The proof of my unsoundness via its manifestation in my homework.
I had homework for my Spanish class one day. We were given two adjectives and we were to write a story about them. Here’s what I made and it was the only sad story in class. I think I have a problem.
There was this one girl that everybody knew. Everybody knew her because she was moody. She would say one thing and then another, do one thing and then another, think one thing and then another. But I know her more for feeling one thing and then another. I am not going to say her name. She was in her early twenties: beautiful. She had long black hair and weighed just right. I knew her from afar, but I could tell that she was moody. She didn’t have a lot of friends, those who were tolerated her. It was sad, really. Nobody can really say that they knew her.
There was this one time when I actually saw her for who she was. I saw her with her friends, talking and laughing. Then, she frowned and walked away. I don’t really know what happened, but it bothered her. She then saw me looking at her and then she smiled before she did a rude hand gesture. I was offended at first, but then I didn’t mind it. I didn’t really care. But I saw her do things for other people and all of it was for them. In a weird disposition, her being moody was for herself. Nobody understood that. Nobody did, even after she died. It was tragic. The details I can no longer remember. Nobody can, and it is unfortunate. I guess I should have cared that one time when I actually saw her for who she was. I saw that her laughter with them was real, her smile for me was real. Her mood swings were for her and nobody saw past that. Because she was sincere with all the things she gave and did for others. And now nobody remembers her, the temperamental girl who was sincere. I am not going to say her name because I forgot.