나오미 in korea

Write a love story with two characters. Make sure you write a beginning, a middle and an end.

The assignment’s on the board but the middle-school girls refuse to work. Sang-yon, the single boy, is quiet and sullen in a corner, lost without his mates. We covered all this in the last few lessons: creating characters, dialogue, basic story structure. Now, I try to get them excited about creating a story of their own.

The girls are a battle every lesson. As usual, they’re busy with handpon, digital cameras and something new today. Ji-yeon’s writing a letter to a boy at school, which they’re all giggling over. She’s written it in green ink, the hanguel characters childish and rounded with exaggerated loops and strokes, and smiley faces in the circles. I remember when I wrote like that.

I drum my fingers on the table and try to initiate some conversation, getting them to think of love stories they know: Romeo and Juliet, Cinderella and Prince Charming, King Kong and Naomi Watts. Yes, they can write about anyone: teachers, friends, movie stars. Sang-yon perks up and asks if he can write about monsters and killing. Yes, Sang-yon. You can write a horror if you want to. Just include two characters and a beginning, middle and an end.

The girls are not impressed. After ten minutes of cajoling I lose my patience and snatch away their cellphones and cameras, holding them ransom until 8:50. They always act shocked when I take away their life support.

Ji-yeon sulks and scratches at the desk with her sharpu. I get angry and tell her to start bloody writing or she’s not getting her handpon back. She gets out her electronic dictionary and starts fiddling with it. I lean over her shoulder. She’s playing Tetris.

“Ji-yeon!” I yell. “Do your work!”

Finally, she starts writing. Two other girls are busy working. The others are staring at various points around the room. I sit steaming at them for twenty minutes, leaping down their throats whenever they dare whisper to each other.

It’s 8:45. I don’t care anymore. I’m annoyed with them and don’t want to see their stupid faces. I tell the students that they can go early. I’ve done everything wrong. It has been a maddening hour.

They snatch up their bags and run out, dropping their papers in front of me. Sang-yon, who I ignored all lesson because he was being quiet, has drawn monsters and swords, and written ice-cream killer monster. Because he never gives me any trouble I forgive him. The two girls with their heads together have actually written a complex love story involving my co-teacher, a movie theatre, and me. Naomi-teacher dies at the end of the story. Four girls have drawn masterful Japanese anime: large-eyed heroines with swishing sabres, pouts and whipping hair. I’m impressed by their skill.

Ji-yeon sets a piece of paper in front of me.

Love Story

for all the world

woman and man love subsist

woman and man love divide

She’s drawn smiley faces inside every o.

It’s a love story. It has two characters. It has a beginning, a sense of middle, and an end. I can’t argue with this. Although she’s used the dictionary badly it reads like poetry. She holds out her hand for her handpon and I give it to her reluctantly; my last shred of power. She flounces off, shiny black bob swinging.

Beaten by a bunch of fourteen year olds, again.