03.15.2025 — 안녕하세요~ I just turned in my final project (actually, the file is relatively huge for Canvas so I’m writing this as it uploads at a snail’s pace, lol). I had fun with it and tried to make it a bit funny. How could I not reference the iconic Kronk during his chef era? Well, since I have over 100% right now, I felt the freedom to do so haha. I think I’m probably the only one that filmed it in vertical format, so I think at the least my professor will enjoy a change of pace. Either way, I’ll be on break until the first week of April. Until then, take some time to rest and do nothing! I’ll surely be doing so.
Update: 50/40 guys 🥳 She also asked if she can use it as an example for next year. Amen.
A request for my followers (specifically ones that do a lot of writing/quote finding and quote posting)
I'm writing my own inspired version of The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot for a school final for one of my college classes. With that being said, Eliot uses several quotes in other languages, pulled from a variety of sources.
I was wondering if anyone would have handy any quotes that they've stumbled across that sound like they might fit into a Waste Land-esque poem? If you have something in another language besides English, that would be even better (though I would appreciate an English translation along with said quote!)
The light of your phone illuminates your face and you read the large numbers across the top of your screen, 11:40pm. You’re just now getting back from a class, which yes is ridiculous the fact that it gets out at 11:30 but can you really blame astronomy for that? You push your key into you dorm room building and walk in and let the cool air raise goosebumps against your skin. You walk past the front desk and up three flights of stairs before reaching the fourth floor. You walk down the narrow hallway but stop when you pass by the art studio, lights still on. You peak through the window and spot several large canvases in a half circle and a small dark brown haired boy sporadically working on each one at the same time. You smile, recognizing the boy covered in paint and surrounded by his canvas’. It’s none other than Kang Yeosang the art prodigy of the university you two are currently attending.
You open the door and poke your head it, causing Yeosang to look up immediately, his eyes meeting yours.
“Yeosang, it’s late,” you chirp as you open the door more for your body to sit in-between the doorway and the hallway.
“Yeah,” Yeosang sighs hand wiping his forehead, “but I have to get this project done for the final tomorrow in class.” Yeosang points at the several different canvas’.
“You still haven’t finished? We’ve had all semester to work on them,” you slightly gasp. You and Yeosang have an art class and all semester you had been working on your final project, and you managed to finish it last weekend. You can’t believe that Yeosang decided to do his so last minute.
“I just didn’t know what I wanted to do. But I finally got it. I’ll probably be up all night doing it,” Yeosang mumbles, “but I know it will turn out good.”
“Everything you do turns out goo. Just please don’t over do yourself,” you console to him.
“It’s sweet that you care for me Y/N,” Yeosang smiles as he looks down at his paintbrush, “I just hope that you are also taking care of yourself.”
“I’m trying,” you smiles softly, “well I’ll leave you be. Don’t stay up too late.”
“I’ll try not to,” Yeosang softly chuckles. You leave the room and continue down the hall towards your dorm.
You and Yeosang met at the beginning of the semester when you accidentally spilt you paint all over his clothes. The poor quiet boy was embarrassed and a complete mess. You had felt bad so you instantly poured a bunch of paint on yourself, causing him to laugh. Yeosang and you have been friends since and everyone wonders why you’re friends with the most quiet kid in the world considering how loud and energetic you are. People tell you that you bring life to where ever you go and there is just never a dull moment with you but Yeosang on the other hand is almost the complete opposite. He’s a quiet boy with a calm and sensible vibe; he’s also more on the cautious side and doesn’t like the spot light of attention.
You unlock your dorm room door and walk into the small room, closing the door behind you. You flip a light switch on and fid a bright pink sticky note from your roommate sitting on your laptop. ‘Spending the night with my boyfriend, will be back tomorrow xoxo.’ You place the sticky note back down on your desk and change into a hoodie and sweats before making tea. Absentmindedly you make two mugs because usually your roommate and you always have tea before going to bed but you sit there with an extra cup of hot tea that you can’t find it in yourself to drink a second glass of it.
You grab the mug and leave your room and head back towards the art studio. You somehow manage to open the door and walk in. Yeosang didn’t notice you the second time around and you close the door behind you by pushing it with your butt.
“Yeosang. I brought you hot tea if you want it,” you call out to the boy who looks up at you startled.
“Y/N, you scared me,” Yeosang’s hand flies over his chest and he leans forward a little. You walk over to him and hand him the mug which he gladly takes.
“Can I see what you are working on?” You ask standing on your tippy toes to look over the canvas’ that separate the two of you.
“No, no, no, no,” Yeosang chants lightly tapping your nose, “you have to wait till I present it tomorrow.”
“You always show me your work though,” you pout, “not even a small glance at one of them?”
“Nope,” Yeosang answers, “it’ll spoil it.”
“Who knew you could be so cold,” you sarcastically retort.
“You haven’t shown me your final project either,” Yeosang points a pain brush at you.
“Touché,” you point back at the artist. The two of you erupt into smaller laughter and it quiets down after a minute.
“Well I’m off to bed I am beat after astronomy,” you state heading towards the door, “goodnight Kang Yeosang.” You tilt your head to the side and smile waiting for the boy to look bak up from his painting to wish you a goodnight.
“Good night Y/N,” Yeosang responds to you, looking up briefly then back down at his painting. You exit the room and head back to your dorm, finishing your tea. You climb into bed and you drift into a heavy sleep, your thoughts of what Yeosang’s project could be consuming you.
Yeosang sits on the stool looking at the five different canvas’, all different sizes, each one with paint across them in a messy manner. Usually his work is well organized and clean but something prompted to do something outside his comfort zone, to make it messy. But through the mess you are still able to make out images of a face, and when put together it creates a perfect master piece.
Yeosang dips a a small tipped brush into a gold paint and signs each canvas in the upper left corner to claim his work although his actual inspiration he’s too scared to claim so he chooses to stay far and bury his feeling deep into his heart and let it out in his work.
——
“Y/N, your turn,” your professor singles you out. You asked to go later on because Yeosang has yet to show up and you wanted him to be there for your presentation of you project. You stand up from your seat and pull the cart, holding your rather large and heavy project. You had taken two bird cages and shaped them into lungs. Wrapped around the cages are flowers and inside the lungs crystals grow from the bottom and try to reach the top.
“What exactly do you have here, and why did you make it?” Your professor begins to interrogate you for your final.
“My project represen-“ you stop when you hear the door open, stopping you. Yeosang hurries in, his five canvas’ under his arms.
“Mr. Kang you are late and rudely interuptin-“
“Please let him be,” you stop your professor from telling him off, “he was up all night. I wanted him to be here so I could present anyway.” You professor takes a deep breath and allows Yeosang to take him seat next to mine in the back. He quickly settles and his eyes land on my project, his mouth slightly dropping.
“My project represents how I’ve felt growing up. Constantly showered in affection by those who did not mean it,” you begin, “there was a quote that I fell in love with when I was 15. It stated ‘you made flowers grow in my lungs and although they are beautiful, I can’t breathe.’ When I was younger I had an experience with someone who drowned me in such fake love and I was foolish to believe that it was real. In the end it felt like he grew flowers in my lungs and I could no longer breathe without feeling such a fake love that was never real.”
“So what do the crystals represent?” The professor asks.
“In a way it’s like moss; it grows over time. Instead I wanted something to show the heavy feeling that it has been sitting with me because I’ve never shared that story before. The build up of keeping something so secret had it’s own consequences, and although I don’t need to share this story I need to share the fact that I cannot accept another fake love because I wish to never drown again,” you explain. Everyone in the class claps for you and you look over at Yeosang who has the prettiest smile you had ever seen on him, a new gleam of life sparkling in eyes.
“You did absolutely amazing,” Yeosang whispers as you sit down next to him, your professor jotting down some notes before looking back up at the class, eyes scanning the room.
“Kang Yeosang you are the last to go,” you professor calls, shuffling papers around.
“Good luck,” you smile at him as he looks at you wordily, making you panic a little. He grabs his five canvas’ and heads towards the front of the room. He takes his time in setting up the paintings and quickly drops a clothier it before turning it around for the class to await. Yeosang takes a couple deep breaths and looking at you one last time. You give him a thumbs up and he nods his head ever so slightly and pulls the cloth off the canvas’. A wave of gasps escape all the mouths of the students in the room, even yours. Quickly a smile breaks onto your lips and you stare at the portrait Yeosang had managed to do of you.
Although brush stroke seem messy and disorganized with surprised you the most you still easily manage to figure out your distinct features.
“Why did you chose to paint Ms. Y/N?” You professor prompts.
“Well…,” Yeosang mumbles before coughing and speaking up, “I had no clue what I wanted to do. This is the first time ever I didn’t know what to present because this is suppose to be my best work and although I do that with each project you assign, I didn’t know what could easily top that.”
“So are you trying to tell me this isn’t a work you are proud of?” Your professor questions, leaving you on the edge of your seat as if you were waiting for the trilling climax of a movie.
“It’s the complete opposite. This is the best art piece I’ve ever done. It’s out of my comfort zone and I painted something I loved. It took my so long to realize that I can’t ignore a nagging feeling of pushing these feelings and ideas away. So I thought that by expressing my deepest thoughts and feelings would be the best way to show how I’ve grown as an artist,” Yeosang explains as he looks at you every now and then. You bite down on your lips trying to hide a smile and the tears in your eyes.
“Well it’s absolutely beautiful and I’m surprised that you’ve talked for so long but like I’ve said, once you find something you love you can’t shut up about it,” you professor chuckles, “thank you Mr. Kang.” Yeosang collect his paintings, stacking them up one-by-one neatly to not ruin the paint.
Students begins to exit the class and the professor as well surprisingly, wanting to be home and done for the summer.
You walk up to Yeosang and look over the paintings as he stacks them.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“Why are you thanking me?” Yeosang chuckles looking over at you.
“You painted me beautifully,” you answer looking at him, “no one has ever been able to do that.”
“Well maybe I just know you best,” Yeosang teases tapping the tip of your nose. You softly laugh, causing him to laugh. He moves close and brushes the hair that falls in your face.
“I meant every word I said while I presented,” he tells you, looking down then back up at your eyes, “can I?” You nod your head, a small smile spreads you lips for a moment before Yeosang’s soft lips touch yours just for a couple seconds.
“I like you too Yeosang,” you smile, “you inspired me to tell a story that I’ve never shared before because I was scared that someone could play me again, but you gave me that urge to tell my story, and I’m so glad I did.”
“I’ll only ever paint you flowers. Never will they grow in your lungs,” Yeosang smiles before lightly kissing you again.
I had my theatre appreciation final today and one of the questions was a fill in the blank. The question was “who wrote Oedipus Rex” and despite having a copy of the play I simply could not think of the author. Suddenly it hit me, his name began with an “S” but who was it? Socrates! That must be the answer I decided in my head and I wrote my new answer on the paper and turned it in.
Later on I was talking with one of the other students and it hit me, Sophocles wrote Oedipus Rex not Socrates.
