Out of Great Joy: A Letter to My Flat

Moje kochanie mieszkanie (my darling flat),

Soon you and I will part ways, after two wonderful years together. I will fly to Chicago, and you will have to wait (impatiently) until August when a new inhabitant will arrive, re-arrange your furniture, and put photographs of his or her family and friends on your walls.

Do you remember when we first met, that fateful August day? I immediately loved your incredibly high European ceilings and your gorgeous bedroom windows, but I also quickly discovered that you were a fixer-upper, to say the least. Lukewarm (not hot) water, no Internet capabilities, no working stove or oven in the kitchen, no telephone wires, no mirror, no blinds, no garbage cans, no towels. I tried to respect your 100-year-old history but was a little worried that our drastically different lifestyles (for mine is quite modern) would mean that we would have difficulty co-existing. I must say you were a significant source of stress during my first months here, but you know (for walls have eyes and ears) that when I first arrived I was stressed about everything.

But slowly we learned how to live together. It required both parties to adjust. I accepted – and grew to love or at least find the humor in – a few of your quirks – especially your insoluble electrical and hot water problems. A few of your more unpleasant secrets, however, I could not laugh off, like your significant mold and mildew problem. Luckily the arrival of a foreign visitor (a dehumidifier produced by a French company) soon put that problem to rest and this brief squabble in our relationship was resolved amicably. Your paper-thin walls often drove me crazy, especially when neighbors woke me up in a fright with their violent arguing at 1 or 2 a.m.

I know; it is unkind of me to remind you of our early difficulties. But then how quickly my attitude towards you changed! Remember when Dad and Claire visited in December? And Dad, with his visual-spatial brilliance, knew how to re-arrange your furniture and transform you into a home – my home. And when I returned from Christmas vacation, you weren’t temporary housing anymore, you were “moje kochanie mieszkanie” (my darling flat) and newly hung photographs and posters were not merely decorations but signs of my joyful decision to teach and live here for a second year.

And over the past two years you alone have been witness to many of my challenges and joys, little and great. In the early months, you were sometimes the only witness to my tears of frustration, exhaustion, stress, and loneliness during my struggle to adjust to life and work in a new country. But soon you saw me skipping with happiness after meeting someone new or whistling to myself after a successful day at school. You heard me laugh with friends, with students, with loved ones over Skype. You listened as I practiced my Polish (please excuse my poor pronunciation, I know your past inhabitants have been native speakers) and watched me write (and re-write, and re-write) lesson plans. You were here the day I turned 23 and the day I turned 24. You met many of my friends (American, Polish, and Czech) and family members, who stopped by for tea or dinner or to sleep on your sofa or floor.

And although your kitchen has often been the source of numerous problems (an incorrectly installed stove, electricity issues, broken pipes, holes drilled through the walls by neighbors), it also holds a special place in my heart. Your kitchen became a source of great joy as I found cooking was a way for me to reach out to new people in Poland and the Czech Republic. In your kitchen, I fell in love with the simple yet beautiful European tradition of always offering tea to guests, whether they stopped by for 5 minutes or 5 hours. I have loved inviting friends over for meals because our conversations are the best food for my soul. Cooking in your kitchen also helped me get to know my students as we chatted while making American foods like funny face pancakes, chocolate chip cookies, and Thanksgiving specialties. Over tacos and curries and pizzas and pierogi, I connected with people who helped make this place feel like a true home.

Between these walls I’ve experienced beautiful times of community and also beautiful times of solitude. Sometimes there’s nothing more peaceful than sitting with a book (or just sitting and thinking) and a cup of tea and gazing out your windows at our tree, the keeper of time and marker of seasons with its leaves or barren branches. Sometimes there’s nothing more ghastly than looking out your windows and seeing thick, dark puffs of smoke from neighbors’ chimneys drift by. Your quiet and calm are the best refuge after a long day and provide the perfect opportunity for contemplation and reflection. You are the place where I come to rest after one adventure so that I can feel rejuvenated and excited to take on the next.

I know I’ll miss you next year, moje kochanie. Even now when I’m away from you for a day or a week I miss hearing the “whoosh” of flames in your bathroom when I turn on the water or the way the sun peeps into your upper windows to wake me gently in the morning. Whenever I return to you, there’s a wonderful feeling of comfort and familiarity that sweeps over me as I unlock your door.