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Just a Zebra Girl in a Muggle World

Today is an awesome day–it is the day of birth belonging to both J.K. Rowling and Harry Potter himself.ms-c1NBLK

I was first introduced to Harry Potter when I was eight years old by my grammy (thank you grammy). Since then–and you’re gunna think I’m totally insane, but oh well–I’ve read the first HP at least twenty times. That’s not an exaggeration. That’s real life.

I swear I’m not crazy though. When I was a kid and they were still coming out, I read the series at least twice a year–once for fun and once in preparation for the next book coming out. Since the last one came out when I was 12 I haven’t read them as often. But whenever my world is too much; whenever I am sick of being sick, tired of being tired or feel lonely and out of place; whenever I yearn to explore and escape–I go back to Harry Potter.

I’m grateful to my parents for teaching me this trick at a young age. They couldn’t have known then how valuable it would be for me–how books have brought me through when my body was stuck sick in bed or my mind was tired of being me. They taught me by example and patience to love reading and learning. (That being said they certainly aren’t perfect as neither of them has ever read any of the HP books. Smh.)

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I owe my love of reading to my parents (although obviously I have outstretched them when it comes to taste in books), but I attribute my love of writing to the authors I have loved and the worlds they have opened to me. Foremost of these is Joanne Rowling–the first time her words let me into Harry’s world I realized I wanted to be a writer. She, more than any other author, has taught me the value that the written word can have. She will never know exactly how much her words meant to a little, wide-eyed girl, to a sick and angry teenager, and to a young woman trying to find her place in this muggle world. But now you do.

We do not need magic to transform our world. We carry all of the power we need inside ourselves already.” 

-J.K. Rowling

 

 

 

Scars

I’m part of the Harry Potter generation–I grew up with Harry, Ron and Hermione–so when I think of scars, I think of this quote from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone:

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “He’ll have that scar forever.”

“Couldn’t you do something about it, Dumbledore?”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground.”

As it happens, I also have a scar on my left knee that is a perfect
map of the London Underground–providing that the London Underground is a single, straight tunnel. I got it from IT Band surgery I had at the end of my last season of bball (not knowing it would be my last season of course).IMG_0260

I also have scars on the front of both of my knees and my hip bones from years of court burns. I have a scar on my right leg from slipping off my bike as a kid. I have faint scars on my upper arms from girls nails scratching me during games. Now I have four teeny scars on my abdomen from gallbladder surgery. All together it’s a pretty decent collection I’ve got going.

I love each and every one of my scars. Each one tells a story of pain. Each one is a daily reminder that everything passes eventually–that wounds heal, tears dry, and the sun never fails to chase away the night. Each one is proof that life is worth living, despite the pain. Each one is like a little, shining kiss from life–proof of what you’ve passed through and overcome.

That’s why I’d have to agree with Dumbledore–scars are useful, even if they are not, like mine and Dumbledore’s, a perfect map of the London Underground.

Of course we all have scars that are not visible–hidden holes inside us from something missing. They’re a little harder to love. They hurt longer, heal messier. But maybe that’s why we should love them all the more, because they’re evidence of something worth missing.