An imperfect month to be packing your life up, sending it away, uncertain. Tomorrow is my last full day in Poland. Friday morning I fly away, home.
In the next couple of weeks, in between being reunited with my family and friends, when things are quiet, folks in work, I plan a sort of summation of my year. Lots of photographs, travels. Some thoughts too. I'm hoping I'll be sat by the fire with my lovely dog, something 'Christmassy' on in the background (I haven't had any Xmas overload in Poland, they're big on J. C. here, so all the Western 'festive' music, films, M&S adds, tacky seasonal gifts, the stereotypical gearing-up for the 25th - I've been spared thus far. I'm expecting a barrage of Coka-Cola styled Santas when I arrive in London Friday afternoon!). When that scene is realized I hope to finally get around to organising some thoughts on my life's lessons this year.
That's what you're supposed to do in the quiet times isn't it?
I write a bit of things of note to me, events, conversations, thoughts. I tend to jot them down when they're 'new', or fresh, on paper or on my phone if it's dark and/or other, preferable supplies are not to hand. I wish I wrote down more, but as someone who holds on to everything perhaps I'd have too much too try and make sense of. Certainly feels like this.
So, for the moment here, I'm passed feeling like a huge failure. Too excited about Carols in Trafalgar square, the Milliens, and my family on Christmas Eve right now.
I have here one note to share, of a conversation that took place in one of my classes last month. Last week I was told that I wasn't to come to work this week. Which really screwed my hopes to properly say farewell to my fine students. Something I'm really sad about. This is what I wrote.
We looked at pages from the ikea catalogue, describing the rooms with our newly learned prepositions of space. They had a few minutes to invent a summary of the place, and a profile of the persons who might occupy it. I asked if they thought the people were happy in their perfect worlds, would the students themselves be pleased with such rooms?
One boy, one of a pair of brothers, the younger, 17 year old Patrick with a Yk, said he'd be content living in his flat-packed child's room. Why is that? Look, it's not in your face (prepositional idiom, nice one kid, I like you), it's quiet, just, I don't know, doesn't everyone want a comfortable bed and nice lights, it looks peaceful. The toy in the Teddy bear (pronounced 'beer' :) ) bed looks happy, why not me?
Why not you?
Why not me.