by Leszczynska


I'm an artist and freelance animator living in Edinburgh, Scotland.
For the portfolio of my work visit:


white stuff break

I just arrived at my parents' home for Chritmas. It's all white here. Holiday break time for a week.


The same story from alternative point of view:

On Sunday, as I usually do on Sundays, I woke up around 2 in the afternoon, after having drinks till 5am with people I work with at the bar. Then, as usual, I found that I have very little in my fridge, and since Sunday's the only day off I get, I crawl out to do grocery shopping. Yes, this story is exciting. My hobby is baking, I bake up to three times a week, and at very least once, thus most of my shopping is somehow baking-related.

On the way to the shops, I passed by yet another busker on Rose St. They're always there, in one form or another. The guy wasn't anything special, but wasn't too bad either. That reminded me of THE busker, the guy who kept consequently turning my life into misery with his voice, past few months. The guys sounded a bit like him, in his first days. Back then we thought that was a busker, and he had a guitar. He lost it some time later, and his singing was becoming worse and worse. In past few months it become clear that the guy wasn't a busker, he was homeless. Since August till now I've been observing his degradation under my door. How much he annoyed me - you can see clearly from my previous entries. Police took him once, but he returned. Recently he was looking pretty bad - it became cold, he long lost his guitar, and didn't even sang that much anymore. One day, coming back from work, I've seen the police van in front of my door, coppers were taking him in. They were talking to him, and he just sat there, motionless, not reacting to anything. Eventually, they grabbed him into the van and I haven't seen him since. I believe I may, once christmas shopping starts, he may use this chance to get some money on busy Rose St again. But having that image in mind, and heaving another busker, it reminded me how much the guy changed this past few months.

When he first came under my windows, back when we took him for a busker, I was really annoyed at his bad singing. I really wished him to stop, and I couldn't understand why would someone keep singing so persistently, with so little talent. Now that I know he was homeless back then, I have second thoughts about it. Sitting on a busy street all day with thousands people passing you by, and hardly anyone noticing you, having nowhere to go, in a way - nearly not existing, the very little he could do to let the world know that he was there, was to sing.

Surprising amount of my shopping was organic, and after I got back, the man of the house commented on my story: "you're buying organic and you're having charitable thought, I don't recognise you anymore". Haha. That's what Sundays do to people. I'm far from charitable, just thought it was romantic. I guess that's my Christmas message done for this year.