2024.07.31

The end, of another year. Third year of my cover-themed memorial, fifth year of all kinds. And today, July 31st, once again and not alone, we hereby honor the Wizarding World.

One day in May, while rereading the Goblet of Fire, it suddenly dawned on me that, given my current age, being our protagonist, the time for the final battle is drawing near, or perhaps has gone over. It has always been something to keep track of my growth and sympathize with the figures. The thought first popped out several months after the summer I was supposed to get my letter, a little over eleven. I imagined myself to be some of the peers in the book, matching their reactions, their behaviours, their subtle feelings. Next year I told myself, I'm now in grade 2, and it went on. But quite different from Harry, I seemed to be growing safe and sound in a greenhouse, confronting no dangers and witnessing no murders. So gradually, the idea became forgotten, until that May day, when I realized, that I'm almost, or have already been, older than the grown boy holding the Elder wand.

A feeling of distance, as if I'm no longer part of the story, even though still enjoying the series no less, or even more than that boy of eleven. But time works in its own way. In primary school I thoroughly searched for others' sharing of visiting Orlando, planning hotels and flights and then carefully followed the notice of postpone for Universal Studio in Beijing, telling mom to quit school for a visit once available. And years later, seeing a former classmate posting photos of the very place, it simply seemed an ordinary site. Stirs exist, but that burst of enthusiasm had somehow, silently faded away.

Followers are increasing. Zeal is fading. Seven years before, in Grade 4, half the class could interact with spells and enchantments. Seven years after, now in Grade 4, I wonder if half the class have actually acknowledged the series via books and movies. A few years before the announcements of eternal faith were everywhere, almost a trend. But time goes by, and it will be years later, maybe decades later, to distinguish forever from fashions.

But we don't have a Seer within, and it would be a total fool to gaze into a crystal and croak in a hoarse voice to highlight eternity. Now I'm talking about future with the present, so innocent, so naive. But otherwise, how may one remember having a childish, naive dream?

This July also witnessed my first visit to the US. On July 20th I visited the Universal Studio, only the suffix to be Los Angeles instead of Florida. I spent hours in the Hogsmeade village, riding the train in the castle, drinking butterbeer, entering the Ollivanders, seeing a child wearing Hogwarts uniform being chosen, watching dance by Durmstrong and Beauxbaton, experiencing everything I had known only too well and longed only too much. My company astonished to my know-it-all, I was simply detached. Everything remained. Everything changed.

So, the same breeze yet again ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky. But a new generation is still meeting all over the world, not in secret but in broad daylight, and saying, in hushed voices:

"To Harry Potter, the boy who lived!"

2024.07.31