In my month of bloggerly absence (I swear I'll get a routine one of these days), I reached a few major milestones. I turned 22. Not terribly significant. I started my month of work back at school. Mildly significant. I saw the final Harry Potter film and my childhood came to a close. Mind-numbingly significant.
Few outsiders can fully understand what Harry Potter means for our generation, including some of the Iraqis I've been working with this summer. As we left the theater and threw our 3D glasses into the recycling bin, many of my new friends blasphemously declared that the movie "wasn't very good." Understandably appalled, I tried to maintain my composure as I began to explain just how important Harry Potter has been.
(لكل اصدقائي العراقيين، ليس هناك اي مشكلة. هذا مجرد مبالغة)
For those of us born in 1988 and 1989, we literally grew up alongside Harry and his friends, though in a decidedly less magical way. I began reading the books in 1999, and like so many 10 year olds ensnared by JK Rowling's spell, I secretly hoped for my letter of acceptance to Hogwarts to fly in through the chimney on my 11th birthday. Alas, it did not come. After a few months of making excuses, theorizing differences between the British and American wizarding education systems, I accepted the truth: I would never be anything more than a Muggle. As I aged and matured, so did the books. The 7th book came out the summer after our high school graduation, furthering the impact of an already large transition. Now, fittingly, the final film has followed our college graduation.
Now, dear reader, you may have some idea of Harry Potter's connection to my generation, but are probably wondering what on earth he has to do with the supposed travel theme of this blog. Allow me to dispel the confusion: The finale of Harry Potter is coinciding quite nicely with the beginning of a new phase of my life as I move to Spain.
Yes, I've traveled abroad for long periods of time before, but this move is different. Everything is open ended. I have a one way ticket, and no ideas about where or when I be returning. Just as I could always look forward to the next Harry Potter book or movie to keep the story alive in my mind, I always left on my trips with a very definite sense of home. Whether it was Fayetteville or Conway, I knew I would be coming back. Since my return this summer, I've realized that Fayetteville will never be the same. For me, it was always a place of intense socializing, home to the vast majority of my friends. Now, however, they've been scattered to the wind, spreading across the globe from Japan to Italy, and across the country from Baton Rouge to New York. Conway is a different story. Though I've spent very little time there over the past four years, it was always home, where I grew up and where my parents lived. But it is not a place where I belong. While I'll certainly come back, I know that this summer was the last time that I will ever live in Conway.
So here I am, destined to be a sojourner for the next few years, devoid of any home base. I don't have any idea of what's coming next, but we'll have to see how my epilogue coincides with Harry's in 15 years. Here's hoping it doesn't include anyone named Albus Severus.
Few outsiders can fully understand what Harry Potter means for our generation, including some of the Iraqis I've been working with this summer. As we left the theater and threw our 3D glasses into the recycling bin, many of my new friends blasphemously declared that the movie "wasn't very good." Understandably appalled, I tried to maintain my composure as I began to explain just how important Harry Potter has been.
(لكل اصدقائي العراقيين، ليس هناك اي مشكلة. هذا مجرد مبالغة)
For those of us born in 1988 and 1989, we literally grew up alongside Harry and his friends, though in a decidedly less magical way. I began reading the books in 1999, and like so many 10 year olds ensnared by JK Rowling's spell, I secretly hoped for my letter of acceptance to Hogwarts to fly in through the chimney on my 11th birthday. Alas, it did not come. After a few months of making excuses, theorizing differences between the British and American wizarding education systems, I accepted the truth: I would never be anything more than a Muggle. As I aged and matured, so did the books. The 7th book came out the summer after our high school graduation, furthering the impact of an already large transition. Now, fittingly, the final film has followed our college graduation.
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| Harry Potter's rite of passage: An epic duel with the Dark Lord |
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| My rite of passage: Wearing silly clothes with friends |
Yes, I've traveled abroad for long periods of time before, but this move is different. Everything is open ended. I have a one way ticket, and no ideas about where or when I be returning. Just as I could always look forward to the next Harry Potter book or movie to keep the story alive in my mind, I always left on my trips with a very definite sense of home. Whether it was Fayetteville or Conway, I knew I would be coming back. Since my return this summer, I've realized that Fayetteville will never be the same. For me, it was always a place of intense socializing, home to the vast majority of my friends. Now, however, they've been scattered to the wind, spreading across the globe from Japan to Italy, and across the country from Baton Rouge to New York. Conway is a different story. Though I've spent very little time there over the past four years, it was always home, where I grew up and where my parents lived. But it is not a place where I belong. While I'll certainly come back, I know that this summer was the last time that I will ever live in Conway.
So here I am, destined to be a sojourner for the next few years, devoid of any home base. I don't have any idea of what's coming next, but we'll have to see how my epilogue coincides with Harry's in 15 years. Here's hoping it doesn't include anyone named Albus Severus.
