Of A Long Way Home

So, I feel like it’s probably been almost a month since my last post. It is quite possible that it hasn’t actually been so long, but it sure feels like it, because so much has happened.

I went back home. Yes. Finally, the big change I was anticipating in most of my posts have come and now I feel like I’ve been ripped out of one reality and planted in another. Everything is different and it feels like so much has changed. That’s not surprising. It seems quite natural that if a person can change, so must the city they are from and everyone in it.

At the same time, it’s like nothing has changed. My grandparents still fall asleep on the couch, with the TV turned on. The news are different, but announced by the same bunch of faces and voices. The weather is flimsy. Only the trees seem even greener then the way I remembered them. And of course, the most different element of all, has to be me. My egotism wouldn’t allow anything else to overshadow that.

I’ve lost touch with most of my friends. Not that I’ve had many friends. I’m rather antisocial, but those I have stayed in touch with, and the new people I meet all seem to ask the same question I can’t bare to hear one more time. „So what do you do? What are you going to do next? Do you still want to be an actress? What are you going to do for money?” It’s like the voices in my head take a physical form in everyone I even try to have a conversation with. As if I didn’t need time to rest after leaving a place I’ve lived in for the past 3 years. No, you must touch the ground and start running. And since what I want to do is write. Here’s yet another first step. As if all those other steps were nothing but footprints in the sand.

And the road I’ve taken was physically, was almost as long as the one I’ve had to take metaphysically, or mentally (whichever one is more accurate). I wanted to write about the adventure that was my actual journey from LA to Poznan because that in itself was… Something. But I’ll save it for another time. Either way, it’s good to be back. Almost as if it’s taken this long for whatever it is and whatever you call it (soul) to catch up with the physical body that’s been here a week and a half already.



Of Hidden Hipster Spots

I wouldn’t really call myself a hipster. Even though I like books, I have a blog and could marry coffee if it were legal. Still, as any hipster would say, I would absolutely despise being labeled like that. Sometimes though, facts speak for themselves. And honestly as much as I understand why in recent years the term has become so pejorative, I don’t really know what’s so wrong with liking any of the above things. I do think it’s bizarre to spend an excessive amount of money on stuff that „looks old” if you can just buy something in an actual second-hand store. And it’s not like you’re pretending to be homeless with your latest iPhone and MacBook (bit of an exception here, still sporting an iPhone 5 and my MacBook is like 6 years old… Does that make me even more hipster?) Then again if it’s your money, you should be able to spend it however you like without people judging you.

And sometimes you can just find the most amazing places if you just follow your „hipster instinct”. The bookshop and coffeeshop „Stories” in LA is one of those places. Although I sure shouldn’t claim any credit for finding this spot, as I was brought here by a friend. Still, tagging along with him, when he said he was going to the library, was a great example of following instincts. I suppose. I had no idea where he was taking me and I was pretty much convinced that we were just heading to a public library. I was in for a big surprise.

The place is located near Echo Park, which is one of the nicest spots in Downtown LA, and right off of a parking lot that is by far the cheapest lot I’ve seen here (25cents per 30 minutes) and we easily found a spot! Unfathomable!

Naturally, the place is packed with fellow hipsters. Almost everybody sporting a Mac computer, typing something, likely a blog post, but maybe a new script, or whatever it is that people write in Los Angeles. Could be anything. A cook book. A vegan cook book, IDK.

Either way, they have got some pretty neat coffee and ice tea, and all kinds of fuels to steam roll that inspiration. And being surrounded by books, sure exhumes some creative fumes. Almost wish there were more places like that, but then again it would probably just become another hated trend. All hipsters know that if something becomes trendy you should cut it off like a rotting limb. Funny how it works since being hipster is both trendy and despised at the same time. This world we live in is weird. It’s like people just don’t have better things to do, then judge others for how they dress, what they eat and what they enjoy doing in their free time. Like all them „Pokemon Go” haters. I know you secretly play when nobody can see you!

Anyway, right now, at least here’s a place where all us hipsters can turn up and not be judged by the rest of society. And just… You know, write a blog post.


Must have inhaled heavily on them fumes, because I immediately started writing my first post in over a weak! Ugh, I hate that I take such long breaks, but I also try not to be too hard on myself with everything that’s going on…

Of Fears & Beasts

I fear, that not everybody is meant to be successful in any given thing. It’s not even based on how good or skilled you are. There’s something else you need, and God only knows what that something is. People try all their lives and never get there. Maybe they get something else, I don’t know. You can’t plan your future but at the same time you have to, futile as it may be. Knowing that, puts me in a state of complete resignation. I don’t want to do anything. I feel so overwhelmed with the magnitude of things I’m going through right now. Going back home, packing, figuring out what to take with me, what to leave behind. Starting a new life. Trying to stay true to my passion with all the fears and doubts that come with it. I thought that if I started this blog and started writing more, it would make me feel better, but the reality is, half of the time I don’t even know what I’m writing. When people ask me what my blog is about, I can’t seem to find an answer. Is it because it’s about nothing? And with this constant silent noise of the internet, how and why would anyone hear this unskillfully formulated whisper?  I’ve been trying to make some progress in the moving department, to get at least some of that pressure off my chest. The truth is, most of that stuff is still where it was and I don’t feel like I’m getting any closer to being ready to leave with only three weeks left to go. And I don’t really know why I’m writing about this right now, because honestly, who cares? One girl dealing with her 1st world problems. I’m not even here to write about things that are important. About what feels like an overwhelming flood of violence, sweeping through the world right now. The turbulence of the times we happen to live in, and the sheer helplessness of my generation. We grew up in so much comfort and were told that everything was going to be ok, but no matter how you slice it, things don’t look so well and it doesn’t look like they are improving much. If anything they are getting worse. People like me, sit in front of their computers or smartphones, typing away their opinions but those opinions have no voice. They’re just letters, scribbled upon a screen that signify nothing. There’s no power in that form of expression, since anyone and everyone is able to do the same thing. Not to mention, most of those opinions are restricted to a 140 word minimum, because attention span smaller then a goldfish #depressing.

I just spoke on the phone with my best friend back home and she told me how things are looking in Poland. Fascists in the government. Police can legally using force on a peaceful demonstration. All democratic rights slowly taken away from us. People allow it, because they are scared. Scared of the ISIS threat. The horror of Islam. The painted devil. On top of that a calm group of white middle-aged men, who do think that we should absolutely use guns against the gays, and the blacks, and the browns and anyone who is different, because different makes me feel uncomfortable. Women’s rights? That’s funny, go back to the kitchen, lady! But there is something to it isn’t there? The fear seems to be far less crippling here in the US, but it still exists and it’s presence is strong. Police violence against African American community, Donald Trump spewing his fascists statements with thousands applauding him. Where are we going with this? That’s what puzzles me most. Through the study of history (and I don’t claim to be no scholar in that department, closer to being a moron but I do know a thing or two) we can clearly see the patterns we’re going through. Much like me in my love life, we seem to continually make the same mistakes, over and over again, without figuring out where we went wrong and actually fixing anything. With all the technological advancements, there is still a war going on within us and in this world. Whether you call it good and evil, God and satan… Whatever. It’s right there in front of you, and while we pretend it doesn’t exist, it slithers and moves forward.  That beast is feasting again. And we’re the ones who feed it.