The Essay's Reaction (long)
Submitted by Altima on September 12 2001 15:00:15
In reply to Altima submitted by Splash! on September 12 2001 02:19:37
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Thanks for the compliments, I'd just like to say that one doesn't just flick on writing ability like a light switch. I just got my results from last year's exams today. I got a C in English. Since then I've been reading more and more, and writing more and more. I found last year that I really enjoyed writing essays, it was my favorite part of English and I began writing in my spare time. That essay was completely reactionary. It was too much to take in all at once, and I felt overwhelmed. I felt physically ill (I still do actually) after watching the footage, and I just... had to write. The essay is perhaps one of the most emotive I've ever written, I was struggling to keep my typing at the same pace as my frantic mind. I tried to keep most of the condemnation to the descriptions of the perpetrators though, which is probably where the perception of objectivity comes from. I didn't point a finger of blame, I even suggested the possability of domestic criminals behind it, which many were VERY reluctant to admit. My mother who had been watching the news all day yesterday hadn't even considered it but was visably shocked when I suggested the possability and the McVeigh quote I remembered. I was so emotionally pained when I wrote it that when I read the essay now it surprises me. I cannot remember writing those words, but I remember sitting at the desk and typing them. It's an odd sensation, to be so drowned with pain for something happeneing 2500 miles away from you that you can't remember anything besides seeing the giant buildings crumble. The buildings were representative of greatness, not of America or New York, but of human beings. Such strong structures created by such weak beings, such modestly designed animals as we humans are. To have them destroyed by fellow men in such a fashion... And I deeply apologise of I seem overly callous by just mentioning the buildings, but I did focus on the people in the essay. I brought in my essay to school today. I gave it to my English teacher with an attached handwritten note. He looked at it and immediately knew what it was. He had already hailed an essay of mine as university level, so he must have been expecting something like this. When he saw the title he said "Exactly. Words Failed." To see and hear my English teacher say that nearly brought both of us to tears, but we held our composure. (I can remember my mother commenting on Tony Blair's speech where he said that there are no adequate words of condemnation in the English language. "There are always words." I said, begining to shake. "There's always words hiding somewhere. We just need to discover them in ourselves." My mother didn't know what to say so I left the room and tried to prove my point by writing.) Halfway through the school day another English teacher commented on my great essay. It was apparent he was impressed enough to show another teacher. Turns out at the end of the day, both English teachers had read the essay to every class they had. They were amazed at the reaction. The students were dead silent, afraid to breathe. When my English teacher read it to his 6th years (Seniors) they asked "How Long'd it take you to write that, sir?" He replied "I didn't write it." "But then who did? It's good!" "A Fourth Year wrote it." And their jaws dropped. As I was walking out of the school, one of the 6th year prefects began asking people where I was, a prefect I didn't know. Someone pointed me out and I meandered toward him as he jogged to me. "Did you write that essay?" He asked. "Yeah, I did." "That was incredible. It was excellent. I've lived in Manhatten seven years and I thought the article was just beautiful." As I walked home, my pride was soon crushed by a prompt heavy downpour. What an example of pathetic fallacy. As I was begining to chuckle at the fact that I succeeded in doing something I didn't quite set out to do in the first place, nature's fury reminded me that my success was ONLY because of the horrible tragedy and loss of human life. Yesterday I was feeling happy about life as I was walking home, it was before I heard the news. I plucked a leaf from a hedge while I was walking home and held it until I reached my house. I loved the soft texture of nature on my skin. It felt like perfection. I got home, put it in my pocket, and was shocked by the terrorist acts. When I went out to get some air many hours later, I reached in my pocket and found the leaf. It was still there, still soft. I was still alive. Today the leaf is turning brown and begining to feel rough in my hand. For the first time in my life my happiness looked salvagable, but now it is decaying... slowly dying. |
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