Today, I decided to take a day off. In the morning, I planne..

Today, I decided to take a day off. In the morning, I planned to go to the cinema, but, by some twist of fate, I ended up at the wrong cinema. Though, coincidences are rarely just coincidences.

I was in a melancholic-philosophical mood, and I just went for a walk around the city.

It so happened that I found myself near a place I have long loved—a cemetery I know like the back of my hand, every path, every old gravestone. And perhaps, at that moment, I was meant to be there.

I often come here—not out of sadness or grief, but because this place is filled with silence, I feel the breath of time, and some harmony between life and death. Each monument here is someone’s story, frozen in stone, and among these stories, you can hear your own. I bring my friends and acquaintances here, because maybe, among these shadows of the past, we can better understand who we are in the present.

so know, if you were my guest in Poland, the first place I would take you is the cemetery 😅

There were a lot of people at the cemetery today. I looked at the people around me and thought: in everyday life, I would never have guessed that they, too, enjoy walking in a place like this. Our gazes crossed without words, yet it felt as if we understood each other in silence.

As I walked, I listened to music, and one line suddenly struck me. The song spoke of a journey—of how we walk, stumble, rise again, overcome waves, and cross fields. And isn’t that what life is? Moving forward, falling, getting back up. Such a simple truth, yet in that moment, it resonated with me in a completely new way, as if I had grasped its depth for the first time.

We often hear words of encouragement: "Don't give up," "Worrying won’t change anything now," "This, too, shall pass."

These phrases are so familiar that they almost lose their meaning. But if you really think about it, there is a simple and timeless wisdom in them. We hear these words from childhood, but we only begin to understand them when we ourselves go through pain, through the passage of time.

Sometimes, it feels like pain is endless, like this moment is the darkest night. But time truly heals. It doesn’t erase, doesn’t pretend nothing happened—but it teaches us to see things differently. We learn to find beauty even in places where we once saw only darkness. And maybe that is the real meaning of the journey—not to avoid suffering, but to learn how to walk through it without losing ourselves.

p.s

I also found a fresh grave of some woman who lived to be 103 years old. I wonder what her life was like? Judging by the huge number of flowers, she was very much loved, she had a large family. I noticed one very touching wreath on which was written "for beloved Bambam", apparently one of the grandchildren called her that and this is their personal story and personal word 🤍