The ice cream man sounded his horn in a summertime neighborhood, and the scent of ice cream mixed with warm weather thoughts reached his ears.In the court, Meursault extricated himself from the strife, as if he was an outsider. He built a real world inside, mentally thinking of summer scents and Mary's laugh and dress, silently anticipating hurrying back to his cell to sleep. Because he didn't cry at his mother's funeral, he was found guilty of killing an Arab by accident and sentenced to death. The judge thought he was a callous individual and concluded that he had intentionally killed the Arab.
 
He visited his lover and watched comedies after his mother died. As a result, people came to view him as a heartless, soulless monster doomed from birth.But a man without a soul does not possess a vivid sensibility, does not look forward to summer coming again and again, does not gaze at the golden sky in awe, does not enjoy the smells of the night, and does not take the sleeping summer into his arms. Like a poet from summer, he would not write of cynical sorrows. But as an outsider, he noticed and recorded everything: the oddballs at Celeste's café, the snowy afghans and stones on the high ground, the steamers in the distance, and anything else that would indicate how much he loved the planet.
 
Even though summer was coming to an end, he embraced the summer that was real and not pretentious. His silence, his transcendence, his indifference to all interests, lead him to his doom. In the court, the judge, who believed himself to be on the moral high ground, was aggressive and all but dismissed anyone who proved Meursault's innocence. Meursault's friend Ramon, a lover-batterer, scorned by all the neighbors, and a key figure in the case, steped forward to defend him. The judge, however, insisted that he was guilty, and that his crime was no different from the patricide.
 
Meursault watched the farce, not defending himself, as if he were outside of it. Even at his trial, he was an outsider. He said that he shot the Arab because the sun was too harsh that day. Everyone was so focused on condemning Meursault's character that they ignored the case at hand.His life, it had nothing to do with him. He had always felt on the outside, both of his own life and the world at large.
 
The priests tried to redeem him, and he didn't believe in such vain things. He turns a deaf ear to everything that doesn't concern him, and he doesn't have a pretty mask. He was sentenced to death, but at least, he did not do a single thing against his will during his life, even though it was contrary to the ways of the world. He walked frankly to the guillotine, feeling for the last time the gentle indifference of the world. He was happy, and he is still happy.
 
No one, no one has the right to weep for him.
 
I am often troubled by relationships, and internal conflict ensues.It was little stuff, but I was so overwhelmed by these big, real feelings that I was at a loss for words and eventually gave my life to someone else. I can't be an outsider like Meursault after all, but returning to my heart, not disturbing myself at will for external standards, and being brave enough to be myself and the master of my own life is something I need to work on.