My Longest Relationship

Well, this is it. Goodbye to 12 (or is it 13?) years.

I started reading Harry when I was a college freshman or sophomore. It was still pretty much unheard of here. I had read about it in Newsweek, I think, and asked my ninang send me the first book from the US. I remember staying up late ("Just one more chapter..."); reserving succeeding books before they came out; spending entire Saturdays just reading, reading, reading; laughing, crying, being depressed and puffy-eyed for days after Dumbledore died. I've read each book at least twice--the first time, always in a frenzy, just to find out what would happen; the second, at a more leisurely pace, to savor the story and catch little things that I missed the first time around. I'm pretty sure I've read some more than twice, just because I missed the characters. So I looked at the impending official end of the series with both excitement and dread.

For Frances and me, it ended last night. Her husband isn't a fan, mine is just too busy, so what were two Potterheads to do but watch together? I gotta tell you, it wasn't pretty. We both cried. And cried. And cried! (SPOILER ALERT) That Snape flashback was just heartbreaking.

Sigh. There's a little bit less magic in my life without Harry.