A recipe for a perfect world

A young girl stood in front of the door of a small, wooden cottage. She had fair skin and long, auburn hair. She held her hands behind her back. She realized I was watching her. Well, I had to reveal myself. Otherwise, I wouldn't have had a chance to learn her perspective. I approached her. I told her she looked nice, shook her hand, and introduced myself. I showed her my name tag and asked to speak with her. The girl hesitated. I saw fear in her eyes.

"I don't want to know things you don't want to tell me," I said. "Please don't treat me like a journalist. It's just a job. Let me be your friend for a moment, okay?" I concluded.

"Okay," she replied. I detected no uncertainty in her voice. Had she already trusted me? I wondered.

"I just have one request... Could I call you by your first name?" the teenager asked boldly.

"Of course. Justyna.

" "Ewa."

I knew from the start there was something special about Ewa. She was completely different from most girls her age. I was sure the article about her recipe for a perfect world would be a hit. I just felt it.

We were leaving the old apple trees behind. I didn't have the courage to ask the girl where we were going. I only guessed it would be a place as amazing as my interlocutor. And at least as beautiful as the landscapes of the surrounding countryside. I was right. Ewa took me to a stream. The water wasn't perfectly clear, but there was something there that impressed a city dweller. I heard the rustling. I wasn't thinking about my duties or my conversation with the girl, only about how well I felt. I saw Ewa pick up a small stone and throw it into the water, followed by several others. She watched for a moment as ripples formed in the water, and then came over to me. We sat down on the grass. I turned on the recorder.

"Tell me what your perfect world looks like. You imagined it, right? You certainly did." We all think about it, even though it's so distant and unreal. I want to know how you want to live, to dwell... I'm interested in every detail. Think for a moment. When you're ready, start talking.

"My ideal world," the girl said, "is completely different from the one we live in. Different laws govern it. There are fewer wars. They happen, but rarely. It may seem silly to you that in my world there's even bloodshed...

" "You were supposed to call me by my name, remember? Feel free. Justyna," I interrupted.

"Okay, okay. I just need to get used to this new situation," she replied.

She thought for a moment and then returned to the topic.

"In my world, situations occur where people die. It's sad, but inevitable. It's our nature. I wish it could be changed, but I know I'm asking too much. Not everyone can solve problems peacefully. So let it be. I'm not interested in creating perfect beings. My dream world isn't as far off as you might think. I don't want massive changes. Everything I desire is quite real and achievable. That's why in my ideal world, wars happen.

Politics. There are too many lies and deceptions. Our country should be led, above all, by sensitive, reasonable people who care about the common good. People who are no strangers to patriotism. And we still lack such "politicians by vocation." Over the past few years, almost everything has come down to money. The decisions of Polish politicians are increasingly irresponsible and lack the good of the entire country. How to combat this? Put people in the government between the ages of sixteen and twenty." They don't have much experience yet, but they are ambitious and full of enthusiasm. And they pay less attention to money, which, by the way, doesn't have as much value in my world as it does in the one we live in. Here, it's merely a means of payment, necessary for buying food and clothing. And food and clothing are very cheap in my world. So that everyone, even the poorest, has something to eat and wear.

The appearance of my ideal world is very similar to the place I've lived in since childhood. There are no cars polluting our natural environment, no huge urban centers. It has everything that is most beautiful and at the same time most simple: fields, orchards, meadows, forests. The houses are situated at a distance from each other, like in the countryside. Fresh, clean air and the scent of ripening fruit waft in the yard. Every now and then, you can inhale the scent of freshly cut grass, and even more rarely, the smoke from a bonfire.

In my ideal world, everyone captures moments and tries to capture them, to immortalize them without using a camera. It's not very difficult, but it takes effort to be able to do something like that. Photos of captured moments stay in people's memories for the rest of their lives. They can't be hung on the wall above their beds, but these memories live on within us, walking alongside us every day...

"And people? Who are the ideal people in your opinion?" I asked Ewa.

"Perfect people aren't perfect in the first place. I know that sounds strange. I'll explain what I mean. The people I'd like to have around me can't consider themselves perfect. There's no such thing as a perfect person, and there never will be; only the Most High is perfect." The girl raised her eyes heavenward. "I've had enough of narcissists. If I could, I'd send them all to a desert island. Let them live far away from people who are aware of how weak and flawed they are. In my dream world, there's no room for people who think they're perfect. I don't need them here. The people I'd like to share my imaginary little world with are sensitive, reflective, and emotional. The most important thing, however, is that they can admit their mistakes. And that they consider why they live. Besides that, they work on their characters. They're tolerant, open to suggestions. They rejoice in the success of every person on Earth. They're simply amazing. They love the world and life. They appreciate everything. They aren't perfect in themselves, but they live almost perfectly.

I listened to Ewa with great interest. With each passing moment, the young girl fascinated me more and more. Her way of thinking... Everything was perfect. I didn't need to ask questions. She spoke with incredible precision. She wasn't focused on herself and her own happiness, but on what was supposed to be happening around her. A noble, young, modest, mature girl. That's exactly what Ewa was. She was exactly like that, sitting next to me, on the grass, by the stream. I felt her breathing on my neck. It was quick. I knew she was deeply excited. What she was saying was very important to her. She was so authentic and sincere that she couldn't hide the emotions that were tearing her apart.

I changed the tape in my recorder and took my cell phone out of my bag. I quickly typed out a short but concise message: "Thanks to this girl, I'll finally make it!" I sent it. The recipient was the editor-in-chief of the newspaper where I worked. I glanced at my phone one last time and put it away. I apologized to Ewa for not paying attention to her for a moment. She nodded.

"Your vision of an ideal world is quite reasonable. I'm only missing one thing...

" "What?" the girl asked.

"Something that would concern only you. Don't you want to change anything in your own life? Wouldn't you like to receive something from fate? Isn't there something you dream of?

" "Things... probably not," she replied. "

Well, yes... I'm a journalist," I thought. I can't even put into words what I mean..."

"Anyway, there's no point," I heard the girl's voice. "I'm not thinking about changing my life or myself either. I've been fighting for a long time to remain the way I am. For myself, all I want is... a horse. Preferably a black one. It doesn't have to be fast, or win competitions. I'd like to love it. I dream of being able to go to the stables and cuddle up in its fur... A silly dream," she added, blushing.

"Not silly at all," I replied. Quite the opposite. You don't dream, like your peers, of being the most popular person in school or having a pile of new clothes... Your dream is different, unusual, unique, one-of-a-kind, interesting... Wouldn't you like anything more for yourself?" I asked, hoping to learn something more about my interlocutor's personality.

"No. Although... I'd like someone to shower me with red roses... But everyone dreams of finding their soulmate, so I guess there's nothing special about it."

"If everyone dreams of it, there must be something special about it," I replied. In any case, I hope you find your happiness and your place on Earth, with someone who will love you just as you desire. You deserve it. Just tell me... how to implement your recipe for an ideal world?

" "Don't try to force it. I live with the hope that in a few generations people will be just like I told you, and they will create the perfect world for themselves. It's possible. You just have to raise your children in the right spirit, instill in them from an early age that what matters most isn't money, but feelings, and tell them that the common good is what matters. Then, somehow, it will all work out..."

I turned off the recorder. "That's it," I thought. I apologized to the girl, grabbed my purse, took out my phone, and walked away a few dozen meters.

"I won't sell her," I practically shouted into the loudspeaker. The girl is intelligent, has wonderful dreams... But the whole world doesn't need to know them. You won't get this article. At least not from me. She trusted me. That's what matters, not some damn popularity or notoriety.

"Then you're fired."

I hung up. I wasn't surprised by the news. I didn't even feel bad. I was a journalist. I'm a journalist without a job. Apparently, that's how it was supposed to be. That's just the way things are, and that's it!"

I returned to Ewa. She was staring stubbornly at the stream.

"I'm not a journalist anymore," I declared. "At least for a while. I'll rest. Thanks for trusting me," I concluded, then took the cassette from the recorder and threw it into the water.

She was shocked. She didn't know what to say. She got up, took my hand, and started leading me toward her house. We passed the same fruit trees as a few hours ago. Because that's how long we'd spent together. A few hours.

When we reached the wooden hut, Ewa invited me in. She made tea and handed me a cup. We sat in silence for a while. Finally, the silence was broken by the sixteen-year-old.

"You're not a journalist without a job. You're... my friend. I can call you that without hesitation. After all, they fired you because you wouldn't put an article about me in the newspaper. That's what counts. You deserve that name."

After those words, many more words flowed. Ewa and I talked all evening. We had no shortage of topics.

***

I have a new job. I devote less time to Ewa now, but she understands. When we meet, we try to spend as much time together as possible. Together, we're building a perfect world. Our perfect world. A shared one. Ewa finds a place for me in her dreams, too..."