Being English AND Polish in tandem is actually very confusing. When I am with my friends in England I feel like just another British kid going out for a pint with the bois, getting wasted on sports night and complaining about tfl being so spenny. But when I board that Ryanair flight to Krakow and land in my home place I feel like I am missing something being in England.
My family recently relocated to this little village in southern Poland 20 minutes away from the famous Tatras mountain range. The community here is second to none. I met a family 5 months ago and today one of the boys said he feels like I am his sister. I go with them to classical concerts and encourage him to read out loud to raise his confidence. Every time I go to someones house they know who I am, hug me warmly and question me whether I would like sugar with the tea they were brewing for me. People think living in the countryside in Eastern Europe is sheltered to the rest of the world but it is probably the realest place I’ve ever been to.
Holidays in the UK consist of a group of young boys or girls saving up for their flight ticket to Zante or Malia and them drinking away their day and night in a cheap bar on the strip. I envy and I feel a sort of loss from the opportunities I have missed in Poland. The kids all pilling into an old car that is barely making it down the highway with tents to pitch up at the local lake or the seaside. Pulling out a bottle of voddy whilst watching the sunset over the lake and singing along to Disco Polo by the campfire. The sort of days that make you feel that you’re alive and young.
The pressure of British society squeezes every last bit of positivity and spontaneity. The rent prices in London mean that a lot of kids or young adults cannot afford to think about freedom and excitement, they need to make a living. With prices dramatically increasing and TFL causing me a mini breakdown every morning when it comes through on my Monzo account, the free spirit of youth is slowing disappearing into a depressing reality of the rat race to make a living. Because you are not successful unless you get that shiny bank job and that mortgage on that zone 1-3 flat that probably is just about big enough to fit your 5 remaining friends as the rest have given up trying to arrange things with the constantly busy you.
Welcome to our reality, the truest testimony of why the grass isn’t always greener.
About the Creator
Was I a Model in Japan?
During my time in Nagoya I worked and lived at the strangely famous hostel and café Nagonoya. With its chequered floors and florescent lighting it felt quite dated, but I think that was supposed to be part of the charm. The dorms were always fully booked on weekends with domestic tourists and there was always a buzz in the downstairs café. Camera crews were constantly in and out of the place interviewing the Japanese staff members who worked the café. I think it had something to do with the egg sandwiches. At least that was what was on most of the merchandise, except for that one dishcloth with the owner’s face on it. Was I being employed by a local celebrity?
By Susanna Kiernan22 days ago in Wander
Part 3: A Lost City, Cross on a Mountain and the James Bond of Bagpipes
We woke up slightly hungover and certainly dehydrated. Not a great start to a long day out but breakfast did revive us somewhat. Waiting out front for the coach, as seemed a common and welcome theme by now, I was greeted by an affection craving black cat with little white paws and a crooked ear. He jumped gingerly into my lap and his scrawny rear end rose high with every stroke. T dubbed him “Cotton Socks”, which suited him handsomely. He would be there to escort us to the shop upon our return, as any gentlecat might assume was his duty, though wouldn’t be as helpful as he thought considering we had to avoid stepping on him multiple times.
By Nessy Writer7 days ago in Wander
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