if I am a thinking machine (oxymoron..hm) if I do not incorporate feeling, my emotion, my life may be worth nothing. No identity, no personality... Although I do not trust my emotion completely yet...I will not leave my emotions and feelings outside of my world ever again. Of course, some instructors may jump out and yell at you, "DON'T EDITORIALIZE!!" Well, at least there is one emotion I am sure I will recognize thanks to my previous experiences and experiences from here...love...that,I will always recognize and trust completely...a deceitful friend it is...but I will trust that I...can still love. Right?

Journalist’s masquerade

The constant conflict between the journalism cherubs and the theatre cherubs brought upon me an idea that I had not think of before. Aristotle states in his book, 'Poetics,' that theatre is an 'imitation' of emotion, action, and life. In a sense, theatre is a language, for as an art form, it evokes and expresses emotions.

Okay, now it may seem like I am praising theatre, and I am. However, let me add that journalism is also a form of language in human society. I personally believe journalism can go further as in expression and evocation of emotion, than can any other language. Descriptive articles, reports, investigation, etc all show part of human life and action, and evokes and expresses human emotion. Not only does journalism achieve the stated, but it also requires one to become someone else while writing. When writing a story, especially during an interview or while writing a special on an individual, a journalist may need to become someone who they are not to bring out the best story that may be hidden within the individual. Journalism, in another word, innately requires theatre. Journalists often have to put on a mask to bring out a story; actors are the same, except that they do not write the result of their masquerade. What I find funny about actors is that the ability to act as a certain character depends on whether the actor has absorbed the character as his persona or not. Some may disagree, but I believe that an actor has to absorb the character, and completely be the character who he or she is trying to portray, to a point in which he or she can be unconscious about the character to 'act.' If an actor cannot do that, he or she has not written a good story, in a journalistic term. Journalists, however, when confronted with the problem of the masquerade, are put in a different situation. They have to be aware that they have to portray a different character while keeping in mind the story they are looking for with their individual persona. They cannot delve into this another persona and lose the point of their being becoming someone else.

    Basically, journalists have to strive to be an actor, a writer, a linguist, and an artist; all at the same time. Now this has been a rather complicated, beat-around-the-bush type of a writing. To summarize my point more frankly, journalists are more than just writers and are better than the actors.