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”.

The land of rainbows and unicorns

To me, the time on the verge of February and March marks the time of change. It’s the time when winter finally gives up and one can smell spring approaching. The days become longer, the new energy settles in and I finally feel like I can do things: go out, explore, move, make some new plans, change. It also marks four years since I first moved to Scotland and three years since I’ve started settling in. What a journey that’s been!

On isolation

I feel obliged to say upfront that I am one of those lucky individuals who does not have to worry about money and work at the moment – I could, of course, since no one really knows where it’s all heading and how it will eventually end, but realising there’s no point worrying in advance, I’m simply appreciating being furloughed. I treat the lockdown as an unique opportunity to enjoy life differently: locally, quietly, slowly. Which feels somehow unfair to write about, when so many people around are really struggling. But at the same time it doesn’t seem like enough of a reason to not share my own perspective. Different as it may be, it’s equally valid.

If half a year ago someone told me I’d be living through global pandemic right now, I would not believe them. Nor would I believe that I’d be quite okay with it.

Snob

I don’t like snobs. Anything even slightly snobbish or posh makes me cringe. But as much as I dislike snobbism, I realize I may be coming across as a kind of snob myself, and that’s for more than one reason. Rather than boring you with stories of me being picky about coffee or manifesting some Muse-Snob characteristics in my fan-like behaviours, let me tell you about my language preferences.