In literature, while reading some text, one of the most important questions we can ask is: Whose thoughts and feelings are we trying to connect with whose mind are we in ? We often assume that what we encounter is the author’s own voice and emotion. Yet literature is more complex. Between the author narrator and reader there are different perspectives, feelings, and interpretations at play. Distinguishing these roles matters because it helps us avoid misreadings, understand how meaning is shaped, and recognize how literature invites us to question perspective.

The author is the architect of the work. They design characters, themes, and style, but their personal beliefs are not always expressed directly.

The author's thoughts are never given to us directly. Instead, they’re hidden inside the design of the text : the choice of words, the tone, the characters, symbolism.. Authors may not speak openly, but they design the emotional atmosphere of the text. For example, Austen does not confess her own emotions in pride and prejudice , yet through her irony and structure, we sense her critique of social norms.

The narrator on the other hand, is the tunnel and the voice through which the reader experiences the story. Whether first-person, omniscient, or unreliable, the narrator selects what we see, what emotions are emphasized, and how we respond. Narrators can invite sympathy, hide information or even dramatize them. Narrators may guide us, mislead us, or control or limit our point of view.

The reader also plays a role in interpretation of the meaning, for example, some readers feel sorrow for Hamlet’s indecision, while others feel frustrated by it. The reader does not simply receive the narrator’s thoughts but filters them through personal experience.

The author shape thoughts, the narrator turns them into feelings, and the reader interprets, and it matters because only by separating these voices can we truly understand the meaning of the story and what thoughts and feelings are each one of them rising.

"Only know you love her when you let her go"

When how and by who is it written

Artist : Passenger (real name Mike Rosenberg, British singer, songwriter)

Released: 2012, on the album "all the little lights "

How is it written: he wrote it quickly after a breakup, reflecting on loss in love.

Style: Simple -soft guitar, gentle vocals ,intimate, emotional tone.

You only truly value something once it’s gone. - the main massage

Love and loss are intertwined: absence makes feelings more intense.

we often take people for granted until we experience their loss.

The main message is about love, regret, and comfort. Eminem tells his daughter that even though life has been difficult, he has always loved her. He admits that his family life was not perfect and that she has suffered because of it.

The name mockingbird comes from a bird that is used like a symbol to promise a child love and protection, care, promise to always keep them safe.

“I can’t always give you a perfect life, but I can give you love, comfort, and protection — like a mockingbird singing to calm a child.”

The idea of appreciating family, admitting mistakes, and showing love is something almost everyone can connect to.

He shows himself not as a superstar, but as a father who feels love, regret, and sadness. That is why I have chosen it.

Analysis = How does it achieve meaning?

Anticipation is first created through the emphasis on the models’ physical perfection. Both the photograph and the descriptive diction highlight youth, thinness, and flawlessness, using adjectives such as “sexy” and “gorgeous.” References to luxury details, including jewel-encrusted lingerie and high heels, reinforce the sense of excess and visual pleasure, offering readers a tempting preview of the show’s aesthetic appeal.

The writer further heightens excitement by transforming the show into a fantasy experience. Models are labelled as “Angels,” supported by imagery of wings, sparkle, and light, which elevates the event beyond everyday reality. Hyperbolic phrases suggesting a “heaven on Earth” encourage escapism and suggest that the show offers something extraordinary.

Finally, the promise of insider information builds curiosity. The pun in the title “skinny” hints at behind the scenes secrets, while expert voices and statistics about global viewership create credibility and fear of missing out.

In conclusion, by blending glamour, fantasy, and exclusivity, the writer successfully generates anticipation and positions the fashion show as a global spectacle that audiences should not miss.

Historical memory and narration are touched on through retrospective storytelling “This was in 1980”, introducing topics of memoir and truth-telling, which may theme into the power of personal stories to critique history, emphasizing ideas like the loss of childhood and the clash between tradition and modernity.

Identity and belonging are key, as Marji’s self-introduction and cultural confusion highlight topics like cultural assimilation and alienation, potentially evolving into themes of self-formation in a repressive society, where individual voice challenges collective ideology.

What struck me most was the line:

“You are not perfect, sport… But the question is whether or not you’re perfect for each other. That’s what intimacy is.”

This quote completely reframed my understanding of relationships. The film suggests that intimacy is not about flawlessness, but about emotional compatibility and acceptance. From a literary perspective, this challenges the cultural myth of perfection. Instead of presenting love as idealized, the film presents it as human and reciprocal.

It made me reflect on how often society pressures us to appear perfect — academically, socially, emotionally. Especially in competitive environments like the IB, we can become obsessed with achievement rather than connection. This connects to a possible global issue of identity and emotional vulnerability in high-pressure societies.

Will’s resistance to opportunity reflects a larger social issue: how inherited trauma and social class can limit self-perception. The reference to American historian Gordon Wood in the film highlights class divisions and inherited privilege, reinforcing how intelligence alone does not erase structural inequality.

This connects to a second potential global issue:

The impact of social inequality and inherited wealth on personal opportunity and identity formation.

The film made me question my own life in a quiet way. How many times do we avoid opportunities because we are afraid of change? How often do we hide behind achievements instead of confronting emotional vulnerability?

The quote:

“You have bad times, but that’ll always wake you up to the good stuff you weren’t paying attention to.”

suggests that pain is transformative. Suffering forces awareness. Sean does not teach Will mathematics, he teaches him emotional literacy.

In that sense, the film argues that intellectual brilliance without emotional maturity is incomplete.

What stayed with me most was the idea that healing requires courage. Not intellectual courage but emotional courage.

Watching this film made me reflect more deeply on my own fears, especially the fear of not being “enough” unless I achieve something extraordinary. It made me realize that growth is not only academic. Sometimes growth is allowing yourself to be seen.

And maybe that is the real lesson of Good Will Hunting, not that genius is rare, but that vulnerability is.

Surrounding t’challa, supporting characters are arranged in layeres beneath him, visually reinforcing hierarchy and alliances. At the base of the composition, the cityscape of Wakanda anchors the image, grounding the fictional narrative in a clearly defined national space. This vertical structure positions the viewer to perceive Wakanda as an organized and unified nation led by a central authority. The overall stillness of the poster contrasts with typical action-focused superhero marketing, emphasizing sovereignty or autonomy and leadership over physical engagement.

The restrained color palette of deep blues, blacks, and metallic silvers conveys sophistication, mystery, and futurism while avoiding the bright saturation often associated with commercial superhero imagery. Panther statues and tribal-inspired design elements function symbolically, referencing strength, royalty, and African cultural heritage. The poster relies predominantly on powerful visuals rather than extended written text; aside from the Marvel branding, title, credits, and release date, the communication is image-driven. This visual emphasis enhances transnational accessibility, allowing the message to resonate across linguistic and cultural boundaries.

The poster operates as global mass communication. Its release in 2018 aligned with heightened discussions surrounding race, diversity, and representation in Hollywood. The importance of Black characters in both heroic and royal positions reflects this context and challenges the historical marginalization of Black figures within mainstream cinema. The intended audience includes global superhero fans, younger viewers, and communities seeking greater representation. While its primary purpose is promotional, aiming to generate commercial success, the poster also communicates broader cultural meanings. By foregrounding power, unity, and African futurity, it markets not only a film but an alternative vision of leadership and modernity. Ultimately, the poster demonstrates how mainstream cinema can function simultaneously as entertainment, commercial product, and socially influential mass media.

This directly connects to Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller, where memory also plays a central role in shaping identity and authority. Willy Loman treats his memories as authoritative truth—particularly his idealized recollections of success, popularity, and his relationship with his sons. However, like Sacks’ false memory, Willy’s recollections are often distorted or selective, blending reality with fantasy. For example, Willy remembers Biff as destined for greatness and himself as well-liked and successful, despite evidence to the contrary. These memories give him a sense of identity and authority over his narrative, but they are fundamentally unstable.

Both texts therefore challenge the reliability of memory as a source of authority. In Sacks’ case, the challenge comes through external correction (his brother), while in Death of a Salesman, Willy resists such correction, leading to his psychological decline. This contrast is important: Sacks demonstrates that authority can be re-established through acknowledging the limits of memory, whereas Willy’s tragedy lies in his refusal to question his own constructed reality.

From a TOK perspective, this suggests that authority should not be placed in individual memory alone, but rather in a balance between personal experience and external verification. Memory remains central to identity, but without critical examination, it can become misleading or even destructive—as seen in Willy Loman’s case.

This directly connects to Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller, where memory also plays a central role in shaping identity and authority. Willy Loman treats his memories as authoritative truth—particularly his idealized recollections of success, popularity, and his relationship with his sons. However, like Sacks’ false memory, Willy’s recollections are often distorted or selective, blending reality with fantasy. For example, Willy remembers Biff as destined for greatness and himself as well-liked and successful, despite evidence to the contrary. These memories give him a sense of identity and authority over his narrative, but they are fundamentally unstable.

Both texts therefore challenge the reliability of memory as a source of authority. In Sacks’ case, the challenge comes through external correction (his brother), while in Death of a Salesman, Willy resists such correction, leading to his psychological decline. This contrast is important: Sacks demonstrates that authority can be re-established through acknowledging the limits of memory, whereas Willy’s tragedy lies in his refusal to question his own constructed reality.

From a TOK perspective, this suggests that authority should not be placed in individual memory alone, but rather in a balance between personal experience and external verification. Memory remains central to identity, but without critical examination, it can become misleading or even destructive—as seen in Willy Loman’s case.