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Note:  Not so long ago I have returned from a holiday in my home country, Poland. As I permanently live in Ireland, which is a richer and a much prosperous country, I always seem to notice Poland's negative aspects and flaws. Despite all of this, it is still my home and the place where I was born. It is still beautiful and has its unique charm. And perhaps I  overlook this too often. I'm not entirely sure if I'm satisfied with what I have written, and I don't know if I conveyed everything I wanted to discuss as clearly as I could. I hope you enjoy and not find this story tremendously tedious. Thank you.
 

My leather sandals shuffled across the surface of the uneven footpath, as I lifted up a tired hand to wipe away the beads of sweat accumulating on my forehead. There was little shade to hide under at the back of the apartment complex, so I battled heavily with the afternoon sun. It remained the same. The heat was merciless in every way, just like I had remembered it. It was, however, something I have grown less accustomed to over the long years, and it was evident in the complexion of my skin. From a beautiful olive tone, it had depleted into what my people would call an 'ugly, lifeless pink '. Was I to blame? How many years had it been since I left this country, only to return in the summer season? Fourteen ? Thirteen, perhaps? But every time I did return, I saw the same things, heard the same words, and witnessed the same actions. The tiles of the footpath jutted outwards in awkward angles, crumbling away, awaiting a youngster who would stumble and fall, and curse the entire nation in his rage. Like always. The apartment's gang of currently unemployed, middle-aged men sat on one of the wooden benches. With their beloved beer cans in their hands, they murmured and sighed in disapproval of the new tax rates.
“To hell with them all! Bloody government...” the gang's leader spat out, and I could not help but notice how the bench that supported the men had fallen into decay. Once full of colour and vigor, it had both its paint and its wood chipping away. But I figured it happened every time, shortly after someone would come to renovate the area. Every time someone had the mercy and substantial funding to even consider a renovation. Like always.

I glanced at the simple watch strapped around my left wrist. He was late, and most likely taking his time. Like always. That was until the first window from the bottom of the apartment was pushed open, and the curtains were drawn aside.
“ Finally,” I whispered to myself, as I watched a slender leg emerge from said window. It was followed by another, until the figure was in full sight, pouncing to wrap its arms around the bark of an old willow tree.
“Don't kill yourself while you're at that,” I smirked, watching the young man descend, sliding down the tree bark, wincing as I heard it groan in protest under his weight. Some leaves rattled and fell to the light green grass. With one swift jump, Piotr had found his way down and now began to stroll casually to face me. From where I stood, the sun provided me with a clear vision of Piotr's face. His eyes had always been a piercing, unnatural blue while his hair so dark that even with light glistening upon him, it resembled the colour of charcoal. He had grown by at least ten centimeters from the time I had last seen him, if not more. The willow tree had been his escape route when he happened to accidentally infuriate his mother.

Piotr stood towering over me for a second or two. I offered a pleasant grin, which he returned. But when I extended my hand to greet him more formally, he swatted it away, like one would do to chase away an irritating insect. Instead, he launched himself at me with full force. I felt as if my lungs were finding it difficult to draw in a breath.
“Ow! That's enough,” I huffed into his chest. Piotr let go of me.
“You don't seem to get enough sunlight on that 'green island' of yours! My God, I can only say that you have shrunk! “ he teased while comparing our heights with his hand, purposely ruffling my hair as he did so. I offered him a glance of disapproval, which turned into a sigh. I had no option but to agree with his reasoning.
“All we get is rain. I couldn't help but become tired of it centuries ago.”

Piotr and I have decided beforehand, that when we would finally meet, we would avoid small talk as much as possible. From early childhood, he had a welcoming aura around him, which most likely was the explanation to why he indulged in popularity among our age group. Honest and mature, the weaker enjoyed to seek and receive his comfort, and not once did he hesitate to offer a helping hand. We differed greatly. Yet a cynical, introverted pessimist could with ease establish a bond with a selfless, extroverted optimist. Piotr and I have been an example of such peculiar case. I endured his comments on my appearance, more precisely the comparisons and similarities he drew between me and my father. I've heard it all before from relatives, close and distant alike.


We strolled gracefully on the cracked footpaths, which wound their way through parks and childrens' play areas, all situated behind sets of old apartment blocks. The apartments have reminded me of my fatherland ever since I left it permanently. Their walls were worn and tired. During the harsh summers, they would radiate off the accumulated heat while during the equally harsh, cold winters, the residents inside would shiver. Television plates and antennas hung from each balcony, accompanied by flower pots of various kinds. Some walls covered in graffiti, others not. But every single block was filled with beauty and unsightliness all the same. For some, they brought back the memories of communism, for others, they seemed like usual, regular suburban accommodation. But for me they were my home. I began to feel at ease and an odd feeling of belonging overwhelmed me.

Piotr and I came to a halt at a set of familiar swings. As I positioned myself  on its wooden seat, the chains and metal poles holding the swings upright gave a squeak in protest. Pushing myself off of the dirt beneath my feet, I began to swing gently. Piotr chuckled sneakily, and I happened to know why, so I hung my head in shame and  pretended to examine the rusty chains. I had always enjoyed the thrill of soaring through the air, sitting on a swing, with the wind dancing through my hair. Perhaps I loved this thrill too much, something that Piotr deduced  from an incident that occurred, maybe three or four years ago. At an incredible speed, I flung my legs in the motion of the swing. Disregarding Piotr's warnings, I was simply enchanted by the pleasure of having a view from above. Until I felt a sensation of being pulled head down by gravity, my hands slipping away from the metal chains. When I opened my eyes, I was wrapped around the high supporting pole of the swing. I screamed and shouted out of realisation while Piotr stared in disbelief and horror. This juvenile adventure had a happy end, however, since a gentleman that happened to pass by helped me make my way down to the ground.
“You should be careful this time,” Piotr warned me with a sincere smile on his face. I could feel my face flush a crimson red.

***

“Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are ?” he took hold of my shoulder and shook me with enough force to make my head roll back, then forward again.
“I think I've told you before, but I shall say it loudly and clearly one more time. I do not, under any circumstances, intend to have you spend money on me,” I groaned while holding the bridge of my nose, lifting my glasses in the process.
“We shall see about that,” came an overly confident reply. Enticing aromas filled the entire bakery, and the sweet, glorious, little goods on display made the mouth water. I glanced briefly at what the petite shop had to offer and began to feel hungry. Piotr must have heard my stomach churning and growling. He fumbled in the pocket of his denim shorts, and the coins he produced out of it jingled and clattered as he laid them out on the wooden counter. Taking the iced buns in a plastic bag, I followed him outside the bakery and into the scorching temperatures of the afternoon.

“T-thanks,” I said shyly as Piotr offered me one of the buns. I glanced at the sweet bread in my hands and felt guilty yet satisfied at once.
“Don't hesitate. Dig in! Who cares about table manners?!” he encouraged me. I did just as he told me to. I had never forgotten the taste, and I was sure I never would. The icing gave the plain bread a subtle hint of a sugary flavour while the custard and sweet cheese gave a contrasting texture, melting as I bit into it. A true piece of heaven. I found myself humming in delight. Piotr watched me for a few moments, smiling, visibly satisfied with what he had purchased. We walked in a comfortable silence, and as I munched on the sweet bun, my attention turned to a few stray, wild flowers growing at the side of the footpath.

Without warning, I was gripped rather sharply by my arm.
“What is it ?” I offered Piotr a confused, puzzled glance to which he shook his head.
“Hush for a second... don't look at him,” he whispered, and his words were almost inaudible. I remained completely confused, but somewhat understood the meaning behind his words when a swaying, elderly man began to draw near. He stumbled about from side to side as if he was wearing shoes much too large or stepping on hot coal. A deep red stained his face while a streak of dry vomit clung to his poorly ironed shirt. I held my breath in uncertainty and disgust and fixed my gaze onto my feet. The drunk passerby seemed to growl under his nose.
“The Lord has given me my...m-my punishment... for such sins!” he cried out, looking into the blue,cloudless sky.
“A bloody call girl and a hundred m-militiamen!” the strong smell of alcohol almost assaulted me, and without hesitation, I covered my nose with my free hand. These words made no sense to me but perhaps held some hidden meaning to their owner. The elder regarded our presence for a brief moment, just to screech loudly enough to startle both me and Piotr as we hurried past.
“That's r-right, you pathetic mutts! This life will show you...how...how rotten the world i-is! “ he flung one arm into the air as if to demonstrate his fury, and almost collided with the ground when he tripped on a loose piece of what used to be a footpath tile. When he was safely out of range, Piotr spoke.
“He slapped a young boy across the face once. I have seen it with my own two eyes. He's dangerous...”
“He is much more than that,” I corrected him. “He 's insane. “
“Sometimes I wonder if I should blame him for all of this...His wife died of brain hemorrhage. I have heard people say that it was possible to save her, but it took the ambulance almost one hour to arrive. Can you believe it? An hour? “
“ But the hospital, the one my mother worked for, isn't far. “
“Exactly. When he dialed for help, the person on the other end of the line was about to dismiss him, telling him that his wife is probably feeling nauseous because of the record temperatures and such. I can't help but sympathise. ”
“Unbelievable, really,“ I said, my tone of voice full of misery and pity. A sudden shiver ran down my spine.
“Anyhow,” Piotr said, more merrily, brightening the atmosphere. “I'm sure you'll be a doctor that's ahead of times, dedicated, and what not.”
“I've already told you, I'm not certain of who I'd like to become anymore. Only time will tell.”
We maintained a wholehearted conversation on the topic of career choice in our not so distant future until tall, lifeless, pale green grass tickled our legs and ankles. From below came the sound of running river water, lapping against low, stone banks. A soothing breeze established itself to replace the previously stiff and heavy air. It carried along with it a scent too refreshing and distinctive to describe. Piotr turned to look at me, and we smiled at each other in unison. We dashed forward and through the long grasses.

I crouched down to loosen the fastenings and straps of my sandals as soon as we found the concrete steps at our feet. I happily slipped them off and took them in one hand, stepping on the first step. The smooth, cold concrete gave a nice feeling against my bare feet, making me more impatient to rush into the  water. Piotr and I descended down on the steps to where they met the river bank composed of stones, pebbles and gravel of various shapes and shades. On the other side of the river, a young lady sat on a set of similar steps, watching as a child threw gravel out into the water.
“It's incredibly warm! ” Piotr exclaimed, and he waved his hand in a gesture that invited me to step forward. I did so and found that he had been correct. I locked my eyes on the river bed and watched miniature fish and tadpoles flee from under my feet. The sun shone on the water's surface and met my shimmering reflection, my eyes open wide, my lips curled into a gentle smile. My thoughts were shattered when a splash collided with my warm face. Droplets of water slid downwards from my glasses, my cheek and the wavy ends of my short hair. I stood motionless, as Piotr sniggered, clutching his sides. Nevertheless, I felt excitement instead of anger.
“It's a pity that you couldn't see your face!” I flashed him a small grin while crossing my arms.
“Oh, is that so?” I replied, the sarcasm and mock seriousness evident in my voice. “I'll retaliate! “ I shouted while simultaneously launching a splash of water at my opponent. I was more than disappointed to see him dodge it swiftly.
“Bring it on!” Piotr said in a challenging manner. It was a challenge that I accepted. We continued to duel passionately, most likely looking like childish fools who happened to never see water before in their lives. Piotr fought back my attacks, and it seemed like he would be the one to dominate over his rival in the aqua battle between two. I remained so focused on the objective of winning that I came to overlook the fact that we have both moved in deeper, the level of water now threatened to soak my black, denim shorts. Reluctantly, I surrendered. We dried ourselves on the river bank until the sun began to set.

***
Be it winter or be it summer, the night had always paid early visits. After the adventure at the riverside, Piotr and I were taken by surprise when the heavens opened, and heavy, lukewarm rain began to bombard the earth from above. Not only that but the air roared with the sound of not so distant thunder and lightning bolts wove their way across the sky like vicious serpents. We took shelter in the nearest convenience store. Unlike others who feared lightning storms greatly, I adored them. Piotr happened to know that, and we promised each other to watch another, similar phenomenon from the comfort of our homes the next time we would happen to cross paths. Thunder and lightning was not something unusual here, in fact, the opposite.

While browsing the shelves of the store for the cheapest soft drinks, Piotr fell victim to the harassment of religious fanatics.
“That's exactly him, the atheist's son,” someone had hissed behind our backs. As we turned to face the speaker, Piotr seemed to shrink.
“The devil now has a disciple,” and at that instant, I was being pointed at. I gave Piotr a look of anticipation, also one that demanded help and explanation, but he began to turn his back to leave.
“Excuse me, Miss. From what I know, you have been told multiple times not to be a burden to me or my family,” he said, gaining back his usual confidence.
“A burden?! Ho! Your father has never once come to Sunday Mass, nor has he ever thought of cleansing his soul from sin. You're equally as filthy as him!”
Piotr seized my hand and we bolted to the checkout. Our predators followed us like a swarm of deadly hornets. The tormenting did not cease.
“Your father's younger son is an example of what sinners have to pay for, an example of what sin does to the mind and the body! You'll fry in hell for all I care! “
We left the store, and I doubted I had ever seen Piotr in such a  gloomy state.

As we settled down to rest on a bench outside Piotr's home, the smell of rubber, moisture and dewy petrichor still lingered in the air, an indication that it had previously rained heavily. We both held a can of soda in our hands. An open bag of untouched toffee popcorn occupied the space in between us. The night was young and beautiful, the sky cloudless but sprinkled with millions of pure, innocent stars. Piotr's eyes seemed tired and glassy when I turned to look at his concerned face.
“ Are you not going to compare me to the devil for my father being... an atheist ?” he asked meekly, more serious than ever before.
“Why would I? Not everybody is such a... lunatic, a religious enthusiast.” I tried my best to console him. I could hear a dog bark in the distance. Crickets chirped out into the night, a pleasant cacophony to the ear.
“ Half of the population here is. Maybe the people are different, in that Ireland of yours. Shit! Such religious fundamentalism is getting us nowhere. Have a different orientation in anything, and you will be deemed a filthy sinner.”
“Piotr...”
“You're lucky. And you should open your eyes and not take it for granted like you seem to do sometimes.” I allowed him to continue his one-sided debate, to spill out his emotions since I knew it was always a better solution than an unnecessary argument between two sides.
“There is no hope for this country. Not with a society where neighbours stab you in your back, and your own people do nothing but try to humiliate you. Like that old hag just did. Not with a society that lacks compassion for each other, and looks down on the weak. That drunk man's wife... her bloody life could have been saved.” at that moment I began to wait for tears to spill from his eyes. His voice shook more and more with every single word. Yet he did not stop, and he would not stop. Not until he pointed out all of the flaws he could possibly find.
“The entire nation is nothing but a lost cause. How are we to live? How are we not to worry that one day we will lose the roof over our heads?! How, when public debt has exceeded such tremendous threshold?! Corrupt leaders, corrupt politicians. You can't receive justice here, not even in a court. Look around, and you shall see that every business, every institution and organisation is powered by endless bribery.”
I took both his hands in mine.
“ A modern mentality, my ass! And bureaucracy is just a plain little bitch...”
The street lights flickered on, and so did the lights in some apartment windows.
“Poverty in so many houses, while the rich feed on us like on pray. The salaries you'll earn here, hell, they're probably just like what you'd get in Ukraine, if not less. But the cost of living is just like in Germany. There's nothing being done for the youth, nothing being done for those with potential, those who have the rare ability to think outside the box. Try to survive with so little work places and  poor employment opportunities. No infrastructure, no technology. “

Piotr finally sighed and let his head roll back on the wooden bench. A giggle escaped his lips.
“Oh, and tell your taxi driver to be careful when he's taking you to the airport. The drivers here are lethal! ”
I still held his hands, and he had fallen silent. I took the opportunity.
“Piotr...Our fatherland seems like nothing but a hell on earth to you, but have you ever wondered what would become of you if you didn't belong here? What if you were someone else? What if you are not meant to be someone else? No matter what you do now, or where you go, you will still be a Pole at heart. If you can not change something, you should just accept it.”
“That's easy for you to say!”
“Don't forget. I lived here once, too. My family still lives here. Could you possibly trade all your happy memories we made today and long ago, your identity, your family, just to become someone you were not destined to become?  Maybe for something to change for the better, you need to help it along. See it through.No matter how much time passes, this country always welcomes me with open arms. These mountains and hills, this history I'm so proud of, the rivers, the lakes and the skies.So tell me, look at me and tell me, would you exchange...all of these wonderful things, a-all of th-” I was embarrassed to hear my own voice break at this point. I lifted my head. A million stars, scattered across the night sky blinked back at me.
“Could you trade these stars, and everything else, so easily, for something that could prove to be trivial?  “