The Outsider, Albert Camus

“Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don’t know. I had a telegram from the home: ‘Mother passed away. Funeral tomorrow. Yours sincerely.’ That doesn’t mean anything. It may have been yesterday.”

             From the start, Meursault seems surprisingly calm and detached for a man who just lost his mother. This detachment continues throughout the text; marriage, murder, not even his own death truly touches him in the heart. Although this is a first person narrative, the tone is that of an objective observer from the outside. In part one, he maintains his ‘I don’t care’ attitude, thereby isolating himself from all others. Many people try to get along with him and like him, such as Marie and Raymond do, but Meursalt feels nothing in return; he doesn’t even understand himself, just like he doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to see his mother’s body. He is thoroughly alone, and he chose to be alone. He does not wish to be understood.

             At the trial for his murder, the prosecutor condemns him not for the killing of the Arab, but for his detachment and cold-heartedness displayed at his mother’s funeral. The prosecutor even says “’I shall prove it to you, [...] by exposing the dark workings of this criminal soul.’” That is unjustifiable, and the readers know that, for two reasons. Firstly, at trials, the jury and judge ought to decide the sentence based on the crime, not on the morality of the criminal. Also, thanks to the first person narrative, the readers know that Meursault is far from ‘dark’ or ‘criminal.’ When he arrives at that nursery home, first thing he wants to do is see his mother. We know then that Meursault does care about his mother. Moreover, do the prosecutor and the jury qualify as the proper decision-makers? Are they the sacred souls bound on earth? No! They are just as selfish and uncaring, only, they are hiding that selfishness. That is why they charge Meursault execution; they are afraid that he might resemble their true minds, that he might threaten their dignity in society. They don’t care to understand why. This deliberate ignorance again shows the selfish and uncaring nature of the people. We cannot make Meursault a nihilistic lunatic; everyone else is the same.

             An interesting aspect is that Meursault refused the chaplain to come to his aid. He refused religion to be a solace in his way to death, and it can be inferred that he does not believe in afterlife. To him, death is simply an end. Because of that, probably, death does not mean much to him. “Everyone [is] privileged” to die; people will die all the same, no matter the cause, age, or circumstances. If death is an end, why does he call death a privilege? He thinks that death is liberation, as “[his] mother must have felt liberated and ready to live her life again.” The essentially solitary people are tied up in this world with all kinds of relationships, connections that don’t really matter. And upon death, all those fake relationships are over, and one is finally free. He is no longer so detached and indifferent towards the world; he is happy. And he would be even happier if “a large crowd of spectators [...] greet [him] with cries of hate” that would fail to tie him to the ground.

             Overall, the novel The Outsider by Albert Camus tells us that isolation is inescapable and that we must live with it. At the beginning, Meursault is completely isolated and detached from the world. As time goes on, however, Meursault realizes that he cannot live in such a way. He is bound to feel the pressure of other people’s emotion towards him, and he is burdened by that. But at the same time, they still cannot understand each other. The people feel towards hatred what they think is him, not what he really is. Because of such absurdity in life, Meursault is happy to leave.

Stupid Studying Room

*This is fiction, an adaption of The Catcher in the Rye. This is the part where Holden goes to the Museum of Natural History in New York, and stops before he goes in. The narrator is a boy similar to Holden Caulfield.

The thing is, there’s a special studying room for seniors on the 11^th floor. But it’s kinda phony, since it can’t hold all seniors. So we cast lots, boy, cast lots! The lucky lots get seats, and the unlucky bits don’t. I got one, too. For Chrissake. I’ve never been lucky in my whole life, and I’m using my luck in this sort of phony stuff. But I take my seat anyway. It’ll be mine for one year. Unless I get kicked out, that is.

My seat is number 26. It’s by the hallway, far from the entrance. Fourth aisle. It’s seat is blocked by a partition. That’s the whole point of this “studying room”. You are supposed to not get distracted by others. On the left partition, some sounavitch wrote “12^th grade”. God damn it. Who the hell doesn’t know he’s a 12^th grader? Right on the bookshelf, there are traces of good old scotch tape being ripped off. On the smooth, waxed desk there are strange engraved Chinese letters. I don’t know, they’re the company name that made this desk or something. The first day I got in, I stared and stroked the engraved letters for a long time. I kinda got curious. Who did they do that? I took out a penknife from my pocket and started to saw my desk. It was waxed, but still, it was wood. It couldn’t resist my knife. Finally, I left a tiny mark on the desk, and it was as straight and deep as the letters. From that point on, my desk never changed. 

I kinda liked having a seat in the room because you get to get the same seat every time and get to leave stuff there. And as long as I don’t touch anything, nobody does. I mean, everything stays in place- the old scribble, ripped tape, engraved letters, even my own incised mark. Nothing’d move. I could go there a hundred times, and that scribble would still say “12^th grade”. Nothing’d be different. The only thing that would be different would be you. Not that you’d be so much older or anything. It wouldn’t be that, exactly. You’d just be different, that’s all. You’d wear black socks this time. Or your hair would be all tangled and messy. Or the kid that was next to me would be different. Or you’d just talked to Mr. Yoon for an hour and a half. Or you’d just have been dumped by your girlfriend. Or you’d have just fallen off the stairs. I mean you’d be different in some way- I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it. 

One day I went into the studying room, right on time. The thing is, since they lack seats, anyone who’s not using the studying room properly is kicked out. Late or absent three times in a week and you’re out. To prove it, you’d sign some stupid paper that you were there, right on time, in stupid Chinese letters. I stood in line in turn to sign that damn thing. Then a funny thing happened. When it was my turn, I didn’t want to sign it. I jumped up three floors in a hurry just to get in time, but I didn't want to sign it. I mean, in my aisle people are frequently not in their seats, doing something else on the outside or having classes or something. Some of them almost never actually study in there. And still they keep their seats just because they signed that stupid paper. And a number of students are dying to get in there and have a seat! Well, that’s because you can’t use your laptop inside the room, so anybody who has to use their laptop frequently rarely come in there. But they still keep their seats! For Chrissake. What phonies. Why don’t they just get out of their stupid, never-occupied seats?

So I didn’t sign the damn paper, three times in a row. I mean, I don’t want to get fettered by some stupid studying room rules! I have my own rules. And maybe the next-in-line would have more use of that stupid seat. I don’t need it, anyway. I can just study in my room or at 11^th floor, outside the enclosed studying room. And I got kicked out, damn it.

On the Subway

*It feel so weird, the essay just shoots all over the place.... haha.

The ground is rattling. A distant voice calls; this station is Namtaeryung, Namtearyung…

Almost there. I can’t sleep, I might miss my station. I blankly stare at the people come and go. They go by, paying no attention to me or anybody. Blank faces, blank gestures. Whenever I am surrounded by a group of strangers, I feel loneliness, more than when I am actually alone. It's like an unimaginable glass wall exists between the people and separate them. And I miss people. I wish I had someone beside me. Instead, I concentrate on the heat from the bottom and the thick red muffler around my neck. The heat of the heater slowly slithers upward, surrounding my body. I roll my body and bury my face deeper into the muffler. This haggard piece of wool is something my grandfather gave me as a birthday present. Grandpa. his feeble smile, shaggy white hair, and harsh wrinkled hand flash inside my head. His face, I’ve never seen in almost four years, I’ll never see in my lifetime.

My eyesight is getting all blurred now, so I cut out my thoughts. I mean, I can't just cry in a subway full of people; it would be a harm to everybody! To stem my stream of consciousness, I grab a book from my backpack- Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell, my favorite English novel. There are scribbles all over the place- my impressions, sudden ideas, related issues… although I have read this story many, many times, the story feels different every time, as I mature every moment. My handwriting is pretty messy, I can’t even read my notes clearly, but it doesn’t matter. I value the scribbling itself. 

However, not even the “I love you” note from Julia or the fascinating theory of O’Brien can capture my attention for the moment. After a few unfruitful attempts to grasp the meaning of the sentence, not just the pronunciation, I close the book. The blue pupil on the cover looks at me accusingly, but I just stuff it into my backpack. I catch a glimpse of my own eyes reflected on the window. The underground is all black, turning the window into a mirror. Out of boredom, I make funny faces at the mirror- grimacing, smiling, wining, surprised. My friends always say that my facial expressions are kind of a mystery; they could never figure out what I was thinking. I giggle at the twisted face. At that moment, I meet someone else’s eyes. I freeze of embarrassment.

I slowly detach my hands from my face and turn around. An old man with a wrinkled face and soft white hair is smiling at me, looking quite amused. Suddenly, I feel like I was cordially accepted into this whole unfamiliar world. I slightly blush and smile back. I think of my grandfather again. How were his last few moments of his life like? What kind of regrets did he have? How does he feel, now that he transferred to the heaven, probably? I am happy for him, for I know he has gone to a better place. Still, I miss him. I wish, I wish, that I could guard his transfer.

           But for now, it is time for me to transfer. How life would have been much easier, if only you could stay at one train and still get to the destination! But it’s not that easy; I can’t just sit down and sleep along the way. Every subway, bus, train, airplane, bicycle, even feet has its distinct quality, a virtue of its own. 

Throughout my 17 years of life, I have had many transfers. I attended so many schools and lived in so many houses that a process of transfer seems so familiar to me. Familiar, yet, of course, new every time. Although transfer does require a bit of adjustment and rattling, it allows you to see a different world, a different perspective, a different route. I like the changes brought by a transfer. And often times, transfer is the only way you can get to your destination. So I stand up and head towards the door, towards the station, towards another subway line- another little transfer for me!

Thirty Things about Myself

1.  Reading
I like to read books, especially genre fiction. I like it when the protagonist goes through a hero’s journey and gets stronger. Somewhat childish, yes, but such kind is my favorite- something that doesn’t happen in real life. Harry Potter is my favorite.

2.     Hair
I am very attached to my long, reddish-brown hair. (Is it long?) It got really short when I was thirteen, and my classmates teased me that my hair looked like ah helmet. I’ve been growing it ever since. It took an awfully long time to reach this length. As for the color, I had several dying and un-dying until it became like this. One of my dreams is to grow my hair to reach my waist, although Mom is horrified by the thought.

3.     Poli Sci
I want to major in political science. The power, fighting, madness, bond, distribution of wealth, lobbying… all those stuff fascinate me. I do not know much about the dirty business going on, but I’d like to know, as much as I’d like to eradicate such business. In similar context, I’m also interested in history- transition of power, diseases, conquering… things like that.

4.      Diet
I am constantly on a diet- well, technically, not contantly. I repeat quitting and restarting. It kind of makes me feel bad.

5.     Eyesight
I have very bad eyesight. I can’t see even inches away without my glasses. It’s hereditary, I think, as my mom, little brother, grandmother, and grandfather all have terrible eyesight as well. I wasn’t born like this, surely, but my eyes were just too vulnerable.

6.     Drawing
I love drawing! I have a personal collection of pictures/drawings that I plan to paint someday- when I have time, that is. I still want to be a painter.

7.      Wasting Time
What I hate the most is wasting my time. I’m kind of obsessed with it. I try to make the most use of my time, always- on bus, on train, while walking…

8.     Skin Color
I happen to like my dark skin color. Well, once I wanted to be milk-white, like almost every Korean girls. But I strongly suspect that from the moment I was born, I was brown-ish. I couldn’t change the shade. Then I went to American and discovered white girls trying to tan their skin. And Satya, a girl from India, told me that she loved my skin. So, I am a bit proud of it now.

9.     MIKA
My favorite singer is MIKA. I first encountered him in French class, for he sang a popular French song, “Elle Me Dit.” I instantly loved it! It’s very bright, the melody, it lightens me up. And at the same time, the lyrics are satirical. Here is my favorite part of the song, translated in English:

“Don’t end up like your father; be proud of yourself!”

10.   Transfer
I transferred eight times in total- during elementary school, middle school, and high school. Some of the transfers, I liked, others I resented. But they all turned out well, and I thank those experiences.

11.   Martial Arts
I have a passion for martial arts. I learned taekwondo for a long time, and recently, I started learning kickboxing. I haven’t learned much yet, but the coach said I was talented. I’m planning to learn it full-scale once I graduate.

12.   Little Brother
I’m not very intimate with my little brother- I’ve been such a scary older sister. I feel sorry for him.

13.   Writing
I like writing by hand- “flow of consciousness.” I fall into a trance and just keep scribbling, writing down whatever that comes to my mind. Not often the result turns out good, but I like it anyway. I hate looking at the laptop, it makes my eyes hurt.

14.   Cooking & Baking
I also like to cook and bake. I recently baked a chocolate fondue and chocolate-almond cookies, and they were a huge success! The dish I can cook the best is kimchi fried rice, with potato, carrot, onion, mushroom, ham, and egg.

15.   Boredom
I get bored very easily, very quickly. I can never watch a full movie on a laptop by myself- I get bored after 30 minutes. There has to be something that pressures me- a company, a theater, or orders. Books I read, because I don’t read them purely for fun. Well, joy, but a different kind of joy.

16.   Cell Phone
I hate my cursed cell phone! It constantly blocks my access to text-messages and address book. It’s really frustrating when you want to reply write away and the cell phone screen is just blank for, like, forever.

17.  Handwriting
I have a pretty dirty handwriting. It’s hard to decipher, especially when I tried to write fast. While I was preparing for SAT I was worried that the marker wouldn’t understand it, so I actually practiced writing alphabets few days before the day. It did get better, by the way. Effort doesn’t betray you!

18.   Dry Skin
My skin is extremely dry in winter, especially legs. They’re itchy. Lotion is not really helpful. I keep scratching them and sometimes they bleed.

19.   My Wish
I wish I had time without anything to do. Then I might as well get bored of playing. My free time so far didn’t feel like a free time, since I felt guilty playing. Not really free, is it? I want to have real free time.

20.   Farming
I work in the school farm. I grew potatoes, sweet potatoes, peppers, corns, tomatoes, lettuces, peanuts, pumpkins, etc. It was quite… fruitful, let’s say. They were tasty, too. 

21.   Age
I am a year younger than most 16^th wavers. I was born in the Year of the Rat, the first of the zodiac. I liked that. I wonder, does a year of age make a difference? On average?

22.   Instruments
I play the violin. And the piano. And the harmonica. I don’t actually practice them, I just play with them, playing the melodies of songs. My skills aren’t really good, but I am content.

23.   Christianity
I am a Christian- not devout, thought. I have mixed feelings toward the religion- guilty, cynical, curious… but Mom keeps telling me the God will be on my side. She means well, and I can’t resist it altogether. 

24.    Facial Expression
I have a “characteristic expression,” let’s say. Some say I look sleepy, others say I look pale and sickly. I’ve heard wistful, blank, tired… as well. I’m curious how I look, since in the mirror I look just fine. 

25.   Red
I like the color red the most. I prefer steaming hot over lukewarm. I like the zeal, passion, and the fire-like qualities associated with the color red. Oh, isn’t the color of fresh blood pretty?

26.   Three Mufflers
I have three red mufflers. One of them is almost five years old now. It’s all frayed now, but it’s soft and has little fur balls at the end. Mom bought it for me. The second one is really long, thick, and a bit coarse. My aunt knit it for me, along with a woolen hat that was too small for me. The last one is a connected woolen ring. 7-year friend of mine gave it as a Christmas present. It’s so stretched out that it’s not really warm now. These are not very useful as mufflers. But I love them all. 

27.    Happiness
I am most happy when I’m curled up inside my bed, with sweet biscuits and a nice book to read. 

28.   Subway
Another place I liked to read is on a subway (or a train). I like the gentle wobble, the feeling of progressing somewhere, and the constantly changing passengers. You could feel yourself smiling without even realizing it. Except during the rush hour. That is awful.

29.   Singing in the Shower
I like singing in the shower, but I can’t very often. For one thing, I’m usually short of time and five minutes is enough for a shower. Second, when I start singing, I can’t bear my own voice- it’s so loud and ringing. So I just quit. 

30.   Ticklish
I am extremely ticklish. Really, it’s out of your imagination. It’s this one fatal weakness of mine. One time, Yoo Sun (my former roommate) and I got into an elevator. There were just the two of us. She grinned wickedly and started tickling me. By the time the door opened, I had been twitching in the corner, laughing like crazy. It was sheer torture, really!