Todays Post is another rawish(?) one, because my pain body is vibing like a mofo. It might be like this for a while, so if this is not your thing. Please be warned :)
The second part to yesterdays art
The smell of my mothers Briyani, the sound of my brother laughing, the red soil and friendly Sun. When the first person I met at 5:00am, would send me on my way from the toll booth with a smile, or nod, or even a few lines of nonsense. I miss being annoyed with someone and the sweet understanding, that this was all a misunderstanding, or even being sworn at and swearing back, with someone who knows full well what a naaier is.
I miss being able to speak my language, and be understood. The decency (?) for people to look at me and acknowledge what I say in the street, even if it is a simple "Nie mówię po Angielsku" I don't speak English vs. the blank look they give me, when I speak, when confronted, when they push past me. I know they see me, they stop to stare at this immigrant; daring to be big, bold and bright, too many shades darker than they like, they stare when I am on my happy way, walking my dog, touching the trees, picking up their trash strewn in our beautiful walkways - but when I say anything, I suddenly become invisible. Even if what I say is in Polish...my voice makes me invisible?
Some days in this city, I don't feel like a human being.
Today, I am tired of the fight to live here, to love here.
Maybe it is the way of the city, maybe it is the way of Warszawa. Maybe I should go back home, like they scream we should.
Until then, Tamka Out