You live and you die in numbers.
Just north of Krakow’s old town enclave lies a small stretch of freeway that connects the historic city’s ring road to the country’s national highway network further up north. To the freeway’s one side lie a series of shiny, newly built apartments. Directly opposite lies Rakowicki cemetery, one of the city’s oldest. The peace and quiet secured by the latter,I guess, must have also been a selling point for the former: that, perhaps, together with the advantage of vantage offered by the relatively unobstructed views that presumably come with neighbouring a site that no longer competes for height. And yet there is something that feels even more striking in this otherwise blissfully sunny day here in this fifteen-century old city. Sure, we are born, live and die alone: but we do so in great numbers, we do so, we do both next to and on top of one another. All that separates the shiny apartment complex from the cemetery is a hop along that freeway: a nearly too obvious metaphor for the splinter of a second that our lives last in the grand scheme of things. Here in Krakow, life goes on. As it would be, and perhaps as it should be. It goes on. Yes, there are easily more Ukrainian than Polish flags on display (I counted). Yellow and blue flags sticking out of barber shops, out of municipal buildings, out of bike repair shops and apartments. And yes, the acts of solidarity are everywhere, from the wall murals to the mass meals and clothes distribution sites, to the stories of people and businesses taking the newcomers under new roofs. People are aware, of course. How could they not be? They are opening their homes, they are outpouring solidarity. But they also know that they must go on, that life must go on until the moment it no longer does so (…) Soon enough, it becomes very easy to discern the refugees on the streets of Krakow. They are often in small groups, four, five or six of them, children and women always, men never. There are other hints: a bag carrying a sleeping bag or a moment of being lost at a junction, a fleeting pause in a life that goes on until it no longer does so.