7:30 p.m. EDT JFK NYC
The first leg of my return to Poland was painless enough. In fact, I left Logan about an hour earlier than expected. But here we sit, aboard a LOT 767 waiting for “meterological conditions” to ease so we can leave. I hope it won’t be a repeat of my first trip to Poland — five hours on the tarmack at Dulles.
It’s the strangest thing to hear Polish all around me again. It takes only a moment for old habits to return: I’m able to sink into that strange linguistic isolation to which I’d become so accustomed in Poland. Yet beside me sits a very pleasant woman — probably in her 50’s or 60’s — and I’m trying (or have been, from time to time) to have something of a conversation with her. Still, it’ll be a long time before i’m vaguely comfortable speaking Polish — it probably won’t happen during this trip.
Of course it’s different to believe the day of my departure is here — the exact moment seems somewhat vague, but nonetheless, Thursday 18 May has arrived. And I sit, stranded in a storm, dreaming of a small village in Poland.
I’ve come to realize I have a few habits when it comes to international trips: I pack to the accompaniment of Taproot; I buy a new journal; I end up writing in it while stranded somewhere. And, when Poland is involved in anyway whatsoever, I always find myself in the company of a drunkard — or several.
There are other things connected to Poland as well. Always a bit of chaos; always some kind of delay.
And so I’ve slipped into yet another habit: criticizing Poland. I must not do that — I must “hold on to these moments as they pass.” Yet some moments are more conducive to holding on to than others — for example, waiting to leave, waiting to initiate the last major portion of a long-awaited return to Polska. And of course I brought nothing to read . . . even for Danuta. What a dork.
8:40 p.m. EDT
Still waiting. We might be lucky enough to take off three hours late. I wouldn’t count on it, though.
I received a letter from Kaśka (Ia, last year) in which she shared her opinion of Adam. He is so boring, she said, beginning each lesson the same way: “Please open your books to page . . .” “I hope Adam won’t learn (sic) us yest year,” she wrote — saying a lot about this loser — whom I will meet shortly. I really don’t know how I feel about this — meeting someone for whom I already have no respect whatsoever. I’ll really have to bite my tongue, I think. Maybe he won’t show his face too much.
I’m wondering if Iwona will be there. She might have moved back to LW for a while, though I really doubt it. I don’t think it would upset me too much if she weren’t there at all — we haven’t exactly kept in touch with each other. I think I’ve received three letters from her, maybe only two. I’ve certainly not written more than that — we’re even, I guess. But if she is there — will cliche sparks fly? I doubt it.
I seem to have this notion — unspoken and even unacknowledged — that nothing has really changed since I left almost a year ago. As soon as I arrive in centrum, though, I’ll see the stupidity of such thoughts: a new school, a new bar, maybe even something else new. People of course will have changed as much as — no, more than — the physical surroundings. I hope I’m not setting myself up for something that is no longer really there. I’m not even sure what I’m expecting, except a warm welcome. But whether it is legitimate to think of this as a sort of homecoming or not — that is another issue altogether.
I just had a chance for a Zywiec — yet I passed it up. I’m waiting to be in the company of friends.
If we ever depart, that is. We’re already two and a half hours behind schedule. I’ve no idea how this will affect my arrival time in NT or LW.