Adventures of a scholar in the post-pandemic world - Day 9

Predictions for the old country are bad. I still follow on "Gazeta Wyborcza" the fight the opposition is trying to wage, but whatever they attempt to do is clearly not a winning strategy. The chaos grows, and with it, the chance of sudden, unpredictable developments. In my estimation, the probability of getting through this crisis are less than some carefully counted 5%; and the count is so high only due to the risk of popular revolt to defend the European founding to confront the economic crisis. Even so, the probability of successful authoritarian takeover is crushing. The European Union won't send tanks, of course, to restore order. Although what it will actually do is under a shining interrogation mark; I don't even spare a guess. From the Polish side, I guess the failure in organising presidential election, in the middle of the pandemic and the chaos of crisscrossing laws and parliamentary proposals, will serve as a justification for measures that will be a great surprise for everyone. Just the kind of surprise I remember from the time I was eight, and one Sunday morning switched on our TV set to see my favourite children's program "Teleranek". And instead of the familiar cartoon cock I saw a bespectacled man speaking gravely, with the national flag in the background. I think they played Chopin on that occasion; I could never listen to that music again without trembling. I bet we will hear Chopin again, as well. 
And this is how I say good bye to my books, to my small box of jewellery, to half-emptied flasks of perfumes, to the CDs that I left in my Cracovian apartment. No more valuables there. When I was leaving, I avoided carrying any weights, because I was afraid I might cough; it used to happen before. On the other hand, I still had the illusion that my travel was a mere fancy, that I was just going to Lisbon, under the excuse of doing some more research, because I had money on my account and could do this, simply pay for my womanly silliness. That soon enough I would be back, smiling at my womanhood and telling alhamdulillah it was only a moment, a sharp bend of History, in which women screamed. Those years of my Arabian marriage taught me that womanly silliness should be fully acknowledged, respected, and financed without a frown. But of course I know there is a hidden wisdom behind such attitudes. These last ten thousand years or so, many a tribe has avoided total biological annihilation just because the women have the presence of mind to panic in the right moment. 
The old reality flows away from me, every day it stays farther and farther behind. The real trouble is that my old self is dead and gone together with it. That old girl without the front teeth, constantly doubting if she can take on any good thing coming her way. That girl bearing all the contempt and suffering she had passed through written on her face. That stoic survivalist confronting the reality pragmatically, one step at a time, and slightly, unfervently believing in a God who loves beauty...