On Friday, 29 October, a ceremony presenting awards in the “Letter” competition was held at the Kruszyna inn in Kruszyna. The competition was organized by the Municipal Culture and Sports Centre in Bolesławiec with its registered office in Kruszyna.
This year, due to the equal level of the submitted texts, no main prizes were awarded in the adult category. Equal distinctions went to four authors: Halina Gut, Sylwia Recka-Markefka, Dorota Strzelczyk and Tomasz Czura.
In the children’s category, first place went to Patryk Szulc. The second prize went to Lidia Stempak, and the third to Klaudia Kotwica. The judging panel also decided to distinguish the letters by: Katarzyna Katya, Małgorzata Wiśniewska, Marek Tobiasz and Gabriela Widera.
“Norman Davies, a Briton who works on Polish history, said that he does not like writing personal texts on a computer. And if a top-level figure has the courage to admit that he still writes by hand, it seems to me that this is an honor for the competition’s participants,” emphasized Maria Sobolska, a jury member, during Friday’s ceremony. “In most of the texts, you could feel sincerity, and that is the most important thing when writing letters.”
Saving the art of letter writing from oblivion is the idea guiding the organizers of the “Letter” literary competition. This competition, unique on a national scale, was inspired by a mailbox from GOKiS belonging to Beata Widera, stuffed to the brim with advertisements. “I thought then that I would really like to receive a normal letter,” says the competition’s originator and organizer.
The event’s media patron was the IstotneInformacje.pl portal. Below, we present the best works:
Halina Gut’s letter
12 October 2010
My dear daughter!
I am writing this letter hoping that you will read it carefully before you want to throw it away. Why do I think that? Because I have not seen you for over six years, even though you live nearby. You left home without even saying goodbye. You turned your entire life and ours upside down. Perhaps now you regret that, two months before your wedding to Paweł, a deceitful man who is not worthy of you lured you away. I will never forget his words: “I am looking for a cheap nanny for my three children—for I cannot afford preschool.” And he found one, and now you are surely doing everything to properly replace their deceased mother. Now you also have two children of your own. I know your son is named Paweł; I do not know your daughter’s name. I thought you would understand a great deal once you became a mother yourself. Can you imagine your beloved daughter doing to you what you did to us?
Surely not. I too would sooner have expected my own death than all this that you have brought upon me...
But what is done cannot be undone. Great pain remains in my heart. But know that whatever you did—of your own accord or under pressure from your husband, who deliberately blocked your way back to your family—you will always remain my beloved child. Know that I love you very much and will never cast you out of my heart. I wish you to know that. There is not a day or night when I do not think of you. Sometimes I dream of you, and then I feel that something terrible is happening to you. And I cannot help you because you reject that help; you do not want it.
I pray to God that no harm comes to you; that is all I can do. Do not allow anyone to mistreat you. And no one will ever fully appreciate your sacrifice. Remember—you are the most important!
You reject our love, but why do you deny your grandparents their love for their grandchildren? I have not seen them yet. I would very much like to see them. To hug them. Please change this, because one day your children will feel enormous resentment toward you.
Remember—you may have many husbands, but only one set of parents. You are so fortunate that, despite everything, your parents love you very much. You were our child of love—what happened that everything became so tangled?
It did not have to be this way, but there is always time to mend the situation before it is too late. The Holy Father forgave his attacker—if you believe we have wronged you, let us forgive each other. “Let us hurry to love people—they leave us so quickly.” I do not know how much longer I am destined to live, but I do not want silence to continue between us.
When Friday comes and I make pierogi for dinner, I cry because I remember how much you liked them.
You know that I could not enter your room for a good two years? Until everything became moldy. There is one little patch of garden that you liked to tend. To this day, whenever I am there, I see you. I do not believe that you do not miss us, your brothers, or the home where you grew up.
I tried to contact you earlier through the internet, through Nasza-klasa, but you rejected me. Or perhaps it was not you who rejected me? There are many unexplained matters and situations—but I do not want to return to them.
Let us forget everything and start living anew—with a new day. If you can do that, please, I beg you, get in touch. My phone numbers have not changed; I do not know yours. Or simply come with your children. It would be the happiest day of my life. I am waiting for any sign from you. I love you very much and never stopped.
Remember that.
Your mother
Sylwia Recka-Markefka’s letter
Brühl, July 2006
My dear reflection in the mirror
In all my life, I do not remember such a hot summer. The air is so heavy and hot that only common sense makes me believe I will not suffocate after all. At noon, even the flies do not fly. From morning onward, through open windows, lava-like heat stealthily rolls in, so great that it does not cool even at night.
Sleeping naked does not help much either, and dreams...? The dreams are downright nightmarish—like this summer, which I will never forget. I often dream that I have fallen out of bed and cannot lift my face from the floor, so I slowly suffocate. I wake up terrified: what is this? SUMMER! HEAT!
Then I cannot fall asleep for a long time. Behind the wall, GRANDMA howls, sometimes moans or bangs her feet against the bed frame. It is hard to sleep at night; during the day I walk around half-conscious. And so, day by day, I become increasingly irritable and tired. Heat! Blinding sun, breathlessness, flies, and GRANDMA deteriorating!
If she were only my neighbor, I would run away to go shopping, take a walk, anything, just so I would not have to stay with her. As long as I have to care for her, I look for good qualities in her. It is not easy.
Her identity card says she is 168 centimeters tall. For a woman, that is above average, but she walks bent in half, so she reaches my armpit. When you are 96, you are usually no longer living. Most often she sits, lies down, eats, and howls. In fact, she wails. If tears flowed, it would be crying, but she repeats—like a mantra—first quietly, under her breath, the name of a dead cat or husband. Then, increasingly loudly and drawn out, hoping someone will hear. When I do not respond, she howls like a beaten dog. At first I would come and calm her. Sometimes she stopped at the mere sight of me. After a moment, however, she would start again.
Now I do not respond until she gets up. I do not want her to walk. In fact—to tremble on soft, thin legs. I let her walk a little. I watch her stagger left and right, nearly falling. Once she sits down, she does not even have the strength to lift her legs so she can put them on the couch.
Sometimes I wonder what she looked like when she was young. She says she had brown, moderately short, wavy hair and lovely legs. That seems right.
When I looked closely at her face, I noticed that she actually has no eyebrows or eyelashes left. Very little hair remains on her head too—three hairs altogether, all gray. Every evening she asks to have them wound on curlers.
The most interesting thing about her entire face is the wrinkles. She really has very few. Those that are visible are shallow, mainly around the eyes and neck. Only her body reveals how old she is. It looks like turtle skin—a single large, finely arranged mesh. While her face is firm, the rest of her body is flaking skin hanging from bones. Only her stomach and breasts are padded with fat.
Grandma has a few favorite stories. When I first heard them, they even interested me. Soon afterward it turned out that she remembered nothing else and told them several times a day, to cruelly tedious effect. Even the order of the words is the same.
For twenty days now, every day I have heard crying alternating with little stories.
To make matters worse, she remembers nothing about what is happening now. She looks at the clock to figure out what time of day it is. Without it, she would have no idea whether she is eating breakfast or dinner. She does not even know what month or day it is. Several times she asks me whether someone has been here or will come. Ten minutes after guests leave, she does not remember that anyone visited her.
Everything she does has a set time. She goes to bed at 10:00 p.m., neither earlier nor later. I move the clock, sometimes by as much as two hours, and in reality she goes to bed at 8:00 p.m. I only have to remember to set the clock back to the correct time before dawn.
When you read this, it may seem funny, but after three weeks I feel like running away or shaking Grandma with all my strength so that she would wake up, if only for one day.
If I live to old age, I ask the CREATOR not to take away my awareness, or to let me die before that happens.
I considered myself a resilient person, but this experience surprised even me. The monotony of the tasks is killing my patience. The crying behind the wall, smacking and slurping, howling and little stories, answering the same questions, and that terrible loneliness irritate me. She is visited so rarely!
I tell myself it is only work, but no amount of money could convince me to come back here. I will stay here through August and never return.
That thought gives me the strength to endure this much longer.
It is me, still young and happy for that reason!
Dorota Strzelczyk’s letter
Bolesławiec, September
My dear!
Autumn has begun; it has been raining incessantly since Sunday, so the mood is just right for writing letters—melancholy...
Thank you for the holiday postcards and the photographs full of sunshine and the smiling faces of your little ones and your beautiful wife. You are a specialist in summer and sunshine, while I am one of mists, heatherlands, and rain—for I am autumn through and through, from head to toe and deep into my soul—you know that yourself...
So I am sitting here with a virtual cat on my lap (I wish it were as real as your Creature, but common sense won again) and, listening to its imaginary purring, I take a pen in my hand (it should be a quill, right?) to pour my thoughts onto paper and share with you what has recently been “on my mind” and disturbing my peaceful sleep.
Dilemmas. Do you have them too?
No, no—it will not be about what might have been. Our shared, unrealized story is probably behind us by now, discussed, explained, “worked through”—and I am glad it is.
Recently I listened to old tapes and came across a song that you wrote for me in a previous life. It made my heart feel very sweet and warm. Thank you.
But dilemmas were supposed to be the subject. Except they will not be ethical, moral, or existential ones, but ordinary life choices. I will describe everything from the beginning in a moment.
But first let me ask—do you still go to the film club where you live? I do. I watched a film yesterday—“Nothing Personal”; a woman said I have the same type of beauty as the main character. She repeated it several times. Watch the film; I even have the same kind of jacket... and the interior... only life is a little different...
All right, back to the point, as some people say.
Have you noticed that when things are calm, they really are calm—nothing happens, and when something does happen, everything happens at once! Although perhaps that is precisely a way not to go crazy, not to have a chance to think too much, analyze, and rack your brain...
Maybe everything happens at once so that one choice can be made and we do not drown or lose ourselves in all these dilemmas—just “snip” and that is it! And not regret it.
The matter concerns my possible return to the capital and work for real money. Interesting, ambitious, developing work... Why can I not have that here, locally, in this distant “province” that we chose of our own free will??
It would seem that nowadays the choice is simple—work, earnings (perhaps finally decent ones), more opportunities for the child, closeness to family (and you know that my parents’ health is not very good) and friends. Nothing to do but pack and return.
On the other hand, there is our little world here. Ours. A world that is beginning to fall into place—right now something has stirred and created an opportunity to fulfill plans and dreams; what refused to move for the past few months is finally beginning to become clear as well. Our hard-won place on earth—the material one, meaning the apartment, and the one for the spirit—art, trips, friendships.
And after all, I did not flee back then—from the noise, crowds, anonymity, and pursuit of money—only to return to all of it now...
What is truly more important—professional development, money, giving a child an easier start in the “rat race,” or this more human dimension of what surrounds us, greater peace of mind and soul, more time for one another, and the feeling that we are following our own path? Perhaps a little against the current and outside the mainstream, but our own... independent.
What would you do in my place?
You know, I sometimes remember our Polish lessons with Mrs. M. Do you feel that way too? I have the impression that we are who we are partly because of her; she shaped us and instilled in us various foolish, outdated, humanistic ideals. A quotation often comes back to me: “Having made a choice for eternity, I must choose at every moment”—and that is what I do.
What did I choose? Yes, you know me.
I politely thanked the Man from the capital. What remained was the satisfaction that someone appreciated me, that professional and intellectual potential still remained in me.
Of course, the dilemma remains—was this choice really the right one...
Well, life... and do you remember the problems we once had...
As consolation, and perhaps so that I could convince myself that my decision was right, a certain bard appeared, along with his recital in a local basement standing in for my Harenda. And he sang this (do you remember?): “I return to those years when I was handsome, young, much taller...”
So you see—in reality everything is OK with us; perhaps we are just a little short of a cat, but scratch Creature behind the ear for me.
I will finish now, say hello to your other half, kiss the little ones on their foreheads, and kiss you too. And I eagerly await your reply, although I know it will probably be a winter, December, Christmas letter—I know you...
Yours forever,
Mrs. Autumn
P.S. With this autumn letter I am sending a leaf, because:
“behind our house the orchards have burst into flame, September in the calendars, another year has come...
and colorful autumn has left traces in my hair as it embraces the world.”
And in your hair??...
Tomasz Czura’s letter
Dachnów, 21 September 2010
Dear Ewa!
You were probably surprised when the postman brought you my letter instead of another bill. How many years has it been since we stopped writing to each other? Three, four? I do not remember. Now there are phones, text messages, emails, instant messaging, so many ways to keep in touch that letters are forgotten. Unfairly so. I believe they are more personal, more emotional; one can express more. That is precisely why I decided to write a letter—not an SMS, not to call, but to write a letter. Before you continue reading, however, I must warn you that I do not have good news. So if you are in a good mood today and do not want to spoil your day, put it aside for later; read it tomorrow or the day after.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning...
As you know from our short conversations by phone or online, I fell in love three years ago. I told you how we met and got together, so I will not repeat it. Since then, there has not been a day when I was unhappy. Whenever dark clouds appeared on the horizon, a squeeze of Her hand was enough, and I knew everything would be all right. We have always supported each other and gone through many difficult moments together. There was a time when we almost broke up, but we managed to overcome that together too. I love Her and know that She loves me too. You know what it is like yourself; after all, you have a husband and child. I envy you and wish you much happiness.
I too recently wanted to complete our happiness. About a month ago I went to a jeweler and bought a ring, the most beautiful one in the entire display. Then I went straight to a priest I know. He said he could find a date for Natalia and me even within two months; we only had to complete the premarital classes. Such courses are held continuously in the neighboring parish, so that would not have been a problem either. I was going to propose to Her a week ago when everything suddenly collapsed. Two weeks ago I had to undergo tests for work. They X-rayed me, listened to my chest, tapped me, and so on. They told me to come back for the results in two days. I spent that evening and the next with Natalia; perhaps she even suspected that I wanted to propose. She certainly would not have refused.
When I returned to the clinic, the doctor did not speak for a while. Then he showed me an X-ray of my chest. The diagnosis was brief—lung cancer. Malignant, with metastases. Yes, I sometimes felt stabbing pains around my lungs and sometimes coughed, but I had no idea it was so serious. I had never smoked and generally lived healthily... And yet. I thought—surgery, chemotherapy, somehow I will recover. No. Too late; the disease is too advanced. I have a year left, a year and a half at most. He is a renowned, good doctor; he consulted others, so there can be no mistake. He said that only God could help me now. He was very sorry. I am dying...
But that is not my greatest problem. I am not afraid of death. The problem is that I do not know what to do. Should I tell Her? Should I propose? I wanted to tell Her, but as soon as I saw Her laughing, I gave up.
Tell Her? I am afraid that if I do, She will suffer more than I will, that She will lose all joy in life. But perhaps She will prepare herself; perhaps She will want to spend the days I have left with me joyfully?
Propose? I would so much like to marry Her and have a child, even two... But in a year and a half I will no longer be here. I do not want to make Her a young widow and a child an orphan. If She knows I am ill, She may become frightened and reject my proposal. I do not want to be alone; I need Her so much now...
I will not tell Her and will not propose—that will hurt Her too. She probably also wants to get married and will wonder what I am waiting for. And if I do not tell Her and we get married, She will live unaware; one day she will return from work, the phone will ring, and she will learn that she has become a widow. She may hate me for such a lie.
You probably understand what a huge problem I have now. It is not only about me, but mainly about Her and Her future. I am asking you for advice. Every day is agony for me. I try to pretend that everything is all right; for now I am managing, but what will happen later? Every day I look at the ring I bought, as if it could somehow offer a hint...
I am sorry for writing at such length. Please write back. I hope the postman will soon bring me your letter.
Best regards
Tomek
P.S. If you can, say at least one decade of the Rosary for me.
Patryk Szulc’s letter
Kraków, 23 September 2010
Dear Bogdan!
Thank you for your last letter, in which you described your father’s new job to me. It is pleasant to read about someone who, like your father, works with passion and commitment. Your letter made me think about what I would like to do in the future.
Writing this letter on the first autumn evening, I began to think about my first serious choice. What should I become? Have you asked yourself that yet? Soon we will be adults and decide our future. Recently I have been looking more and more closely at the work of my relatives and wondering whether I could work in their place. You surely remember my sister who works in a bank? I think that kind of work would soon bore me. I would not want to spend eight hours in front of a computer, among documents and clients with many matters to handle. Or consider my father’s work. He is a construction worker and has to work hard all day, regardless of whether it is raining or the sun is blazing.
I have completely different interests—natural science, of course. I love animals, their multicolored, beautiful fur, shiny scales, and colorful feathers.
You know, I love spending time in the soothing bosom of nature, among birdsong and the rustling of trees. You can always rest there and observe nature’s beautiful colors.
Animals and plants are my passion! It does not matter whether it is a chicken or a toucan, a horse or an Amur tiger; every animal is beautiful in its own way.
It is similar with plants; I love admiring them... So I face quite a dilemma about what to become in the future, because every choice has its advantages and disadvantages.
If, for example, I became a naturalist... I dream of traveling around the world, discovering new, beautiful landscapes that I would describe in my book. I would like to learn about animals on every continent. I would admire their wild lives and the environments in which they live. I would also learn about the customs of people from distant countries, their culture and traditions. But nature would be the most important thing. Imagine how pleasant it would be to watch the African sun disappearing behind the equator. To listen to lions roaring with a shiver down your spine. To worry about whether a herd of warthogs might trample the campsite, or hyenas might come to visit.
At another time, I would like to feel the icy Arctic air piercing my skin like a needle. I would like to enjoy traveling across endless fields locked in snow and ice in a dog sled, and sleep in one of the most unusual homes in the world—an igloo.
Unfortunately, I realize how many sacrifices await me. It worries me that I might not be able to establish a family permanently. I would not want to leave my wife and children or keep moving with them. Besides, constantly traveling, I would have no permanent place of residence. I would therefore lead a solitary life, returning to my family home from time to time.
Another problem would be financing the trips. An expedition to Kenya costs around PLN 12,000 today; accommodation, airfare, and food are expensive. I would also have to reckon with the cost and time of learning foreign languages: English, Russian, Spanish, Swahili, and Mandarin.
During my travels I would be exposed to diseases transmitted by insects and animals, such as malaria, typhoid, or yellow fever. More than once I would come face to face with a predator that would consider me a potential lunch, dinner, or snack. You know, I would not want to be eaten somewhere in the African jungle.
So you can see that I would choose a dangerous profession, but my love of nature and travel is not limited by mundane problems and fears. Perhaps in time I will come up with a way to organize it all. And if not, I will remain on our beautiful plain and start doing something completely different...
Among the many occupations connected with nature, I am also considering becoming a farmer. You are probably smiling now, but I would really like to be one. You know, I would like to have as much as 200 hectares of land. Yes, exactly that much; I have planned everything already. I would devote 150 hectares to sowing grain: wheat, rye, barley, and oats. I would set aside two hectares as an animal enclosure with farm buildings. My dream house with a yard full of ornamental shrubs and trees would stand on one hectare. I would also have a huge vegetable garden with potatoes, onions, garlic, carrots, and cucumbers. If I had the opportunity, I would plant fruit bushes too: raspberries, currants, berries, and strawberries.
An orchard full of sweet cherries, sour cherries, peaches, pears, apple trees, and plum trees would be very important to me. Imagine spring in such an orchard—how beautiful it would be. There would be beehives in my orchard, and the bees would produce delicious honey. I would raise many animals: cows, pigs, rabbits, horses, ducks, chickens, turkeys, and, necessarily, sheep. My large house would be yellow. Lavender flowers and ivy would climb over it. In front of the main entrance there would be a porch entwined with grapevines. Rabbits would run around inside. I am not joking. In front of the house there would be a large pond on which ducks would swim.
If I were a farmer, I would never be bored. I would get up at dawn to milk the cows, take them and the other animals out to pasture, and feed the remaining livestock. Later I would rush to gather crops from the fields, which—as you can imagine—takes a lot of time. In the evening, I would have to visit the pastures again to bring the animals to the cowshed, stable, and sheepfold. In winter, the animals stay in their “homes,” so I would have more time for myself and my family. Snow lies on the fields, so a farmer can rest.
So you see that as a farmer I would always be close to home. I could also help my mother and siblings at our family home. Imagine how nice it is to eat bread straight from the oven with fresh butter, washed down with milk straight from the cow.
But where would I find a wife who knows how to bake bread? Never mind; what matters is that I would work in accordance with my passions. As a naturalist I would be among nature in bloom. I dream of seeing my orchard in full bloom—what a wonderful sight that would be! I would also admire the wild nature; my fields would be close to forests as well. But this work involves enormous risk. A flood or drought could destroy my hard work in an instant. Diseases among animals threaten their lives. My family’s livelihood would therefore depend on the forces of nature. As a farmer, I would not be able to go on holiday in summer because I would expose the farm to losses. Only in winter could I afford a short rest in the mountains.
You can see, Bogdan, that I have a great dilemma. Each choice means a completely different life. I must choose whether I want to admire the diversity of the environment or the beautiful, but single, landscape of the countryside. As a naturalist, I would have little chance of starting a family. I would be constantly traveling, so I would also visit my family home rarely. As a farmer, I would start a family and be close to my parents, but my desire to travel and discover unknown places could not be fulfilled. As a farmer, I would always have my day planned; nature would decide what I had to do. From spring to autumn, I would have little time for myself. As a naturalist, I would decide for myself what to do and where to go. Both jobs are wonderful, but what should I choose? What do you think? A family or solitude? A sundial or your own clock? Eating fragrant fresh bread every morning or wheat flatbreads baked under the African sun? What should I choose? Wild, unknown lands and nature that I see only on television, or my family village and every familiar corner?
Today I still cannot answer these questions, and perhaps you could help me solve my dilemma? What would you do in my place? I am impatiently awaiting your answer; I hope you will also write what you would like to become.
Warm regards, and I await your letter.
Patryk
Lidia Stempak’s letter
Brzeźnik, 27 September 2010
Dear classmates!
I am writing this letter because I have a great request for you. Recently you have been sending me loads of text messages in which you write things like: “Hey! What are you doing? What’s the homework for Polish?” or “Hey! Come over; my parents aren’t home, so we can try out this new computer game.” People! Can’t you write normally? Is our beautiful Polish language an alien language to you? Stop daydreaming and think realistically. With your behavior, you are causing enormous changes in our language. I cannot stand those abbreviations you keep using. They are like hieroglyphs to me. I cannot decipher them quickly. Today one word means one thing, and the next day something completely different. I am a bookworm and love reading books from cover to cover, especially adventure books. Believe me, they contain normal words that can also be used every day, and I prefer those words. If you started reading books, you would notice that they do not contain the kinds of words you use every day. Even characters our age express themselves differently. They do not say, “Hey! Come over,” but “Hi! Will you come to my place today?” As you can see, there are no abbreviations, and the text is easier to understand. Returning to my request, I would like to ask you to stop writing all those text messages and emails and start sending handwritten letters. I do not know whether you realize it, but the art of letter writing is gradually disappearing. Almost nobody picks up a pen, a ballpoint pen, or writing paper and starts writing a letter to a friend anymore; instead, they grab a mobile phone (“cell phone”), type letters on the keyboard, press “SEND,” and receive a reply moments later.
I understand that this way is easier and does not require much work or time, but there is nothing heartfelt about it. Just an ordinary “Hi! How are you? I’m OK. Write back!” It should not be this way!!! Now you must swallow a bitter pill. Very often, when writing such messages, you make many mistakes and pay no attention to spelling, until incorrect forms become fixed over time, e.g. (horrors!) writing “you have to” incorrectly. Such irresponsible behavior destroys our beautiful Polish language and clutters it.
It is not true that only educated people with a broad range of knowledge write letters. Anyone who has something to convey to another person can write a letter. I wonder whether any of you has written even one real letter in your life—one written from the heart (apart from letters written under compulsion at school). I hope so, but if not, that is very bad. If you have never written a letter, you do not know what it feels like to wait for a reply, especially when it concerns something important. Then one feels uneasy. Every day, even several times a day, one checks whether a reply has arrived. And once such a letter arrives, joy, happiness, and curiosity about what might be inside the envelope do not leave us.
Warm regards! Please think over my request and make the right decision. Write letters! Make sure the ability to write beautiful letters does not disappear. Once again, greetings. Bye!
Your classmate from Grade VI
Lidka
Klaudia Kotwica’s letter
Parzyce, 26 September 2010
Dear Marta!
It is truly wonderful that after so many years I found out where you live and what your home address is. Why did you actually have to move? I heard rumors that your parents divorced and your sister died in a car accident. It is really sad that I did not even say goodbye to you. If I met you now, I would hug you as tightly as I could to comfort you. If I saw you, I would certainly cry with joy. During your long absence, I had a few super-strange adventures. I want to tell you about them specifically because I am sure you will believe me.
This happened to me just after you left. It was probably April:
While doing my homework, I noticed through the window what looked like a whirlwind in the meadow, rising toward the sky, but yellow and gentle, standing still and carrying nothing away. It seemed to me as if it were calling me inside, into its center... It seemed to look at me with an enchanted gaze, although it had no eyes... Something magical drew me toward it, so I went without saying a word. I stepped into its rays and felt, with my eyes closed, that I was dying, that I would soon rise to the gates of heaven. It “sucked” all my strength out of me.
After a while I woke up, shaken by monsters from another world staring at me, each with one eye, and by a girl who looked like me. I did not know where I was, but she told me how they had found me lying on the ground. She was eleven years old and had her own spaceship! Can you imagine?! She took me to some strange place, and once again I felt I was flying, this time entering blue streaks. When I came to, I was in the meadow beside the house. I was sitting with my legs folded beneath me.
The next extraordinary adventure took place in August. I was lying in a meadow on a beautiful sunny day among the flowers. My only companions were a ladybug walking on my hand and a butterfly circling around me that had just emerged from its cocoon. The first signs of autumn were already waiting beyond the stream. Suddenly something blocked out the sun. Alarmed, I opened my eyes and saw a huge dragon flying in to land in the meadow where I was lying. When it stopped, it invited me to fly, so I sat on its back and we flew to a land still unknown to me. I stood before the face of the King of Dreams himself. Out of respect and politeness, I knelt, as one should before a king. Beside him stood another empty throne. The Lord of Dreams laughed and ordered me to rise. His servants placed a beautiful golden crown on my head, first bowing deeply before me. The King pointed to the second empty throne and ordered me to sit in that place of honor. Everything took place ceremonially, and then a tiny dwarf delivered a speech about his experiences. It included, among other things, information about how I became their queen, namely: “Her life, full of adventures, looks like one beautiful dream.” Then the servants raised a cheer in my honor and for my adventures. And how did the King know about my adventures? His kingdom is situated on a cloud, so he sees everything from above. Thus I became the Queen of Dreams, which I remain to this day, and my treasures—the crown and scepter—are hidden in a chest of happiness, which I naturally keep hidden from my mother.
This is the last experience I will write to you about, because there are many more; I will tell you the rest when we meet.
Summer arrived. Although the sun was hot, there was a small puddle in the yard. I approached it. The water was clean and transparent, like the water in the Egyptian sea. I have been training hard in swimming recently, so I can hold my breath underwater for four minutes! I took a branch to check how far away the bottom was, but—to my surprise—I could not feel it. When no one was looking, I jumped into the puddle and submerged myself in it as though it were the deepest lake. I still could not feel or see the bottom. It must have been very far away. But not far away, perhaps a hundred meters, I saw what looked like a sunken island, which I swam toward immediately. It looked very modern because it had game arcades, restaurants, hotels, playgrounds, sports fields, and so on. Everything was underwater, of course. The island was inhabited by fish-people. These creatures had fish heads and human bodies, so they could move freely along the ground. Conditions there were perfect for them because there was so much air in the water that people could breathe. I was given a very warm welcome. But suddenly... I heard my mother’s quiet voice calling me, so I announced that I would come—or rather, swim over—another time. We said goodbye warmly again. Fortunately, when I emerged from the “puddle,” there was no one in the yard. Unnoticed, I ran upstairs to my room. I dried myself and went downstairs for lunch.
I would very much like to experience these adventures with you. They would be much more interesting. I really have no idea how we could meet. Write back with your telephone number, and if you have an idea for meeting, that would be great! This is the end of my letter. Be sure to write back!
Your friend Klaudia
P.S. Say hello to your parents and neighbors! I send you warm kisses. We absolutely must meet. I would like to tell you personally about the rest of my amazing adventures.