Making Waves: July 2011

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Death & All His Friends

I did it.
I finally did it.
I watched the last ever Harry Potter film.

Let me tell you, it was not easy. I delayed this moment for as long as possible. Normally I would have been first in line; pre-booked tickets for the premier night of the latest Potter film.
Not this time though. Almost every single person I deem to be important in my life watched this film before me and I didn’t even care. I knew what was going to happen. I’ve read all of the books many times. I knew how it would all end. I knew. That was the major difference. Ever since I read the final book, this day has been on my mind. After each film I saw, all I could think was of this day. The day I finally watched the last ever Harry Potter film. The day that it would all end. The day the magic would simply cease to exist; as if it never had existed. As if the past ten years of my life never really happened. As if it was all just in my head, a figment of my imagination.
How could it be real?
How could there have been a world where people could fly on broomsticks? Or where invisibility cloaks could be used to sneak into a library so that three students could go find out information that would help them on their journey to one day lead the biggest battle to ever exist in their world?

It cannot be true.

There never was a Ministry for Magic. Toilets are simply toilets. Telephone booths are simply telephone booths. Fireplaces only serve the function to burn and provide heat. Nothing more. There never could be a Tom Marvolo Riddle. He never would become the darkest wizard of all time. He never would split his soul into seven pieces, nor would he cause masses of death over the time of his existence.

There is no such place as Hogwarts!
There is no such thing as magic.
There never was. It was just a creation. A figment of the imagination of an English woman.

Hagrid does not exist. Albus Dumbledore never existed. Hedwig never carried letters to Sirius Black. There never existed such a creature as Buckbeak the Hippogriff, or Aragog the giant spider, or a monstrous Basilisk!
None of it was ever true!
So can someone PLEASE tell me why I sit here, in my room, crying non-stop over something that never ever existed?
WHY do I dream about visiting an entire world that never was, nor ever will be possible?
If it was all just movies, and after seeing the final one, WHY do I have this empty feeling? This feeling of nothingness? I’m just... numb. It’s as if a piece of my soul is missing. It’s as if I’m trapped in this world where I never could call upon the ‘Night Bus’ to come give me a lift in a time of need. A world where there is no Quidditch nor Dementors, nor Olivander’s .
Why do I cry so much over the death of a character? Why does Albus Dumbledore feel like my own grandfather when he never existed? Why am I so protective over a series of books? So much so that if I meet someone who dislikes the books, I am instantly put off by them?

WHY?

If none of it ever existed, then why?

Don’t tell me it was all just books. Don’t tell me it’s not real. Don’t tell me it was all just in someone’s imagination. It was real. It IS real. I, along with millions of others, will vouch for this.

We will tell you that Albus Dumbledore was the greatest, most incredible man anyone could ever hope to meet.
We will tell you that Neville Longbottom turns out to be this fantastic young man who makes us so proud.
We will tell you that Hermione Granger is probably the smartest witch in the world.
We will tell you that Ron Weasley is the best damn Ginger that ever existed.
We will tell you that Harry Potter is the bravest man to ever exist, and he changed our lives, dammit!
We took a ten year journey with him. We learned with him. We loved with him. We suffered with him. WE HAVE LIVED HIS LIFE.

DO NOT tell me it never existed.
Harry Potter is the ONE thing in my life I know to be true.

I may not always know what the future will hold for me. I may not always know who I will meet, nor which paths I will take on my journey in life.

But when it comes to Harry Potter, I know the truth. I know what it feels like to fly. I know what it feels like to see someone you love, die. I know what anger is. I know what magic is. As long as I have my memories, you can never take that away from me.

I will always live in a parallel world: The first being YOUR world, one where Harry Potter does not exist. And the second being MY world, one where I KNOW that Harry Potter exists. I don’t care what anyone says, for in my heart, I know that he lives. In my heart, I know he lived a great adventure, one that generations of kids will forever experience, thanks to the genius that is JK Rowling.

And I feel damn sorry for those of you who never will.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Honesty

Am I a bad person?

Does too much honesty make one a bad person if the truth never changes anything and only makes the other person resent you and hate you for a) telling them the hurtful truth, but also b) 'lying' to them all this time?

I just got into an argument with a very close friend of mine over this.

Basically, I argued that in almost 10 years of our friendship, apart from birthdays, she never ever bothered to try an arrange a time and place for our group of friends to get together. I told her this made me feel as if she took us for granted.

This made her mad.

She started yelling at me, saying it wasn't her fault that she could never arrange anything because (and here's where the lame excuses come) of things like never having a lift or a car.

10 years.

Not once.

I asked her if she could give me an example of an occasion where she DID make an effort. She said she couldn't, but that she couldn't understand why this meant I thought she takes our friendship for granted.

Now she won't talk to me. She thinks I was being "fake" for all these years because I never told her before that this is how I felt.

I told her that I did not think that for 10 years, I only realised it now, and that I wasn't purposefully trying to hurt her, because that was not my point.

I just wanted to spend time with her. I want her to WANT to spend time with me. Enough so that she actually puts effort into it and doesn't make me the driving force that keeps our friendship alive.

I wanted her to know that this is how I felt.

Isn't that what friends are for? Knowing you can tell them anything, that they won't judge you; that they will understand you; that they will be there for you when you need them; that they will make you feel better?

Is this really so bad?

Am I terrible person for telling one of my best, closest of friends how I feel?

Now she won't talk to me. Now she's hurt. And I sit here, feeling guilty for telling her how I feel, when I just as easily could have shut my mouth and go on resenting her.

Maybe I'm delusional.

Maybe I have too much of Gregory House in me.

Maybe people just don't want the truth about themselves, and anyone who breaks that seal is a mean, horrible person.

How can I ever be completely honest with her if I know this is how she'll react?

Is honesty really the best policy?

So again, I must ask you,

Am I a terrible person?

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Oh. My. Potterness.

Look at this photo from the New York premier of Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows Part 2:

RIDICULOUS.

Look how grown up they are!

How am I supposed to process this?

The last of the Harry Potter films. EVER.

The books are already done. And soon I will watch TDH p2 and I will end the series completely.

I never wanted this day to come.

I don't think people quite realise how much the series meant to me.

How the fuck am I supposed to cope knowing all the knowledge I could ever hope to gain from JK Rowling's wizardry world is already out there, that I can never know more?

This is it.

The end of an era.

The end of literally a decade-long pop-culture phenomenon that IS my very childhood.

This means leaving my childhood. This means growing up. This means having to remove myself from the imaginary Harry Potter world, into the lame, harsh, boring, mean, real Muggle world.

I don't want to grow up.

I don't want to face life.

I don't want to exist in reality. I just want to escape. I want to pretend there are more interesting things to do than having a job.

Even if I ever do get my dream job, NOTHING will ever be as exciting as what Hermione can do with her wand.

NO ONE I will ever meet can be as completely fascinating and truly wonderful as Albus Dumbledore is.

In all my life, I will probably never go somewhere as cool and captivatingly mesmerising as Hogwats is.

Do you realise how depressing life is in comparison to this?

Can JK Rowling please just write more books?

I can't deal with this.

The Evolution of Harry Potter:

2001: