I’m detached

Even though I have always identified myself as an immigrant in the UK, for a long time I have been half-consciously avoiding calling myself an emigrant. In relation to Poland, I considered myself a free spirit, an endless traveller. I didn’t fully discard the idea of coming back. After all, this was my home for over 25 years, and it remains a home for my friends and family. Last thing I wanted was to get excluded from it. And it felt like calling myself an emigrant would do just that: exclude me.

Arriving at a point when I feel comfortable and confident enough to call myself an emigrant took me a long while and was a rather confusing process. By the time I moved to Edinburgh for the second time (and stayed), existential and identity crises were no strangers to me. And yet this one did take me by surprise. God really knows why, since I always knew – and emphasised – that starting your life from scratch in different culture (no matter how well familiar with it you’ve previously become) is a bloody hard work. For all I know, I should have seen it coming.

But then again, in Sally Rooney’s words: “sometimes you live through certain things before you understand them. You can’t always take the analytical position”.

I’m pissed off

_{[picture from Matylda Damięcka]}

It’s not the first time when I feel ashamed for my home country (I don’t even feel comfortable calling it home anymore). It’s not the first time when it makes me furious and uneasy. It’s not the first time when I know there’ll be people who’ll say I don’t have any rights to comment, since I emigrated with no plans of coming back. I’ve heard it all before: I got brainwashed by Western propaganda. I’m completely detached and I don’t know shit.

Well, I don’t know about that. In my personal experience, further perspective on things is usually the most useful. Being stuck in the middle, too close to the centre, quite naturally limits your perspective on the thing as a whole. It’s like on a Muse gig: you can’t see the whole stage and the amazing lights spectacle, if you’re standing in the middle of the first row, squeezed from each side, with eyes fixed on Matt playing his heart out. Sure, people in the upper tier can’t see all the little details you’re enjoying, but they do have a broader view of a show as a whole. If you want to get full perspective, you can make sure next time you come to see the show from different spot. But in the end, it doesn’t matter: we both went to the same gig, even if we experienced it differently. We both care about the band and their music.

I’ve tried both – first row and upper tier – and I’ve decided on sticking to the first row: that’s where I feel like I belong. Which doesn’t mean I’m going to automatically discard tier’s people’s perspective. Quite the opposite, I’d be interested to hear what their view is, so that we can paint a more accurate picture of the show as a whole, together.

But coming back to the main point: I’m pissed off and I came here to rant.