I remember when I got my first Harry Potter book. I began reading it as soon as I got back from school. It was a sunny, cloudless afternoon in Recife. That means oppressive heat. I sat at my desk, facing my open bedroom window. I could see the blue sky. I was sweating in my military school uniform. But, it wasn't an unpleasant experience, no. It is now my best memory of my childhood days. I was in fifth grade. I had an entire life ahead of me and I was confident I would grow up to become someone strong. I sat for hours reading about this boy wizard, occasionally looking up at the afternoon sky, and the world was quiet, and my thoughts filled with wonder and magic, and I knew--just as an instinct--that my life was about to change in so many meaningful ways... It was an unimportant day. Nothing out of extraordinary happened that day, but why do I keep going back to it in my thoughts?