The Final Countdown, Day 6

Today, Erin arrives! I can't believe how lucky I am to have friends that fly half way across the world to hang out with me in Poland! I was telling Liz just last night -- as she prepared us an awesome dinner of homemade chicken soup, salad, and mushroom perogies -- that I probably, most literally, owed her my life. She laughed. But I was serious.

In honor of Erin's arrival, I'm posting some footage of The Royal Baths Park, where peacocks roam around freely. Erin is obsessed with peacocks and I'm planning on taking her there as soon as she gets in. And then we will go drink obscene amounts of coffee, smoke French cigarettes, and get all girly and shit.

I'm also going to the Jewish Historical Museum to see if I can find any records for my family and then off to my last meeting with Rabbi Schudrich. Should be fun! In the meantime, enjoy the real "Kings" of the park:

Besa Me Mucho

A Bit of Inspiration...

From dear Pola, entitled "I am Married to Painting." It makes me feel hopeful.

The Nine Lives of Cristina Brunak...

...or something to that effect. Here's a little video of several of the places that once meant something to my grandmother in old Warsaw -- from her first home on Zlota to the Church of the Three Crosses. Enjoy!

The Final Countdown, Day 7

Now that I'm only here for a week, I'm gonna try to post all the silly stuff I haven't yet, including some small, silly video clips, more photos, and eventually...CRIBS Part Deux (meaning...a tour of my NEW apartment...or Pola's apartment I should say).

First off, however, I wanted to post the video I took of the performance art piece that Liz and I saw on Monday night.

When we were at the Ghetto exhibition, Dorota introduced us to all of her fabulous New York Polish ExPat friends, including the Zarebski family. First off, Ms. Zarebski is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen -- she has that Edie Sedgwick cool. And I was very flattered when she insisted that she knew me from NYC, that I had to be an actress, and she just knew she'd seen me in a movie. I love it!

Her daughter, Kasia, is around my age and is just as stunning, with flaming red hair, big big eyes, and a dainty gap between her teeth. She, Liz and I hit it off right away and made plans to hang out the next day, after her and her father's performance.

Kasia's father is Krzysztof Zarebski. For those who don't keep up on their controversial performance artists, he is definitely the biggest performance artist in Poland and one of the most respected in the world. He's been working since the 1970s, freaking out everyone from Poland's Communist regime to the USA's Republican politicians with his very brutal work. In fact, Kasia has been working in her father's pieces since she was a little girl and their work together as father and daughter is extremely profound -- adding an entirely new level to the intensely erotic vibe of Krzysztof's work. And they are lovely, lovely, down to earth people to top it all off.

I won't speak much about the piece, but let it speak for itself. It's divided into two parts here, because You Tube won't let me do movies longer than 10 minutes. One thing I will say was that it was extremely evocative of Louise Bourgeois's "Femme-Maison" drawings, which are some of my favorite works of art. Here's one:

Anyway, the piece was really incredible and it was cool to be cramped into such a small space and be so close to the action.

After the performance, we grabbed Kasia away and took her back to Chlodna 25, where we sipped on coffee and chatted...about men, of course. I'm starting to feel a bit like a Sex and The City episode...and I'm not so into it. But alas...this is what we do, no? We were sharing our war stories and Kasia, a native New Yorker with leftist artist sensibilities had her fair share. Honestly -- I'm terrified of dating. I know I don't have to think about all that just yet, but the idea just freaks me out! I haven't done it for...nine years? And I was a teenager then! I am sincerely terrified. I wish I could just throw up a good husband. That'd be nice. And easy.

In an attempt to quell my fears, Liz and I decided to jokingly sign up for an online dating service called "OKCupid," which Kasia had mentioned, just to get a quick sense of what dating in the New World is all about. We filled out the requisite forms, uploaded the photos, and then waited. Slowly, the gawkers began passing by. I could see everyone who stopped to visit my profile. It made feel sick. So weird. So objectified and horrible. Then, men started giving us "star ratings" -- 1 through 5. I didn't want them to look at me. And then I wanted them to leave a high rating. And then, I didn't want them to leave ratings at all and I wanted to slap all of them or give them hugs and say "you'll find the right one some day -- I promise." And then, after about two hours of owning an OKCupid account and getting a "favorite" mark from a man her father's age, Liz cancelled hers. "No way," she said. "I just can't do it. It makes me feel so horrible."

I thought I'd be brave, hold on, see what happened. Just curious. What could it hurt? But I became uncannily obsessed with the activity around my page -- like I was babysitting my cyberself, making sure no weird men took advantage of my precious profile. And I as I perused the sea of men visiting my page, I got very very sad. The whole thing felt so desperate. Everyone seemed so alone and so needy. And I felt so...judged. So I erased my page. And then I erased my MySpace page. And then I limited the information on my Facebook page. And then I dreamed about crawling into a hole and dying.

On that note...I'll leave you with the footage from the performance piece. Oh...and I've decided no dating or even the consideration of dating for a long, long time. I'll just cuddle with Cooper, thank you very much.

Ghetto Art

And in the end...

Wow. It’s exactly one month to the day that I first arrived in Poland. All I can really think is What The Hell Happened?

I came here simply to do research on my book. But now, I find myself dealing with another completely different project: my entire life.

I came here married. I came here thinking I knew who I was, where I came from, and where I was going. I came here to finish something.

Now, I am divorced. I have no idea who I really am. I am only now beginning to understand where I came from. I have no clue where I’m going, really. And I feel like I’m just now embarking on a real journey.

I look back at the last month and it is a blur. A whirlwind of tears, stomachaches, heartache, hot days in downtown, rainy days on trains, realizations about the past, future, and present, intense fear, intense love, intense excitement. It is like the world has completely changed and now I must figure out how I got here and how I can get home – wherever that is.

I’ve never really been sure where my home was. For a long time it was in Los Angeles with my family. Then it was in Akron with my family. Then, when my family fell apart, it was in Akron with Patrick, which was always sort of precarious. Now, I am in Poland, and I feel sort of homeless. And it hurts and it makes me want to cry, but it is also an incredible opportunity to create a real home within my own heart. I know that sounds cheesy – but it’s all I can think to make this situation worthwhile and revitalizing. I must come to embrace that my real home is always with me and always in me. It is with me where ever I go, I guess. I just need to start making that home as sturdy as possible. I need to fill it with all the comforts and love that give me tranquility and peace. So that is my new job, really. Building my heart into a real home, where I can take refugee and settle my mind.

I think that’s what I learned from this trip. Seeing all the places my grandmother was displaced from – her apartment on Zlota, her temporary residence on Nowy Swiat, her apartment in the Ghetto, her apartment in Rozbrat, the camps, Vienna. Chile. Los Angeles.

I remember my grandmother once telling me that she used to cry and cry and cry to her mother asking: “Why can’t I just be a normal person with a normal life?” And her mother would say: “Because you’ve been in a war, Krishu! You can never be normal. You will always be a displaced person.”

I feel like that too right now. A displaced person. But I know, from watching my grandmother, that I can build a good sturdy home and be happy through my own devices. That is what she has taught me. That is what her history here has taught me. And so that is what I will set out to do. It is a scary prospect, but I have faith.

I sort of see my heart’s house like the last standing Warsaw Ghetto buildings on Prozna Street. I was just there on Sunday for an art exhibit that coincided with the Singer Festival – the Annual Warsaw Jewish festival that is being held now until September 6.

There, on Prozna Street, stand a series of buildings that look very much like the tenement buildings you see in photos from New York in the early-20^th century. They are sloppy, narrow brick structures that seem to go on for miles into the sky, threatening to topple over at any second. The Ghetto buildings have remained completely untouched – entirely unrehabbed – and are only used for exhibits during the festival. Inside, the paint is peeling off the ceiling in big, flat chunks, while the floor is covered with dust and debris. They are incredible, incredible relics and it is amazing that Warsaw has done nothing with them.

For the festival, a number of contemporary artists installed their work throughout the wreckage of the buildings. Photographs lined cracked cement walls. Small rooms were filled with smoke and video art. One artist even used the dust from the building to create his piece, while another hung neon signs on the brick exterior.

As I walked through the buildings, up and down circular staircases, in and out of tiled bathrooms and through creaky doors, I thought that this is what grandma’s heart must look like. And maybe, mine, too. A shabby old building, cluttered with beautiful, expressive things that don’t try to hide the decay – but elaborate on it. Build on it. Embrace it.

My original plan was to stay in Poland until September 19. But of course, life is what happens when you are making plans…sorry for the cliché, but it’s so true right now. Still, I was determined to stay, to prove to myself and everyone else that I could stick this out and make it to the end. But, another thing I’ve also learned recently is that I don’t have to prove anything to anyone anymore. And I feel as though I’ve gained more than enough from this experience to head home in a week, sort out the details, and then make my move to California, where I will be close to my mother and grandmother and can finally finish this book. Los Angeles seems like a good place to start over. At least, that is what my grandmother has always said. “You come to California and never look back,” she says.

I must say that I’m terrified of the future. But I also realize that before I came here, I didn’t really have a better idea on how things were all going to work out – I just deluded myself into thinking that I did. I guess I should find relief that I’m now living in the truth: that I can’t predict the future. And never could.

It’s funny. There are a lot of clichés slapping me in the face right now from: “Life’s Not Fair” to “You have to lose something to gain something else.” Life’s not fair: I think I’ve addressed that already. But only recently have I come to the point of accepting that I had to lose something to gain something else.

Since Patrick and I started the painful process of separating, my parents have been here for me in such an incredible way. Though my relationship with my father was strained for some time, he is now calling me almost every day. Reminding me of how good I am. Of how I didn’t fail. Of how great things will be. And how much he loves me. My mother says the same and our time together here will be something I will cherish forever. And so, it’s funny, because, in losing Patrick as my husband, I am beginning to realize that my family never left me – they just changed, as so many things do. I am not alone. I do, still, have unconditional love. And it is so, so nice to be reminded of that. I am a truly lucky, lucky girl.

And as for Patrick and I…well…I think we have done a lot of growing and realizing and accepting this past month. It’s so ironic that we struggled for over seven years to get on the same page and only now, as we part ways, we finally find ourselves there. I’m willing to bet that this is one of the kindest, most civil break-ups in the history of marriage, which is funny, considering how turbulent our relationship was. We were the kind of people that fueled each other’s fires rather than quelled each other’s minds. Still, it makes me terribly sad, because I wanted our life together to work out more than anything. But I am slowly accepting the truth that it wouldn’t and that we both deserve to be happy and together, that just wasn’t going to be possible. So now we will try it out on our own. And that is both scary and exciting. I have no idea how to live without him. Since I was 19, that is all I have known. “Denise and Pat.” Forever. Now…who knows. All I know is that there is no forever. And I guess that is ok.