Constantly shrinking despite trying to grow,
Increasing the volume of my soul,
Yet my body remains rigid, behold—
A desire that can no longer fit
The silhouette I constrained myself to.

Being present,
Yet feeling like I cannot continue to do
All the things I once loved so daringly.
Transformed into something
I care less for, despite the yearning.

The pain turning into a physical state,
While constantly fighting this internal debate.
Nobody but you can relate—
Nobody sees what lies beneath the skin,
The war between what I am
And what I have been.

To be seen as not keen,
To be spoken, yet broken,
To be a woman understanding all that's human.

I've let go of too many things;
There is little that joy brings.
And with that, the new me begins,
Putting aside what's been,
Clearing the path for a new regime.

It has been 2 months, 3 weeks, and 1 day since I landed in Shanghai, which, when summed up, amounts to 79 sunrises so far. Time flies fast, and waking up today, I realised I don't have much time left here. It was neither surprising nor unexpected, yet this realisation came with a certain sadness. Many things have happened since I wrote the previous letter. I changed apartments and, with that, the people I have around me. I also managed to find some work and discovered a small Polish community that felt like a puzzle piece fitting perfectly into my so-called scattered reality.

If someone were to ask me whether I miss home, my answer would be: not really. I don't get homesick easily. There are things I miss, though, and those are the people and the happy memories I know I could have created in Europe. Shanghai feels even more like home now. I've finally reached the point where I can trust my sense of direction without constantly relying on GPS, despite still not being able to read the street names properly. I recognise my neighbours and throw in the few Chinese words I know to make our conversations more alive. I cannot say I've seen it all; the city is far too big to wander through every little alley. Yet I have this feeling of having seen enough, enough to confidently admit that I am no longer a stranger.

I don't think I'll go into too much detail about everything that has happened, because I need to leave something for us to talk about when we meet again. Still, there is plenty to share. With a certain longing, I await the evening when we meet once more and exchange those stories against the backdrop of London's busy streets. I'm still not sure where my next destination lies, but I believe fate knows what it is doing, and for now, I remain willing to trust it. Wherever I land next, this exchange of written words will continue.

Sometimes I feel tiny and insignificant. It comes and goes. I keep forgetting about it, and then it hits me again in the quietest moments.

I used to say that I don't look for external validation, at least not consciously. Maybe you're right that it's an integral force that keeps society together, and that one has to care, at least to some extent, in order to be part of it. But I experience these comparisons differently.

I genuinely don't want everybody to like me, although I know I'm quite capable of earning people's approval. It's simply an acting skill I acquired a long time ago. What I want is to do and achieve some of the things that so many people around me have managed to accomplish.

It's a constant longing for something that, for now, remains out of my reach. I know I'm capable. I know that if I ever reach a certain point of desperation, I will be able to turn an abstraction into living form.

But it isn't really a matter of capability. It's a matter of making my own path, and my own actions, as important to me, and within the world I paint inside my head, as those of others. Even objectively, how can I compare myself to the people I admire? And I admire so many different people.

I value you greatly: your virtues, your loyalty, your maturity. Those aren't qualities that need to be performed. They emerge when everything else falls apart, proving themselves to be as true as the fact that you're here.

I wish I could give something back. I'm not sure that I do. Probably not in the way you would, but perhaps in the complete opposite way. Still, I firmly believe that we are meant to be who we are, as different as we may be.

I thought I'd leave this as a note. You are already ahead of me in so many ways, simply by walking your own path, while I'm still learning how to walk mine.

I was walking back home after a very productive midday study session, very much lost in my own thoughts, listening to one of the waltzes from Amélie and imagining myself as her while literally being on the opposite side of the planet.

Let me digress for a moment to give you some context and background on my current situation.

I divided this stay in Shanghai into three parts, and the first one is about to come to an end. The first month has been an insanely challenging one, not only because of the difficult start, but also because of the number of things that piled up around that time. I was working hard on the final touch-ups to my master's thesis. I've got to say that the VPN was, at times, putting me into a mentally unstable state, mirroring the on-and-off nature of the connection itself. Not to mention the pressure the agency applied to make me lose even more weight, together with my own ambition to check off the most touristy spots from my list within the first week so that I could finally explore the less mainstream side of the city.

It was a month full of ups and downs, as well as reflections on past memories. One thing I wanted to highlight is that I am extremely grateful for having found the inner strength to escape the comfortable reality I had been stuck in back in Poland. I already feel that this trip has made me realise so many things I didn't know about myself.

It is still a little funny to think that I have become free of four more responsibilities, yet I still have my thesis submission ahead of me and an insane drive to learn my first 300 Chinese characters. I suppose it will never stop, or at least I hope it won't.

I've got to say that this will be a rather chaotic monologue, since I don't wish it to be perfect. Secondly, I want to share it with you despite my recent lack of mental clarity and the fact that I simply have far too many things to share. Forgive me for that.

Going back to today's walk, I felt like sharing a moment and the thoughts that accompanied it. It was raining, as I mentioned. The rainy season is approaching Shanghai. The rain felt different. It was warm; the droplets were almost the same temperature as my body. Every drop that touched my skin triggered a pleasant sensation. It almost felt as though somebody was gently touching my hair, then my face, before finally letting their fingers slide down my shoulders.

I remember stopping and tilting my head back to feel the rain on my slightly parted lips. That sensation made me realise how much I miss human touch, not merely its physical aspect, but also the bond and intimacy that come with it. It is surprisingly difficult to establish that here.

I remember you saying that there are plenty of expats living here and that I would surely find some sort of companion. The truth is that I have met many expats, but I often feel as though they are running away from something or distancing themselves from their past. Their reasons for being here are usually work or the standard of living, as it is quite affordable to live in Shanghai. I find many of them strangely detached from reality and, to be honest, rather uninspiring.

The people who have instead become the focal point of my attention are the locals.

I'd love to introduce you to an old man who sells scallion flatbread and crispy cornbread from a stall three minutes away from my apartment. He is there only in the mornings, and I have grown quite fond of the fluffy texture of the cornbread and its crispy bottom, especially when it is served warm.

The first time I walked up to him to buy some, he looked at me with the most genuine smile. We obviously communicate mainly through gestures, pointing at things and bowing slightly in approval. Yet the way he looked at me that first time was as warm as the look you exchange with a relative you haven't seen in a very long while.

I like him a great deal despite not knowing a single thing about him. The only thing I am certain of is that he is a good man who works incredibly hard alongside his wife, running their little flatbread stall.

The second person I want to tell you about is my friend Alchun. I have a feeling he may become a recurring character in future letters, since we seem to get along remarkably well. He's the only person here whom I have managed to genuinely open up to.

He's a middle-class Chinese man, I know you like that phrasing, from a rather poor region of China, more specifically from the city of Ürümqi. His English is decent, and besides that he speaks French, Japanese, Uyghur, and is currently studying Spanish. As well-read as he is, most of his knowledge has come from books. In fact, he constantly recommends titles he thinks I might enjoy. I am currently reading Slaves Underground because of him.

Apart from exploring the written world together, we are planning to travel either to his hometown or to Japan. He works for Toyota, so he flies there every two weeks anyway.

Okay, enough of the personal introductions.

Let me move on to why I find him different from the others I have briefly met here.

He has a deep understanding of his own country and its cultural heritage, while also knowing a great deal about the world beyond it. He is able to see things through my foreign eyes while contrasting them with his native perspective. He has given me an entirely different understanding of mainland Chinese society and its mindset.

There is something even more valuable than that.

He is remarkably gentle in the way he shares these insights. He unfolds facts, tells stories, and explains behaviours that would otherwise remain completely foreign to me. It feels as though we have found a dynamic that is equally rewarding for both of us.

Through his eyes, for the first time, I understood who I am here.

I had thought it was relatively simple: I was a model in Shanghai, a white, conventionally attractive, skinny girl. But how others actually saw me remained a mystery.

Through conversations with him, I realised that many ordinary Chinese people look at me with a kind of envy I had never been aware of before. Many see me as someone who possesses the freedom to choose where she lives and where she goes, something they themselves often cannot experience. Apparently, even travelling to Japan requires a visa, which is not always easy for an ordinary person to obtain.

This may be one of the reasons why many people do not learn English. They feel there is little point if they cannot easily travel beyond their country's borders, and even when they do, there is always an end date attached to it.

The way they look at me is shaped not only by my appearance, but also by the opportunities that seem to lie before me. It was a lesson that completely shifted my perspective and made me want to understand all of this even more.

I don't want to make this letter too long, but I would really love for you to share one of your own moments with me and tell me how the ex-chocolatier is doing these days.

I found myself thinking about you during both the difficult and the happy moments, recalling your blue eyes and trying to see things through them as well.

Lying in my bed, feeling my body sink into the mattress, I gazed upon the full moon hanging over Shanghai. My muscles relaxed beneath the weight of the duvet while I kept my eyes fixed on the pale light suspended above the city.

Although my body had already been worn down by the heaviness of the day, my thoughts felt light and untethered, drifting towards the only source of light beaming through the window.

In that very moment, I thought about you deeply and fondly. I've found myself recalling your warm hands more often these days, and your blue eyes that resemble the sea. I feel connected to you despite us living entirely different lives, separated by both distance and time.

I kept wondering: what if you were here? But what if you never will be? The timing does not matter, nor does the location. The reassurance will never come. I do not even seek it, and yet, somehow, you provide it. You are always here.

For all my independence, you make me feel whole in ways I cannot find the words to describe.

I want you to read this letter carefully, but only care for the parts you find right.

The brightest moon in Shanghai is the one you will see six hours from now.

Just wait until sunrise.