Late June, 2024

Yesterday, I visited my parents. While waiting for my dad, I walked behind the garage to the playground of my old elementary school — which now is barely recognizable. The field is overgrown with young trees. The remnants of the demolished walls are almost invisible behind the trees. It used to take me literally two minutes to get to school.

The kitchen windows of my parents’ house partly overlook the old school playground. Straight ahead (once), there was a sandbox and the path we used to jump from for long jump practice. I remember one lesson, or rather staring at that sand from the kitchen window, eagerly waiting for my mother’s beloved stuffed cabbage rolls. Then I’d run to the chapel for afternoon religion classes. Those were the days.

Yesterday, my childhood neighborhood left a depressing impression on me. Although some ladies in the same shops as always recognized me and smiled genuinely, the sad people wandering the sidewalks and the woman from the Żabka store — visibly worn down by life — made for a surprising sight. I get the feeling there’s a strange energy of doubt, emptiness, and dullness hanging over the place. Sad.