For some time, in my late childhood, I owned a robot – a companion. He was simply irreplaceable. He knew everything and could do everything. He was small enough that he could move unnoticed (in the air) to different locations, make observations, collect data. And so well equipped that he could also intervene if necessary. If I thought it was necessary. He would listened to me, he was my super powers. 

It was built using the worn-out fragments of an industrial scale. Its body was a silver-grey cube with a side of about 6 centimetres, and its head was blue, flat, with a slightly odd shape. It could be installed on top of one of the protrusions from the body and rotated freely, as if a little eccentrically. In a flash of what must’ve been a prophecy, I named him Wiki.

I took him everywhere with me, but told him not to manifest his powers too overtly, especially at school, for example. However, on one occasion I lost my guard and one of the guys noticed me talking to Wiki. He asked me what Wiki was. I made another mistake by answering honestly. He took a long look at me, at Wiki, and ultimately said that this is a piece of crap and what the fuck am I talking about. A consequential moment happened. The guy was clearly contemplating further moves in his head: whether to build social capital by publicising the issue, or to invest in my gratitude for keeping quiet. For a moment, I even had the impression that he was considering the possibility that maybe it was he who was wrong after all. In any case, he kept quiet and we never came back to it.

Over time, I managed to master some of Wiki’s powers on my own. Others have been taken over by technology that has grown along with me. The body is lost somewhere. The head went into the box.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)