i heart teaching: reason #8 : versions of reality

In my mind, Ireland always looks like this scene from P.S. I Love You.

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the backdrop, all green rolling hills, bright purple flowers

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Today one of my students told me 

[during a lesson on writing definitions]

that Ireland was a country where people wore a lot of hats. 

yup.. . 

not a joke. 

.straight face and all. 

i don't know if this is what he was picturing

or this

{source}

 i've got to be honest. 

i did giggle a little. too loudly. when i was standing there in front of him. 

[i think because i imagined the first picture]

luckily, he's the type of kid who can realize i wasn't laughing at him.

.more at the situation. 

he laughed with me. and we then revised his definition: deleting the hat part. 

i later suggested, kindly, that during library he check out a book on Ireland. 

_when he returned he couldn't seem to put it down.

i guess his images of ireland are no sillier than mine. 

a country full of gerard butlers - gentle, mild mannered romantics.

.i guess it's all about our own versions of reality.

can't get enough.

there's Something about this song.. .
LOVE it.
makes me want to move to some distant foreign land and just live in a dream fantasy world. ..
2:03.. .

i think it's time to put myself to bed..
and get back to reality. unfortunately.

john cusack in the rain

saw this today and thought about Say Anything. 

not to say that i don't think about that movie on a regular basis to begin with. because i do. 

in the 'movie version' of my life, there are men with boomboxes out in the rain. 

 ask my sister, she'll tell ya. 

go ahead, go crazy. rent it this weekend. 

i promise you'll love it all over again. 

Neatly Outside of the Box

There are two versions of my life: the real one - the day to day, minute by minute version. And the movie one. This one is played out in my mind - all the things I wish to happen - maybe - could've should've - if only had happened. The movie version isn't always all happy, but just like the thirty minute sitcoms, everything works itself out in the end. All the loose ends tied back up and neatly packed back in the box.

In my movie life, people don't leave - without saying real goodbyes. And if per chance, they do, they return days later realizing their folly, to sing a ballad outside the window. Or stand outside in the rain all day waiting with a boombox. They catch you at the very last second before you board the airplane. Or maybe set a date to meet you in six months on the very top floor of the Empire State Building. Even in death, these characters find a way to communicate, sending letters even after their final goodbye was said.

The two versions of my life came crashing in on me this past week - leaving me in complete despair. Ask anyone around me.

I have fallen for him, leaving me completely vulnerable. Especially at that key scene of goodbye - the one for which so many movies have set me up so wrongly. I wasn't expecting a ballad or a date to meet at the top of some tall building. All I wanted was to see him. But without the other character, I was left to play the scene alone. Feeling completely helpless, confused and heartbroken.

The daytime routine of the week was able to snap me somewhat back into reality. But another reality still rang true.
He was gone. He is gone.

As much as I daydream about the movie version of my life, nothing ever plays out the way you think it will. This week certainly proved that to be true. No matter how much we try to fit everything neatly in a box, there will always be ties hanging over, edges popping back out. The truth is - there was a reason why you opened the box in the first place.