I Am no Stranger to Pain
I am no stranger to pain.
When I was nary a child, a dark lord did not undergo a failed attempt to kill me. Following logically, he did not continue to plot my death after said attempt. I do not risk my life for the world that turns on me at the slightest sign of doubt from authority figures. I do not fight dragons because of a grand plan to get me killed, nor have I foiled such a plan, at the cost of another's life. I have not watched every link to my family die for me, nor have I even had to fend for my own when I should have been wrapped in a mother's comforting arms.
I am no Harry Potter.
But I am also no stranger to pain.
My pain is that of a different sort. It is subtler, I supposed, in terms of being noticeable by others and myself. It leaves no scars, not emotional, nor physical. Why, perhaps, do I not obtain disfigurements from it? Because most of the time it is a pain that goes mostly unnoticed. It is a desirable pain; it keeps me knowing I am alive, and feeling. But yet, is it not still pain?
Subtlety is the entertainment of my pain. If asked, I would deny its presence. It is like the wind, whistling through the trees of my mind, at times stinging my eyes, but blowing past me all the same.
It is the pain of, for example, being born into a large family. Would I not be someone else had I not been born where I was, would I not loose my essence, my core? But with my Ron-ness comes the price I must pay for a large embracing knot of relatives. I rarely get anything new, and I am rarely singled out. When I am, I often feel as if I am breaking some kind of code- people are not singled out in the Weasley household, and so be it. But at the same time I am pleased to have earned the attention that comes with it.
It is the pain of not having money. It is not that we cannot afford to live; it is simply that we cannot afford to live comfortably. We make due with broken utensils, books, toys…everything. I sometimes wonder if we had a smaller family, if we would be better off. But I could not live without my family, nor would I be alive at all, for I am the last and youngest boy.
It is the pain of being mocked. It is something that happens to everyone, but often to me. My family is wonderful and I have never before found them strange. Upon coming into Hogwarts, I was thrust into a world where I was ridiculed for my family's beliefs and morals. The jests would roll right off, but upon seeing how others live I began to question that which I am, and wonder if they are right. That is why their banter bothers me so.
It is the pain of being looked over. I am one of the numerous red haired Weasley's and I am not remarkable enough to be noticed. I am also the best friend to hero Harry Potter and genius Hermione Granger. Eyes, as they will so often do in this world, gloss over me. My closest say that I am important, but I know others don't see it.
It is the pain of an unrequited crush. I will not say love because love is a thing so grand and vast that you never know what it is until you are in it and even then it is unexplainable. But I will say that my desires, my friend, the woman who stalks my dreams and stands by me in day knows of how I feel, though I have not told her. Her exasperation towards me is only because she wants me to step up and admit how I feel, and only at that, for she returns none of the feelings.
Yes, I have met pain, knocked on her front door and grimaced into her hideous face. It is a different kind of pain than what Harry experiences, but I believe that does not make it less, for each person's pain is wearing in it's own right.
I am no stranger to pain.