Magical Objects in Harry Potter

The fifth installment of the Harry Potter (HP) movie and the seventh and final installment of the HP book have spawned frenzy among the enlightened muggles (HP fans for those who can’t relate, like “Tatang." Hehehehe), among them, Tayns and Salve.

In fact, Salve has devoted two entries on Harry Potter (one for the movie and another for the book) in her blog (http://www.salvacion.wordpress.com/). Even Celestine who has gotten her copy of the book, but hasn’t read it yet because she is supposed to be busy reviewing for her exams this week, has managed to write an entry in her blog (http://www.celestinerb.wordpress.com/) about how excited she is to read the book (talk about reviewing).

I’ve seen the movie and I like it, but I will no longer write something about it because Salve has done a good job at it. And since I haven’t read the book yet (I’ll borrow Salve’s Tuesday next week), I obviously can’t write my views on it yet. So what I’m going to do instead is feature two of the magical objects in Harry Potter that I like (and wish to have).

Mirror of Erised (introduced in Book 1). The mirror, according to Dumbledore, "shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts." He adds that only the happiest of men would see himself as he is when he looks into it.

In one of my entries in this blog, I’ve asked my readers what they think they’d see if they were to look into the magical mirror (Celestine has posted an entry about it in her blog). But I have not answered it then. Let me answer the question now:

I’d see myself hugging the man I love so much, and hearing him tell me over and over that he is alright now… that there’s nothing for me to worry about; things will push through as planned.

The Pensieve (introduced in Book 3). The pensieve is a shallow stone basin with odd carvings of runes and symbols around the edge into which one can store one’s thoughts and memories to relieve one’s mind of too much information. Dumbledore explains to Harry that he sometimes finds that he simply has too many thoughts and memories crammed into his mind, and so he siphons off the excess thoughts and pours them into the basin.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we can also unload our thoughts onto something that can hold them safely, whenever the going gets tough? Then we can just let go of the hurtful memories and painful thoughts that we have. Then it would be easier for us to get moving.

But then again, it may also not be a good idea, for what would we be without our memories — the good and the bad? Aren’t these things help define who we are?

THE POETIC PROCESS

Recently, I saw a blog of some guy whom I do not know (don’t even remember how I got to his blog: http://nextgr8twriter.wordpress.com/2007/06/05/the-poetic-process/), but whose writing I like. In one of his posts, he talked about poetic process, and led his readers through his way of writing poetry: from his raw thoughts, through several versions.

Because it’s just recently that I really learned to appreciate poetry, I was amazed at how one thought can be poetically said in different ways, in different poetry forms. (With my quasi-poems, I just get my thoughts onto paper and that’s it).

I cannot be as good as that guy, but I did try writing poetry his way. And here’s what I came up with:


MY ORIGINAL THOUGHT:

I fell in love
and suddenly
my dreams —
even the impossible —
came to life.

I fell in love
and suddenly
I lost the emptiness
within me.
Now, I’m alive.



MY FIRST DRAFT:

I fell in love
and finally
the moon and the sun
came face to face
in the same sky.

I fell in love
and finally,
life ceased
to be a garden
devoid of flowers.


MY SECOND DRAFT:

Love whispered
and I saw
the moon and the sun
in amorous embrace
amidst wistful clouds
on a bright red sky.

Love beckoned
And I felt something
in me bloom.
Fin’lly life ceased
to be a garden
that knows no flowers.

VERDICT: Needs more practice. Nyehehehehe

//Sherma E. Benosa
20 July 2007; 12:24am

Random Thought I:

(“Thank you, Friendster!”)

Why is it that when a friend whom you had not seen for years (and honestly had not crossed your mind for several months) all of a sudden creeps back into your life, you’d suddenly feel you’ve missed that person so badly, that you’d start wondering how you had survived the past months (or years) without sharing a laugh or a sigh with him or her… and then you’d start feeling the void that was created when you parted ways, which you had forgotten about because of your new preoccupations and your new friends, and because you were sure time has filled it up, but now you feel it as sharply as it had been the day you went separate ways?

A dear friend, Agnes, with whom I shared so many things when we were much younger, suddenly showed up at Friendster. I can’t describe it, but when I saw her name pop up in my “who viewed me” list, my heart suddenly did a flip-flop (not the kind that the heart does at the sight of your crush… but the kind you feel when you go home after being away too long). And I had the overwhelming need to hug her real tight and shout (like I used to do when I was still an unruly fresh grad): Tiiiiitaaaaaaaaaaaa Agnesssssssssssssss!

Ahhhh… Having a renewed link with old friends is "bitter-sweet-er". Bitter, because you are reminded of how un-thoughtful you had been to the friends with whom you promised to get in touched with (which, needless to say, you failed to do); sweet, because you are reminded of the good — and the bad — things you’ve been through together; and sweeter because you know it’s not yet late, that you can still re-establish your link with him or her, because it was never really broken... just neglected.

Heart without Love

A heart that is incapable of loving is like a living body with a dead soul… like a gardener who hates flowers, like a singer who cannot sing any song. It’s like a plant deprived of carbon dioxide, like earth divorcing its sun.


//Sherma E. Benosa
17 July 2007

As I Sleep

You are the night
that envelops me with peace.

Under your watchful moon
you make me feel safe.

In the company of your stars
you fill my heart with gladness.

Upon your request, the crickets
hum me a melody.

And on your order, the breeze
caresses my face.

All these, as I sleep.


//Sherma E. Benosa
13 July 2007; 3:46pm

ODES TO THE NIGHT

(i) The night, in its obscurity

The night is —

The wide canvas
upon which the moon’s mysterious smile
is painted.

The rich backdrop
against which the stars’ gleeful dancing
is performed.

Dark, he lives in obscurity.
Alone, he is nobody.

Yet,
Without him —

The moon would lose its allure;
And the stars, their grandeur.

There won’t be starlit skies
under which lovers exchange dreamy sighs!

And I’d be lost —
Wouldn’t know where to find my shooting star!



(ii) Night shift

The night —

He hears
the young mothers’ lullabies.
the insomniac’s nightly cries.
the lovers’ secret sighs.

He sees
the sleeping souls’ dreams.
the crimes every thief commits.
the owls’ flights to the wilderness.

The night —
He is busy.
Tonight.
Every night.

He, too, is on the night shift!


//Sherma E. Benosa
12 July 2007; 1:05am

Oh Salve!

We’ve known each other since we were in college. I consider her as one of my best friends. I’ve stayed overnight in her place hundreds of times. I've met her family and she has met mine. She is like a sister to me… she and Celestine. I love her warmth, adore her calmness, and respect her mind. I know she is talented. But dammit, how could I not have known she writes good poems?

Let me paste here some of her poems:


i, an island

i am an island
the wind is my best friend
whispering news of far
lands in my ears.

the sea is my lover
singing hymns of promise of forever.
the trees are my knights
guarding me to safety and security.
the flowers are my dames
amusing my solitary existence.
the birds are my constant guests
lodging in my trees for a night’s rest.
the sky is my shelter
lighting my path in dark hours.

i am an island
my best friend has joined other winds
passed me by without a glance.
scampering fast, my lover has departed
singing a song of rage and atrocity.
my knights had fallen in battle
bowing their heads in defeat.
tired of enthralling, my dames had
fled and drowned in my lover’s cry.
to a peaceful soil my guests had ran
in search of better refuge.
my shelter has crumpled down
sending needles of spears into my heart.

i cried from pain,
yet i cannot move
i cannot move—
still an island.

http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/i-an-island/



What has become of me?
Hope has abandoned me
left me drenched in my own tears
drowned in solitude
What has become of me?

Fate has walked away,
Displeased at my ungrateful countenance
Tired, like my trampled soul—
crashed into pieces.

Tell me, what has become of me?

Please save me,
I need your mercy
Hold my hand tight;
don’t let go—

Oh, it’s too late!
You’re late!
I’m drowning,
falling
fast—
zapped into the black hole of nothingness.

What—oh, nothing!—has become of me?


http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/what-has-become-of-me/

"BUNGEE" JUMPING

(Reversible Suicide Part II)

Soon, it’s jump time once again. This next jump would be the biggest — and the riskiest — jump of my career. But somehow, I don’t feel as scared as I was in my previous jumps. Come to think of it, I was hardly scared then.

During my previous jumps, I was aware that there was no net to catch me. But I was also sure of the things I could do, of the things I could offer, so I never worried about not landing on solid ground. And solid ground, I always found.

This time, however, I am sure there is a net somewhere — a net that would prevent me from hitting the ground with a loud thud, in case I fail. And this time, I am not in it alone; I am jumping off with dear friends (Celestine, Salve and my brother Ogie). So though the stakes are much higher now than in any of the jumps I did before, the fear of failing still remains alien to me.

In fact, I am already excited. Why wouldn’t I be? As my friends and I come closer and closer to the jump day, the brighter our idea becomes. The closer we examine it for loop holes, the more perfect it seems.

I really do hope we'll succeed, because, more than anything, this might just be my chance to prove that I am right in believing that I need not leave the country to do well; that though the road I’ve chosen is longer and more steep, it too leads there (wherever there is). Or, does it? Hmm...


__________
(Side Story)
On Staying Behind…

It was with the carelessness of a child when I said to myself when I was 10 years old that I will never work in a foreign country, that I will travel abroad only to visit, never to work. I can easily extricate myself from that promise (on the ground that it was made before I even reached the age when I could make sound decisions)but I have always tried to uphold it.

It is not for nationalistic reasons (“the country needs excellent professionals here”) that I chose to stay, although of course I also like to think that by staying here, I am doing something for the country. [But then again, aren’t those who have left the ones saving the country from financial crisis through their remittances? Hmmm…]

I stayed because I’ve decided I cannot make the sacrifice of being away from my family for years. I always had this fear of leaving my loved ones breathing and healthy, though sad of my departure, only to find them cold and lifeless on my return. And, if that isn’t bad enough, how about not being able to see them one last time before they are buried (like what happened to my brother Ogie who was in the US for a five-month training when Inang Pacing died)?

Although it can be said that technically I, too, had not been with Inang and Amang when they took their final breaths, I was able to go home as often as I could before they died. And I was able to spend quality time with them, and store good memories of them to last me a lifetime.

So my reason for staying is selfish really, but going home every now and then, and sharing a laugh or two with the people I love so much is more important for me than hauling money ten or more times faster than I can do here.

Of course, there are times that I feel I should have left too (especially during hard times), but when I am able to tease my parents and pester my brothers and sisters-in-law face to face, when I can hug my nephew and kiss my grandmother, I know I’ve made the right decision.

And with this jump my friends and I are about to make, maybe… just maybe, this issue will be put to rest.


[Although there is a big possibility I will have to spend a few years abroad too… IF… hmmm… ironic talaga ang buhay! Waaaaaaa!]


*If you want to read Reversible Suicide, click http://dwickedangel.blogspot.com/2006/03/reversible-suicide.html

Reminiscing

(The Night You Whispered my Name)

The oft-reserved night beamed
The stars batted their eyelashes
And the moon furiously blushed
The night you whispered my name.

The trees swayed to the wind's whistling
The breeze paused, anticipating
And time, how she had stood frozen
The moment you whispered my name.

//Sherma E. Benosa
04 July 2007; 1:45pm

EXCESS BAGGAGE

A letter that should not have been penned
A song that should not have been sung
A poem that should not have been read
A story that should not have been shared

A promise that should not have been given
A lesson that should not have been taken
An advice that should not have been heeded
A step that should not have been taken

A drink that should not have been drank
A word that should not have been said
A gift that should not have been wrapped
A merchandize that should not have been bought

A trigger that should not have been pulled
A sword that should not have been wielded
A prisoner that should not have been jailed
A risk that should not have been taken

Piled (not too) neatly in one of my closets
Are things that should not have been kept
Crowding my drawers, filling my pockets
It’s clean-up time once again, I guess.


//Sherma E. Benosa
2 July 2007; 2:25pm

SHORT VERSES AND LINES

Bright Night

The moon
Entertained by the stars
Prays thanks
To the night.

The night
Filled with glee
Invites everyone
To share his canvas.

The stars
Pleased with the night
Each light a candle
The sky is bright.

******

On a withered branch
The pigeon sang…
Spring’s promise.

On a withered branch
The rain dropped…
Autumn’s grief.

******

The sun was feted
Ready to leave
Summer’s gone.

The thunder roared
The clouds march
The rains come.

*****

Extinguished

Light snuffed, laughter exhausted
Mission carried out
Pieces of the puzzle now in place
Nothing more need be said.

*****

My epitaph

She held her head high in life
To death, she bowed.


//Sherma E. Benosa
30 June 2007