52 Cups of Coffee: Inspiring and insightful stories for navigating life’s uncertainties (21 page)

Janina Pasik

Janina’s home outside of Warsaw, Poland

Small brewed coffee

Always be good to others.

As I sat on a train to Warsaw, I had no idea what I would find when I arrived.

Since we met for coffee in November, Piotr Pasik, Cup 17, and I had become good friends. When he found out I was going to be in Europe, he insisted I swing through Warsaw to visit his grandmother (whom he was home visiting). After two weeks of being in big cities surrounded by typical tourist attractions, a chance to get off the beaten path sounded wonderful. I rearranged my itinerary so I could stop by for a visit.

Piotr and his cousin picked me up from the train station
, and we drove 40 minutes to Nowe Miasto—a town of 2,500 where a five-minute walk could get you from one side of town to the other.

When we arrived, Piotr
’s grandma, Janina, welcomed me with a big kiss on the cheek and a hug like only an experienced
babcia
(grandma) could give. She didn’t speak English but the twinkle in her eyes and the way she kept smiling as she clutched my arm told me everything I needed to know—she was excited I had come for a visit.

I dropped my
bags in the living room, and Piotr’s cousin got me a glass of water while his grandma and aunt finished preparing lunch. It made an American Thanksgiving dinner look like a snack: tomato noodle soup, salad, cabbage with sausage, stuffed chicken, fried chicken, meatballs, pickled veggies
and
three kinds of homemade desert. It was an incredible meal that left me stuffed (I discovered that when an adorable grandma offers you food, no matter how full you are, it is impossible to say no).

Once lunch finished, Piotr took me
on a tour of Nowe Miasto and explained the town’s history and culture. It was fascinating to see Poland from a native’s perspective and get a feel for what life had been like for Piotr’s family. His stories inspired me to ask Piotr if he thought his grandma would be willing to be a part of my project.

As the sun was setting, we returned to the house
, and Janina insisted she cook us something for dinner; before I knew it, I was once again sitting at a table filled with dishes of food. I told Janina two crepes would suffice, but she insisted I needed four (which I ate, because, again, it’s impossible to tell a Polish grandma no).

Piotr explained my project to his grandmother
, and she agreed to share her stories with me, which Piotr would translate. When dinner finished, we remained sitting around the table so we could talk. The night was getting late, so I decided to start with a direct question: “If you could give one piece of advice to young adults, what would it be?”

I had no idea how the conversation would go and realized I was holding my breath as Janina pondered the question for a moment before providing an answer. Piotr listened to his
grandmother’s response and then took a moment to collect his thoughts and translate: Be very friendly to others, do good things, help.

* * *

Janina was 86 years old, which meant she was 18 when the Germans invaded Poland at the start of WWII. The invasion, which would last five years, had spurred several resistance movements, which Janina had quickly joined. Her involvement duties had varied, but a common task was to walk 12 kilometers to a hidden location in the woods where she would pick up bottles containing messages to be delivered to the hospital. She never knew what the messages said, or why they were being delivered to the hospital, she was simply a messenger.

I asked if her parents had known about her involvement and she said yes; her father and cousin had also been a part of the movement. When I asked her what would have happened had she been caught, she paused for a solemn moment before taking her index finger and sliding it across her neck
, indicating a fate I didn’t need Piotr’s translation to understand.

As the German invasion
intensified, Janina’s family was removed from their home and forced to move in with another family—seven people stuffed into a one-bedroom house while a war raged on in their backyard.

The family
did their best to make the most of the situation until the Soviets helped liberate Poland in 1944, and then the war ended in ’45. A year later, she met and married her husband, a young man who had spent nearly six years as a Polish prisoner-of-war. The young couple, wanting to get as far away from the pain and destruction that was left once the war ended, moved to the south of Poland to raise their children. A few years later, their daughter fell ill so Janina and her husband packed up their stuff and moved back to Nowe Miasto to be closer to family.

Although the war had ended, Janina
’s struggles had not: she still faced life under a new communist regime, lived in a city trying to rebuild after great destruction, and would lose her husband at the young age of 55 to cancer.

As I sat at the kitchen table listening to Janina
’s story, with a small candle providing light against the encroaching darkness of night, I was deeply moved. This wonderful old woman, not even five feet tall, had endured a life filled with continual hardship, yet still had a twinkle in her eye and warmth in her smile.

When she asked Piotr if I had any more questions, I had so many thoughts swirling through my head I couldn
’t formulate one. I could only have Piotr pass along the message that I was inspired by her incredible strength.

* * *

The following day I visited the Warsaw Uprising Museum to learn more about the many people involved in the resistance movement. It was an incredible museum, and I appreciated it even more after hearing Janina’s firsthand account.

As I wandered through the pictures and artifacts repr
esenting the horror, suffering, and imprisonment of Poland’s past, I tried putting myself in her shoes and imagining how she must have felt, but I couldn’t. What Janina went through in her adolescence was far beyond what I could grasp. I reflected instead on her initial advice: “Be friendly to others, do good, help.” The words seemed simple at the time, even cliché. But, after getting to know Janina, I learned that even those simple ideas could have powerful results.

When you
are facing a truly dark situation, the best way to move forward might be to do whatever you can to bring light to others.

Roman Kroke

Art House Tacheles in Berlin, Germany

Espresso

Find balance; it makes life more interesting.

I was sitting on a small floor cushion inside a fourth-floor studio in
Art House Tacheles. It was an art center in Berlin, Germany, which began as a department store in the Jewish quarter and later a Nazi prison. When the Berlin Wall fell, the partially demolished building was taken over by artists and transformed into studio space and a nightclub. Its interior is filled with wall-to-wall graffiti and a stream of visitors looking at both the building and the art of its tenants.

Roman Kroke
’s studio was much calmer than the rest of the building. Old American music played softly in the background while small candles on the table created a soft light illuminating the walls—walls covered with black and white photos, old handwritten notes, and illustrations depicting scenes from the 1940s. After spending a day discovering Berlin’s history, I was moved to be in a building—and room—with such history and character.

The
illustrations on Roman’s wall depicted excerpts from
Diaries of the Dutch Jew Etty Hillesum
. It was one of his most prominent projects. Etty was in her mid-20s during the Holocaust. The book, published posthumously, started with intimate diary reflections describing the difficulties of life in Amsterdam during the German Occupation. The second half was a series of letters she sent from the Westerbork concentration camp, where she lived until she was taken to Auschwitz and killed. Roman had illustrated several scenes from the book for a documentary titled
The Convoy
and was turning the illustrations into a published book.

The pictures and letters covering Roman
’s walls served as both research and inspiration. His work focuses on the Holocaust and Berlin’s history, which helps draw attention to events that are too often forgotten or misinterpreted. He loves interpreting history from a fresh perspective.

As he told me, “
The events of yesterday can teach us lessons we can apply tomorrow.”

Roman
’s career was much different than the one he had when he left law school. As a young student, he had a difficult time narrowing his many interests into one degree, but eventually settled on International Human Rights Law. After several internships, his law career got off to a good start; however, he quickly realized he was not meant for the life of a lawyer. His true passion was illustration.

He continued working part-time as a lawyer and researc
her while he launched his art career. Eventually, he reached a point where he could be an artist full time. When I asked Roman if there was something he wished he had known back when he finished earning his law degree, he answered with a metaphor: “Every tree begins as a seed and grows inch by inch. No seed becomes a big tree overnight, because every step is necessary.”

It was a powerful way of explaining you have to endure both good and bad to grow.

Roman answered many of my questions with the same poetic insight—or simply answered my question with one of his own. I appreciated his insight and imagination; it kept me on my toes.

Roman
sees the world from a unique perspective. This quality led to fascinating and thought-provoking conversation. I could see why the friend with whom I was staying in Berlin had suggested we meet. Our conversation covered a variety of topics: one minute we were talking about the art workshops he ran for high school kids, the next I was writing down a list of my favorite country-music artists.

I had told him I liked country music because
it reminded me of home, and he asked me to write down a few names, as he’d never been a country listener. After I had written the list, Roman looked at it and commented that my handwriting was interesting: very linear—straight lines, sharp points, and few curves. I found his observation intriguing, because earlier that week I looked through the dozens of photos I had taken since I started my trip and realized I was drawn to images that had straight lines and symmetry. I took out my camera and showed him one of my favorites: a cross-section of the Berlin wall that had several straight, parallel, lines:

Roman looked at the
photo and agreed that it was very linear, but then he noted the fluffy clouds and blue sky were an important piece of the photo. He said without the sunny backdrop, the image would be too structured and therefore boring. Then he pointed out how the reverse was also true: an image of a blue sky without substance would also be boring.

What made the photo interesting was the mix of the two: the dichotomy of the wall
’s strong presence against the peacefulness of the sky. It had the right balance.

I loved his critique of my photo because his insight related to more than just photography: It related to life.
“The key is finding the right balance.”

Then
Roman and I talked about the challenges of doing creative work, especially when self-employed. It was clear many of his challenges stemmed from finding the right mix of two things: working hard without burning out; moving a project forward without forcing it; enjoying the moment, but still preparing for the future; being creative yet pragmatic, confident yet humble. The list continued.

* * *

I was glad I had met Roman and heard his stories before going back to the U.S. and jumping into a career. Too often, people get wrapped up in their work and neglect other aspects of their lives: family, friends, health, etc. It works for a while, but if the balance is off for too long, things start to fall apart.

Cup 41 and the picture of Berlin
serve as a reminder that life needs structure, but not so much that it doesn’t have blue skies too.