New Year’s Day 2023
Much has happened since that flight on the Lot IL-62 out of Poland in ‘84.
Defecting with my mother, meeting my Jewish side of the family and my grandma for the only time, seeking political asylum, refugee camp, meeting the pope, Canada, hockey, Hiphop, addiction, confinement, a career in TV, parenthood, marriage, and now separation to name a few things. But I’ll get to that, more pertinently yesterday the year 2022 ended. And as I reflect on the year that was in the review mirror, I realize I’m in a major moment of flux. 2022 saw some of the greatest highs and lows of my life. Perhaps not as low as when I was trying to naw at my wrists to take my own life in solitary confinement, just to end the abuse at the hands of the Toronto Police Service, but certainly the kind of low that in the moment of reflection make you realize you’re going through some shit. The highs well maybe they were the best yet, these are a bit harder to define because they seem a lot more ephemeral than the lows. At the least they seem to have less limits and don’t ever feel fully fulfilled.
I’ve stated this before but I’m a realistic optimist, perhaps why I’m such a big dreamer, because it all seems so possible. You know the idea of video phones seemed more far out there to me as a kid than world peace.
But here we are it’s Jan. 1, 2023 and as I woke up to a phone call from my dad telling me my uncle had passed away after an adult life fuelled by alcoholism, and a somewhat brief but hard battle with cancer. Oddly enough this is the same uncle that was in ZOMO (The Motorized Reserves of the Citizens' Militia, a paramilitary-police force during the communist era in Poland.) and was responsible for one of my earliest New Year’s eve celebrations when his colleague in ZOMO and him came to baby sit me 40 years ago to the day in for New Years 1983. I’ll never forget it because as my parents were out celebrating New Years somewhere he and his buddy in uniform taught me at the age of 8 how to take apart, clean and put back together an AK-47. I remember pretty vividly having had put back together the Kalashnikov and pretending to shoot at the images of bad guys on of the Charlie’s Angels reruns the communist were showing on the TV that New Year’s eve. The same TV that btw that just a couple of years earlier announced martial law in Poland that preempted the 10 minutes of cartoons per day that us communist children would get in those days. The same martial law that would mobilize my uncle to be in ZOMO and have to carry an AK-47. He was a good man, lived a hard life but enjoyed much of it. He had the same name same as me ‘Grzegorz’, though I’m sure for vastly different reasons. He leaves behind a saint for a partner, and a daughter who is incredibly smart. He was the last one of my blood relatives living on my grandparents estate in Gdańsk, and now only two of the five Talkowski children remain. My mom and her younger brother, both of whom are Canadian citizens. In my resolve to actually share my experience going forward and being an open book, I’ll continue to write out the details of 2022, and the improbable journey of freedom and hope I’m on. Happy New Year ! - @Stro1
