Tag: Silesia / Śląsk
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But the flicking of peel, the laughter, the sense that I had no footing at all… that tipped me over. It wasn’t the fruit. It was the sudden realisation that every instinct I’d relied on for two decades was useless here.
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I’d walk into a classroom with a bag full of cards and props, and by the end of the lesson the whiteboard looked like a cross between a Picasso sketch and a crime-scene diagram.
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I’d safely been in Poland for perhaps five minutes, and a cardboard caricature of my past career had already beaten me to the job.
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That space carried my solitude, my hopes, my dreams, and the first sparks of who I was becoming.
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… two people repeating “Wi‑Fi” at each other like confused parrots.
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I often thought of Jeanette Winterson’s novel Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit — except for me, they were.
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Half-awake most mornings, I found myself wondering whether they ever swapped places just to confuse the guests.
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I heard myself ask, quietly, “Is that the radio station?”
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As an adult, acquiring cherries meant a small supermarket punnet during a brief British season. Here, they were abundance itself. Even the family pet, a huge but gentle Bernese Mountain Dog, spent its afternoons beneath the tree eating windfalls as they fell. I casually mentioned to my friend that I adored cherries, a rare treat,…
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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.
