There is No More Such a Land

 I  got a message from my mom while I was away and therefore read it with a small delay. It started- my brother's wife was in the hospital expecting their new-born any day soon. Small Tom was about to conquer the world.

 I haven't seen my brother since Christmas. To be frank we don't see each other often at all. Some time before I moved to London he had left the place where he used to be my best friend for several years. In my memory I see him always there, even though his life has moved ahead and I don't even know his hairstyle these days. 

 When I close my eyes I see a tiny flat on the top of a massive, old apartment. The gate was wide and always sinking in the darkness, which darkness I had to cross everytime to later keep turning and turning on the narrow, wooden stairs. I was passing the door on the first floor, which, according to the history of architecture, used to lead to the apartments of the best situated habitants. I had a habit to stop there and glare at this entrance, imagining a time of it's greatness, until there was nothing left to imagine. Right now it's just an old entrance, with a misery waiting on the high staircase for guests who are never to arrive. 

 My brother lived in Poznan. The place I used to call home. Still being the biggest mistery of my life, this city had always something sad and final. It was like an old best friend, who will always listen to you, always has time for you even you underestimate it and visit only when you have nothing else to do, whom you pass everyday not bothering to pay attention. Always there, never asking for more. I remember it standing in front of my eyes, covered with snow, with marble angels decorating old walls. Home. Now an illusion. Transformed by time. Abandoned. There is no more such a land, a land of my memories. Deep inside it, there is a deep dark hole made of pieces of feelings left by those who used to love this place, forever in pieces, forever in pain. 

All is full of love

 Whoever lives or ever lived in London knows that sun in London means more than anywhere else. Because is just less frequent. 

 Sun and love had turned back to London, after a long and severe winter. Just by this occasion, something I would like to share- a wall of love, forgotten and abandoned behind one of the corners of Shoreditch, unnoticed by pedestrians. Just there, a bit of a real love in the sun. Like the time stopped.

 On Via Argentina in the centre of Panama City there is a pub called Taberna 21, where Javier Medina Bernal used to sing regularly. Now famous, probably quite rarely visits old homes of his music. When I was a little girl I loved to listen to Julio Iglesias while swinging on my wooden swing hung in between the doors. It was just like this, a sun, a swing and world around me full of love. Just like this song, which makes me feel like a swinging girl once again, with a new Julio Iglesias in my ears- but be sincere- a bit more handsome. 

Shopper as an inevitable next stadium of the evolution

 - Do you know why Senorita Vargas eats so little? Because she makes shopping for so long that she forgets she was ever hungry at the meantime. 

- Oh come on- said Gene cutting the vegetables he was supposed to put on top of his pizza.- Our supermarket is a pretty big store.

 He placed the slices around the pizza bottom and carefully put his dinner dish in the oven.

 - Once I spent two weeks in the supermarket.

Something inside me just died.

 - Two weeks? Gene, are you serious?!

 - Yeah two weeks. You remember when I left my new shoes next to the cashiers. So, before once I left my computer there. Then I started to leave other things just because I found this place quite cozy. Finally I felt home and I spent there a bit by myself.

 If this story sounds unbelievable to you, estimate how much time do you usually spend in shops. And I bet you will get Gene's point. 

 I reached my awereness as a consumer one day while walking through the shopping centre near my home. I was passing this centre everyday with a great excuse- that is the shortest way to the tube station. Being real I am not sure if it actually IS the shortest way but I think I prefer to believe it. But this day was different than others: I stopped in front of a shop with cheap clothes (cheap but quite a good quality case somebody decides to be a tease) and slowly walked in. Many times before I had promised myself I wouldn't be stopping there, but there was always something stronger than that. I used to call it intuition- 'I came in and I saw these marvelous shoes for such a great price'; 'Look, so cheap, otherwise I would spend this money on booze or something more sinister'. On THIS day it was just the same- I hunted an amazing part of ankle booties and, incredibly happy, took a walk back home. Home, where it was meant for me to notice I had no more space for another pair of shoes. And that I didn't even remember them all.

 Overwhelmed by this discovery I posted a status on facebook saying: 'I went to work and came back with another pair of shoes. My life is out of my league.' First comments appeared in just two minutes. Slowly, my friends were coming out.

 'I just went to the dentist.. I don't know when I became an owner of a new hat.' 

 'Recently I went to buy cigarettes and came back with a leather jacket.' 

 'I left to buy more onions to cook a dinner- but I brought in two pairs of boots instead.' 

 I realized I was not alone. And that this time it was not about money. It was about something more important. About time.