I must admit I have a bit of a biased view of Katowice, where I was born. Coming back to Poland every few years is always an eye opener to say the least. Stalin-hardened interactions, coal-greyed facades, an excess of crows and kebab stands, the same wallpapered corridors ageing year after year. It was a treat meeting my mom here though, seeing old wedding photographs (wasn't my mom a doll?), eating home-cooked food, not sleeping in a dorm, seeing sketches of where I was baptised.
Makes me realise each time the great struggles my parents went through to give me and my sister a better life. A sunnier African one. But I looked hard, and some yellow pretties peeked out from hiding.
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Makes me realise each time the great struggles my parents went through to give me and my sister a better life. A sunnier African one. But I looked hard, and some yellow pretties peeked out from hiding.
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