When I think about my cultural heritage, I don’t imagine a dusty museum with glass cabinets and “do not touch” signs. For me, it’s more like a living, breathing story that keeps unfolding — sometimes I follow the old script, and sometimes I rewrite it completely.
I grew up in Poland, in Cracow — a city that loves to call itself the cultural heart of the country. And to be fair, it really is. My childhood was shaped by the rhythms of Polish Christian traditions, even though faith itself was never really my thing. Back then, in the 80s and 90s, it was simply unimaginable for a kid not to attend church or religious classes. But I was one of those kids who occasionally tested their luck by skipping mass, while hoping my mother wouldn’t find out, but she always did.
Still, there was one season of the year when all of that didn’t matter — Christmas. No matter what you believed — or didn’t — Christmas Eve was the most magical evening of the year. Twelve dishes on the table, which, let’s be honest, was mostly an excuse to eat a ridiculous amount of pierogi and cake without guilt. The famous compote from dried fruits, which tasted magical every year — and the excitement of waiting for presents brought by the angel. That blend of food, family, and laughter is something that stuck with me forever.
Later, as I grew older, I started asking questions that religion couldn’t answer. I went deep into science, evolution, even a bit of paleoastronautics — don’t laugh — I was young and fascinated by the idea of ancient aliens! Faith slowly drifted away from my life. But when I became a father myself, something clicked, and I realized that what really mattered wasn’t belief or dogma, but the sense of togetherness, warmth, and tradition.
So nowadays, even though I live about a thousand kilometers away from my hometown and haven’t seen my family in over 15 years, I do my best to pass on that magic to my kids. Every December, we put up lights and ornaments, my wife and daughter bake cookies, and we prepare the same dishes year after year. We don’t follow church rules, but we still celebrate our own Christmas — a tradition that’s both old and new at the same time. It’s our own secular magic.
There’s another layer of my heritage — independence. My family valued education. I chose a different path. I wanted to work, to do things on my own terms. I like to think of it as the stubborn need to carve out my own way, even if it doesn’t fit the expected pattern.
And one more thing — rock music. Specifically, the 70s. I was born in 1978, which means that by the time I was learning to walk, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and Deep Purple were already shaping the soundtrack of the world. I didn’t choose that. It was just in the air, on cassette tapes, and in the background of family gatherings. But it stuck. Rock from the 70s became my personal anthem of freedom, rebellion, and self-expression. You could say it’s my loudest, most stubborn heritage.
So when I look at my cultural heritage, I see more than one thing. It’s Cracow, Christmas Eve, family traditions, independence, and a lifelong love for rock. It’s about what I’ve kept, what I’ve let go, and what I’ve built new with my own family here, far from where it all began.
And maybe that’s the most interesting part, that culture is not a fixed package that you just inherit. It’s something you live, edit, remix, and — if you’re lucky — pass on to the next generation with a smile and a great rock song playing in the background.
You can find the original version of this post on my blog full of product reviews and daily writing prompts: HERE!