Wednesday, 23 August 2006


Today I talked to one other Pole working at the same factory as I did. He asked me an interesting question 'Do you feel safe living here?' I felt surprised and asked for some explanation behind this question. Thus he told me what's been happening in the neighbourhood he lives in. How his brother-in-law got his car smacked and everything taken out of it because he had Polish plates and how he once found a burning bed in front of his house while watching the TV. He said that this country is screwed and messed up. The only thing I could say was that it's not the fault of this country nor it's people, he just happened to live in a bad neighbourhood where people are lousy and the teenagers have nothing to do with their lives so they look for scapegoats... in this case us, Poles who came to this country to steal their money by working here.

That was said by me. A person who for nearly two months now was called dickface, Polish bastard, Pedro, gay (off the top of my head), who has been threatened with beating, pushed off the road while riding a bike, laughed at, pointed fingers at. Who works while others sit down and do nothing. Who comes to work and is greeted by the 'My name is Chris and I fucking stink' written where I work in the morning. Who everyone tells what he has to do when receiving a job that he, himself, doesn't want to do. This makes me wonder... should I throw away the English flag that I have in my room? But I still have too much faith in this country... I just pray it isn't a blind one...

Work isn't bad, I like it, although I despise the people I work with. Sadly, I'm used to it all. I remembered the words of my father today, I heard him saying them to me, although it was so long ago, I can never forget them, but I'll try to put a bit of a context behind them.

About 10 years ago, we moved from the city I was born in into another. I did not know the true reason behind this then, but my parents tried to change how I always came home crying... either bruised, my things stolen or spit at and laughed at... more in the neighbourhood I lived in than at school... I could run at school, but I had to come back home, and walk through the only door to the building no matter what route I took. And so we moved, it wasn't any better... my dad took me to the psychologist in order to help me fit in with the environment. I don't remember what we talked about, I only remember that when we walked out, and the door closed, my dad told me that wherever we go, it's always the same. He told me what he thought: 'It's not the environment's fault, there's something wrong with you.'

Now, looking back... at the schools I went to, and the workplace I am at currently... I guess he was more right than I might have suspected...

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