Weronika Donovan is an amateur writer and photographer. She's an artistic soul. She was born in Poland, where she was brought up and educated. Her adventure with writing began in her late teens, but she started blogging only ten years later. Her poetry has grown since that time. She started to use words more consciously. She defined the journey of her life, portraying it in four volumes of poetry. First of them called 'Ghosts' was self-published in 2019.
Weronika is a loner. She likes wandering to interesting places, always choosing her own path.
The other day I watched a movie called ‘The Milk of Sorrow’. Sad and dramatic as it was, it somehow explained something that was happening in my life.
Even though my mother told me that she wanted to have another baby [me], I found it hard to believe that this was true. Feeling, what I’ve been feeling for all those years, I still hardly believe it.
I’ve always felt unwanted.
It didn’t matter what people said about me. Good daughter, loyal friend, diligent student. I’ve always felt like I wasn’t supposed to be here. Being around all those happy people, brought me down even more. To the point where the only thing I want to do is to pick flowers in heaven.
Tell me, Mother.
Bitter have I become, drinking the milk of sorrow.
I’ve planned my whole life. I wanted to get a job that I was good at and I wanted to move out of the town that I didn’t like. Every day, I imagined myself living far away from here in my new home and doing things I like. Simple, isn’t it?
How could it all fall apart? The job limited my creativity, people were talking on and on. My new home was made from paper, easy to burn down. The town was rotten to its roots, wouldn’t grow a single sunflower.
Where am I now?
What do I want?
I want to wake up in the morning and watch the mist clear above the woods and fields, drinking coffee on a patio.
I want to leave the house at dawn and climb a mountain only to watch the sunrise.
I want to drive somewhere, for the sake of driving.
I want to leave the house at sunset and walk the streets of a town, watching it fall asleep, waiting for lights.
My mother has told me lately that I lost the joy of life. I thought: ‘Oh, have I?’ She made me think about what ‘joy’ really means. Is it joy when you pet your dog, and he jumps on you and licks your face? Then you laugh and beg him to stop.
Or is it joy when you put a smile on, pretending that you’re happy because you’ve just started a new job.
Can you tell the difference? Can you recognize it?
I don’t understand how some people can smile and be joyful all the time. Nice to everyone around them. That must be draining… because are they really? Are they really like this when no one is looking?
Have I lost the joy of life? No. In order to lose something, you have to own it in the first place.
Last week I picked a chair at one of the neatly organised desks and folded some paper, so I could write numbers in columns. Soon after, the numbers blurred away when my eyes started daydreaming.
I was sat there, looking out the window, where the wind was free and he led the leaves to their destination. I shouted after him, but the glass was soundproof. I wanted to catch him, but my fingers were stuck by glue.
Why didn’t I feel content when I’d chosen this room myself?
I looked around me, at the people bent over the desks. Nobody saw it, nobody listened. I made everything up in my head. Again.
I looked at the people and I envied them. Their simple minds, simple jobs, simple lives. They’re grateful for their jobs. They’re happy to be alive, surrounded by the loved ones. That’s all what mattered.
What is there that I’m looking for? Bored already by the plainly written words on the folded sheet of paper. What is there?
I look in the mirror and I see my face. I know what it looks like. I know my name. I know where I was born. But I still don’t know who I am.
Once, I was told that I was just a tramp. Trash. Nobody.
I believed them.
I’ve been struggling my whole life to believe that I am actually worth something. I feel unwanted and pushed down to the bottom, despite my skills and knowledge I meticulously acquired. I feel unworthy everyday.
Every day I swim in the oceans too heavy for my soul.
There once was a drop of water, who had lived on a small leaf near to the ground. She spent there all days disappearing silently into the air at night and appearing again in the morning as dew. Always sitting on the same leaf.
One day, the wind whiffed low and gently brushed the leaf with the drop of water on it. The wind stopped there swirling around.
‘What are you doing here, drop of water?’ he asked.
‘I live here, that’s my home,’ she responded.
‘Why is that? Shouldn’t you flow with the stream?’ the wind couldn’t understand.
‘No, it’s dangerous,’ she said.
‘Shouldn’t you pour down with the rain?’
‘No, that’s too much risk.’
‘Shouldn’t you create waves together with the ocean?’ the wind kept asking.
‘But… I’m scared.’
‘Why are you scared of who you are? Stream, rain, ocean… these are what you’re meant to be.’
‘Of course, these are what I’m meant to be. I am water. I could be anywhere. I just choose to be nowhere,’ the water said and hid behind the leaf.
I’ve fallen into a rabbit hole. Everything seems like a dream, except for everything is true.
And everything I wanted to be true now is in limbo. I don’t know what to do because, whatever I’ll do, I know I won’t be satisfied either way. That frustrate me so much that I want to run away far away, where I can’t read and listen and see anything that is unwelcome by my inner self.
That’s my life now.
Why has it happened when I started understanding things and wanting things to be my way?
Because I wanted everything at once and now I have to pay for it.
I look at the time, feel it escaping from under my feet. The ground full of dull colours tries to tie my legs, so I run through the forest of leafless trees. The crying branches painfully cut my skin and squeeze my body in their strong grips. I feel like I can’t breathe… The deck of cards is after me, wanting to suck the paint out of me.
What is your first thought when you wake up in the morning?
Where am I? How long have I been here? Who am I going to be today? Who am I going to be for the next five years?
I wanted to be someone new. Someone whose life is exciting and full of adventure. I’d dreamed of my new life every day, pictured it in details and couldn’t wait it to be true.
Everything had been drawn. Everything had been planned…. Everything fell from the cliff into the wild sea I wanted to feel in my heart.
Now I’m standing on the edge. Torn. Either I step back into the comfort of the soft grass or jump to catch my dreams. It’s only a nanosecond and suddenly I find myself calling after the wind who takes everything.
What do your dreams look like? What colours do they have?
Mine were blue and purple, until they became grey and black, until they became ash.
I wasted all my energy on chopping wood, so that I could heat my home that never existed. Instead, I should have been dreaming of the fire that warmed me up, that calmed me down. Now there’s nothing left…
Everything I’d drawn lies at my feet pretending to be a jigsaw. I don’t want to make them whole, though. And everything I’d created blurred away into a crayon smudge that I desperately want to get rid off.
And I’m still here… The waterfall is in place to drown me, choke me to death.