Mischief Finally Managed

I believe that someday, when I turn wrinkly and my skin starts to sag at all the wrong places, I  will remember only one person when I hear the name "Harry"--  neither Harry Dresden nor Harry Truman, and not even Harry Shum Jr. Only one Harry ever mattered, matters and will matter to me: the scrawny bespectacled son of James and Lily, the famous half-blood, the boy who lived. Today, however painfully I had to do it, I wept for him for the last time.


The Harry Potter series accounts for approximately sixty percent of my firsts: my first tangible obsession, my first favorite author, my first celebrity crush (the young Daniel Radcliffe) my first female celebrity crush (always and forever, Emma Watson), the first time I wanted to wear glasses and have a thunderbolt engraved unto my forehead, the first time I drew a thunderbolt unto my forehead... And, well, the list goes on. And on. And on.

People are confused as to why I find it immensely hard to let go of the franchise; on the other hand, I'm confused as to why they do not find it hard to do so. I grew up with Rowling's books on my bedside table, pages dog-eared and yellowing, and I've had the privilege of growing up in a wonderful childhood because of them. I messed up my posture and eyesight while reading the books with full compulsion, even when it's already two hours past my bedtime, but when I was on the process of reading, it was kind of hard to stay concerned about the possibility of me developing scoliosis or of  destroying my social life.

I was around eight when I first heard of Harry Potter. My mother borrowed the Sorcerer's Stone CD from a friend (CD's were still the bomb that time). I watched the movie, got hooked and had my mother buy me the second book days later when I found it lounging in the bookstore. Ever since then, I've remained a loyal fan.

Harry Potter isn't just an experience or a journey, or anything of that sort. It's a completely distinct era that pulled together children, both physically and at heart, from all over the world-- no matter the race or whatever philosophy they might have held. It sounds corny and mainstream but for all I know, you agree with me. It allowed people to stand on common ground and to be part of a fandom that defined several social norms. It brought people in theaters together in a sort of temporary and transcendental bond that enabled them to become friends for two and a half hours.

I'm depressed as it has ended. For a nine-year Potterhead, watching the last few minutes of the movie had me eating my handkerchief and gasping for air. Endings always suck for me because I don't usually know how to keep calm. It's like seeing your best friend get on a plane to somewhere far away, and you know he won't be coming back. If you don't understand the feeling, it's all right-- but you just missed fourteen years of unconditional bliss.

I'm sure there hasn't been a book, or series thereof, that caused a phenomenon as big as Harry Potter. There won't be one anytime soon, either; though I hope that when that time comes, people will still remember the boy who lived and his friends, the life he led and the man who died for love.

My sincerest thanks to J.K. Rowling for making my childhood magical. I have loved Harry Potter after all this time, and I will do so always.

Rowling's signature. All GIF's (c) tumblr.com