Harry Potter

Spoilers, of course, lurk below.

I've been reading Harry Potter since shortly before The Prisoner of Azkaban was released in America in September of 1999. I was 16 then, and just starting college. I took college courses and my last two years of high school concurrently. It was the first week of college, the first week of this new and challenging part of my life, but I had this book and I couldn't believe the excitement I felt. The need to continue the story dwarfed my interest in my mid-secondary education.

On the night of July 8th a scant year later, a thunderstorm rolled over Minnesota and the power, horribly, went out. It was by candlelight that I finished The Goblet of Fire and witnessed the return of Lord Voldemort. Harry was beaten and battered, his heart flayed. And I wept for him.

I was always the sentimental type.

It would be three more years before I returned to Hogwarts. The world had changed since The Goblet of Fire, perhaps for the worse. Hamline University was my home then and I was spending the summer studying horror film and fiction in preparation to write my own screenplay. That night, hours before release, I was studying the 1961 film The Innocents, based on James's novel The Turn of the Screw. My brother was staying with me that night, and after the film ended, we trekked over to the local Borders store and indulged in a little Harry Potter before party. I had dyed my hair blue and wore around a wizard's cap. My brother, perhaps not interested and maybe even a little embarrassed, took this all in good humor. He was always more clear-headed than I, and while I retired to return to Rowling's world, he retired to bed.

Turbulent. Violent. Dark. It was a changed world. When my mother appeared to collect my brother in the early hours of the morning, she met her contemplative eldest son, whispering and a little withdrawn. Did she know that again Rowling had brought me on the verge of tears by letting me peek behind the veil?

The Order of the Phoenix would have to tide me over for the next two years until The Half-Blood Prince. I was working at the Borders store from which I'd purchased The Order of the Phoenix, in that slump after college, wondering who I was and who I should be, and looking forward at the coming months with anxiety. I didn't bother to attend the release party, content enough to pick up my copy at six a.m. Though anyone in fandom can tell you the shared Harry Potter experience is special and engrossing, I viewed The Half-Blood Prince as my oasis in uncertainty. It was a private thing, and my excitement was tied to the desperation I was feeling in my everyday life. But what an oasis to rest at: war had come and no one was safe. Harry is finally left to stand on his own, almost-but-not-quite a man, all his defenders blown aside. There was hope, but it was almost insurmountable: how could Harry possibly fulfill the task, the quest, he'd been given?

That brings us to now. Two years later--almost impossibly--I'm teaching English in Japan. I live on a small island in Okinawa, impossibly divorced from all the Harry Potter hype, with only my own stupidity to make me hunger for Harry's final chapter. The book came Monday, a couple days after its release. Without a glance at the table of contents, I began the last journey into Rowling's world.

This is perhaps cliche of me, but the old adage from first Corinthians comes to mind: "When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things." Multitudes of critics, fans and reviewers espouse upon whether or not Rowling's series is childish fantasy or grown-up fiction. Its both, of course. The childish escapism pulls you in and grabs you in the first half of the series, but come The Goblet of Fire, the gloves come off and we're in the midst of a war where suspicion, paranoia and violence are ready to burst forth at any moment, throwing Harry and his friends into danger.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows breaks from the formula of the previous books. There is no return to Hogwarts. There are no classes, homework or detentions. From the outset, Harry is on the run, trying to balance protecting himself and his friends while attempting to finish the task Dumbledore left him. The pressure is on throughout the entire book, and its a testament to Rowling's skill--and the numerous hints of multiple deaths--that you feel as if every character is in danger. I was satisfied when I closed the book. I felt as if Harry is at peace, that he's gotten all that he ever wanted and dreamed of having. As a reader, you've known from his first glance into the Mirror of Erised just what Harry's always wanted, and I could write forever about what I liked and hated and loved, but knowing Harry is happy, I can move on.

Thank you, J.K. Rowling. I can only hope that, for you, lightning will strike the same place twice.

Saturday

Last week was the end of term and along with it came the parties. I don't get off the island terribly often, so it was refreshing to head off for dinner on Thursday then again on Saturday for a BBQ.

Saturday was the best time I've had in awhile. It was a perfect Okinawan day--warm and clear--and we whiled away time before the BBQ playing Russian card games and swimming. We got the BBQ going, though Craig scorched off most of his arm hair in the process. I ended up BBQing a good portion of the time even though I frankly admitted I had no idea what I was about. But the food turned out splendid.

I spent a large amount of time talking with Craig's visiting friends from Scotland. I think it was because they were rather easy to talk with. I found myself drinking with them and some marines later that night. Nothing compares with sitting on a starry beach, listening to drums and watching native Okinawans juggle fire. Unfortunately, one of the Scotsman got a little too lost and I spent a good hour trying to keep him from running into the ocean and drowning himself. This was not something I particularly minded, seeing as I was a little gone myself, but I sobered up much faster than he did. I was quite amazed he could even stand, seeing as he'd been drinking beers all day before we sat down together with a bottle of tequila.

Another Moment

Yamaguchi-sensei was driving the van and I was in the passenger seat. The Ie boys basketball team was in the back, talking to themselves.

"Joshua?" One of the students said suddenly.

"What?"

"I want you." He said.

"I need you." Another piped in.

"I love you." The third boy sang.

"That's the kind of talk that would get you beat up in the states," I laughed and resolved to get Elvis Presley off the noontime music rotation.

My Island from Above

Expectant.

Where my mood is concerned, I'm in an expectant one, looking always forward to the next day, week, month and year. Against the usual though, the next is coming faster and faster.

I'm currently 95 kilograms (209 pounds). Exercise this past week was particularly good--enjoyable too--and the goal for the 29th of July is around 92 kilograms (202 pounds). It's a maddening process, however, when I wake up everyday expectant, being mildly pleased or disappointed and then shaping my routine and diet throughout the day. I'm in a long term commitmant to reach 80 kilograms by the end of October, but I want to wake up and have it all gone, just gone. But I want it to be a permanent thing, so I force myself to take it slow, not starve myself, and exercise prudently.

Exercise yesterday was a treat. I went to the beach and helped out elementary students clean up trash. Afterwards we all went swimming and I spent about an hour and a half launching 3rd and 4th graders from my back and into the water. It's been years since I enjoyed swimming so much, almost like I was back playing in the lake with my brothers and cousins.

My walks are beginning to get into the hour and a half range themselves, and while this can be boring, the upcoming release of the next Potter book keeps me occupied. I've reread the third and fourth book and am currently on the fifth again (the fifth causes me to curse, mostly along the lines of "fucking bitch" every time Umbridge appears), so I have something to occupy my thoughts, whether it be rehashing plots in my head or putting together little moments I hadn't noticed previously. It will be good, if bitter-sweet, to finish the last book. J.K. Rowling, along with Robert Jordan, has tempered my desire never to start a long-ass series again unless it's finished already when I start. Rowling, however, comes off the better, since I don't precisely want Harry's saga to end, whereas I'd like Jordan to just finish already so I can move on with my life. Perhaps I shouldn't be so callous though, seeing as he's quite ill and there's a question if he'll even finish. The wheel weaves, I suppose.

But the ALT year, and my second year in Japan, is also at a close and I'll soon begin the last year countdown. Plans must be made. Living here for two years has made me miss theater terribly. I miss the drama and all that connotates: the practice, the performance, the squabbles, the egos. I want it back in my life. Terribly.

Before that happens, though...The exercise and weight loss is for a purpose, not just to look good naked. But you'll have to wait and see.

The Kunigami ALTs

Just the pack of us, full after Indian food before we took off for karaoke.



Blurry David in the front doesn't seem to photograph well.