My grade school classmate, Margarita and I was facing the window one hot sunny day, and I frustratingly exclaimed without thinking...'please let it rain.'
I cannot explain why or how... but immediately after the words left my lips, it rained.
We looked at each other, awestruck. As we stuck our tongues out to catch raindrops, Rita told me that I was weird.
From that day on, I often imagined that I have the blood of a magician. That at a flick of my wrist, I could make the door open, or give my brother a big, achy pimple. I collected crosses and made amulets made of wood covered with nailpolish to make it shine. I rip off pages and pages of LIFE magazine that my lola used to deliver to us directly from the States, and pasted them on my bedroom wall. I made bracelets made of coins. I rummage my mom's closets for antique accessories that made me feel mystical, and wore them.
I lived a world of weirdness.
Anyway, I have been reading Book 2 of Harry Potter which I borrowed from my cousin, Joanne. I have always been fascinated with magic and spirituality. I am in awe with the Asian way of devotion to their Makers. For me, life and religion, however diverse it may be can only be summed up into 4 concepts--the truth, your imagination, your conscience, and your belief.
The truth about magic is that we need it to add spice to our imagination. We leave it to our conscience if we face a forkroad on our way to believing.
The reason I am fascinated with the story is that it makes me face the truth, it makes me imagine, and believe without guilt in the possibility of magic.
Do I believe in magic? Of course, I do. It's embedded in the deepest room of your heart. It's called differently by others... it's popularly known as love.
In doubt? Look at yourself in the mirror. Nothing like the pure magic of the heart can create something as mystical as you.