A breather

Have a breathable and spacious weekend, Dear Reader. :) x Alicja

Made it

The sea was unassumingly grey and boring as much as I would prefer to say otherwise. The tiny waves, however, were falling so abruptly. There must have been a sudden drop in depth close to the beach line. ‘This doesn’t look like a safe paddling pool for children’, I thought to myself but who was I to tell? And who was I to test the truth of my own assumptions or my swimming skills? Not with a frozen shoulder.

Camera felt quite cumbersome with my disability. I felt awkward lifting it up above my chest and photographing birds seemed inappropriate with a shoulder that was grieving its loss of capability but I was bored and actually I have been feeling bored for a while now, regularly experiencing a fed-up mama syndrome that simply manifests itself by wanting to reach for something and feeling that I shouldn’t be wanting to reach for anything besides my child’s hand, perhaps.

The wind was unpleasant, slicing through my jacket as if I was a window of opportunity rather than a human being made of fat and tissue. ‘No amount of fat can make up for a protective layer’ I reproach myself. Better to invest in a new jacket than an extra portion of food. I thought but I honestly did not see myself following on this wisdom too promptly.

I’ve been feeling quite removed from my children lately; partially because of my preoccupations and largely because of their speed. That I find so hard to match.

I’ve been dreaming of going somewhere where I cannot be reached, where I am not disturbed but where I can safely observe everything from afar – a spot difficult enough for the kids to reach – where they cannot disturb me and I do not need to interfere in their play. The place of non-interference.

I saw a lady sitting on the beach supported by the cliff’s wall, writing. And I felt such peace when I saw her as if she was where she was supposed to be. I exhaled. I was so happy for her. So glad. The feeling of peace overwhelmed me like a warm blanket and the sun arrived at the same time and I could do no more but to accept its non-scorching fire.

The children were the first ones to discover the pier. It was hiding below the horizon as if it was their prize for daring feet unphased by the discomfort of beach pebbles. And here it was – a spacious playground and a new viewpoint.

Two photographers came over. They were changing their lenses as if to remind me to change mine. So I did. The wide angle lens transformed the birds into small moving objects against which the cliffs majestically stood their ground.

The sea licked the cliffs like a small puppy its owner – unapologetically loving its face. Jealous of their interaction, I climbed down the ladder fastened to the pier and landed in water next to a chalky rock caressed by foamy waves. I climbed the rock covered with seaweed and positioned myself in a place that would somehow absorb it all. I had only felt half of my body on the descent. I was holding the steel staircase ladder with both hands but I do not have much grip in my left hand. It’s the unreliable hand. I got anxious. What would happen if I lose grip in my right hand – there would be nothing to support me then. ‘You still have it.’ I eased my brain and climbed down while my husband passed me the camera.

I was chuffed with the photos.

‘The ground made it to heaven’ I thought to myself. For He is risen.

Easter 2024, Beer, Devon, United Kingdom

Trust

When I started writing Postcards Without Stamps I was following Inked in Colour and I was very inspired by Sash’s letters to her daughter that create a beautiful and thoughtful dialogue with Bo. Some of Sash’s photographs also stick in my mind till this day, especially the one of her daughter holding a feather as if giving a challenge to her mum to write for her (link to her post here). Of course, this is most likely my own projection onto the photo and a reveal of my own sub-conscious need to express love through writing which wants to be met here.

The post below is not a letter as such but perhaps a poem or a lyric to a song and it is just one of those things that wanted to be written.

There I will be

There are moments in life when past and present collapse into one.

When the future is impossible to predict and days impossible to plan,

when tomorrow seems too distant to arrive – in those days, my Princess,

there I will be

your Trust.

When your life will seem too much to handle, there I will be, my Princess, your Trust.

When the pain of regrets will swallow your courage, there I will be, my Princess, your Trust.

When your joys will dissipate and where the hopes will turn into ash, there I will stay my Princess,

your Trust.

In the cities of angels

Someone always keeps an eye on you.

Trust.

The Kindness of Strangers

It was already very late into the evening when we navigated through the German town of Stendhal last summer. When the telephone collapsed and the printed map, as if on purpose, showed us only the major streets and nothing nearby. No navigation. Both mobiles off. Just the drizzle and two small kids at the back of the car who really wanted to be stretching their feet in the warm beds after a long drive from Antwerp. We had one scare already when we got stuck in the queues for miles and after an hour our gears refused to cooperate and we were lucky to steer over to the hard shoulder of the motorway. My husband, unable to engage any gear at all and without any working phone, started to panic. Then he bent down and moved the clutch with his hand. This worked, but we were still scared as we carried on driving – confident at that stage that we would find our destination.

Stendhal greeted us with almost empty roads. No human in site, shops put to rest for the night, and no petrol station to stop by or a taxi driver to talk to and a detour around the city because of roadworks that completely took us off course and messed up the organization of the town that I had in my head. There must be a way of figuring out where we we staying, I thought to myself, trying not to lose hope just yet even though I was increasingly getting agitated and restless. The children’s tension mounted and then it broke out with joy as a Burger King stood there lit like a lighthouse in the stormy sea. We parked the car and checked if there was anyone in. We saw people moving but they could not see us. The doors were shut. We were searching for alternatives in our head. We had none. If it was about petrol, we could walk there. No problem. If it was about distance, we could call a taxi, but it was primarily about our lack of direction and no one who we could communicate with. There was no one to whom we could have talked to, until of course there was.

We spotted two people who had just walked out through the back door of the Burger King in a joyful and chatty mood. Did we just miss them? Were we too late? We ran to them for rescue and we explained our predicament. They glanced at our kids and willingly typed the address of our accommodation into their smartphones. We still couldn’t navigate it as all the mobiles seemed to refuse to cooperate with us that evening. As if we meant to talk for a bit longer and learn where we were all from. And so we’ve learnt that they were from Syria and they’ve been settling down there slowly, and they asked for our origin and whereabouts and we prayed together for the phone to give us the direction that it refused to give. Nothing was changing, the postcodes were not accepted, the network circulated in a loop. We grew in frustration and we almost resigned to spend the night at the carpark when all of a sudden a third person came out of the Burger King, attentive and quick, just in a few seconds asked us what has happened and without hesitation took the postcode and typed it into his car’s navigation. ‘No problem. I will drive you there.’ – he said. We couldn’t believe it. He was so quick to help. What’s your name, I asked: ‘Hadi’. He said. Where are you from? Syria. I smiled. A long time ago I was dreaming of taking a Syrian family to safety and it was a person from Syria who took us to safety. Maybe God takes into account good intentions, too, I thought to myself, while we reached our destination being guided by Hadi.

Thank you, Hadi. :)

Darkness that sits still

Sometimes we think that darkness is omnipresent because it it so close, but if we look at it from a distance we would notice that it is just a part of a larger view, larger composition that can only be revealed if we take a few steps back or a few steps forward. There is a certain amount of intelligence in darkness and a fair deal of stupidity too but the bird wears it gracefully and their feathers glisten when they pause to ponder. This makes me think that a bird in flight does not have much time for even being described as ‘graceful’ and thus for admiration. It is perhaps too purpose-driven to feed on vanity.

And there I was thinking that being quiet and sitting still will take me places. You too?

Photos taken at Bradgate Park, Leicestershire. Modified photos taken at Shining Cliff Woods, Ambergate, Derbyshire by me.