Every "Harry Potter" book has those three stars stemming from each page. As a child, I would try to sketch those stars as closely as possible with my amateur drawing skills, and it would inevitably always end up looking like a cockroach dipped in ink was let loose on paper.

I remember when I got my first tattoo, I wanted to get those three stars on my wrist, but it seemed silly to get a tattoo solely because it was from my favorite series. It just wasn't a good enough reason, and I couldn't bring myself to think of a real significance. I looked at other tattoos I could get that not only fulfilled my wish of getting inked with a significance but also rendered my love for JK Rowling's masterful work. However, no matter how hard I tried I could never come up with one that accomplished both conditions.

On the 14th of this month, I finally realized the significance of every template I looked at and every star, symbol or quote I wanted to permanently etch on my body. All of it signified home.

Alan Rickman was a man that embodied versatility. Ranging from Hans Gruber to Colonel Brandon and Rasputin to the most famous Severus Snape, it almost felt like he was a part of my childhood. With his sudden passing, a part of my childhood was abandoned. He brought the character that I initially feared and grew to love, to life. Why did I feel this imminent loss, and what did it have to do with home? Sure, it made me nostalgic and post a sappy status on Facebook; not to mention binge watch "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" 'til I dozed off, but what did this void in my gut really mean?

I am supposed to be on a flight shortly to get back to college and leave behind what is perhaps the most integral part of me yet again for another four months –– my roots, my country and my home. Normally, I would look forward to the semester, as I made plans about exploring Boston a bit more or taking the class I have been waiting to take for days and, of course, the parties. However, this time, I felt a pang of guilt because while I miss home, I don't think I know how to identify with it anymore. Not because I feel like a stranger, but I feel distant.

Growing up with my mom alone, my sense of home was always where she was. If she traveled with me, it would be like taking my home along. She taught me the importance of keeping in touch with my roots and the value of an actual tangible home and a place I can store my memories or a room I can identify with years from now. However, today I realized that the one thing she stressed upon the most was the emotion intertwined with this tangible object.

Snape was the character, although debatable whether he was the tragic hero or simply deserved his fate. Regardless, he had won over my loyalties. As I poured over every page in the little reading nook in my room, I learned so much about love, loss, courage, and sacrifice. While what I read in the books was my imagination, the DVD of "The Sorcerer's Stone" was a lot more tangible. Together they created an ideal. I couldn't picture any one else to be the sarcastic, wittingly funny and brave Severus Snape. Honestly even if I try, I can't read a "Harry Potter" book without imagining Rickman's voice resonating, "Turn to page 394."

As I thought about the connection between Rickman's death and home over and over again, I realized how I felt like I lost my tangible home, my physical sense of what home is, but that did not mean I wouldn't associate the smell of incense sticks and warm cinnamon with the smell of my living room or stumble across an old book at the bookstore that I knew my grandfather owned and picture it on the bookshelf in the study 7,600 miles away. I associated everything with home and had the privilege of carrying that nostalgia around with me as I recreated memories in various places. I didn't need an actual house for it or even a tattoo to prove it to myself–– or anyone else for that matter.

Once I moved out, I didn't think I'd feel that sense of home everywhere, but I know that the ability to find a home within myself is what matters the most. Alan Rickman's death taught me that Professor Snape might no longer be alive, but his memories, his movies and his character as a whole is what will stay with me. I will remember him as a part of my childhood and as a part of my sense of 'home. Always.