It’s Piła. After over two weeks of wandering around with no apparent motive, I am finally going back to my hometown, Koszalin. I must say I felt very happy today when I got off the train and took a deep breath — the air was incredibly fresh and fragrant compared to that in Warsaw.

On 24th August, 2014 I am goint to China for a year. In 11 days I will leave behind my ordinary Polish life and set out to find new inspirations in a metropolis called Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan province, known for its spicy cuisine, proximity to Tibet, scenic spots and beautiful women.

When I got my plane ticket two months ago, I was absolutely sure I don’t want to prolong my stay in Poland. I assumed I won’t have anything to do here, anyway, and I’d better leave as soon as possible. The flight I’m going to take only leaves once a week; there was one on 17th, 24th and 31st August, each, but the tickets for the 17th were sold out, so I chose the 24th and prepared for two months of idleness and boredom. In the meantime, I indulged in bad eating habits, including consuming fast food and skipping meals, drank bubble tea on a regular basis (and it’s insanely expensive in Poland!)

On Tuesday, 29th July, I got on the train from Poznań to Warsaw at 1:30 p.m. with my bike. I chained it on a suitable spot and went on to look for a place to sit. I eventually chose the first row with two free places next to each other that I found. Unexpectedly, there was a really gorgeous blonde sitting opposite me. Later she said that few people can look at the boobs of a woman they just met the way I did so unembarrassedly without the woman taking him for a pathetic retard. Our conversation supposedly started when the so-called Woodstock Train — full of drunk people carrying a few dozen bottles of beer and a few ounces of hard drugs each — set out for its journey from Poznań to Kostrzyn, where Woodstock festival took place. The people on the other train were very loud. I asked her if she was going to Warsaw — and she was, which meant I was going to spend a few hours with her. I told her I was going to Warsaw to get my Chinese visa, and she had a job assessment the next day. We talked about all the usual crap people always do.

And yet she didn’t run away. The next day we met up in Gold Terraces, a shopping mall in the centre of Warsaw, known among inhabitants of the capital for bad taste and high prices. We were absolutely sure we’ll never see each other again. The next time we met, she gave me a book by the Israeli writer Etgar Keret, Suddenly, a Knock on the Door (a good title, by the way.) It’s a good one. One day I’ll become a good writer like him; I always wanted to become one, ever since I learned to write and type at the age of six. Then again, maybe I won’t, but even if I won’t, I still want to write down my impressions of China and publish them here.

I know it’s not autumn yet, it’s just the middle of August. And yet I had this weird feeling today, the same I had every year when going to school. It was the restless anticipation, when I was getting tired of holidays and wanted to go to school again. Every year I was filled with enthusiasm to get up early every morning to have decent breakfast and go to school on time. Of course, after a few weeks or even days all this joy was long gone and all I was left with was compulsory education, homework I never used to do, and duties. I cannot say I have ever been a big fan of going to school, but at least I could assume that since I was already wasting time on something I didn’t want to do, I could as well do something fun in this time. That’s how I learned to always have a good book in my bag. I would never speak such good Chinese as I do now if I didn’t practise writing and learn vocabulary items in Maths and Geography classes. The school was also a good place to meet cool people, especially girls.

And now I’m not going to school any more. But after two years at university I am suddenly going to have to attend classes at 8 a.m. every single day. And I like green tea. I’m going to have a lot of green tea in China.