“We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.”
Buddha
Weather-wise, it was a typical day for England. A little foggy and drizzly. I arrived with two bulky suitcases that did not actually contain too much. Some clothes, some shoes, some documents and notes. Most of the space in one of the suitcases was occupied by a massive and very heavy Oxford English Dictionary – a symbol of my dedication to mastering the English language and a continuous and nagging reminder of how much I still need to learn. At the time, this dictionary was the only materialistic possession that really mattered to me and regardless of its weight I had to drag it along with me.
I was never a very practical type. More of a dreamer, adventure-seeker, hungry to see what’s beyond the horizon of my little but picturesque village in Poland, hungry for knowledge and new experiences, always thirsty for doing things by my own, finding out the truths for myself. I wanted to experience life elsewhere with my own skin, touch it with my own hands, enjoy it with my own soul. Just to live and pursue the dream of learning and finding out. Speaking English was not just a symbol of freedom and adventure. It was a swipe card that opened more than one world and enabled me to explore more than one reality. Amazing things happened ever since I put my foot beyond our Polish boarder. I looked after two Nigerian children while working as an Au-pair, wore a pink Thai dress while a waitress at a Thai restaurant, poured Fosters while bar-tending with Australians, celebrated the year of the Dragon with my Chinese students, devoured pieces of Black British writing at university, dipped bread in a fragrant curry while sitting on the floor with my Afghan friends, I sang nursery rhymes in Greek to my son’s best friend and celebrated my son’s baptism with our dearest friends of other beliefs.
But why am I writing this? I’ve been listening to the news and looking at the headlines and I’m getting concerned… it is alarming to see that attitudes against diversity are being promoted and are spreading around the world. For what reason?
The globe has been wounded and scared many times by attitudes similar to those. The trees of our genealogy are witnesses to those events. Many people went through great efforts and reconciliation processes because they wanted to learn to love again. And they did. And they love. And they cherish. And they care. Most of us individually have not experienced severe hatred, we haven’t been exposed to maltreatment at the hands of others – so my questions are: Why are so many hearts around the world closing? Are padlocks in fashion or something?
I used to write love stories when I was small where I would set myself as one of the protagonists, of course ;) and then hid the notebook in a secret place that would quickly be discovered by a very avid reader of my prose… my younger sister.
I knew she was doing it… rummaging through my drawers and devouring the stories in seconds. I knew that sometimes she was mocking me a little… I knew that there were times when she found my writing all too cheesy and emotional but still… she was reading it… and I felt privileged by her interest in them.
I think I understand now why I felt like that. You see… the moment she giggled or rolled her eyes while reading: “I waited a second and he kissed me gently”, she ratified my work.
The moment her mind travelled out of our country when the story said: “We went together to meet them in Ireland”, she endorsed it.
The moment she found consolation in reading that: “There is always a new beginning… and a better end.”, she validated my work.
The laugh, the mind wandering and the sigh of relief – here’s how the work of writers comes to life. The reader doesn’t need to like it to respond to it.

Dear Little Child
So you are here. In this world full of beauty and wonder. On your road to discovery and growth. There are many rules and principles that you’ll learn about while looking for the truth. But before you start uncovering them, before you embark on your own journey, these ones are worth grasping…
Dear Little Child, with time you’ll add more to this list. Your experience will shape you in different ways. You will gather pieces of wisdom that you will want to share. Here’s your space for them:
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
What would you have on your list?
It’s just a short visit. You catch the aroma of coffee and cake. Everything is so well-prepared and inviting that a mixture of both guilt and regret stirs inside you. “I’m just popping round – I won’t be able to stay for too long.” The instinct tells you that the generosity with which you are treated deserves much more of your time. You’d like to stay for longer but it’s not possible. The schedule, commitments, busy life. You feel embarrassed about how little time you can offer to your host so next time when invited you don’t come at all or you keep on rescheduling the visit.
Here’s the alternative. Brief visits serve their purpose. They are needed. They are meaningful. Bonds are built through them. Caring for each other is established. Just through asking a few questions. “How’s your new orchid growing?” “How are the kids doing?” These visits strengthen friendship, give rhythm to our relationships. Short duration pulses. Lifebeats.
So you didn’t stay for long? That’s okay. It’s important that you came.