In Search of the Lost Self

"To Find Something, You Have to Know What You're Looking For."

Father Jan Twardowski

I Feel Your Breath. You Smile. Everything that's bothering me, my entire unkempt world, seems so simple to you. And I don't have a comb at home, I don't want to straighten anything, all my life I've avoided seemingly easy decisions. I've gotten lost somewhere on the path to my own Self. The fog obscures my vision, I can't read the signs that stand in the way. You're saying something to me. I'm sorry, but I can't even hear my own heart. And I try to focus, reading white writing on an even whiter squared page. Individual words don't give a complete picture.

Lend me that halo of eternity. I'll feel taller. And a single wing, so I have the courage to fly to the deepest recesses of the cluttered vestibules of my own heart. Sleep has passed. I open my eyes with difficulty. Such a beautiful dream, and the angel still stands there, watching, silent.

And smiling at me.

I'll buy that comb tomorrow.

I promise.

I really will.

...

"I had another dream about my grandfather," I tried unsuccessfully to hide the terror in my voice. "He told me not to give up and to keep looking.

" "You're thinking too much about it. You're getting it into your head that he hid some treasure, and that's why you're having these dreams," Dad said dismissively and left the kitchen.

Mom took a deep breath, looked at me, and said nothing.

"And precisely because you have that attitude about everything, I dreamed about my grandfather, not you." I shouted at him, already a little irritated, then turned to Mom.

"I'm not saying my grandfather hid the treasure, but if he's telling me to look, he clearly wants me to find something. Maybe they're documents, medals... I don't know. My grandfather was in the war; there's no telling what he might have had. In any case, I won't stop looking. I'll go there today."

"What do you think..." Mom said with palpable resignation in her voice. She stood up, didn't even look at me, and simply left the kitchen.

This whole thing about searching for Grandpa's treasure began about six months ago, when I first had a dream about him. I remember it all very clearly, because I've had the same dream regularly ever since.

The weather is beautiful, I'm standing in front of my grandfather's house, picking some flowers, when suddenly my grandfather appears in the doorway. He calls to me, but I don't approach. I'm scared because I know my grandfather is dead. After a while, however, I decide I have no choice. I approach him, but before I can climb the stairs, he disappears. A white, checkered piece of paper floats in the air. When it falls to the ground, I pick it up and struggle to read the faint letters. SEARCH. One word, seemingly insignificant, seemingly meaningless, that has irrevocably disrupted my life. I feel like a small child standing in the middle of a cluttered room whose mother has told him to pick up his scattered toys. On the one hand, I want it to be clean, but I've become so accustomed to the current appearance of my room that I don't have the strength or courage to change anything. I'm even afraid. But I know I have to pick up the toys I've thrown around. I start tidying up.

...

"Are you sure you want to go in there?" Dominik scratched his nose, narrowed his eyes, and made a few unidentifiable sounds. Terror etched on his face, but he bravely played the tough guy—at least he tried.

We stood before a wooden door, adorned with cobwebs, leading to some kind of storage unit where Grandpa always kept his homemade clay vases. My heart skipped a beat. And not because no one had entered it for a dozen years, and the room threatened to collapse, but at the mere thought that today might bring me the solution to Grandpa's mystery. A chill ran down my spine, which only intensified my innate curiosity. I glanced at Dominik. He smiled to hide his fears, which, I felt, filled every millimeter of his body—and I might add, his tanned body. I inserted the key into the lock, but I had trouble turning it. I didn't give up, however. I took a small step back, a magnificent turn, and kicked the door open. They didn't put up much of a fight, I have to admit. A huge cloud of dust burst upon us without asking anyone's

permission. Dominik began to choke. He shouted something through his teeth like, "I don't want to die!" and then, "Send me white roses for my grave." I grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. It was my first time there. My imagination of the cell's interior bore no resemblance to its actual appearance. It was much larger than I'd imagined. Portraits hung on the wood-paneled walls, every corner was cluttered with the clay vases my mother had mentioned, and in the center stood a strange table teetering on three legs and a large box pretending to be the fourth. My attention was caught by a suspicious trunk crammed with vases.

"If we cleaned this up, we'd have a fun place to play Canasta." Dominik's ideas always amazed me.

- Well... - I muttered under my breath and started opening the suitcase I had just spotted.

The creak of the lid sent adrenaline racing through my veins. I felt like the heroine of a horror movie, almost on the verge of discovering the murderer, when suddenly she felt a strange breath on her neck. She held her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blood-stained hand, and the film cut off abruptly... and we invite you to the commercials.

"Oh, people! Dominik, what are you doing?" My indignation froze him for a moment.

He stood erect, a cloth in one hand and a duster in the other.

"What? I thought you'd need it," he said calmly and returned to his work.

"What else did you bring with you?" I asked, pushing his backpack aside.

Suddenly, I burst into a shrill laugh, then fell backward, unable to keep my balance. Tears streamed down my cheeks. A different kind than usual, also salty, but more delicious than those that appear during moments of complete breakdown.

"What are you talking about?" Dominik asked, playing dumb.

I walked up to him and began unpacking the contents of his very spacious backpack.

"Man, tell me: why do you need a bandage, hydrogen peroxide, sore throat pills, stomach drops, a candy wrapper... oh wait. Why just the wrapper? Silence! You'll explain later. Let's look further: hedge trimmers, a flashlight, socks? Oh my. Mouthwash, a leash, a passport... but I don't think I understand this: pills for menstrual cramps? "

Dominik looked confused.

"You have to be prepared for every eventuality," he declared with great satisfaction. We both started laughing.

Dominik is probably the only person in the world with whom I feel wonderful, no matter what. When I'm with him, I forget all my problems; dark clouds cover the enormous, warm yellow sun. Sometimes I feel like he radiates energy, accumulated over the years, that reaches everyone he meets. I can't enjoy life like he does or approach the obstacles that pave the way to happiness with the same level of optimism. I always give up. He fights until the end, and that makes him feel victorious. I admire him for that. I'm so afraid that one day he won't be in my life. It's like someone took the sun away from me. The worst part is that I always return to my four walls, which are filled with the ugliest shades of gray. I'm suffocating, I'm gasping for air, but I persist, losing myself day by day. This will eventually destroy me. And I really hate cleaning. The toys are still scattered in the middle of the floor, waiting for me to make a move. They're waiting for me.

"I have practice in an hour," Dominik brought me back to reality.

"Yeah? Let's make it short. Let's take this trunk," I said, pointing to my discovery.

"But it's full of dust. Don't make me touch it," he protested.

"No one has ever died from dust," I convinced him.

"Julka was here. She asked you to... Oh, man. What's this?" Mom asked in a terrified voice, seeing Dominik and me carrying the dusty trunk into the kitchen.

"Don't worry. Have some herbal tea and play "Marbles" on the computer. And I'll visit Julka tonight," I said, hoping she'd leave quickly and rid us of her comments.

I wasn't disappointed. I think she'd had enough of my ideas, and then she left the kitchen.

"You look through all this, and I'll come back tomorrow and tell me about your discoveries. What do you think?" Dominik said, glancing at his watch. "

Okay. That's it for now."

Right after he left, I opened the trunk and began carefully sorting through its contents. Under a pile of grandma's dresses, I found only two black-and-white photos of a woman. It wasn't my grandmother. It wasn't my mother. So who? My mind is spinning.

...

I walk in without knocking. No one seems to mind. Everyone feels at home here. I'm greeted by Julka's warm gaze. She's lying on the bed in her underwear, doing crossword puzzles. Without a word, I lie down next to her. I don't say a word. Sometimes just someone's presence is enough for us. The most comforting thing is knowing someone is there, making your problems seem half as big. Julka understands this. She doesn't say anything either. We lie there without a word. I close my eyes. I see a green clearing, the sun warming my pale body, and the warmth piercing me from the very feet. The moment of fleeting happiness doesn't last long. Blurry lines paint before my eyes...

To freeze the moment ,

to lock it in the matchbox

that

started this fire ,

to freeze the world

, to freeze myself

, to drown in my own happiness,

so fleeting and fleeting.

I want to lie there forever. To look at the sky, to smile at the sun, to myself. Suddenly, rain falls... it follows me everywhere... I've had enough...

I open my eyes. I hear music in my head. The melody that's been playing in my head since this morning was created by my imagination. I don't force a smile. Neither does Julka. The burden of everyday life doesn't allow it. There's no need to pretend here. The great hole deepens. It swallows me up in installments, taking with it the remnants of yesterday. I feel enslaved. Tied. Glued to the past. Constantly thinking about yesterday, worrying about tomorrow, I can't focus on today.

I analyze everything carefully, discovering nothing new. The verses, spoken aloud, allow me to look at it all from a distance. Speaking of myself, I feel like I'm talking about someone completely unknown, strange, someone who has nothing in common with me. Julka says nothing, she listens. A scant comment isn't enough. Speak, please. I want to hear the truth; you alone will tell me the truth. The worst truth is better than a good-intentioned lie. I abhor lies. They're as slimy as a human worm, short as a pinworm, repulsive as a small mouse, and they end in a dead end. The crooked laughter of a lying man disgusts me. Ugh!

"Do you feel it?" Julka's question brought me back to reality.

I look around. Four pink walls. And rain dripping onto my coffin. No. STOP! There's no coffin. Calm. It's bright, disgustingly pink, and patent leather. Plastic, even.

"Marylka was smoking in my room again," Julka says indignantly. "I've told her so many times to leave, but she doesn't care. She's practically living with me now. She sleeps in my bed, wears my clothes, breathes the same air, but she doesn't respect me at all. Blastula, I can't cope anymore. I'll kill myself, you'll see. I've already written farewell texts. If you want, I can read this one to you. Or, no. You'll read it when I send it. I know what you'll say, don't say anything. I'm hopeless. Why should I live? For Marylka? She's so skinny, and look at me. And today Mrs. Kasia lent me this book about a girl who decided to die. She was bored. Oh man! What am I saying? So many people die because they're sick, and I... I guess I'm not that bad. After all, I don't live under a bridge, I don't have ulcers on my face and polyps under my arms." I have this feeling that things will get better someday. And I'll be almost happy. And I'll show all those Asia Rokakowskis and Zosia Ostrowskis who's better. And their jaws will drop. I'll finally be appreciated. I hope immortally. And you know, Blastula, Zośka is such a terrible whore. She has sex with everything that moves. I can't stand to look at her anymore. I have to get rid of her somehow; I don't want anyone to associate me with that, that... thing. And do you know what she calls you? Little Angel. Your saintliness is driving her crazy. You better not hang out with her anymore. Just let her give me all my things, and I'll say goodnight and slam the door in her face, leave a pink note with black text written in black crayon: goodbye, you little, complete whore. And that will be the end. And how's Dominik doing? Oh, he always sounds good. And you know, yesterday Marylka and I met such lovely guys. Only I know it won't work out anyway. Because nothing can possibly work out for me. How could it be that Julka, the unlucky one, has found herself a nice, handsome boyfriend? I'll be an old maid, you'll see. And I so dream of living in a semi-detached house like that, close to you, Blastula, and leading a normal life. Normal. In the evenings, I could sit by the fireplace and cuddle up to a nice guy. I'd feel safe, and maybe I'd finally stop thinking my life is hopeless because if someone was born into such a family, they're finished. Oh my, Blastula, a text from Dawid. He'll drop by tonight. He's so sweet. And so handsome. Just a little shy, but I'll get him going. And a year younger. That's perfect, because I'll still set him up properly. He's not lost yet. Because he's so old, he's no good, because he's already programmed, and he doesn't want a new program. But Dawid will be exactly as I want him. Oh, Blastula, I'm so happy. Just tell me, how do I look? Is this hat okay, and is this blouse okay? Blastula, it's a nice day, isn't it? "Well... "

I nod, unconvinced.

That night, I woke up drenched in sweat. I had a dream. Terribly terrifying, even though it shouldn't have been. I could still feel its atmosphere, the dark atmosphere, the fear, the pain. A street. Unfamiliar faces. Among these people, I recognize myself. I feel hopeless. I'm in a terrible state of depression. The mummy comes to save me, to take me away. I feel a strange sense of relief. The mummy begins to tell me something about my grandfather and grandmother, then about Julka. Her words terrify me. She begins to insult them. I rebel. I start tearing off her bandages. I'm disgusted by them; they're dirty, stained with blood. I scream at the top of my lungs. The mummy has clearly unsettled me. My words are of no use. She ties me up and takes me to a lake. I see a bag ready. The mummy shouts, "Jump in!" I scream, tug, but it's no use. It's dark, there's no one around. I accept my fate. I'm going to die. One last look at my murderer. Disgustingly brown eyes, bushy eyebrows, saliva dripping onto dirty bandages. I close my eyes in horror. I don't want this sight to be my last. I scream with all my might. I want to push the sight of the mummy away, I want to forget. A storm of unkempt thoughts races through the non-alphabetical compartments of my brain. Go away. Go away. I don't want you. Now. A warm stream of sunlight reaches me through the dark clouds. I feel the warm touch of someone's hand on my cheek. This hand wasn't bandaged. I open my eyes. No mummies, no bags, no lakes. Just Dominik's face.

...

He woke me at 7:00 a.m. On a Saturday! The crime he committed was quickly forgiven, however.

"Blastula, get dressed, quickly! You won't believe what I discovered," he barked at the door. No "hello," no nothing, so as not to waste time on what he considered unnecessary words.

"What happened?" I asked nervously.

"Yesterday, after practice, I went back to your grandfather's cellar. I was at your place, but your mom said you were at Julka's, so I didn't want to bother you. Well, you know... Because there was a table in the middle of it, and instead of a leg, it had this huge box. I opened it and found this." He handed me a few photos.

I easily recognized the same girl in them, who was also in the photos found in the trunk.

"But that's not all," he said, exceptionally slowly, to emphasize the importance of his discovery. "I found this."

He handed me two letters. I felt I was nearing the end of my search. I carefully started opening the first envelope when the phone rang. I knew that if I didn't answer it, no one would bother. I placed the letters on the table and went out into the hallway, where the phone was.

"Hi Blastula," I heard Julka's tearful voice.

"Hi, what happened?" I asked, seemingly worried. Deep down, I was angry that she had interrupted me at such an important moment. I was convinced I was about to hear a half-hour-long story about how Dawid had turned out to be a total jerk who wasn't worth the effort, and now she was suffering and wanting to kill herself.

"Life is over for me," she said, devastated. "They fired me.

" "Oh, people!" "Don't joke..." I felt particularly bad for my earlier thoughts.

"And besides... Dawid turned out to be a total jerk.

" ...

"Blastula, don't kill me. I really didn't make it. It was an accident. Do

n't get upset." Dominik's words no longer mattered. I just looked at the soaked letters and started crying. "Blastula, don't cry. That cat jumped on the table and spilled the water. When I noticed it, it was too late. Don't cry, you can still read something. Look, you can still see something. Please don't cry. Nothing like that happened.

"Can I be alone? I want to cry alone over the hopelessness of my life. For now. Hey!"

I lay down on the bed, covered my head with a pillow, and after a while, I fell asleep.

...

I woke up in the middle of the night. I turned on the lamp and picked up the soaked pages. It was practically unreadable. But when I looked more closely at the blurred letters, I saw one sentence: "Don't lose what's most precious." Suddenly, I remembered Dominik and the way I treated him. It wasn't his fault. I'm mean. I'm terrible. I'm selfish. I went out into the hallway and picked up the phone. What am I doing? I'm not calling him in the middle of the night. Someone left a message on my answering machine. "Blastula, remember that no matter what happens, I'll always be there. This was important to you, and I messed up. I'm sorry." Something inside me broke. I listened to the message a dozen times, sat on the floor, and started crying. Only now have I realized how much I care about him. And I finally realized how focused I was on myself. I wanted everything to revolve around me; I thought I was the one who was incredibly unhappy, dissatisfied with life, the one who needed help and support. And yet, only today have I realized how selfish I was behaving. After all, others have their own problems too. By putting myself at the center, I failed to notice Julka and the fact that she needed help, too. I didn't see the people carefully removing bricks from the wall protecting me from the world. The wall I had built myself, which was supposed to protect me from potential suffering. After a while, I began to feel short of breath. I felt suffocated. I wanted so badly for someone to tear down that wall, but I wouldn't let anyone.

Now I know what my grandfather was so determined to find. MYSELF. The photos, packages, trunks, and letters were of no consequence. I was slowly sinking into the sea of ​​everyday life, losing myself more and more with each passing minute. I couldn't stop and choose a different path. I was fading away. I was growing paler. I began to die while still alive. Something had to happen to make me realize that not everything was alright. Someone had to open my eyes.

I had to take a walk. Absolutely. I walked toward the door. I tripped over a shoe and fell. I landed facedown on the floor. I slowly got up and froze.

A comb lay beneath my feet. A simple comb. I grabbed it and left the house. And not tomorrow, but today, I would comb my world. And then I would pick up all the scattered toys.

I promise.

I really would.