Satire Plans

Satire is primarily a literary genre or form, although in practice it can also be found in the graphic and performing arts. In satire, vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, ideally with the intent of shaming individuals, and society itself, into improvement.^[1] (...) common feature of satire is strong irony or sarcasm—"in satire, irony is militant"^[2]—but parody, burlesque, exaggeration, juxtaposition, comparison, analogy, and double entendre are all frequently used in satirical speech and writing. (...)
Satire is nowadays found in many artistic forms of expression, including literature, plays, commentary, and media such as lyrics.
(Wikipedia)


:What I wanted to do was satirize the policies enacted by the government. I searched through the latest government policies.

The Women's Department of Korea has succeeded in altering the shape and design of the traffic lights. Now, instead of just the figure of a man walking or standing, there has been added the figure of a woman wearing a skirt alongside the already existent figure.
I want to satirize the waste of public funds that went into this policy and also satirize the still existent prejudice prevailing in this policy.
I am planning to make a make a sort of poster advertising the policy revealing the fallacy of the policy or on the contary, an opposition by a person who disagrees.

Hi! My Name Is... (Second Draft)

“Hello. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi. A pleasure. And your name is…?”

“Umm…you can call me HJ.”

“HJ?"

The brows wrinkled in confusion, the slightly dilated pupils, the expression of consternation. I’ve seen them numerous times, yet I still seem to be unable to get used to them.

What?!

"Oh, HJ! Henry Junior!" Then they nod their heads as if they now comprehend. I quickly wave my hands and attempt to explain.
"No, no. I'm a Korean. My father's name wasn't Henry. I'm using my initials, you see.”

“Oh…”

     In such a situation, the majority of people I know don’t have to encounter the wrinkled brows, the enlarged pupils, and whatever signs that might accompany bewilderment. Rather, they continue a normal conversation, discussing the latest blockbuster movie, their favorite female singer, and the awkward moment they had faced when some eccentric guy told them his initials when asked his name. This majority of people have something in common: they call themselves Charles, John, George, or whatsoever when talking to an English speaker.

     In contrast, I’m HJ. I’m that “eccentric” guy that doesn’t even have an English name in this globalized, modern world. However, I wasn’t always HJ, and what’s more, there’s a good reason as to why I don’t adopt an English name now. There was a time when I was called Larry, Michael, and even Stanley.

     I got my first English name when I was about 6 or 7, when I entered kindergarten. I attended a kindergarten school that can be said to be quite atypical - an English kindergarten, in which there were a considerable – as I recall – number of bilingual foreign teachers who were fluent in Korean and English. There were regular sessions when students were required to speak a substantial amount of, if not all, their normal conversations in English. If I remember correctly, an English name was mandatory for all students. So my parents strove to devise me an English name, and out of their box of English names popped up ‘Larry.’ So I became Larry for the 3 or 4 hours I spent outside my home. I don’t know why they chose this particular name for me and nor have I ever thought of asking them the reason, but one thing is for sure. I despised the name. I hated its ring. I detested the way the tongue brushed the inside of the front teeth at the ‘L’ and coiled up into my throat at the ‘rr.’ Most of all, I loathed the fact that it was a two syllable word, and yet was only five letters. But what was done was done – I could not go to my kindergarten teacher and tell her, in my young and feeble vocabulary and pronunciation, “Teecher, I change me name.” So I stayed Larry for five years until I had a chance to change it.

Phelps - He's a Michael...

     The chance came when I was third grade of my elementary school. It was decided that I would go abroad to Toronto for two years with my mother in order to learn English. I was asked if I want to maintain my old English name, and said no without a moment’s hesitation. I had been greatly inspired by a short biography of the legendary basketball player Michael Jordan I had read a few days ago, so I announced that I would be Michael. I lived for two years with this name. However, I was far from satisfied. During my stay in Toronto, I encountered many Michaels and developed an image conveyed by the name: a burlesque, masculine and coarse figure, an impression I was certain did not fit me. I decided to drop the name as soon as I could.

     When I came back to my home country and started attending English hakwons, the first thing they asked me was what my English name was. A million names went through my head for a split second when I was asked the question – Leopold, Nathaniel, Josiah, Tobias, and other posh names that I am embarrassed to even write down. Then I gave up trying to choose one of them, and said, “No, I don’t.” A short conversation ensued.

“Well, do you want to make one right now?”

“Uh…”

“If you don’t want to, you can use your initials instead. In fact, there’s a kid in your class called JH.”

“Ah…Then I’ll just use my initials, HJ.”

To be clear, I didn’t resort to ‘HJ’ because there was a guy in my class with a pseudonym name. I guess I was simply tired of searching for an English name that fits my image. Several years later, my friends named me Stanley for a few months, but I refused to be called by that name, and the name found its way to oblivion.

     So I don’t have an English name. Does it matter? I don’t think so. If the concept of name was first devised by our ancient, less-than-human ancestors who were more Pan troglodytes than Homo sapiens¸ it would have been to identify each other with auditory organs. This primitive concept of names would have developed gradually to signify and represent the person who holds that name – the personality, character, and other traits. If this is true, then I am Lee Hwee-Jun, and nobody else. ‘Lee Hwee-Jun’ is the name that has stayed with me for 18 years since birth, and thus there is no name that is more ‘me.’ So if an English name only serves the purpose of being easy to pronounce for English speaking people who just can’t imagine how to create that ‘Hwee’ sound, then I think that HJ suffices.

Homo Sapiens - a.k.a.

Pan troglodytes - a.k.a Common Chimpanzee

    

     A very renowned and commonly discussed Korean poem is the ‘Flower,’ written by a renowned Korean poet, Kim Chun-soo. According to this piece of prose, a name defines a person. I am defined fully by my Korean name. My name means 'the shining, bright man.' I strive in my life to achieve this goal, and therefore I am one with my name. Whatever others say about my ‘English name’ and however they view me, I have no intention to create an English name for me in the near future and more until I change my mind.

Story Within a Story - The Honjeong Bread Incident

     The hoe rose and crashed onto the ground with a dull thud. Jung Won-Kyu was sweating heavily. That wasn't so surprising because he had already been laboring for 3 hours under the intense June sun without a minute's rest. All around him the sounds of grunting students were mingled with the din of metal hitting earth, creating a cacophony he was so used to hearing. He was in the middle of a course of KMLA, called Elementary Agriculture and Practical Labor.

     Won-Kyu wiped his brows with his dirty right hand and stretched his back, uttering an inaudible swear word at the teacher who was sitting in the tree shade, eating ice cream.

     'He's not even paying attention to what we're doing,' he thought.

     Frustrated, he raised his hoe and smashed it to the ground with all his strength.

     Clang!

     An unexpected sound resonated from the tip of his tool. Confused, Won-Kyu dropped his hoe and started clawing at the earth. His fingers touched cool and smooth rock. He dug for a while and finally pulled out a white marble tablet.

     He removed the dirt from the surface and peered at the stone. When he turned it over, he found that there were engravings on it. The engravings were rough and coarse, in discordance with the valuable metal on which it was engraved. It looked like the work of students.

     Then suddenly the teacher was at his shoulder.

     "What's that, my boy?"

     Won-Kyu jumped.

     "Uh, it's just something I found buried in the ground. There are writings on it."

     "Oh? Interesting. Then read it aloud for me," the teacher ordered.

     Won-Kyu complied.

If it can be said that “there would be no more honjeong bread” the whole school would fall into panic. For all students, without exception, honjeong bread is the only reason they are in this school. Students revere Mr. Hwang, the great creator of the most delicious and fantastic food in the entire universe, whose job is to make honjeong bread every day. One day at morning assembly, Mr. Hwang announced that there would be no more honjeong bread. At this declaration, most students thought “What?” while some thought it was merely a prank. However, that night after honjeong, there really was no bread. At this, the entire student body went into a state of panic. People could not properly indulge in academics during the 2^nd self-study period because there was no honjeong bread. The most delicious and fantastic food in the entire universe, which had kept students working throughout the whole day, had disappeared from KMLA.

So what did the students do? They went on a strike! Each and every student of KMLA refused to attend classes, not to mention advisor-times. They stayed in their rooms for the entire day, and at mealtimes, everyone ordered chicken to their dormitory rooms and had the bewildered dorm parents pay for their purchases. The leftover chickens were thrown out the windows. Soon, the smell of chicken, fried, spiced, and rotten, vibrated in the dormitory halls as well as in rooms. 3^rd graders made a wall in front of the entrances to their floor, isolating themselves from the reach of others.

A month passed without anyone doing anything constructive to solve the chaotic situation. Although the school did threaten students to expel them if they didn’t end the strike, no one was stupid enough to believe it. The school couldn’t possibly expel all the students. Or so they thought.

The president of the legislative council Lee Joo-Hyung tried to bring about the resurrection of honjeong bread. He believed that through collective bargaining, students could persuade Mr. Hwang to make honjeong bread again, to be eaten after honjeong. However, the negotiation proved useless because both the students and teachers held their own positions rather than yielding and looking for an agreement. Instead of a peaceful resolution, parents and the school forcibly broke the strike. In the aftermath of the resistance, some students who were the leaders of the demonstration were expelled from the school. The incident ended with numerous casualties.

Honjeong bread is definitely an important thing. It is the only source of food we can normally get (if we do not resort to measures such as ordering from the Internet or bringing some from home), since there is no snack bar in this isolated school. However, the sudden strike was too radical. It would have been better had the students acted more politely and tried to negotiate with the school faculties through executive and legislative members.

Won-Kyu looked up in surprise.
"Sir, when did this happen?"
"Hmm...as you know, I was the fifteenth wave of KMLA.(Won-Kyu did not know) I remember the incident. It was a major issue indeed..." The teacher left, thinking back to his past, and Won-Kyu was left to contemplate the idea that such an incident was possible of occurring in a school such as KMLA.