And still, I cry

I love Harry Potter, I really do.

After getting courage from him to finish my PhD, in times when I thought that nothing could calm me down and my mouth was in pain with tension, I decided to revisit him in time for the grand finale. Though I always thought that the books were far from perfect, the world that JKR created is undoubtedly amazing. The symbolism, the complexity, the details, HP's world sucks me in every time. I hadn't read the books, since before the end, where reading served one goal and one goal only: to look for clues of how it would all end. This of course obscured the whole experience and made me devour the books without thinking much, without enjoying them properly. So I thought, this time I will do it differently. Indifferent to the ending, I reread all books slowly, sluggishly tasting every detail. I started the last book this morning and I really don't want it to end, for when it does Harry will be gone forevermore for me, at least until July when I will queue with all the rest of his fans to see the last installment in the movie series. I never liked the movies too much, they left so much out. And, I think, HP is not about the big things, it is about the small ones. The details that the books include, the nuances of the relationships, the inner thoughts of the characters, the little traits that page after page make these kids my friends.

So, now you know why I have been so absent lately, I have been sucked back to HP land, reading and reading, spending my days, the sunniest days Belfast had seen for a while, inside a book and not outside in the gardens, the river and the sunshine. But I really don't care, sunshine will come and go. Harry though will always stay with me, my friend forever. When I read the passages that I love - Sirius's death, Voldemort's rebirth, the Yule ball, Hermione's isolation in book three, Harry's constant quest for love and affection, Snape's story - I cry. And I always cry as if these things are happening to a friend.

Because, I guess, they are.