Why I Read My Neighbor Totoro

I first saw My Neighbor Totoro by Hayao Miyazaki when I was 13, slouching on my couch, faintly holding remote in my hand. Everyone had told me how wonderful and stunning this animated film was, but I have always digressed, marking my disinterest in movies completely. But I watched it anyway. With my eyes completely fixated on the screen from start to finish, I was in awe.

Movies were something that I never enjoyed. Even as a small child, I never gave interest when my teacher wheeled out the old, fat, and riddled with dust television. While the other children screeched with joy, I wanted to read the new book by Judy Blume. I cherished the moments when I could immerse myself in the fabricated reality of the story for hours. I never found that with the childish flicks that my teacher showed. It wasn’t until watching My Neighbor Totoro, that my affection and passion for film sprouted.

The beautiful and thoughtful storytelling of a young girl believing in herself was just like the stories I heard about Thomas Edison being told he was “too stupid to learn anything” by his teachers, yet he became one of humanity’s greatest inventor. The feeling of worry and anxiety Satsuki had when she lost Mei in the fields, a feeling I experience when I lose my mother in the supermarket. The immersive realism that My Neighbor Totoro was able to extrude, opened my eyes to a whole new world of