Expect or Accept the unexpected?

I don't really know what to write. That's pathetic. All I can think of is that daze I had a week ago and the confusion that left afterwards and pushed me into devastation that I'm in right now. I'm listening to the roadmovie breaking up special. Morphine, it's aching in my iPod. I'm not aching that much. But I am certainly petrified.

I wanna smoke in my bedroom, which I have done maybe once since I have been falling asleep in that room. Smoking here always has an emphasis. Smoking here is like getting proposed, or signing a million dollar contract, or burrying someone. Either happy or sad but with a certain significancy.

I don't wanna say it out loud, I don't wanna take it down, I don't even want it to revolve in my head. It's been playing with me for a while. Higly annoying and clandestine how the brain can easily lock out something for such a long time. Fucking brain. It let him having gone under my skin without me realizing it. I didn't even have to fight against it. I thought I was above it. I thought I ruled it. I thought that for the first time it cannot defeat me cause I didn't feel anything. Stupid motherfucker, that's what I was. Frankly it was so fucking obvious that I did, feel and I do feel. I hope for no sequel but I painfully know myself. My desire for feelings, my desire for drama, my desire for being hurt.

I don't even know what this is. Still there is a memory of the first time we met. The first touch, the first smile, the first denial, the first sceptical sentence, the first kiss, the first time his hands was on my back, the first light kiss I gave him on his forehead. The first time I got turned on, the first time I turned him on, and the first time I almost changed my mind. And I am again in one of those "first" occasions. For the first time I feel I wanna send him a message. For the first time I sit in my bed expecting something from him even though I know this is just so fucked up and twisted. I'm so terribly angry at myself.

I was sure I burried myself into an underworld with different emotions, visions, imaginations. I pushed myself living in a dreamworld. It fucking worked. I had loves from another dimensions. They never hurt me. They were so great not to fool with my heart, with my soul. And I was grateful for that. It was the most perfect relationship I've ever been. I gave up something but it meant I didn't need to give away myself.

Just recently with a tired hiss it has holed as a baloon. All these beautiful numbness I had, this mindless and harmless egoism is about to disappear. I could shout, scream at the top of my lungs. I started longing for someone. For an unexpectedly obvious person in a wrong place at a wrong time.

Trying to believe in my sceptical side who is unable to develope any mentionable emotion for anyone is the only thing that can make me ease. I had these flames before. They were gone just as fast as they flamed up.

Eventually I didn't smoke in my bedroom.

These tales of our stay... or walk away

I came to realize today that I should have a new start. I've been thinking lately. I've been thinking about relationships. Not that male-female love kinda relationship. It just doesn't exist in my life, that kind of love. I'm surrounded by all sorts of "szerelem" but I don't have it. For a long time. And I think I'm just not ready for that yet. I have so much love to give away that now it is more like similar to a flooding river that has no barrage. I cannot control myself. I wanna hate so badly. I need to build up that barrage otherwise I'm gonna float towards something that doesn't really seem reassuring. And when it's done, I can have that kinda love.

I reached a level today when I finally got it. It hit me on the chest so badly that it literally hurt a lot. We are so desperately attached to each other that even though it might not work we still can't let it go. My friend, who has been really going through a tough time and has got such great lessons to learn, said something to me last Saturday. We were in a bar, sitting at the bar. I've hardly done that. I'm not that sorta person sitting at the bar. I guess it really gives the urge to talk about serious things. Like bars are for open up. Sitting on a bar chair with crossed legs towards each other is a must for everyone to discuss great issues of life.

And we did. With great vine, lots of laughs, precels and bar tenders running around. We crossed our legs towards each other, whatsoever that means in body language dictionary, and we talked.

I was hurt. I was hurt so badly by two persons. I've become the obvious and invisible someone for a couple of people, I just don't matter anymore. And by that, I became obvious and invisible even for my own self. Maybe it happened so long ago, and it just took so much time for me to realize that I lost myself in those all around me. Who am I? Am I really just an object that has some functions which is lavishly used by people who I love? Is it really who I am? I wasn't like this. I keep thinking about it, and rolling it over in my head that: where and when did I became like this, like this tool that I devastatedly feel right now?

I used to be so strong and selfish maybe, and stubborn and adored, funny, important and independent. I was free from everybody and everything. I was the queen of my whole universe and I loved myself. I used to be a leader kind... and I got humble like a slave who sometimes start a one-woman revolution. But as we all know from history, small revolutions usually are meant to be beaten down. I have been beaten down by my own attachment. And they changed nothing but me. One day probably I woke up that I turned into this current myself who I pity and hate from the bottom of my heart. If only I knew the exact day when it happened just to see when I should have stopped it. Because this me is weak, oversensitive, full of fears and worries, chained, used, not appreciated, and like a circus clown does do jokes to make others entertained even at any price. Even by making jokes of me without realizing that with laughing at myself I give the legal rights to others to do so. I'm hurting myself and I realize it but I feel like it's my job, my duty, my obligation. Obviously they think if I don't give a shit about my own feelings why they should be the ones to care. Yeah, like the old wise men would say: You, my child, became your own worst enemy. You're the only one to blame. And they would be absolutely right.

I'm no Christ, but I certainly sacrificed myself for something that's probably not worth it. Not the concept, I mean. I believe in the concept of love, friendship, making sacrifices, I believe in all these magical words that give you glory. I believe in glory by the way. The thing that really matters in these concepts is that who you live through them with. And here's that one true moment when that friend shared that lesson of hers taught by a buddhist leader.

There are billions of relationships, and billions of attractions. Between friends, lovers, relatives, animals and their owners.Can be phisical, can be emotional. Some of these relationships and attractions are meant to be majestic, like parents and their child, or friends who'd do everything for each other, or two lovers who really become one, a dog and its owner who are family to each other. They can be pure, a whole, can be perfect. On the other hand some are just meant to destroy. Destroy ourselves, or each other, or the other relationships in our tini tiny milieu. Either way we are led by some higher power then tide to each other by different invisible bonds. We just don't know how it ends. We never can be sure about this. We wanna make the possible best out of it and we fail to see where the beautiful struggeling of a great relationship ends and where the painful fight of a fatal one starts.

I think I just stepped over the borderline. I have more pain in my heart than the sweet memories of the joy of the last years. I feel like I'm so lost in the forest of all desires and needs that I don't know anymore what I want. I don't know who I am, and I don't know who I wanna be. I would wanna go to a psychiatrist, a woodoo wizard, a group therapy, or just lay down on my mom's shoulder at that same time. I would like to become a jew, a christian, a buddhist, a kabbalist at the same time. Just to find the way. Even though I know they would help to loozen up but not to find the way back to myself.

Maybe going to Prague is the best thing that can happen to me. I tend to believe it now.
Maybe it'll help to let some people go. Not phisically but emotionally. Maybe it's time to tear those labels down of their back. There are no need to have a best, and a bestest and the most bestets. I need friends who can offer themselves for me just as I offer myself for them. Those I have to let stay. And some I have to let to let me stay. And some have to let me stay. The rest should be released. In my head, by my will, either with love or with hate. But the two together seem deadly. Love and hate for the released ones will disappear anyway.

In my class reunion, when we all finished talking about the past 10 years and what's ahead of us I felt fabulous. They made me feel fabulous. I wanna get back that moment because somewhere inside I know I am. I just can't find it right now.

Dózsa Györgyi

It's 1 am. I'm after a good laugh (the way dutch people call the fat around the lower back gave sense to all my life) and I just spent a very good night talking to my Amsterdamer who she might not know but means a lot to me. And she did what only a few people can do. She defined me in 5 words that is the basis of my existance right now. That's impressive. Sharing some tears and laughs with her owns precious moments that I would not be able to give up. Also I'm after a very good night being with an old friend who I cannot see much as she is struggling with a boyfriend. I'm after sipping a bottle of rosé with sprakling water under an open window, having bath in cool air after rain, listening to Band of horses, Everything all the time, which by the way is brilliant. I'm all in this adorable numbness. And I don't even give a fuck about going to work tomorrow. Why would I? Why should I? I feel like nothing bad can happen. And of course it's not true but I'd like to be swiming in this illusion for a couple of more minutes. I'm smoking a cigarette before my yellow inspiron and I want to memorize all the details of my day.

That has been a very good day. The day when I hardly could wake up (god I loath mornings) and the day when I again was 40 minutes late from work (shame on me). The day when I called Bogi, my colleague, to wait for me to drink the first latté of the working hours. Just like every morning. The day when I listened to Elliott, greatest band on earth. The day when I went to work with my pink-black polka dots Vans on me. The day when I got the greatest professional and personal feedback from a director of a department. The day when after months I didn't have any doubts of my future because I felt worthwile to have all the goodness and joy. Daydreaming? Yeah, but what I am for if not for daydreaming? That was the day when I first sensed the magic of summer. The lightness of the day and the wonderfulness of the night. This is one of the days when this feeling got me into believing that something good and extraordinary is waiting for me, maybe just right after the next corner. Such a great state of the mind and the soul melted into an amazing mess. Knowing and feeling at the same time. And eagerly, dispairingly looking forward to having some catharsis which comes with the summer breeze hand in hand.

And that was the day that I ended with a falafel, the last sip of rosé with sparkling water and the last drag of my Pall Mall, having all of them on the stairs of the house that I live in, in the downtown, on one of the streets in the amazing 9th district of Budapest, and sharing them with that old friend, who went to see her boyfriend with whom she immediatelly got into a fight and came back.

That was the day when this old friend's daughter called one of Hungary's greatest national hero, Dózsa György, Dózsa Györgyi.

That was one of those perfect days.

Where are the good men gone...?

Végre megtaláltam azt a dalt, ami éveken keresztül volt single soundtrack ehhez az elbaszott szerelemhez. Az a hegedű nagyon sokáig értem/velem sírt. Rég nem jelent annyit, mint jelentett akkor, miatta, de úgy érzem, ide kell applikálnom, mert ez a dal ő volt, ez a dal én voltam, és mi voltunk ez a dal.

Az elmúlt évek során, bármikor, amikor szülővárosomba jöttem, az itthon tartózkodásom a családi házra és a mellette levő boltra terjedt ki. Talán van annak már 6-7 éve is, hogy nem teszem ki a lábam a kapun túlra, ha itthon vagyok, főleg nem este, főleg nem szórakozás céljából. Sok éve muszáj voltam elvágni magam attól az élettől, ami itt folyt. Így tudtam csak magam valahogy (még mindig nem teljesen) túltenni valakin. Ha ő elment, hát én sem maradok többé, gondoltam, és ennek megfelelően havonta 1-2 napra, amikor haza jöttem, házi őrizetre ítéltem magam, hogy véletlenül se legyen közöm semmihez, amihez előtte volt.

Ma viszont azt gondoltam, miért is ne. Miért is ne mennék el arra a helyre, ami valaha a törzshelyünk volt. Arcokat akartam nézni, arcokat, amik itt vannak, félszeg, mégis mohó kíváncsisággal kutatva a jelent, de végül csak kétségbeesve keresve egy kapcsot a múlthoz, és az emlékekhez, amelyek mostanában ostromolnak. Arcokat nem találtam, kapcsot sem. Elég volt ez a pár év, hogy már senkit ne ismerjek, senki olyat, aki visszahozhatná őt, vagy azt, amit életre keltett bennem. Már nem tudom eldönteni, hogy ez tragikus-e, szépségesen szomorú, vagy nevetségesen szánalmas. Nem is érdekel.

Viszont a helyiség szelleme valahogy elkapott. Széles mosollyal röpültem vissza az időben, egy korsó sör bűvös harapásával. Láttam, ahogy megpördül a padló, kicserélődnek az emberek, és mi ott vagyunk, 998-ban. Fiatalon, reményekkel telve, szerelmesen, vicces áhítattal, ahogy szemünk folyamatosan a bejáratot kémleli. Nevettem azon, hogy az este mindig akkor kezdődött, amikor megláttam őt, és akkor ért véget, amikor elment.

Emlékszem a hajára, a szemére, a szájára, az alkatára, a barna bőrdzsekijére, a kék baseball sapkájára, a nevetésére, a mozdulataira. Láttam magam előtt, ahogy felrántja a szemöldökét, és ha nem is éreztem azt, amit akkor iránta, de éreztem azt, hogy mennyire éreztem. Hogy mekkora súlya volt annak, amit éreztem. És nem csak őt éreztem, hanem magamat is. Gyönyörű emlék az, hogy tudtam ilyen szerelmes lenni, hogy őbelé tudtam ilyen szerelmes lenni, de még szebb és magasztosabb emlék az, hogy általa tudtam imádni önmagam, hogy istennő voltam saját magam számára. Szerelmes voltam kettőnkbe, és most már talán értem, hogy inkább magamba, abba, amire képes voltam, abba, ahogy viseltem a testem, az arcom. Abba, hogy még soha, senki nem tett olyan magabiztossá, mint ő. Igazi szerelem volt ez.

Végtelenül szerencsés vagyok, egyben szerencsétlen is. De a mai estében nem ez volt a lényeg. Hanem az, hogy végre, a pár hónapja tartó kínzó kedvetlenségemben valami őszintén és gyönyörűen, tartalmasan meg tudott mosolyogtatni.