Warsaw

She woke up with shivers, it felt as sudden and unpredictable as confusing. Like the moment when you drown in a closed container on a deck of falling plane which is on fire and you are moments of short circuit electrifying you and yet you wake up in your own bed screaming. This time though it was the strongest, overwhelming feeling of drowning deeply into darkness and fears something way more unpleasant that she has ever experienced. But she could not really identify the source of her fear. All her hidden darkness and unconceived feelings released against her at the same time. She did not scream, she just lied there paralyzed by that fear staring at the ceiling and waiting for it to pass. One breath at the time, one move, one minute, one eternity. Baby steps back into reality. She has always seen herself as that bright, curious person with nature of explorer, somebody with jobs that includes constant questioning and struggle against barrier of social integrity. Not to her surprise it tend to put all normal people of this world in mild shock combined with crippling feeling of discomfort while seeing her in fight for what she wants and what she is and with years alienating her into one person rebellion. She has always been physically average, average height, average face, regular slightly curvy blond hair that she tend to crush into her will shortening and dyed out of their nature when she felt like it, blue eyes and small scar just above her right elbow, memory of an old skiing accident, or maybe it was on a bike, or slide, or some branch haven’t supported her. It was years ago, and the sole idea of having something as cool was more important that dulling it with place and time of long forgotten events. Oh, it was, no, no it wasn’t. Her looks make her feel mouldable, into any background she found herself, not ugly, not attractive in some extraordinary way. Always in a fight to be seen amongst the crowd always that silent protest against comfort of community taking us away from who we are. Maybe that"s why she chose to be an artist, she always wanted to be one of those powerful souls that lead whole generations into change and transform the way we perceive whole genres and open numerous people to new worlds. Maybe it was the technical genius she wanted to be, that visionary who through deep adaptation to technology and forging they craft through zeroes and ones stands on front of modern consumptions if it is digital design or simple own art promoting through social media. Who she ended up being to this day was a painter with university diploma, one way to crush your rebel. Growing up has made her realize that individuality, even if it felt right has not brought her much of peace, in a way it was supposed to be greatest compromise, knowledge added to the craft, rebellion through academic studies. She had to try to make it conversation after all . It also meant she could stay afloat in the system, she was to be artist that pays her bills of her craft, walking on the fine line of pleasant hypocrisy despising who you do through doing what you love. In the end she ended up making paintings for one of those international leviathans selling generic pieces of work on mass market. At least that what it was at the moment, ars gratia pecuniae. Art for sake of survival. Those years in art school she left her with a simpler dream of never to be graded for her work again. At the end she went through period of switching from one desk job to another, changing cities and sometimes countries, chasing dreams, looking for lost spark. Finally after all the pointlessness of struggle she succumbed in some weird phase of bohemian life of stillness mixed with crazy creative party alcohol painting and waiting for grandiose. She didn’t knew she need a saviour until it happened. Her knight in shining armour, her angel and bringer of peace stormed into her life as she was ready for the final leap and out of self-made darkness and another poisonous mediocrity and self-denial. Brought her back to humanity. After all, there is no place like home. She ended up just few streets from where she grew up, sharing apartment with her old high-school flame. In a room that all the depressing signs of stability, cleanliness, order and full set of matching furniture. The road to her new compromise was surprisingly fulfilling. She was now, she was now, she was now. One, two, three, breath, focus, don’t drift. Focus on the furniture, on the surroundings. Large bed, chest of drawers, clothes-rack, writing-desk and easel that she managed to transport from her parents cellar yesterday. With canvas and few paints lying on the ground around it. Weird. All surrounded of early chaos of her last moving. Boxes and stuff everywhere, more stuff that she remembered to ever have, like a snowball of possession rolling with her down the life. The warm orange light lurked through the thick dark blue curtains and covered everything in another day, suggested that morning has already come to the past. Out of habit she looked for her phone to check hour, she found it after few minutes between wall and her bed on a side, pith dark screen reminding her of charging it more often, battery was dead. Sudden stomach grumble reminded her that her phone wasn’t the only hungry one, she wasn"t in a rush yet though, providing her work starts on Monday, when she had appointment with her new boss and was ought to sign the contract for good. When she opened the doors quite persistent meowling has started beneath her feet. Sigmund one of her roommate cat was clearly here to join her with eating, it could be Ladislaus or Casimir. He was big fluffy and orange, with his exceptionally long fur and green piercing eyes make her think of tiger, fire and wilderness, but with that clumsiness of domicile cat, helpless and pleasant, king without the crown. Her new roommate/landlord, had great idea of greet anyone that wander in her flat a painting on a wall in front of the entrance doors presenting her three prides. The big orange annoyance that right now stationed under her feet, little grey one with pink eyes and black one with yellow eyes. They were there, and they were here, just in case they went missing, supposedly. Her apartment was in one of newer block of flats build just around recent recession in south of city centre. The cat fluffiness was imposing petting right now, and any further events of day had to be put off to the future to satisfy this event. After which she moved into living room searching for charger that was place in mandatory wire nest hidden behind large comfy red pastel-patchy couch covering one of the walls. By the time her phone beeped with satisfaction informing that his return amongst the living has started, the cat was so obnoxiously annoying that she had to go to the kitchen to feed him. When she got there, she found note on the fridge: “Cat was fed, don’t let him fool you, breakfast inside, good luck at your meeting.” She acknowledged slightly upset, that cat will stay like that, and feeding is not an option, after all, what she understood was that he had some weight issues and is on a diet, or maybe that was Elisa, or maybe something else, oh well. She went for a bath, in a small comfortable bathroom in light blue colour, and big mirror above the sink. Plucked the bath, and slowly started filling it in, while preparing herself. Overall that was a good start of a day, breakfast was waiting, and weather seemed pleasant for a little walk. And that note, what that, “good luck” note apparently was what she needed to get into her happy place. Certainly bath would crown the good start of the day. Bath and a “good luck” note, nothing can top it. As she was slowly lowering into her bath the sudden rush of blood and succumbing cold of realisation go all over her. “GOOD LUCK” note, does it mean, what it means. OH damn it, if yesterday was Sunday. It could only mean. What happened next is one of those magic we only experience when adrenaline gets in our blood and we determine to save whatever is left of our world. Quarter of hour later fully dressed, with her phone in one hand and whatever was grab able of her breakfast Anna was rushing for metro that will take her to the office. With her head just of the miracle of the rush, she found enough calm to switch on her phone. It, not to her surprise had several messages, e-mails, unanswered calls, and a date in a front stating MONDAY MEETING 9am, with Monday, 12:30 am just behind it. Luckily, her paranoia had her check the best way, the moment it was all set. And now all she had do was recreating the way. It was supposed to be just formality JUST FORMALITY. She thought while sorting through the chaos. First she checked the calls, not to her surprise had couple marked as “The office of inevitable doom” and another from Elisa. Just to be certain she went through messages, just to find annoyance and disappointment, at the moment, of some spam and one or two old acquaintances in what must be their pursue of lost youth. Before she got to e-mails, she reached her stop and had opportunity to listen to one of those glorious voicemails left for her, on a way to the office. Hm. That was weird, the apologetic, soft, male voice was firstly telling her that unfortunately her meeting was moved to 12, and second one apologizing even more and asking if they could move it to Tuesday. Suddenly it all started slowing down, she put all effort she could into calling them back and be as surprised and upset sounding as she could. The same male voice has answered the phone after just few seconds. Conversation was awkwardly sweet and reassuring, bonding her in web of apologetic understandance. After, what seemed clearly too long, while apologising, they decided to move it to Wednesday at the same hour. But, not to make waiting forever, she was asked to bring first project on signing day. Details were to be sent in an e-mail. It gave her plenty of time to cool off, anyway she wasn’t in mood to create at the moment. Rather in her mind was more of sightseeing. She haven’t been in this part of the city, in the middle of the day for ages. Slowly she walked leaving behind skyscraper-ish buildings forming the memory of last few decades of capitalism and the socrealism palace monster attributed to glory of Stalin that symbolized to her struggle with your identity. That any transfer city had, when you gamble everything to set your roots in a place that makes rootlessness your roots, you are like that building. Big, awkward, out of place and holding it all together. Coming by the University into completely different kind of grandiose. Palaces, churches and pump that only capital could show off. That clash has always fascinated her. It was all variety of newcomers, newcomers that were looking for that unholy non omnis, leaving behind their monuments, and each fresh generation of locals seeking prove that they are not like the new ones anymore. Despite time and day, streets were filled with usual mix of tourists, students and locals that were lured by first warm day of spring to look for their calm in the crowd. Crowd has never scared her, as much as its anonymity, the amount of strangers rushing in their own directions, unknowingly, not interested too much about exteriors. Focusing on everyday struggles. Made her loose her balance each time, what it’s all about, why that silence. What in human psyche made it create all worlds off ideas, way to communicate and at the same time forced people in those small galaxies of closer and looser connections hopeful to never got to close to each other. In that mood she reached Castle Square with its column standing as gigantic phallus over the city reminding of that king that made Warsaw capital, and started this procession of strangers trying to tame the city and through their will to fulfil their dreams, and their descendants trying to separate themselves from new waves by the law of naturally developed superiority of already being there. It represented everything she ran away from, genuine attitude of fake modesty. Fortunately she was closer to the part of city that never failed to calm her, home. Just the Old Town and more modest are of former Jewish quarters has started between Chinese embassy and Supreme Court, gate to paradise. It didn’t took her long to divert her route and go through park instead of Old Town. It was pleasantly green, cold and shady. With mainly people with strollers and kids from local school running around, you might risk to call it calm. She sat on one of benches and listened for a while to stream slowly flowing behind her back. Life wasn’t part of reality anymore, there was no good, no bad, only present, only existence. Sun was bathing her in delicate waves of the heat, that awoken from long sleep wasn’t strong enough to burn, and was inviting all the life to return. She could stay like that forever, as a rock, or a tree, just being there, without problem, freed from anxieties and memory of past. In the moment. As she was resting, she realised that someone was observing her. At first she couldn’t comprehend it, he has seen human, but he was clearly too big for it. Rising like a huge rock in another alley, with the strangest eyes she has ever seen. She tried to focus more on it’s details, or any his details at all, but he started moving, probably realising of her attention, or it might be just her paranoia. Anyway, the moment was gone. She got up, and returned to her process of getting back, it really was disturbing, the cold idea of that alien existence couldn’t left her, while the details of encounter has been fleeing as soon as they appeared. The surroundings slowly changed around her from sophisticated rich architecture of most representative part of city to more common block of flats of regular people when mix of old and new is shaded with struggle of daily life. No glory, no heroism, just overwhelming normality of urban society. When she finally got to the flat, after looking everywhere she might think to put it, she had to make peace with idea of not having the keys. She must have left it on that fancy key hanger they apparently have now in her new place. She knew that there was slim chance to get hold on Elisa when she was in work, but she was not going to wait until 5 or 6 or whenever people finish their office jobs these days. She dialled number and as she expected, after few beeps familiar inhuman voicemail sound was greeting her back from oblivion. It took her more than she wanted to sum up the day she had, after which she decided to go out again, even though there was no place she could think as good direction. After around quarter hour of going in unprecise direction, she decided to go to local museum of art, it probably would be better to go there straight from centre. That would spare her a lot of effort, but after all she had plenty of time and this place always calm her down. On her way there she felt her phone gentle vibrating one of those punk tones she thought would be great message sound idea. Hasn’t got bored with it yet to be fair. It was Elisa saying that she just had a meeting on Southside of the city and inviting her to lunch in a café next to home. Once again, she changed direction and obviously send her message. That’s when she realised she was starving, the little breakfast she had just wore off and little grumble from a moment started rising to a war drum. It would also be nice to get back into apartment. E-mail from office has already arrived, despite its dullness she felt eager to create. Her first day felt nothing like she expected, to think it was supposed to be beginning of something new. This time she couldn’t be bothered walking so she took tram. Skipping on paying for tickets was always that little treats of her childhood. That moment of silent rebellion against, well simply against existence of rules. The constant suspicion of every stranger and search for sets of characteristic that will give out their provenance to enemy. It kept her mind spinning in weirdest directions and was one of those cheap funs, that bleak with time and solidify into nostalgia. It was only few stops, after which she got somewhere at last that day. Small French style brasserie with some obnoxious pun on their language and polish culture. When she got there, Elisa was already there, waiting in unnecessarily large red chair in by the window and waving at her. She hurried inside, just to see that she miss waiter placing two plates on a table and a large mug of what seems to be cappuccino. While she leaned in hello smooch Elisa started talking: Couldn’t wait any longer so I got you their omelette, it’s what they are best for, you will love it –She always had that habit of knowing what you want for you, not really bossiness, just some twisted mother instinct you cannot escape, with smile she answered- Nice to see you to Es, hope it’s not a problem and I’m not stopping you from saving the world. – Elisa made that grin of modesty that always made her go nuts and said-Oh not today, it’s slow day at the office anyway and excuse to extend my return was just great. ¬– After which she looked at her phone that blasted in all colours of rainbow – Sorry En, it’s the devil, don’t worry about today too much, don’t let them win. – With these words he gave her keys –¬ See you in the evening- Fairly surprised she muttered – See you And watched her roommate, still smiling like she just won world award in being most perfect human. Walking to the counter with her plate and cup and with few gestures getting her lunch packed to go, paying and possibly flirt with one of the cutest and innocent looking redhead boys she has seen in a long time. Ah, it’s not home if you’re not mixed in one of those realities of Es, even if it happens to be real life career. She smiled. Her lunch not only happened to be exactly what she wanted, but with atmosphere like that she stayed for some nice dessert of crème brulé and another cups of coffee. The view she had let her observe people in their daily post work afternoon routines. The other lucky mix-up was her taking her sketchbook instead of whatever folder she had with all the papers she was meant to bring for signing contract. So she stayed lurking at strangers from safety of glass curtain almost whole afternoon. Just in the moment. No new responsibilities, no amends, no jobs that frighten her, not taxes and bills (with exception of the one for coffee, but that place had some fine brew) and what seemed most important, no creepy rock grey guys with their awfully strange eyes staring at her. When the waiter surmounted out of his professional politeness, she had to get back to her place. Not that she didn’t wanted, there just was something about it, about facing what was to come. She got to apartment, cleaned and filled Sigmund’s bowls, according to unnecessarily complicated manual left next to the fridge. Went back to her room. Everything was in a pleasant disorder in which she left it this morning. Except instead of light of midday, it was covered with light of setting sun. On easel were set signs of someone struggle with expression of their artistic soul. Despite initial doubts, she had to admitted those strokes were definitely made by her, although she would never paint something as dull just for pleasure. Two trees on a small hill, in setting that seemed suspiciously familiar. Without thinking she rolled canvas and tossed in corner by the window.