The Leap into the Unknown

Taking the job in Kraków was something I had dreamed of—breaking free, exploring a new culture, learning to stand on my own. It was everything I wanted. And yet, the closer the departure date got, the more the fear crept in. My family’s concerns didn’t help. Are you sure? Will you be okay? What if something happens? They asked the questions I had buried deep inside. But I put on a brave face. I acted like I had everything under control.

Truth was, I didn’t.

The night before my flight, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with every possible scenario. Would I make friends? Would I be lonely? What if I hated it? But I had already made my choice. So with tears in my family’s eyes—and mine—I stepped forward. If it doesn’t work out, you can always go back. Just stay alive and keep an open mind. That was my only plan.

And then, there I was, landing in a city I had never even imagined visiting. Kraków. Not even the capital. Great start.

Passport control went smoothly but then came my first challenge—luggage. Too many bags, not enough hands, and absolutely no clue where people were getting those rolling carts from. I tried to haul them myself. Very bad idea. Just as I was preparing for a tragic, slow-motion disaster, a kind lady handed me a cart. Wow, people here are nice… and I am an idiot. My face burned with embarrassment, but at least I could move now.

Outside, my taxi driver was waiting. I hopped in, and as we drove, all I could see was green. Parks, trees, open spaces—so much green. It wasn’t the towering skyline I had pictured for my new life, but there was something peaceful about it.

Then, of course, came the small talk.

“Where are you from?” “Why are you here?” “Are you married?” Ah yes, the essentials.

Turns out, my driver had lived in England and spoke perfect English. He seemed genuinely interested in my story, and before I knew it, he was giving me life advice. One, naturally, was to marry a Polish man. Noted.

We arrived at my hotel, and as he helped carry my bags inside, he smiled and said, “You look like a nice girl, so I will help you.” And just like that, Kraków had already shown me its first bit of warmth.

Alone in my room, I unpacked, called my family, and—of course—my mom cried. She actually didn’t stop for a year. And me? Well, if someone cries, I cry too… just after I hang up. Someone had to be the strong one.

Then came another mission—food. I spotted a shopping mall from my balcony, pinned it on my map, and tried to memorize the way there. Spoiler: I’m terrible with maps.

The store visit was simple enough—until checkout. The cashier didn’t speak English, my payment wasn’t going through, and she looked increasingly irritated. What is happening?! I am not trying to run away without paying, lady! She yelled something, I stood there helplessly, and for a brief moment, I considered just leaving my groceries and escaping.

Eventually, I figured it out, paid, and walked back to my hotel—tired, full of emotions, but strangely at peace. I had done it. My first day, my first grocery run. Now, it was time for my first homemade meal.

I should have known it wouldn’t go well.

The noodles were… a crime. No taste, no soul, just sadness in a bowl. So, this is what cooking for yourself feels like. I forced myself to eat them anyway. A lesson had been learned: independence wasn’t just about moving away—it was about knowing how to season your food.

As I sat there, staring at my flavorless disaster, I let out a deep breath.

Day one. Done.

And tomorrow? Well… let’s just say the city had a few surprises waiting for me.