Fight. This could be the name given to the activity we perform every day, at any time, day or night. But it shouldn't be taken literally. It begins when we open our eyes after a long, deep sleep, or a weak, restless one. And it ends when, exhausted, we collapse into bed and sink into the blissful oblivion of the master of sleep.
Can you face the challenge of life, with all its sorrows and joys? In truth, they concern only you. Only you allow yourself to be possessed by them, and only you give them strength.
And what will tomorrow bring us? You can already begin to fear it or jump for joy, eagerly awaiting it. And despite all possible adversities, it will come anyway.
Do you sometimes get the feeling that everything you do is devoid of any meaning? After all, it prevents us from breaking free from the bonds that bind us. In truth, the only instinct that persists within us is the instinct to live, to survive, to outlast. When we lose everything we had, it remains. Never letting us forget it.
Learning to live is a difficult art. The only guidance we can gain comes from observing the world, people, and things. By learning the effects and causes of their actions, we learn how to act when it happens to us.
Many things are very similar. One could even say that everyone does exactly the same thing. Without any difference. Where is the originality? For fear of being judged, we lack the strength to do something of our own choosing, even though it may differ from the majority. Fear constricts our throats, preventing us from taking any action. And once again, we regress to passivity.
I recall an incident. A long time ago, I happened to walk into a bathroom that was already occupied by someone, perhaps even two. And of the opposite sex. They were naturally bathing together, happy and laughing in each other's company. The first thing I felt upon entering the bathroom door was shame and embarrassment. Naturally, I began to apologize, and although I desperately wanted to gaze at their firm, wet bodies, my ingrained shame prevented me from doing so. However, when I realized the humor of the situation after a moment, the shame vanished and a smile spread across my face. I began to flirt. I was even prepared to strip down and jump on the third one. But my candidacy was rejected by a majority vote.
There's a method to every madness. This old doctrine will never be forgotten; on the contrary, it's gaining more and more weight. Sometimes madness is the only way to survive. The inability to fulfill one's own goals, or to follow one's own rules, but rather, the rules imposed on us by the majority, causes us to sink into the increasingly murky waters of our personality. On the outside, everything seems fine. And inside? A cup of bitterness seethes, slowly seeping out. Every dream shattered by the words of others. Helplessness. Forces slowly draining us. The influence of our environment, dreams of a different, better world. Somewhere out there... First, we must look beneath our feet. What is the ground made of?
There was a time when I traveled extensively across the country. I particularly loved forests and the villages that were always nearby. Occasionally, I would also find myself in small towns. People I met by chance would sometimes offer them beer, and I would reciprocate with stories and adventures that befell me on my journey. Once, while wandering through the forests, I found myself in the vicinity of Silesia. You could smell it from the smell wafting through the air. Silesia has always needed workers. Coal mining required many, many hands. The demand for coal was constantly growing. Those who wanted work had a unique opportunity to find it here.
When I stopped in front of a shop and counted my money, I realized I wouldn't have enough for a beer. However, providence always comes to the rescue. A friend I happened to acquaint me with the necessary sum. We struck up a conversation. He was applying for a certificate to become a senior locksmith. The training he had recently completed allowed him to do so. All that remained was to collect his certificate. But as is often the case in life, nothing can go as planned. His documents were lost. He had to wait, even though others in his group were already looking for work. However, he had to wait, wasting precious time. After a short conversation, I liked him. I thought to myself that maybe I, too, could pursue something concrete, put down roots. But to complete the course, I figured I'd definitely need some money, which, as usual, I didn't have. I learned from him that the course didn't cost anything; you simply paid it off once I found a job and received my first salary. That made things much easier. I was almost decided. He even offered to let me live with him in the workers' dorm. The opportunity to live with him appealed to me greatly. But after a while, I realized that the only thing I truly valued in life was the freedom I cherished. We chatted for a while longer, and each of us went our own way.
Does he never lose his confidence? Observing him for a long time, we come to the conclusion that he certainly doesn't. His face never morphs into embarrassment or shame. Such mental states are unfamiliar to him. So what's really going on inside him? No one knows, but it's carefully muffled by all sorts of stimulants. Alcohol is now a daily occurrence. Maryska no longer brings the same fun she used to. Fedka is just a simple white powder that temporarily speeds up blood flow. Acid isn't what he thought it would be. And all the hard drugs? That path still doesn't apply to him. It happens sometimes, but he still has a remnant of self-preservation instinct. However, he derives greater pleasure from mixtures. A little of this, a little of that. The most important thing is to get really drunk. To forget. What?
It reminds me of a story from "The Little Prince." Namely, the Little Prince lands on a planet occupied by a drunkard. The only thing he does there is empty the bottle of alcohol, which is refilled the next day. And so on. When the Little Prince asks him what he keeps drinking, the drunkard replies that he drinks to forget. Forget what? The prince asks. About being a drunk. Is that a sufficient explanation?
From the depths of my memories, I recall an image of myself. I'm standing in front of a staircase, trying to light a cigarette. It takes me a moment. The time of year is particularly noteworthy. It's winter, and I'm wearing sneakers, a jacket, and a scarf supposedly protecting my neck. I take a long sip of orange drink from a plastic, one-and-a-half-liter bottle. I grimace. A discerning observer will notice that this isn't just any drink. There's something else in it... Just look at me. She's simply drunk. She continues her journey. She's crossing the cemetery, ignoring the passing cars as she tries to cross the road and get to the sidewalk. One of them almost hits him. The figure leaping out screams furiously. He shouts that if he hadn't braked in time, someone would likely be under the wheels right now. If he's so determined to end his life, he should jump from a window or a balcony. This was more or less the monologue of a man who had the opportunity to vent his frustration on someone. He didn't even notice the figure, just kept moving forward. A girl got out of the car. He asked her if she knew who it was. She recognized him as the former frontman of the long-defunct band "Smoke." She reminded him of old hits like "Ja i ty" (Me and You) or "W mojego sanch" (In My Sanch). He reminded him that he used to like it. However, he curtly stated that he didn't like it anymore. He asked what had happened to him. She replied that this state was supposedly caused by a girl. He wondered how a girl could have brought oneself to such a state? He concluded that if he looked at the figure closely, one could say that he was no longer a person, but rather just his shadow. However, she said mysteriously that the shadow had already left him. So who was he? Nobody. He hoped she would never leave him. She said she wouldn't dare. They got in the car and drove away. He continued walking. He walked along the sidewalk, his gaze fixed on the ground. Suddenly, a car stops and someone jumps out and calls out to him. He turns his head. He recognizes his friend. He raises his hand in greeting. A forced smile appears on his face. He asks him which way he's going. He gestures casually. His friend offers him a ride. As they drive, his friend says it's not worth drinking over some woman. And only because it didn't work out. "You give up too easily. I understand you liked her, I understand you invited her to a bar and started talking to her about it. I understand you told her how you felt about her. You said one word too many. And all because you drank too much that day. If you'd talked to her sober, it would have all ended differently. Who knows, maybe even happily? You'd never have been able to confess sober. You lack the courage. And so the dilemma is set. And since you can't solve it in any way, you try to forget about it all. But really, it's just...Suddenly, while driving, he opens the door as if to get out. He brakes sharply. He gets out and starts back. He no longer wants to go where he was supposed to go. He leaves his friend stunned. He decides to go home. He wanted to be alone for a while. He turns on his tape recorder and heads out to the balcony with the bottle. The cold was his only friend. He hears someone knocking, but he has no desire to see anyone at that moment. The door opens, and a look of astonishment appears on his face, but the question seems unnecessary. They can see that the bottle is half full. They can draw their own conclusions. And they do. One declares that he drinks constantly. The other tells him he's crazy! Everyone stands in silence for a moment, no one quite sure what to say. Finally, one snatches the bottle from his hand because he wants to drink. He takes a sip, and a look of astonishment appears on his face, but a moment later he bursts into laughter. When the second saw his friend lying on the ground, bursting with laughter, he timidly reached for the bottle. When he took a sip, he too burst into giddy laughter. And through his laughter, he communicated to the others that he had been deceiving them all this time, believing he was drunk. He had been drinking a regular cream puff all this time, not some diluted spirit. It's not me, but the alcohol that's deceiving me, I wanted to say, but the laughter was so intense, I couldn't utter a word.
How difficult it is to promise yourself that starting tomorrow you'll rid yourself of one of your addictions that has long poisoned your life. How many times have you taken on this challenge? Will you win this time, or will you succumb to it again, to an addiction stronger than your will? Inside, however, you're more mentally devastated by the unsuccessful and disastrously lost battle. The more you try, the less and less you believe in victory each time. Weaker and weaker... But faith will always remain within you. It's what compels you to try again and again.
One day, as penance, or perhaps to test myself, I planned to run from our town all the way to the sea. Rather, I wanted to run somewhere as far as Elbląg and, after soaking in our sea, return. A noble goal, and yet so demanding. It demanded great self-denial and perseverance.
Kanapa had planned to accompany me on the initial route. He wanted to go to one of the villages. His friend was probably there. We set off quickly. I immediately wanted to set a fast pace so the run wouldn't take too long. And it wouldn't become tedious. We reached the village quite quickly. We saw the girls picking cherries. It was summer, so it was summer time. Looking among them, he finally spotted his friend. He called out to her. She noticed him. However, she told him to wait until she finished her work. It would take her a few more hours. It was around noon, and everyone had been working until 6 p.m. We whiled away the waiting time with conversation. When the hour arrived, all the workers appeared. I spotted Nuta among them. Our eyes met only briefly. However, that provided enough excitement for the evening. The girls were holding wine bottles. I couldn't believe they were drinking cheap wine, though. I asked what they were drinking juice from; I felt thirsty, so I went for a drink. But I wasn't a fan of all juices, so naturally I wanted to sample the flavors. Nuta gave me an evasive answer and handed me the bottle. I took one sip. As I did, I realized I wasn't going anywhere any further. A good party was coming up, and I never missed one. I picked up the bottle again and drank its entire contents down my throat, sip after sip. As I finished it, I noticed everyone staring intently at me, their faces taking on expressions of utter astonishment. I put the bottle down and laughed out loud. Suddenly, I realized how ridiculous the situation was. I might never reach Elbląg again, and no one would admire me for it. But I can still surprise people with other things. Maybe not as big, but still. I won't finish, but I'll finish.
Curiosity. It's eternally unsatisfied. Constant discovery, exploration, observation. That eternal thirst for knowledge. But this is the only way to experience the world. Observation. All that's needed is a bit of courage. And then all that's left is action. So many new faces and places await anyone willing to venture out.
Sometimes you feel like exploring parts of your city you haven't had the opportunity to visit before. You live in the first part of it that comes your way, so you've never had the slightest need to venture into its less attractive parts. But you've heard from several people that the other half has developed quite significantly, with many new shops and services opening. Someone has finally started investing in that part. You simply wanted to see what it looks like now.
I personally had a small business in that area. I was about to get a haircut. I could have done it somewhere in my own city, of course, but I wanted to do it somewhere in that area.
When I arrived, the difference was immediately noticeable. I was here myself a long time ago, when I was just a child. There was nothing here but a dozen or so houses. Someone coming here for the first time might think it was a separate town. Who knows, maybe this part of the city will demand autonomy and want to break away from the rest someday?
Today was market day, so I guessed there were a lot of people from here. The roadsides were full of vegetables and fruit, which farmers had brought from their farms and were currently selling. I was the only one who went in search of a hairdresser. When I reached the halls, a place where small service providers and small businesses are always located in every city, I knew I'd find a hairdresser somewhere.
My gaze fell on a woman who was brushing her hair and gathering it into a dustpan. Our eyes met, and for a moment we stared at each other, but she was the first to lower her gaze and resume her work. I knew this was where I wanted to get a haircut. I suspected it was a men's-only barbershop, but I knew that if you wanted something, you could get a lot. I walked confidently inside. I approached and politely asked if I could get a haircut. She said that, as a rule, they only cut women's hair, but in my case, she could make an exception. She told me to sit comfortably in the chair and she would prepare the razor. Suddenly, to my left, two naked teenage girls emerged from behind the curtains. At first, I looked away to pretend I didn't see anything, but after a moment, I told myself I could actually look, after all, looking wouldn't hurt anyone. So I watched them for a moment as they disappeared behind another screen. Maybe they're filming porn with teenage girls somewhere here, I thought? The world holds many secrets, after all. The hairdresser was confused by the whole situation. I told her she didn't have to feel guilty about seeing naked girls. After all, I'd seen much more daring scenes, though I must admit, reality is much more arousing. This answer significantly improved her mood. She began cutting my hair. While she was cutting, I asked what time she finished work, as I'd like to invite her for a good coffee at a nearby restaurant. She didn't refuse; on the contrary, she was very pleased with this turn of events.
Sometimes it's worth risking a trip into unfamiliar territory to test yourself; maybe something interesting will happen along the way?
There are so many places to visit and so many people to meet. But don't you sometimes get the impression that it's all really the same. Monochromatic and not much different from each other. You only need to meet a few people to form an opinion about the entire city. You only need to visit a few places to know every corner of the city. And nothing more. It's as if you were enclosed by some invisible wall. You really have little room to move. You lack the faith to go further afield and experience other places and people. This city and its invisible, enveloping wall have robbed you of that faith.
Does a good upbringing in a home with good traditions, upbringing, and parental backgrounds provide a young person with a truly prepared psyche to face life?
I try to recall my childhood memories. The only thing I always remember is the interior of the house. A very large house, with countless rooms, basements, and attics. My parents were noblemen by birth and inherited the house from their parents. It was probably going to be the same for me. But I rarely remember my parents, only their strict rules, which they instilled in me. That the world outside was evil, that people were lazy and swindlers, that they would gladly live off other people's money. And generally, the day was all that mattered, and the future didn't matter to them.
I was an only child, and I was terribly lonely. It's true that a couple of servants had a son in our house, but he was a few years younger and had already practically resigned himself to his future, to becoming a servant like his parents. He was constantly submissive in everything, and I couldn't engage in any kind of competition with him, or discuss the world I so desperately wanted to know. He didn't feel the unhealthy fascination with the world that I felt and so yearned for. I didn't even have a chance at the school I was so excited to be attending. My parents provided me with homeschooling. Teachers came to my home and instilled in me the knowledge I should have learned at school. Every attempt to venture out into the outside world ended in failure, with the message, of course, that the outside world was evil and wasted. That only what was inside could be saved.
I had only one thought: when I would reach adulthood and escape from home. And finally, the longed-for time arrived.
I threw myself into the whirlwind of life: conversations, late-night meetings, the fumes of alcohol, the smoke from a pipe with magical herbs, mushrooms that allowed me to experience another side of the world I was so fascinated by. And the more I yearned to feel or understand my thirst for curiosity, the more I felt that there was no real life in this rush, that the momentary fun ended quickly, leaving a void unfilled. That, burning in the rush of life, I was burning, but from the fire nothing was born, everything vanished. Increasingly disappointed and embittered. What once brought me joy and fun at first now leaves me feeling empty and resentful. A tired body and a useless mind that once analyzed and explored so much.
As it turns out, no one is waiting for us at the end of the road. No one has any secret messages to share. And the answer to the question of whether starting adulthood with a well-prepared mind guarantees happiness remains open. I know one thing... Let's not give up on our dreams... And let's listen carefully to the voice of our hearts; it always feels them. Let's not lose it, let's not lose it under any circumstances...
What are we truly seeking, what attracts us to the opposite sex? Their attractiveness, beauty, sexual attraction, or perhaps something that can't be truly named, but which for some is the only true determinant. It's a difficult question, and the answer can be difficult and certainly not clear-cut...
A trip to China, to one of the towns, is a unique opportunity. Admittedly, the reason is very unpleasant, but it's what made it possible for me to come here. My grandmother was ill, and there were only a few doctors who could treat my grandmother's case. Coming with my grandmother, my uncle who was my driver, and my aunt proved to be exceptionally successful. But I felt I really wanted to meet a Chinese woman. Their beauty, temperament, and inner mystery had always attracted me. After arranging a passerby, I learned that not far from here was a place where Chinese women lived. I immediately learned that this place was intended for the poorest and that their living conditions were very modest. I learned that for a few dollars, I could already experience their temperament, especially when it came out at night. But I felt drawn to something else, something I couldn't name.
As soon as I got there, I immediately noticed a Chinese woman preparing lunch. It was quite modest, consisting only of fruits and vegetables. She was preparing it with ingredients that were no longer the freshest. I looked at her. I wasn't particularly impressed by her beauty, but I realized that wasn't important to me. I struck up a casual conversation with her. After a while, I realized I wouldn't be impressed by her intelligence either. She was quite simple, and her knowledge of life was very limited. But that didn't matter to me either. I tried to find something else in her, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. After a long conversation, she disappeared, and I was left alone for a while. I tried to answer the question of what I was really looking for. I realized that, of course, I could have her; from the context of the conversation, I deduced that only a few dollars would be enough, but that wasn't the right development for me. I was looking for something else. A moment later, another Chinese woman appeared, prettier than the first one and much more brilliant. A very different character from the first one. But this one, too, disappeared after about an hour of conversation. Another one appeared in her place, perhaps not as brilliant as the first, but much funnier. This one was actually openly offering sex for those few dollars. I tried to explain to her, of course, the reason I was there. I explained it vaguely, not really understanding what I was trying to explain to her myself. And she disappeared, and another one appeared in her place. This one was completely different from the others, practically busy working with vegetables, paying no attention to me. She didn't always feel like answering my questions. So I studied her, trying to guess her personality. I noticed her eyes above all, which intrigued me greatly. Every now and then, our gazes would linger for a moment, and then she would return to her work. I felt there was something special about her, something the others hadn't, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Finally, tired from the journey, I began to feel overwhelmed. I asked her about the possibility of spending the night there. I learned that for a few dollars it was possible. But she wasn't interested. I explained that I wasn't interested in her body, only in the opportunity to spend the night. Her proximity would be enough for me. The knowledge that she was here in this room with me. Our eyes met for a longer moment this time. And then it dawned on me. What I was searching for, what I was still searching for stubbornly. Someone whose presence alone would be enough for me. I realized that I wasn't looking for beauty, temperament, intelligence, or gymnastics in bed, but for someone whose company alone would make me feel good. Whose company alone would be enough for me to be completely happy. I fell asleep on her lap, and she tenderly stroked my hair. I fell into a fulfilled and happy sleep.
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