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I am sitting in class at the moment and approximately 13 seconds ago, I started wondering what my peers do whenever History class is over.
There are people in here with greasy hair—who look like they went without showering for three or four days. Are they like Esther Greenwood from The Bell Jar? Are they in their very own bell jar? Did they have enough time to step into the shower last night—to let the (hopefully) warm water fall onto their faces—to let the water drip off of their shoulders, onto their feet—to let the water droplets slowly drift down their delicate arms and watch as it reaches their fingertips? Did they go through a horrifyingly, heartbreaking, gut-wrenching breakup? Are they trying to let their hair grow out faster? Did they simply forget about showering? Are they too busy to remember that they have a body to take care of? Does their hair get greasy quickly? Do they merely not care about others’ opinions?
There is a dark brown boy, who is three rows away from me, wearing thick, black glasses with his left hand over his mouth—playing with his lips. He looks about 24 years old. Is he focusing on the professor or is he pretending? Is he really just thinking about his plans with his girlfriend afterwards: how they are going to go to the movies to watch a horror film because he loves it when she holds him and she loves it when he jumps and pretends to be brave to try and impress her? Does he actually care about the words shooting out of the professors mouth? Is he imagining Prof. Williams as a shooting star? Is he hoping that if he listens so intently—so carefully—his wish to pass History 1302 will be granted? Does he actually enjoy American History? Does he plan to stand where the professor is standing in about 15 years or less—depending on his determination of reaching his dream career?
There is a man a row to the right of me and a seat ahead of me who has some gray hairs on the sides of his head, trying to cast a shadow over the short, curly black hairs on the top of his head. He looks about 45 years old. He has glasses resting upon the hopeful curly black hairs. He has a very honest face and a gold necklace wrapped around his neck. He probably has children—a boy and two girls—one who is 10, one who is 13, and one who is 19 years old—and he probably loves them very much. I can’t tell if there is a ring on his finger but I’m hoping there is.
There is a girl two rows to the left of me, one seat ahead. She looks about 19 years old. She is wearing a big black jacket with black and white stripes on the hood. Her hair is cut like a pixie and her bangs are a neon light blue. She wears red glasses to help cover her sad eyes, a slouch on her back, and a hopeless look on her face. I can tell she is insecure. I wonder what her interests are. She probably spends some of her time reading Scy-fy, fantasy, and anime books. I bet she has read all of the Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings novels. I hope her family isn’t broken like mine is; I hope she receives hugs from her mother and forehead kisses from her father.
I hope nobody in this classroom is as unhappy as I have been these past few months. I hope they are good people because I would like to hope that when they go home to their families, siblings, grandmothers, their pets, their roommates, their boyfriends/girlfriends, their husbands/wives, and children, that they constantly have smiles permanently pressed upon their faces because every good person deserves to smile more than ‘every once in a while.’ “The People In My History Class” (via callused)
There are people in here with greasy hair—who look like they went without showering for three or four days. Are they like Esther Greenwood from The Bell Jar? Are they in their very own bell jar? Did they have enough time to step into the shower last night—to let the (hopefully) warm water fall onto their faces—to let the water drip off of their shoulders, onto their feet—to let the water droplets slowly drift down their delicate arms and watch as it reaches their fingertips? Did they go through a horrifyingly, heartbreaking, gut-wrenching breakup? Are they trying to let their hair grow out faster? Did they simply forget about showering? Are they too busy to remember that they have a body to take care of? Does their hair get greasy quickly? Do they merely not care about others’ opinions?
There is a dark brown boy, who is three rows away from me, wearing thick, black glasses with his left hand over his mouth—playing with his lips. He looks about 24 years old. Is he focusing on the professor or is he pretending? Is he really just thinking about his plans with his girlfriend afterwards: how they are going to go to the movies to watch a horror film because he loves it when she holds him and she loves it when he jumps and pretends to be brave to try and impress her? Does he actually care about the words shooting out of the professors mouth? Is he imagining Prof. Williams as a shooting star? Is he hoping that if he listens so intently—so carefully—his wish to pass History 1302 will be granted? Does he actually enjoy American History? Does he plan to stand where the professor is standing in about 15 years or less—depending on his determination of reaching his dream career?
There is a man a row to the right of me and a seat ahead of me who has some gray hairs on the sides of his head, trying to cast a shadow over the short, curly black hairs on the top of his head. He looks about 45 years old. He has glasses resting upon the hopeful curly black hairs. He has a very honest face and a gold necklace wrapped around his neck. He probably has children—a boy and two girls—one who is 10, one who is 13, and one who is 19 years old—and he probably loves them very much. I can’t tell if there is a ring on his finger but I’m hoping there is.
There is a girl two rows to the left of me, one seat ahead. She looks about 19 years old. She is wearing a big black jacket with black and white stripes on the hood. Her hair is cut like a pixie and her bangs are a neon light blue. She wears red glasses to help cover her sad eyes, a slouch on her back, and a hopeless look on her face. I can tell she is insecure. I wonder what her interests are. She probably spends some of her time reading Scy-fy, fantasy, and anime books. I bet she has read all of the Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings novels. I hope her family isn’t broken like mine is; I hope she receives hugs from her mother and forehead kisses from her father.
I hope nobody in this classroom is as unhappy as I have been these past few months. I hope they are good people because I would like to hope that when they go home to their families, siblings, grandmothers, their pets, their roommates, their boyfriends/girlfriends, their husbands/wives, and children, that they constantly have smiles permanently pressed upon their faces because every good person deserves to smile more than ‘every once in a while.’ “The People In My History Class” (via callused)
(Source: callused, via equilibrious)
