Mean

Well, I'm not pretending I'm never mean. Seriously. But there is one episode, when I was ten years old, where I've really let my whole being been taken by evil.

My sister, who is about five years my youngest, had been organizing her book shelf. She had spent the entire afternoon picking them by size and color. She still is a great organizer. I don't remember why was I mad at her. I don't know if it was something that she said or something that she did. But I was mad.

And so, with no more than one gesture I threw all her books to the floor. She looked at me with her big eyes confused and then just cryed.

I know. It still sounds stupid and pathetic. Somehow, meaningless. I'm not even sure if she remembers this silly episode.

But to me, everytime I think about it, I feel shameful.

It's not I've never done anything wrong ever since. I have. I do a lot of bad things, stupid mean gestures and actions. But I have never felt that mean again. But it's like, everyday since that day, I know that I can be that mean. I just try not to. And I always doubt that trying to avoid it would be enough to make me a good person.

I have been mean, yes, in different occasions. I tend to be very radical and I know that sometimes I hurt people. But hurting others is usually a side effect of some weird, coward, surviving maneuver.

That day, I was just being mean.

Hello

I hate saying goodbye. So I say hello a lot. I used to have another blog. I just couldn't say goodbye. So I hope you'll find me.