While Harry Potter is a fantastic, engrossing, reading experience for anyone of any age, I’ve always believed that it was most special for kids who were growing up with Harry — the kids who were adolescent around the time he got his letter to Hogwarts, and verging on adulthood by the time he left it. That generation — my generation — got the special magic of living things out alongside him, our imaginations inhaling each glimpse into his world, our hearts seeing him as an intimate friend, despite never seeing him at all.
Close to a decade later, and that feeling of childish wonder — or perhaps more specifically, the want of that feeling — still hasn’t really left us. Any of us.
Nostalgia is a funny thing, though. It’s a tricky, an impossible thing, actually, if you look at it closely enough — because even if the thing itself, a movie, a book, a tv series, is recreated to perfection, the conditions for that feeling still can’t be. Ever, actually. Try as we might, we’ve all grown away from that moment when we were simply in love with the adventure itself, reading whole-heartedly, and without question. Continue reading
It is 10 years after the Battle of Hogwarts. How is Harry dealing with PTSD?
The wizarding world had found a decade’s peace after Voldemort’s demise, but all was not yet well, for one more battle remained. It was one Harry had long put off fighting, against opponents long gone and even longer unseen.
In the immediate rebuilding, Harry had been too distracted to notice what was happening – there was the pressing need to bury his loved ones and classmates, to compose his own testimony before the Ministry of Magic, the sound of fluttering that meant yet another demand, another request, another interview. These were tasks that emptied his life’s hourglasses, items on a to-do list that magically, miraculously never got any shorter. In the spare moments he could manage, Harry often found himself cursing that he had smashed the Minstry’s stock of Time-Turners, knowing he could surely use one now.
This – cursing himself – was something he found himself doing increasingly often. Continue reading
If you’ve known me for any substantial amount of time, it’s pretty obvious that writing is a big part of who I am.
Before I even had my first crush or inkling of romance — Traci Liang, sixth grade — I remember loving writing — sitting with my dad, whose native tongue is Vietnamese, working on a Pokemon-inspired universe that would have surely failed any intellectual property lawsuit; penning out my general confusion in angsty, adolescent poetry, and at one point, there was even something about a food themed superhero with a nacho cheese blaster for an arm. Continue reading