It’s been a while. I am alive!
After a FLEX holiday party with the Polish FLEX alumni who went to the US for an exchange year.
It's been a little while. I am alive! I don't even know where to start. The last 2 months have been challenging, and the exhaustion of constant unfamiliarity caught up with me, on top of some inconvenient timing with holidays and the darkest, grayest season of Poland, seeing the Sun once every three weeks. That being said, the moments of happiness have meant even more during this time as well. My Polish family is truly wonderful and we've traveled so much in the past month, which has been incredible! I'm writing this while we drive to Italy right now for a skiing trip, which I'm super excited about!
While finishing up some super last-minute Christmas shopping in the center of Warsaw (Centrum), I had a little Christmas miracle. To accurately set the scene here, I looked like a complete disaster; there was an entire roll of wrapping paper sticking out of my backpack (pictured), a flower in one water bottle holder, and another one in my hand.
To get my metro card for the subway, I have to pull it out of my front backpack pocket. However, I only had one hand available, one of the plants being held by the other, and was struggling to get this card out. It was hilarious and so incredibly stupid. As I am hopelessly flailing around with wrapping paper sticking out and random plants everywhere, this man who's been watching me for a minute or so approaches me, asking, "Hey, do you need help?" IN ENGLISH!! I laugh and immediately ask him where he's from as he takes my backpack off my shoulders. He says he's from India while I'm taking out my metro card. The man then asks where I'm from, holding my backpack for me while I put my arms through. "I'm from America," I say. Then he drops the backpack a little bit, along with his jaw. "America?! Like the United States?" His eyes are wide with shock and curiosity. "Yeah, the U.S." He states that he would've assumed I was Georgian. Once my backpack is successfully on and my metro card is in hand, I wait for him while he gets his ticket and then we go down the escalator together. He's still recovering from disbelief, so I ask him what he's doing in Poland. "Well, I took these tests to study in the U.S. or Canada, but my score was a few points too low to go there, so I came to Poland instead to work in business." He goes on to say that he's lived in Poland for four years now, and how it's his dream to go to America; that when he gets a chance, he'll take the tests again, hunting down any opportunity he can get. He asks what I'm doing here, and I tell him about FLEX. We talk about his dreams and where he wants to go: "Well obviously there's always New York City, Chicago, and all of them, but I want to go to Connecticut. I could be a businessman, start up my own thing." As we wait for the subway together, he continues "My friend, I am sorry to ask this, but I'm just so curious. What's the deal with guns in America? Is it actually that bad?" The amount of times I've discussed the issues about American guns and gun violence while abroad is shockingly insane. Until leaving the U.S., I didn't realize just how truly unusual and terrifying unhinged my country is viewed by others when it comes to the topic of guns. We talk about it, how it is mind-boggling how one can buy a gun before legally purchasing alcohol, and Naeem laughs because of how absurd it all is. He then tells me how his friend in Brooklyn was shot two years ago by a mentally unstable homeless man, whom he'd been feeding and helping out for weeks, only to be shot in the back.
Nareem and I on the Subway, December 23.
We talk about how we like Poland, and miss our homes and families. We both agree that the coldness on the street is quite challenging, and how we miss the friendliness of strangers and extroverted street fun. I mention how it's challenging with Christmas coming up, and then we look at each other for a brief second, and I remember: "oh right, you don't celebrate Christmas." We burst out laughing together. Once we're on the subway, I ask what India is like. He says that India is colorful, home to friendly and helpful people, with chaos constantly scattering the streets, and lively nature outside the hustling city. His next question, after guns, is fentanyl, so that's what we talk about. We exchange names two stops before I get off. His is Naeem. We're the only ones talking on the subway, and everyone probably assumes that we've known each other much longer than twenty minutes. We say goodbye and as the subway speeds away, I turn and wave enthusiastically, as he smiles brightly through the window.
One interesting thing looking back is how, before Naeem knew my name, he referred to me as "my friend." I've learned that the word "friend" changes value depending on the culture. For example, in Poland, calling someone your friend has a heavy and significant meaning, whereas in America, the word is thrown around more loosely.
Naeem made my entire night, and it was freeing being able to relate on such a deep level with a complete stranger, especially during such an isolating time.
-Margaret Hotopp