Question 5- Describe Yourself (27 Marks)
Pretentious. In fact so very pretentious that I write many words few of which I can spell. Also so very pretentious that when faced with a question such as this I will write not as myself but as another and I will not describe what I am but will describe what I am not. Through this you will hopefully know what I am.
I am not one of the great sea of faces, which walk through the same corridor, the corridor that has been subdued by the wave of depression that rises from the sea’s collective consciousness. Alas, I suppose it is to all that way, none of us like to think of ourselves as the same, all like to imagine a stranger seeing us as different, as a diamond in a sea of zirconias. I am not one of the sweet ironic who adorn themselves with cloaks of the dark sky and masks their faces with black make up. Hoping to shield themselves from the sea, hoping to stand up and be seen by the fishermen. A shame that they cannot help but swim with a shoal. A smaller shoal, yes, but a shoal all the same.
I am not a clown. I do not cover my face with coarse words and innuendoes. My eyes do not light as a teacher cramps and snaps like a twig as a raucous laughter forces tears from the, just out of college teachers eyes. I am not a helping hand; my fingers do not itch for an apple to present. I do not live my life to help those broken. I do not weigh myself down with the worries of others.
I am not the heartless bully, moulded by other fists at home. Nor am I his victim cowering at the sign of his knuckles. Then rushing to a toilet to drown the floor with my sorrows flooding from my eyes. I do not stare at the grey toilet door with the broken look hanging down, cursing the Lord for all he has made me. I do not sit there waiting for the footsteps of the hulking giant ready for him to imprint my face with his fist.
Sometimes I am in the cubicle next to him. Hearing his cries of sorrow and doing nothing. Rarely am I the one wasting my hands while listening to the vernal reunion between the two. Never have I been the one to pass the physical reunion and to do nothing. Never have I been the one to pass it and do something.
I am not someone who can describe himself in forty-five minuets. Nor am I someone who can do it with extra time. No one is that person and I would dread for someone to come away from reading this and coming away with a half draw picture of me in their minds. I have not said what I am for I do not know. I am a half formed person. I will be until deaths skeletal hand touches mine. Every situation changes and forms me. What I am today is not what I will be tomorrow, what I was before is now what I am today. Like clay I can be moulded and changed.
For now I am one of the sea of people scratching my pen to and thinking how to describe myself.
Cute, but again, it seems out of character.