I'm walking through the city. The weather is nice. A large, bright orange sun is shining in the sky. The snow, which was plentiful just a short time ago, is gone. Spring is coming. Everything is waking up.
I pass smiling, happy people. But everyone is rushing somewhere, the older ones to work, the younger ones to school. It's been that way for centuries and it will always be that way. This is my city, my little homeland – Białystok. Everyone who comes here is surprised that everyone smiles and is so friendly, but knowing my surroundings, I know that's not the case. Tourists simply don't notice certain people – drug addicts, for example. Even though my city looks very well-kept and friendly, many people live here whom many would be afraid of. They are drug addicts. People who can't find happiness and have many problems. Unfortunately, they can't solve them. They turn to drugs to forget about their problems for a while. However, they don't know that's not the right way. I walk straight ahead. There aren't many drug addicts around at this time of day; everyone's either at home or at school, with only a few deciding to take a few drugs out. I'm just entering the park. I notice a girl standing under a tree. She seems to be in a daze. I approach her. I say quietly, "Hi." She doesn't respond. I don't know if she even hears me. I move closer. "Why are you taking drugs?" I ask. She still doesn't respond. I stand and watch her. She has beautiful, big blue eyes. She looks at me as if through a fog, but I'm not sure if she's noticed me. I don't know why such a pretty girl would take drugs. I ask again, "Why are you taking drugs?" The girl has come to. She looks at me as if I were an enemy. A minute or two passes. She finally replies, "I'm having problems at school and at home. Everyone's making fun of me. I'm in a class where the standard is very high, and I'm having trouble coping. My parents are beating me for it." I ask her name. She says Marta. A secret smile appears on the girl's face. She's glad someone's talking to her because she's feeling very lonely. Unfortunately, I don't have time. I ask one last question: "Wouldn't it be better to change classes?" Marta replies that she doesn't want to. I say, "Hi," and leave. I return home. I encounter only smiling people. I can't smile today. I keep thinking about Marta. I wonder what the drugs are doing to her. Home is getting closer; I'm just passing an abandoned tenement house. It's 2:00 p.m. Young people are returning from school and going to abandoned houses to take something stronger. The problem of drugs is growing, especially among young people. Initially, they replace art, religion, philosophy, and even family. Later, they completely destroy them in every way, separating them from society. They lock them in their own inaccessible world of insane experiences. Any communication with normal people becomes impossible. There are many like them.
This is what my city looks like. It's made up of happy people and drug addicts who can't find joy in life. This is my Białystok—my little homeland. There are many like it in Poland. Yet mine is unique
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