day by day

Powroty / Returns

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Uciekałam przed tym tekstem bardzo długo. Gonił mnie od kiedy z końcem maja przekraczając nocnym blablacarem niemiecko-polską granicę zmierzałam w kierunku Warszawy. Przez okno samochodu patrzyłam na wszystkie stare-nowe miejsca, tak znajome i nieznajome jednocześnie. Gonił mnie, kiedy latem odbywałam pierwszą i kolejne letnie wyprawy cmentarne, w poszukiwaniu śladów przodków, po tym, jak projekt odtwarzania historii mojej rodziny zaczął nabierać niespodziewanego tempa, a ja zaczęłam robić zdjęcia nagrobków, odwiedzać księży w parafiach i wertować stare księgi parafialne, by wyczytać z nich imiona i nazwiska moich praprababć i prapradziadków. Gonił mnie po lwowskich zakątkach odwiedzonych w lipcu w pełni słońca, ze skrzypiącą huśtawką i panem oprowadzaczem po świątyni służącej wiernym różnych religii, w zależności od dnia tygodnia. I po ukraińskiej podlwowskiej wsi, z wielkim krzyżem dla alkoholików na jej środku, pod którym podobno wystarczy się pomodlić, by problem z alkoholem zniknął. Gonił mnie każdego dnia bólem kolan przypominającym styczniowe chorwackie góry, które pokonały moje kolana. Gonił jesiennym wschodem słońca nad polskim morzem, na który wybrałam się, mimo, że łóżko takie ciepłe, miękkie i wygodne. Gonił w końcu po bieszczadzkich październikowych szczytach. I tam dopadł. Uległam.

Bieszczady. Fot. K. Prokopowicz

Continue reading “Powroty / Returns”

Jottings from The Doctor’s House

“The Story: Some years ago, I met Bojan. He did not just want to become a doctor. He needed to become a doctor. I’d never seen someone pour so much passion into a profession choice and had to ask him why it was so important. He answered with a story of a war he had seen as a child and a home he left long ago in 1992. Then he told me that through this experience he learned that of all the things a man could do, being a doctor meant you could keep helping people, regardless of war or wealth.

My father too believed in investing his life in a helping profession. In 1989, he moved our family from a cozy American mountain town to a bustling city in Nigeria so that he could use his skills as a doctor to aid people there. Continue reading “Jottings from The Doctor’s House”

Chestnuts seller

We walked along one of the main streets. Belgrade was still overwhelming with the intensity of the noises. The lack of my presence is a big city for so long made me unable to stand all the crackles, gratings, rumbles and horns. Suddenly I saw him. Actually I saw him again. He was still there, standing at exactly the same place as yesterday, carefully keeping chestnuts warm. Sheets of waste paper ruled into cone-shapes in four sizes were placed on his left hand side. Continue reading “Chestnuts seller”

(Yet) untold Croatian stories

I won’t tell you the story of Martina, a librarian from a small Dalmacian town Vodice. I wanted to ask what does she like in her work the most. And how did that happen that she decided to be a librarian.

I won’t tell you about Iva from Sibenik and how ESN network in Croatia is organized. I also wanted to know about the student life around, she must know all about it! And about Nina, a local journalist from the same city. Continue reading “(Yet) untold Croatian stories”

Hitting the road again

I was definitely a mistress of logistics. In one hour I have figured out how to pack all my stuff in a way which will later on allow me to easily repack it at the bus station. Everything has fitted tightly in four panniers and one backpack. It was late after midnight when I went to sleep.

The alarm rang at 4 am. I woke up thinking that.. maybe not. Continue reading “Hitting the road again”

A very personal story..

When leaving home some weeks ago to be back on the road, I’ve got a package of envelops from my sister. Each of them was signed with a date and Karolina told me that I was not allowed to open them earlier than what it says. Even though it was pretty difficult, I managed to resist the temptation. So far.

Few minutes ago I have opened the one signed as “February 2016”. Continue reading “A very personal story..”

Saying goodbye to Krk

I knew it was going to be a very long day. I have prepared a huge amount of porridge with banana and apple pieces and a hand of walnuts mixed with sunflower seeds and dried cranberries. My regular elevenses. An onion, a clove of garlic and a few beans were added into the buckwheat I have planned for lunch. The clock in the church tower struck midnight, twelve times with still the same single bell. Continue reading “Saying goodbye to Krk”


I turned the key in the lock and pressed the handle. The breath of chill air was noticeable. I placed the package I was holding in my hand on the sofa and fired the gas. The pot with beans soup was getting warmed up on one of the torches, the hibiscus tea with a few salvia leafs was cooking on the other one. I was so hungry that I was voraciously eating the fresh, still warm bread I have just bought a few minutes earlier, not being able to stop myself and wait until the soup will already be warm. Continue reading “Lunch”

The lesson of happiness in practice

I could hear the chime of the church bell every half an hour. Twelve times at midnight. A small church bell striking his heart against the bells’ brims. Half an hour later only once again, symbolically. I was lying down in bed covered by a thick blanket up to my nose. I had only eyes and hands outside of the cover. I kept writing although my fingers were getting numb of cold. The halogen radiator was shining into my direction. It had three ribs but one didn’t work, so only two were heating the room. Continue reading “The lesson of happiness in practice”

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