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Harry Potter Sorcerer's Stone Thesis

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Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone is one of my all-time-favorite movies. I have watched it many time but only three marked me: when I was eleven-years old watching it with my forty-nine classmate, when I was eighteen-years old that just move here in the US, and when I was twenty-three-years old preparing myself to watch the last movie in the Harry Potter series. At eleven, I was jealous of Harry. At eighteen, Harry mocked me. At twenty-three, I pity myself. Everytime I watch it, it exposed my insecurities. Uninteresting scene, even though trivial, made them more apparent, more visible. This movie is the antithesis of my reality. It is a magical world that a “just Harry” could be someone special (Columbus). It is “a realm where they learn …show more content…

Even though he is a giant and big man destroying a door in the middle of a stormy night, I liked him. I want him to like me like he is to Harry. He even gave Harry a cake for his birthday - although Harry’s cousin ate it like a pig. He took Harry away from his mean relatives - cousin Dudley, aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon. I especially did not like Harry’s uncle. He gave Harry a room under the stairs and treated him like a servants, not like a nephew. For Hagrid, he cared for Harry like he was Harry’s father. I wanted it for myself. I wanted my own Hagrid. My father was killed when I was four years old. He was shot on the chest while driving. I do not remember him, but I love listening stories about him. My mom remarried after a year, so I gained a step dad on the death anniversary of my father, more or less. My stepdad did not care for me. He acted like a polite neighbor. We treated each other from fences, always with boundary. We were always so civil with each other, always tiptoeing. Unlike him, Hagrid could be a good second dad for Harry. He cared for Harry from the beginning. He saved Harry from his atrocious relatives. At that time, maybe until today, I envied …show more content…

From the boy who sleep under the stairs, Harry became special. He became “the boy who lived” (Columbus, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone). Everyone was in awe when they found out who he is. He does not even have to exert much effort to be an exceptional wizard. I remember when Professor McGonagall chose Harry to be the Gryffindor’s new seeker. Harry had just learn to mount a broomstick when Professor McGonagall saw him. It is not even half an hour, and he is unbelievably maneuvering it like a professional. Adapting to his new magical environment is like a walk in a park for Harry. Culture shock is unknown to him. Unlike me, I was like a pond fish thrown in an ocean. Everything was big, surreal. So, I have to adapt fast, or else it will suffocate me. Along the way, I lost my self-confidence because I could not keep up. I started to frequently second-guessing myself. Should I say it this way? Or that way? Could they understand me? Maybe, they will not? I became less me. I started to hate myself. I felt like I was a failure because I could not speak English fluently. The walk in a park of Harry mocked me. It mocked my effort, and, maybe, everyone’s effort.
I was 23-years old the last time I watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I had watched it and the next six movies as a preparation for the movie finale, Harry Potter

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