Getting out

Escaping from behind the “Iron Curtain” it was 1984, to be continued…

Getting to Istanbul

I remember one thing about the flight on the IL-62 taking me from my birthplace to what was the first steps on the journey to a new home and that is that me ears hurt !!!! I remember pain and crying, I was 9 years old and the jet which was descending too fast for the pressure of my head made me hurt. The next thing I remember about getting to Istanbul is the bus ride from the airport to the hotel. I remember a stark warning from a man telling our tourist group from behind the “Iron Curtain” how savage the Turkish men were, and how they just ‘steal kids and rape them, and how if they couldn’t steal a child they’d rape a goat’. Not sure if it was the tour guide meant to scare the tourist group from going astray, or islamophobia and general xenophobia playing out constructed by the racism ingrained by the homogenous culture and propaganda of Poland, but it is definitely something that stuck with me all this time. Definitely something that shows my mother’s courage in what happens next while we were in Istanbul. Regardless I clearly remember my mother’s grip on my hand being extremely tight during the whole time we were there.

New Year’s Day 2023

Much has happened since that flight on the Lot IL-62 out of Poland in ‘84.

Defecting with my mother, meeting my Jewish side of the family and my grandma for the only time, seeking political asylum, refugee camp, meeting the pope, Canada, hockey, Hiphop, addiction, confinement, a career in TV, parenthood, marriage, and now separation to name a few things. But I’ll get to that, more pertinently yesterday the year 2022 ended. And as I reflect on the year that was in the review mirror, I realize I’m in a major moment of flux. 2022 saw some of the greatest highs and lows of my life. Perhaps not as low as when I was trying to naw at my wrists to take my own life in solitary confinement, just to end the abuse at the hands of the Toronto Police Service, but certainly the kind of low that in the moment of reflection make you realize you’re going through some shit. The highs well maybe they were the best yet, these are a bit harder to define because they seem a lot more ephemeral than the lows. At the least they seem to have less limits and don’t ever feel fully fulfilled.

I’ve stated this before but I’m a realistic optimist, perhaps why I’m such a big dreamer, because it all seems so possible. You know the idea of video phones seemed more far out there to me as a kid than world peace.

But here we are it’s Jan. 1, 2023 and as I woke up to a phone call from my dad telling me my uncle had passed away after an adult life fuelled by alcoholism, and a somewhat brief but hard battle with cancer. Oddly enough this is the same uncle that was in ZOMO (The Motorized Reserves of the Citizens' Militia, a paramilitary-police force during the communist era in Poland.) and was responsible for one of my earliest New Year’s eve celebrations when his colleague in ZOMO and him came to baby sit me 40 years ago to the day in for New Years 1983. I’ll never forget it because as my parents were out celebrating New Years somewhere he and his buddy in uniform taught me at the age of 8 how to take apart, clean and put back together an AK-47. I remember pretty vividly having had put back together the Kalashnikov and pretending to shoot at the images of bad guys on of the Charlie’s Angels reruns the communist were showing on the TV that New Year’s eve. The same TV that btw that just a couple of years earlier announced martial law in Poland that preempted the 10 minutes of cartoons per day that us communist children would get in those days. The same martial law that would mobilize my uncle to be in ZOMO and have to carry an AK-47. He was a good man, lived a hard life but enjoyed much of it. He had the same name same as me ‘Grzegorz’, though I’m sure for vastly different reasons. He leaves behind a saint for a partner, and a daughter who is incredibly smart. He was the last one of my blood relatives living on my grandparents estate in Gdańsk, and now only two of the five Talkowski children remain. My mom and her younger brother, both of whom are Canadian citizens.  In my resolve to actually share my experience going forward and being an open book,  I’ll continue to write out the details of 2022, and the improbable journey of freedom and hope I’m on. Happy New Year ! - @Stro1

Introduction

Here we are, its the 21st century. Life has never been more complex, yet the basic struggles of of the past millennia are as evident as ever. The struggle is personal and existential; as a planet, an individual, and a species. I’m writing this as I’m building this site so somehow I can be relevant, and get to tell my story. I don’t want to waste an incredible amount of energy and human experience I’ve been fortunate enough to be connected with. I may not get to write a book, or make the movies I want to make, but I will try to tell my story here. As of this moment the story for me started about 47 orbits ago around the closest star. I’m going to write this blog as a memoir of the journey, but in typical Stro1 fashion; I’m certain if I know anything about myself, this story is not going to be told in a linear way. I am Gonzo Stro so how this goes is likely gonna be gonzo and bounce around, it is the story of my life after all. My hope is that when content is no longer being added to my story, what has been written brings some kind of perspective, understanding of benevolent purpose and an inspiration for living life to the fullest of its potential. I invite you to come on this journey with me, hey and maybe get a t-shirt or two, maybe some other stro1 memorabilia. By the time this is posted the stro1 shop should be open.

The struggle to strive on this planet, not just as an animal but a sentient being is real, but so is the magic of being here among the cosmos and being able to reflect on it. Putting some meaning, passion and feeling into being here is a definitely a blessing. Seeing life as anything other than blessing & vitality, though it can be painful and horrific at times; is forgetting that we are at the cutting edge of life, the universe and everything! We are on a journey to make life mean something. Everyone has a story, even if it’s just a connection to a bigger story. In a way life is exactly that: the connections we make while having the opportunity to do so. I’ve made countless connections in my time on the planet. The following is cutting deeper what you might imagine my life has been on the surface, it’s my autobiography.

Chapter 1-Stro1

I was born Grzegorz Majster, June 1974, in Gdansk, Poland. I’m known as “Stro” because Majster is pronounced ‘Mae - ster’, which as a nickname became “Maestro”, but got shortened to “stro” by my friend James Tobin. It was sometime in the early 90’s during a game of two on two, at Garden Avenue Public School in Toronto. In the sort of a sudden withdrawal that calling a name of your teammate to get the ball, and not getting it makes you drop the ‘Mae’ from ‘Mae-stro’ in disapproval. So the ‘Mae’ got dropped and “Stro” just stuck. I’ve been “Stro” ever since and the first Stro I ever heard of. This was the summer of 1991 I believe. I added the 1 to later make it alphanumeric by sometime in 1994 when Graffiti and Hiphop culture became a much bigger part of my life. I was undoubtedly Stro to almost anyone that knew me, and wanted to own it, besides the 1 made it a better tag. No middle name, but I was already on my third or fourth nickname when “Stro” really stuck. I’m a ‘pass first’ sort of player, so for whatever reason I didn’t pass the ball, it was just meant to be. If I did pass it off and not miss the shot, which I often did as well, I’m not so sure if I would be Stro today. Actually my first nickname was “Pumas” back in Poland, and it’s because I always wore a puma t-shirt sent to me by my aunt Ela from Israel. This was 1981 Poland, which was a communist state at the time, so logos and the glitz of the west was a far off dream. So you can imagine I wore that t-shirt a lot , which stood out with the other kids. As first graders who were let loose on our neighbourhood at an innocent time in a kids life, and behind the safety and freedom of being behind the iron curtain, we made good use of all we had. And all we had was soccer and making friends with the conscripted soldiers in the nearby barracks and training ground polygons.

Chapter 2 - Poland till ‘84

I had finished grade 3 in Poland at School Nr. 1 in Gdansk. We lived in the Morena neighbourhood. My walk to school was about a kilometre, but it did cross a pretty busy 4 lane road that didn’t have traffic lights. But from the age of 6 we were left to our own devices to get to and fro school. Wearing our blue polyester uniform shirts with the felt and plastic school badges, and our satchels full of books, we’d meet our friends at the bottom of the communist era apartment block buildings and meander our way to the 70’s build school I the somewhat new suburban development.

Leaving Poland

On a Lot jet IL-62 plane headed for Istanbul.