Do you know what I hate? Do you, Professor? You'll never read this and for
that I am glad. You gave us this assignment even though you'll never read
it yet this is probably the most important, meaningful assignment we'll
ever be given.
You told us to write about something, anything really. You wanted it to mean something to us. You told us to write what we truly think, what we truly feel. And I will. This time I will. I'll hand in this assignment that you'll never read and I'll be glad. The truth will be out there in print even if that print is a few scratches on parchment. That is why I'm actually doing what you have asked. I love Quidditch but that's not what I'm going to write about. I will write the truth.
I hate what I have become. What I feel I've become. I am bitter and I am scared. I admit it. I'm scared. Voldemort is out there and there is nothing I can do about it. I feel as if it's my fault he's out there. If only I had done this or done that. If only I had told Dumbledore about Moody or my dream in the summer. Perhaps Cedric would still be alive. Perhaps Voldemort would not have a body.
What scares me is that I want to hurt something, break something. I want to go up to Voldemort and put crusio on him a million times. What scares me is that if given the chance I would. What scares me is that I could really hurt someone if I lost control. I'm scared that just one more remark from Malfoy will be my breaking point. What scares me is that I sometimes wish I were Cedric, that I had been the one who died.
I wish that Cedric hadn't been there. I wish that I hadn't been jealous of him, that I hadn't thought some of the things I did. I wish I didn't dream of him, didn't dream of his blank face. I wish that I could say to myself that if I'd known what was going to happen I would have jumped in front of him. But I know I wouldn't have. I couldn't have. I still want to live no matter how guilty I feel. I can't bear to tell anyone that. I can barely admit it to myself.
I feel so bad, so guilty. I feel awful and yet I know that if I had to choose between Ron and Cedric or Hermione and Cedric I know which one I'd choose. I feel the pain I've caused others. I feel the grief and the anguish. I feel selfish. I feel so selfish when I wish that I could just forget about Cedric, about that whole night. I feel selfish when I wish people would like me the way they had before, that they wouldn't be scared of me when I walk down a hall. I feel like I shouldn't feel sorry for myself, that I should take this punishment and ask for more.
I don't know what I'll do when I grow up and I don't care. I want to stop Voldemort and yet I want to give that job to someone else so I wouldn't have to bother. I've done things I'm not proud of and I don't know how I can get through what I need to. I don't know why everyone thinks I am able to do all the things they expect me to. I don't know why they think I'm special. The only reason I survived Voldemort was because my mother sacrificed herself for me and yet people think I'm so special. I've survived on luck and protection from people that seem to think I have some potential. Because they think I have potential they protect me and let those who should live have none.
Why do I have to be different? Why do I always get credit for things I don't deserve? Why does Snape hate me? Why do Ron and Hermione stay by my side? Why do the Dursley's hate me so much? What have I done? Why do I matter? Why do I have to think of all this as normal? Why can't I really be normal? Why can't I live with parents and with trivial responsibilities? Why? Why? WHY?!
I've done so much and yet so little. I've broken rules, done schoolwork and to me it feels like little else. I remember events like Quirrel and Voldemort through the trap door. I remember Ron sacrificing himself to the giant chess piece, Hermione laying petrified on a bed. I think of Colin running around with his camera, Ginny with Tom Riddle's diary clutched in her dying hands. I see Sirius riding off into the night atop of Buckbeak, Oliver crying with joy after winning the Quidditch cup and Mr. Olivander giving me my wand. I remember Hagrid looking at Norbert, Dumbledore's speeches and Fred and George making Percy's prefect badge say 'Big Head Boy'. There is so much I remember and yet I still don't know so much. Why did I do the things I did? Was it because I was doing the right thing or was it because I was avoiding punishment? If I had the choice to do it all over again would I?
There you have it professor. I am uncertain. I am bitter and unsure. I am selfish. I seek justice. I flee from it. I remember cause. I remember effect. I feel guilt. I feel sorrow. I feel love. I feel life. I do things. I don't do other things. I am who I am. I am not complete. I do not know anyone who is. We are not complete until we take our last breath. Until our life story is at its end there is always room for more. I have not written everything I've felt, seen, heard or anything else. There is much more to me than I will ever write down but I feel this is enough for now. Whether I feel this is better for my piece of mind or what not I don't know. I will hand this in yet you will not read it. You wanted to show us how the effects of humans on inanimate objects through feelings and how those feelings can alter the effects of charms put upon them. You said you would not read these papers so as to ensure that we write the truth and express feelings and that is what I've done. I hope this is what we were supposed to do and if not then at least this has been worth while to me. I was able to admit things on paper that I can't admit elsewhere and I feel better for it. Maybe one day I will let someone read this. Maybe not. At least for now I am free to know what I love what I feel and what I hate.
You told us to write about something, anything really. You wanted it to mean something to us. You told us to write what we truly think, what we truly feel. And I will. This time I will. I'll hand in this assignment that you'll never read and I'll be glad. The truth will be out there in print even if that print is a few scratches on parchment. That is why I'm actually doing what you have asked. I love Quidditch but that's not what I'm going to write about. I will write the truth.
I hate what I have become. What I feel I've become. I am bitter and I am scared. I admit it. I'm scared. Voldemort is out there and there is nothing I can do about it. I feel as if it's my fault he's out there. If only I had done this or done that. If only I had told Dumbledore about Moody or my dream in the summer. Perhaps Cedric would still be alive. Perhaps Voldemort would not have a body.
What scares me is that I want to hurt something, break something. I want to go up to Voldemort and put crusio on him a million times. What scares me is that if given the chance I would. What scares me is that I could really hurt someone if I lost control. I'm scared that just one more remark from Malfoy will be my breaking point. What scares me is that I sometimes wish I were Cedric, that I had been the one who died.
I wish that Cedric hadn't been there. I wish that I hadn't been jealous of him, that I hadn't thought some of the things I did. I wish I didn't dream of him, didn't dream of his blank face. I wish that I could say to myself that if I'd known what was going to happen I would have jumped in front of him. But I know I wouldn't have. I couldn't have. I still want to live no matter how guilty I feel. I can't bear to tell anyone that. I can barely admit it to myself.
I feel so bad, so guilty. I feel awful and yet I know that if I had to choose between Ron and Cedric or Hermione and Cedric I know which one I'd choose. I feel the pain I've caused others. I feel the grief and the anguish. I feel selfish. I feel so selfish when I wish that I could just forget about Cedric, about that whole night. I feel selfish when I wish people would like me the way they had before, that they wouldn't be scared of me when I walk down a hall. I feel like I shouldn't feel sorry for myself, that I should take this punishment and ask for more.
I don't know what I'll do when I grow up and I don't care. I want to stop Voldemort and yet I want to give that job to someone else so I wouldn't have to bother. I've done things I'm not proud of and I don't know how I can get through what I need to. I don't know why everyone thinks I am able to do all the things they expect me to. I don't know why they think I'm special. The only reason I survived Voldemort was because my mother sacrificed herself for me and yet people think I'm so special. I've survived on luck and protection from people that seem to think I have some potential. Because they think I have potential they protect me and let those who should live have none.
Why do I have to be different? Why do I always get credit for things I don't deserve? Why does Snape hate me? Why do Ron and Hermione stay by my side? Why do the Dursley's hate me so much? What have I done? Why do I matter? Why do I have to think of all this as normal? Why can't I really be normal? Why can't I live with parents and with trivial responsibilities? Why? Why? WHY?!
I've done so much and yet so little. I've broken rules, done schoolwork and to me it feels like little else. I remember events like Quirrel and Voldemort through the trap door. I remember Ron sacrificing himself to the giant chess piece, Hermione laying petrified on a bed. I think of Colin running around with his camera, Ginny with Tom Riddle's diary clutched in her dying hands. I see Sirius riding off into the night atop of Buckbeak, Oliver crying with joy after winning the Quidditch cup and Mr. Olivander giving me my wand. I remember Hagrid looking at Norbert, Dumbledore's speeches and Fred and George making Percy's prefect badge say 'Big Head Boy'. There is so much I remember and yet I still don't know so much. Why did I do the things I did? Was it because I was doing the right thing or was it because I was avoiding punishment? If I had the choice to do it all over again would I?
There you have it professor. I am uncertain. I am bitter and unsure. I am selfish. I seek justice. I flee from it. I remember cause. I remember effect. I feel guilt. I feel sorrow. I feel love. I feel life. I do things. I don't do other things. I am who I am. I am not complete. I do not know anyone who is. We are not complete until we take our last breath. Until our life story is at its end there is always room for more. I have not written everything I've felt, seen, heard or anything else. There is much more to me than I will ever write down but I feel this is enough for now. Whether I feel this is better for my piece of mind or what not I don't know. I will hand this in yet you will not read it. You wanted to show us how the effects of humans on inanimate objects through feelings and how those feelings can alter the effects of charms put upon them. You said you would not read these papers so as to ensure that we write the truth and express feelings and that is what I've done. I hope this is what we were supposed to do and if not then at least this has been worth while to me. I was able to admit things on paper that I can't admit elsewhere and I feel better for it. Maybe one day I will let someone read this. Maybe not. At least for now I am free to know what I love what I feel and what I hate.