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Looks Are Deceiving Essay

Marmara was one of those people that everyone despises. Everyone knows how challenging the first part of the school year can be for new students. I mean, you have to make new friends and just get used to an unaccustomed environment. Well, it was not like that for Marmara! She had already become popular on the first day and was elected as class representative for she was intelligent and talented. She wrote two books that are published, had good looks, a beautiful voice, eye capturing drawings, and a one of a kind personality, and she was still in the eighth grade!

I was sure Miley Cyrus was wrong when she sang that “nobody’s perfect”, for Marmara was the exception. The new girl and I made friends quickly. She entertained us throughout the long, dull, and often exhausting school days. Everything she did was different. She was special it seemed, in every way. She would sit on the floor in the middle of a lesson when the wooden chair started to hurt her, flicker her hair every three seconds, and always keep a pen and paper besides her. I constantly saw her jotting down things, and she would not notice the teacher’s razor sharp eyes boring into her.

None dared to punish her though, because she excelled in almost all the subjects. In English class, she would share her poetry with us, and whenever we had to write essays, the teachers would pick hers as a model. Everyone would stare at her in a most bewildered manner, amazed at the ability of this prodigy. I felt that I myself was worthless compared to Maramara’s flawless beauty and knowledge. It was not until the middle of the school year that something fishy started to happen. I would sometimes find Marmara red-eyed and teary, her long, lushly brown hair hiding parts of her sorrowful face.

As us teenagers live our age, occurrences like this are quiet common, but from perfect Marmara, it seemed abnormal. As classmates would rush to get besides her, trying to provide her with consolations, her state would become worse- her legs would start to shiver, and she would ask to be left alone. Her melancholy image was there in front of me every second of the days that followed; I was terribly worried. One gloomy winter day during recess, I found her sitting alone on a rusty bench.

I wondered how students could be so loud and care-free while others were going through bad times. Immediately, I sat myself besides Marmara, taking it as an opportunity to have a talk. I felt a bit awkward sitting there speechless, picking my brains for a way to start. Randomly, Marmara pulled her sleeve up, revealing fairly fresh cuts of a knife right below her left palm. She whispered, “Don’t worry, it’s just how I relieve my pain, you see I can’t cry anymore. My eyes have dried up. ” I was struck dumb by the shock and ran for the restroom where I privately shed tears.

She followed shortly after; her features now mysterious and menacing like a fox. The urge to scream and shout filled my lungs, but my lips did not part for it seemed wrong. I wanted to ask her why- why she was doing this to herself, but could not get myself to, fearing the consequences. Her poetry grew sad. Marmara simply seemed like a different person now. She had huge mood swings. You would see her laughing and joking around and then two seconds later, solemn. I knew I had to do something, so I told her uncle who worked at school because he and Marmara were close.

He took in the news of her condition calmly, and thanked me for reporting it to him. However, I sensed a slight change in his crinkly face and his usually unwavering voice was unsteady. I could tell he was terribly worried. He quickly took action and found Marmara a psychiatrist who helped her get out of her habit and condition. I watched her carefully as she transformed back into her normal self, helping her along the way. It turned out that she had some problems at home that had affected her psychologically.

I finally realized that Marmara was just like the rest of us- teenagers facing the world and its challenges. Marmara taught me that no matter how strong, perfect, or powerful a person may seem, he or she still is a person. There will always be something that comes and cannot be overtaken. I also acquired that I should not always judge people just by their appearance or actions. Now I know not to get tricked into believing happiness is a mere smile on the face because you never know what internal conflicts are hiding behind it. As they say “looks can be deceiving. ”

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