My room is my life and loves in effigy; research papers scattered across the floor, pictures of my friends on my wall, a memory box in the corner. But if this microcosm of my universe has a center, it wouldn’t be the trophies or the posters, it’d be a seemingly simple shelf in my dresser. This shelf is where my Harry Potter books lie.

I began reading the Harry Potter series when I was five. I was entranced when I read. I yearned for the quickening of my heartbeat during a battle scene or the pain in my chest from the death of a character. To this day those feelings haven’t changed. Words inflame me in such a way that once I start reading, I am addicted. It’s not just the induced emotions. Words are feelings; colors I can taste. They unite every sense and they unite every person. Words make me think, question and wonder. A phrase may be a different point of view, a quotation an entire philosophy. I have succumbed to the power of words and their power has leaked inside of me. It bubbles, burning to be used. Even if I wanted to contain this power I couldn’t. The words pour out, and in many different ways.

Singing is the easiest way to relieve such aching. Lyrics are poetry exemplified with beats and cadence. When I sing a song, it isn’t enough to parrot. I picture a story, feel hope or experience pain. The words and I become one. Debating is much like singing. When I debate there is a beat, a pattern and my emotions run high. Originally, the lure of debating and arguing was the beauty and emotion of words. Once drawn in though, I found something else I truly cared for.

The Model U.N. team at my school is named The World Interest Club because we don’t want to be simply a “debate team.” We masquerade as delegates from foreign countries but what unites us is our love of discovering the world; its tragedies and its wonders. It was my love for words and language that brought me to this club but the connections within the world that mirrored the patterns of language were so enticing, that I fell in love a second time. And I owe it all to Harry.

The shelves of books in my basement are an archive of dreams and adventures imprinted on paper as well as my mind. But the Harry Potter series has a permanent room in my heart. My shelf holds at least three copies of each book, tattered and torn (but never collecting dust!), two copies in foreign languages, four companion novels, and, of course, my wand. This shelf was is childhood, and will never be forgotten in my future. From reading, I didn’t just gain a love of words or a new perspective, I gained a way of thinking. I discovered a love for fantasy, a love for the unknown and the impossible that has thrust me into a quest for answers and information. A love of learning, a love of thinking.