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Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Dementia
By Jojie Alcantara
Witerary
AND I actually thought I was really, really OVER him. Darn.
I was supposed to be through with the fanatical awe, silly giggling, crazy, mixed up hysterical laughter each time I picked up his thoughts and get transported in a unique world I have taken to calling my own.
I thought this obsession was over since I met him in the year 2000 in some fancy country.
I went inside this quaint bookshop, browsed at foreign books and glossy magazines, and started a nice conversation with a salesgirl.
He was inconspicuously hovering nearby, and my fingers inadvertently touched his when I was sorting through stuff.
Apparently she knew him so we were eagerly introduced at once.
He had brought an indulgent smile to my face at first, as I thought my salesgirl was humoring me.
Why would I be interested in an eleven year old kid? But from that point till I left the shop, he has got me hooked (line and thinker).
So besotted was I that I immediately wrote about him upon returning to Davao. I wrote of him several times since then, updating myself and my readers of our so-called escapades. I hid in my room till I finish what I
read.
It was a roller coaster relationship -- very exciting, uplifting, sad, scary and rather bizarre in a fascinating sort of way. And yet, strangely... I always thought I would tire of him first.
It is now the year 2004, and one rainy day I was sitting in front of my computer. (I never get up away from it, come to think of it. They have resorted to bringing my meals and dumping the plate on my lap each mealtime).
Suddenly, he was on TV, surprisingly taller, leaner and definitely more magnetic a presence he could ever be. I watched transfixed at my favorite guy.
Giggling like crazy, I was suddenly the child I missed a lot, right when I am so stressed at adult things to cope and worry about.
He valiantly got on a wild bus, rode on a flying creature, met his strange uncle, and was stalked by the frightening specter Dementor.
He had a deeper, more mature voice, and when he pointed his wand and angrily yelled "Expecto Patronus!" -- I gleefully shrieked and clapped my hands.
I have just tearfully watched the lengthy and beautiful trailer of the coming movie Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (dreamy smile...)
I miss his character dearly. My friends and I are avid Potterites (Bamba, Christy, Stella, Nikki, etc.).
If Stella in her younger years took to obsessively learning the language of the Middle Earth (she is a Tolkienite, not a Hobbit, by the way), I am convinced am a Mudblood (half human, half witch) who loves to say silly incantations by my lonesome, and believe they really work.
Of course every year there is a Potter film, and I have my complete set of five books (not to mention merchandising stuff) but for a film buff like me, nothing is as gratifying as watching your favorite literary people come true to form, and a fantasy-escapist plot that rocks (I have been known to clap like a child in scenes from Van Helsing and Hellboy).
Yes, I am so mababaw and loving it.
What? No, this ain't no movie review yet (and risk the ire of anti-piracy protesters?).
I merely warned you that when it is shown worldwide this first week of June, you can bet my bottom peso I will be first in line at the cinema with my Sorting Hat and broomstick.
This film is said to be special because a new director named Alexander Cuauron has purportedly brought new life and zing to the third series of the popular storybook. Richard Harris, who played the great Dumbledore, has passed away and will sadly be replaced. I shall have to set aside reviews till after, okay?
Meanwhile, let me go back and refresh my memory by rereading the book again. Repeat after me, Expecto Patronum!
(May 19, 2004 issue)
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