Category: Stories
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There are photographs of that moment somewhere — me standing stiffly, wearing a jacket that didn’t quite fit, a hat with a huge feather denoting a rank I didn’t yet understand, and holding a real ceremonial sword.
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The author reflects on their evolving relationship with Polish food, from confusion and hesitation as a newcomer to finding comfort and belonging through community and shared meals, ultimately transforming from a foreigner to someone connected to Polish culture.
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His love is real, but it cannot be spoken, pursued, or resolved.
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One night that loneliness felt heavier than usual. I sat there, staring into the firelight, wishing I’d just gone straight home. I was tired in that profound winter way, when the cold seems to settle inside you.
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Everything gleamed. Everything moved. Everything repeated itself with mechanical certainty. For the first twenty minutes, I tried to follow the guide’s explanations. After that, I simply drifted, nodding at intervals, trying not to look like a man who had lost all sense of time.
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… it was a moment of recognition—the sense that something important had happened here long before I arrived.
