burning-roots

In Victorian England there was a tradition of sharing a hot cross bun on Good Friday with someone close. One bun was cut in half and eaten together as a symbol of friendship and goodwill. It was accompanied by a short rhyme:

Jack told me that forgetting about your tea and drinking it cold (with milk, of course) a long time after brewing is an English trait that I already possess, apparently. I've just drunk mine cold. Still fffine.

Didn't know that English trait.

Below, a caption from a new film by Jarmusch that I'll see tomorrow.

A tiny peanut-colored ball that smelled of hay. A big, fast predator.

He was my salvation in the lonely pandemic days in Warsaw. Mostly because of him, I made it to the next stage on the board—the good one. He was a dog who literally, not figuratively, sensed when someone was crying and would lick away the tears. And he’d let you know: “Hey, you dropped your wallet—it’s over there.”

Imagine this.

A lake, midsummer. Momentum, and HOP—from the pier into the water. The wooden planks of the pier bounce under the body of the person watching the scene. SPLASH. After that, you hear the patter of little paws. And HOP. Peanut in midair. SPLASH. Swimming after the first human “ball” that jumped.

Life is just HOP. And SPLASH.

Peanut was hit by a car on Route 8 near Szypliszki 2 years ago. I keep this text here as a memory.

Poland feels unbearable to me. At this point, event just looking at it hurts.

There is too much trauma connected to this place. Too many memories stored not only in my mind, but in my body. In the streets, the language, the atmosphere, the way people speak and look at one another. What once felt neutral or familiar now feels heavy, intrusive, overwhelming.

This is about the experiences that accumulated over time, without enough space to breathe, without safety, without relief nor validation. At some point, the nervous system stops making distinctions. The place itself becomes a trigger.

Cold, rough, unforgiving. Looking forward to seeing you.

Deep down, I've long felt I was destined to leave my home country - Poland. It's not that easy in my circumstances and I had a tendency of not listening to my gut. Now I have my life partner and we are boldly moving out together to Tynemouth (UK).

I don't recognize the place that was supposed to feel like home. Moving out feels like shredding an old skin. Let's see what a new skin will be like.