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The beginning of the end

I  remember the night of March 31, 2004 very clearly. It was the night when I first opened, unenthusiastically, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, four days after graduating elementary school. I was 12, and although I did love books, I steered clear of thick ones. I was not a fan of the series prior to this; I didn’t even care. The first four books had been given by my mom as a graduation present, whatever her intentions were at the time, I do not know. Having nothing to do for the summer vacation, I had lazily scanned the pages and even complained about them not having a lot of pictures. Unbeknownst to me, my life would be changed forever.

My life would have been different had I not chosen to read that first book. I was instantly immersed in the tale of that little boy who didn’t know he was a wizard, who, in a lot of ways, was far less blessed than I was, but a lot stronger and braver. Harry Potter was loyal and brave, generous and kind, something I’ve always wanted to be. Scarred at a young age, he was forced to live a life of misery with his horrible aunt and uncle, and hardly felt how it was to be loved. That put my own petty sufferings into perspective. In a way, Harry Potter has taught me to appreciate the little things in life and be contented for what I have.

I finished the first four books in a month and saw the movies, which are also very good. I waited impatiently for the last two books to come out and complained why the next movie wasn’t out yet. I snagged every K-Zone I laid my eyes on for a few good pages of Harry. I spent hours talking to friends and reciting spells. I was thrown into a world of magic and fantasy where dragons can be real and vomiting up slugs possible, where good still triumphs over evil. I saw my imagination expand before my very eyes and picked up lots of values along the way. “Books and cleverness…friendship and bravery…”

I must have read each book at least five times. There are footnotes and underlines whenever something important was happening or simply when I encountered an unfamiliar word. My only paperback copy, Order of the Phoenix, is so worn and yellowed and torn in some pages. I cried when I reached the chapter when Dumbledore and Snape died, simply because I didn’t want them to, because they were family to me, and Hogwarts was a home. They’re there for me. I could talk to them when I want to, when I have troubles, or when I simply needed company…

To me, Harry Potter came at the most convenient time of my life, just as I was entering adolescence. I grew up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, I shared their joys, I shared their troubles. I was made a more mature person with every book, and I am very, very grateful for that.

And now it’s ending. With Part 2 coming out in eight months, a part of me will die with it. When I saw the trailer last June 28 for the first time, I was literally shaking and crying, because I knew it’s the end. A few years ago I was actually excited to see how it ends, but now, I can’t even bear to imagine. It’s probably laughable, but to me it’s not. It’s seven years, a third of my life ending with the series. There will be nothing to look forward to anymore, nothing to get excited about. It’s ending. All good things come to an end. I am so proud of having the Harry Potter series in my life, mentor and influence, and although I can’t think of the end of it all, when it’s gonna come, it’s gonna come, and I’m going to have to face it when it does.


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Nov. 27th, 2010 10:37 pm (UTC)
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