Simplify

pieta

The desire to simplify things must be present in everyone. It comes in time, when we realize our lives are finite. Time and again, the image of Michaelangelo’s Rondanini Pieta haunts me. I remember how I admired (I still do) his first Pieta, scuplted in 1499. It must be one of the most famous sculptures in the whole world, and probably one of the most beautiful ones, too. The difference between the two works, sculpted within decades of each other, is striking, as if they had been burn under the chisel of two different artists. And however much I admire and love his Pieta, I know that he was closer to the truth (or finding himself, or God, or call it whatever you want) than ever before, when he sculpted the latter.

Michelangelo_pietà_rondanini Underneath the stunningly smooth and detailed surface of the Pieta, the more truthful and evocative Rondanini Pieta lay dormant for fifteen years. The master of marble took his time, but before he died, he understood something profound. He peeled off the layers of vanity, of greed, of pomp, of riches, or artificiality, and reached the hot-cold core of existence, where resignation struggles with the innate desire to live, where pain mocks peace, and where we are all the same, regardless of our age, gender, or social status. Here there is no divine serenity, no perfection, no pathos, only chunks of rock, faceless death, and lasting strength. Here the Christ supports the grieving Mary, just like Mary holds Christ’s mortal coil.

I, too, want to peel off layers, and simplify things. Clean them up, focus, chop off everything superfluous. And there is so much that is redundant in my life!

My novel, for example, contains paragraphs upon paragraphs of lovely, but superfluous frill. The vanity of a writer (or sculptor, painter, etc.) may lead them to the accolades of beauty for beauty’s sake – which makes us rejoice, but for how long? Until we see it, hear it, or feel it. When it’s out of sight, it’s forgotten. Yes, I love beauty. It’s one of the things that makes life bearable for me. But beauty is a treacherous ideal. Meriel may stare at the world and then try to paint them on her canvas, but eventually, she will have to realize how little all of that is worth. I guess that is one point of my novel, even if that point took seven years to become manifest from underneath all the endless yada yada.

I will get there. I must.

New discovery

Csend, rend

solitude_by_2D2F

A csendben válnak láthatóvá és hallhatóvá bizonyos dolgok. Pontosabban mondva, bizonyos dolgok csakis a csendben manifesztálódnak.

Bizonyos áldozatok meghozatala után több idő jut saját magamra, akivel sosem könnyű farkasszemet néznem. De mivel őt kaptam, kénytelen vagyok jóban lenni vele, ezzel a lénnyel, aki a tömegben elvész és áthasonul, megbújik és kérkedve lép elő, mindezt egyszerre. Most nincs ki elől elbújnom, nincs ki előtt dicsekednem, és mindenre, amihez nekikezdek, csakis nekem kell rábólintanom. Én örülök az apróságoknak, a kis változásoknak, amikért szintén én magam küzdök meg. A magam örömére töltöttem több órát a Photoshopon, és a magam örömére fogok holnap fényképezni. A szombati tornának is az én testem fog örülni, és a jövőbeni fogyás reménye is engem fog boldogítani. Ha majd ismét lesz bátorságom billentyűzetet ragadni, a szavak belőlem fakadnak majd, és az én lelkemet fogják gazdagítani.

Nem szeretnék elzárkózni a világtól, csupán vissza kell találnom önmagamhoz, mert sajnos a külvilág visszajelzése addiktív. Mint a sorozataim. Könnyen befolyásolható vagyok. Mindkét irányba. Előre is, hátra is…

A csendben jobban meghallom a barátok szavát is. Tegnap és ma fontos dolgokat mondtak, illetve írtak nekem. Igazuk van. Hálás vagyok, amiért adnak nekem, mert én most nem tudok, vagy nem akarok adni. Önzőnek érzem magam, befelé akarok fordulni, magam felé. Isten felé, ha úgy tetszik. Ha Isten van, csakis bennem létezhet. Hiszen mindig akkor voltam a legerősebb, amikor magamra támaszkodtam.

A részegségről, két nyelven

TOM HANKS POSES WITH A DRUNK FAN-1284121

Fordítás közben érdekes dolgokra szoktam bukkanni.

A “részeg” szó magyar szinonímái (akinek van még, hozza): ittas, borgőzös, illuminált, spicces, becsípett, kapatos, pityókás, mámoros, kótyagos, elázott, tintás, piás.

Az angol szó megfelelője, “drunk” pedig az alábbi rokonértelmű szavakkal rendelkezik: blue, boiled, bosky, clubbered, cooked, fuddled, groggy, inebriated, intoxicated, laced, lit-up, loaded, lushy, pickled, pie-eyed, pissed, plastered, sloshed, tiddly, tight, tipsy, blitzed out, busted, stoned out, fazed, stoned, tanked, topped, zinked, zoned out, totalled, woozy.

Az angolok vagy rohadtul imádnak inni (de ne feledkezzünk meg a magyar italozás történelmi múltjáról sem), vagy pedig az angol nyelv gazdagsága vitathatatlan. Hozzáteszem, hogy nem ez az első eset, amikor angolul sokkal több szóval tudom ugyanazt kifejezni, csak most éppen ez a példa volt aktuális.

És nem, én még életemben nem voltm részeg, legfeljebb spicces, becsípett, és enyhén mámoros.

(A fotó nemrég járta be a világot. Tom Hanks, aki kétségkívül az egyik legjobb fej a világon, egy lokálban illuminált fiatalemberre bukkant, akinek a mobiltelefonjával elkészíttette ezt a képet. Micsoda élmény lehetett a srácnak erre ébrednie!)

Karácsony

unicef-christmas-charity-cards

Idetévedő barátaimnak üzenném, hogy mostantól EGY ajándékban szeretnék gondolkozni, azaz egy ajándékot fogok adni mindenkinek, és ugyanezt szeretném kérni mindenkitől. Az utóbbi években időnként túlzásokba estem, estünk – vessünk véget ennek, hiszen a Karácsony nem erről szól. Az “egy” ajándék lehet sütemény, vagy saját kézzel készített emléktárgy, vagy bármi – de csak egy legyen.

Megegyeztünk? :)

Példakép?

csend

Volt olyan idő, amikor bizonyos dolgokban élen jártam.

Ma már nincs értelme fűzött gyöngyöt, írott történetet, kötött sálat, horgolt akármit, Photoshopolt képet, fényképet ajándékoznom, mert mindenki felfűzi, megírja, megköti, meghorgolja, megszerkeszti, lefotózza saját magának.

Annyi dícséretet kaptam annak idején – hogy el is hittem: tudok írni, értek a Photoshophoz, szépen fotózok. Egyenesebb lett volna azt mondani, hogy “szép, szép, de én jobban is tudnám”.

Rajta, szabad a gazda. Lehet vinni, lehet csinálni, lehet írni, lehet fotózni. Egyrészt úgysincs bennem igazi tehetség, másrészt meg minek csináljam, ha már a közvetlen körömre sem hatok? A nagyvilágnak nem kellek, de gondoltam, egy szűk, pici körnek talán tudok újat mondani.

Tévedtem.

Secret place

purple_rose_by_carlasophia-d194zpz

It’s time to go and find something that’s yours
That no one can steal away
It’s time to open the doors
To your secret place…

(Tina Dico “An open ending”)

The moon…

MoonisaharshMistress

Fresh breeze

earlymorning

It’s easy to get buried in a project or something you do for a long time. Obsessions get born daily, in fact, I am perfectly aware of how obsessive I can get sometimes. The upside is a profound experience. The downside – it’s time-consuming and takes the focus off everything else. Your mind becomes one-tracked.

I’ve recently been immersed in my private little project of losing weight. If you never had to struggle with this issue, count yourself among the fortunate ones. When I think about it, the issue has been a central one since my high-school days. Twenty years, more than half of my life. A low self-esteem and various, minor psychological defects resulted in my weight gradually building up to what started to really bother me in the past few years, not only because of my looks, but also because of health problems that my surplus weight brought into focus. So a few years ago I started exercising, on and off, trying out routines, diets, looking into different types of exercise. Of course, my weight has been fluctuating.

A few months ago I took the matter into my hands, for real. My husband and I implemented a “sweet Saturday” regime, which means that we are trying to eat refined sweets only on Saturdays. The first two weeks were hard – after that, we got into the groove. Speaking from my own point of view, I think it’s easy to do and it does wonders to your metabolism, your overall mood and it also helps weight-loss. I started exercising regularly. Not only once a week, or whenever I remembered to do so, but almost daily. And not only ten, but most of the time, thirty, forty, or even sixty minutes, or more. I combine exercise for abs with powerful cardio (Kari Anderson’s magnificent step routines or Mary Windsor’s “Fat-burning Pilates”, which is my recent favourite, because aside from making me sweat, it opens of my muscles and my back). Also, I’ve been trying to drop my intake of carbs. I’m doing my best to stay away from refined white flour, sugar, and fatty foods. We eat loads of fruits and vegetables. For breakfast, I tend to have just fruit and a café latte, if anything. For lunch, a light meal, salad, soup, or leftovers, in smaller quantities. I also discovered the “5:2″ diet a couple of weeks ago and today I am doing my second fasting day – as hard as it sounds, I find it truly, really easy. I drink fluids, I know my body is losing toxins, and I know that in the evening I will enjoy my dinner a great deal.

The long and short of this is that I’ve been losing weight. Slowly but steadily. I’m down appr. six-seven kilograms since I started the “project”, three or four months ago. My goal is to drop appr. 9-10 more, and then I will have achieved my ideal weight. I’m feeling lighter, stronger, more agile, and I’m definitely loving the fact that patches of fat that have been constant for the last, I don’t know, ten years or so, are slowly disappearing. Clothes are looser than before, and I am slowly plucking up courage to fish out some jeans that I haven’t worn in many, many years.

The downside to all this is that in between the above and my translating work, which has basically taken up most of my brain activity since last December, I recently found myself unable to think of anything else than weight-loss, exercise, diet, calories, and everything pertaining to these subjects. And it started to disturb me. I am aware of the mechanics of obsession. I’ve lived through the entire process for more times than I can count, and even though, each time, I was able to receive something memorable from the experience, a spiritual moment, an insight, or a friend, I know that in the long run obsessive behaviour is emotionally, mentally, physically and socially unhealthy. So last night I looked at myself and the way I’ve recently become and I knew something had to change. I had to find something to take my mind off the weight-loss project.

The Universe came to my rescue. I met a few old university friends, whose company revived me and gave me a push into the right direction. One of them suggested a free online course community that gathers freely offered online college courses given by universities from around the world. A few days ago someone shared something very similar on Facebook. So this morning I looked into the two websites, and I’m happy to say that I already signed up for a course on psychology, and I’m looking at a few more. They are free, I do them when I have the time, and they will teach me something new, as well as broaden my recently significantly narrowed outlook on life.

http://ocw.mit.edu/index.htm

https://www.coursera.org/

So apart from enjoying the benefits of a gradually slimming body (naturally I will keep up the exercise and the healthy diet), I will be able to drop the obsession-factor. It’s a really lovely fresh breeze and it came at the right moment, in fact, it came when I asked it to come. Our thoughts create our reality – if there’s anything left for me to believe in, it is this. We help create our world. It’s big power, and a very big responsibility.

Thomas Hardy revisited

Around the age of eleven or so, in convergence with my emerging womanhood my consciousness was also awakening. It must have been that early, because I disctinctly remember spending time in my grandmother’s house in Transylvania with Thomas Hardy’s books. Summers were hers, I spent many of them with rabbits, cats, a dog, lots of poultry and even pigs. (On my way back to Bucharest my first period came, which was a horrific disaster involving a blood-soaked train compartment, a similarly soiled taxi, and almost fainting on the subway from the extreme bloodloss. But this is just a minor detail I happened to remember now; it is connected, I think.)

At my grandma’s place I read a lot. Once tired of the animals, I read. Not sure what I read, probably all sorts of things I found there on the shelves. I do remember one author very clearly. There was a library from which I borrowed all of his available writing in Hungarian translation. For many years (now I know it was twenty-four years) I only remembered the fact that I read them all in basically one go. There were memories of romance and drama floating in my consciousness, but I didn’t remember much else other than the fact that for some reason Thomas Hardy was my favourite author for some time, in fact, he was my first favourite author by whom I read several pieces. Later, I read even more; I got to university and there the world of Anglo-Saxon literature opened up to me like an endless vast ocean. I forgot all about Thomas Hardy. I was fascinated by Canadian novelists, I discovered Margaret Atwood, and the unique Patrick White, among others. Strange new styles and worlds were introduced to me. Even later, after my graduation my reading became sporadic, as well as eclectic. I read whatever talked to me, a mixture of prose and non-fiction, Jung and Marquez, Tolstoy and Fry. I read a lot of very good stuff.

I’m not sure how Thomas Hardy appeared again. I think a friend of mine was looking for something as a substitute for Charlotte Bronte, and I think among other writers I suggested Thomas Hardy. At a later point she said she had started reading “The Woodlanders” but quickly put it down because “nothing was happening in it”. Since I remembered basically naught from afore-mentioned book, maybe because I never read it, I downloaded the Kindle-version and gave it a try. I think I was sucked in from the second paragraph.

The physiognomy of a deserted highway expresses solitude to a degree that is not reached by mere dales or downs, and bespeaks a tomb-like stillness more emphatic than that of glades and pools. The contrast of what is with what might be probably accounts for this. To step, for instance, at the place under notice, from the
hedge of the plantation into the adjoining pale thoroughfare, and
pause amid its emptiness for a moment, was to exchange by the act
of a single stride the simple absence of human companionship for
an incubus of the forlorn.

At this spot, on the lowering evening of a by-gone winter’s day,
there stood a man who had entered upon the scene much in the
aforesaid manner. Alighting into the road from a stile hard by,
he, though by no means a “chosen vessel” for impressions, was
temporarily influenced by some such feeling of being suddenly more
alone than before he had emerged upon the highway.

It could be seen by a glance at his rather finical style of dress
that he did not belong to the country proper; and from his air,
after a while, that though there might be a sombre beauty in the
scenery, music in the breeze, and a wan procession of coaching
ghosts in the sentiment of this old turnpike-road, he was mainly
puzzled about the way. The dead men’s work that had been expended
in climbing that hill, the blistered soles that had trodden it,
and the tears that had wetted it, were not his concern; for fate
had given him no time for any but practical things.

BAM. As I re-read this now, it once again strikes me. I AM HOME. The way landscape is organically part of the overall atmosphere. The way the solitary character is introduced. The way past drama is hinted at, and in contrast with the man’s personality. How could I NOT be interested, puzzled, intrigued, absolutely engrossed in this character, as well as a story thus introduced? I read the entire novel in this state of utter tension and astonishment at how frighteningly Hardy tugged at my heartstrings. I’ve read a lot, and among my readings there were numerous truly valuable ones, ones I appreciated, even loved. But in all my past twenty years I do not recall one single author whose style reflected ME as much as Thomas Hardy reflects me. He uses moods that are totally mine, and plot twists that not only seemed familiar but also made me weep, literally. I don’t recall one single author who has made me cry, ever, which is surprising because I cry very often. But Hardy made me cry.

After I finished “The Woodlanders” I read a Henry James novellette (“The turn of the screw”, really, truly magnificent to be honest) and even Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”. But I longed for more Hardy and so I started “The return of the native”, which, again, mesmerised me.

I am now reading Gabriel Oak’s and Bathsheba Everdeen’s story, which stayed with me since childhood. “Far from the madding crowd” is probably the only famous Hardy-novel with a positive ending, but I’m sure it stuck with me mostly because of Gabriel Oak’s person, who basically starts off the novel:

When Farmer Oak smiled, the corners of his mouth spread till they were within an unimportant distance of his ears, his eyes were reduced to chinks, and diverging wrinkles appeared round them, extending upon his countenance like the rays in a rudimentary sketch of the rising sun.

His Christian name was Gabriel…

No question about it, I am in love now like I must have been in love at age eleven.

I could quote so many things from all three novels. And I haven’t even mentioned “Tess of the d’Urbervilles”, or “Jude the obscure”. I could quote the entire novels as texts that move me, speak to me, inspire me, transport me. The only explanation is that back when I read these, they stayed with me in my subconscious, and later, when I myself started writing, I probably reached deep down and from somewhere I didn’t even know I possessed, I took characters and styles and plots that I had stored and loved, and built on those. I wish I didn’t have to say that basically I’ve been plagiarising for twenty years; hubby says we (Hardy and I) must have been interested in the same things. I prefer the latter alternative, albeit I am pretty sure that my little adolescent brain stole many, many things it liked and stored them in my subconscious like a squirrel stores precious winter grub in a treetrunk.

“Miss Everdene!” said the farmer.

She trembled, turned, and said “Good morning.” His tone was so utterly removed from all she had expected as a beginning. It was lowness and quiet accentuated: an emphasis of deep meanings, their form, at the same time, being scarcely expressed. Silence has sometimes a remarkable power of showing itself as the disembodied soul of feeling wandering without its carcase, and it is then more impressive than speech. In the same way, to say a little is often to tell more than to say a great deal. Boldwood told everything in that word.

As the consciousness expands on learning that what was fancied to be the rumble of wheels is the reverberation of thunder, so did Bathsheba’s at her intuitive conviction.

I’m sorry, I must re-quote right now:

Silence has sometimes a remarkable power of showing itself as the disembodied soul of feeling wandering without its carcase, and it is then more impressive than speech.

I always scorned those who had palpitations reading certain very popular English pieces. Yet here I am like a teenage girl who discovers life’s treasures anew: love, passion, reflection. I’m a Hardy-groupie, and I’m saying this with the utmost reverence possible.

For now I’m enjoying this journey. I marvel at Hardy’s language, at his characters, the psychological insight he had, the landscape descriptions. I marvel and am inspired by his novels. I fear I may draw from him later, but I’ll try not to.

If only I could go back to when Jude was published and he decided to stop writing, because of the scathingly negative criticism he received to his last two novels, Tess and Jude, which, we now know, are basically masterpieces. I wish I could tell him that he must never stop writing, that he will offer humanity a unique literary heritage which he must expand as much as his mundane existence allows him.

Resolutions

Must make better use of my time. I still have plenty of it, despite the extra hours of work. I have mornings before starting to the office, I have after work. I have weekends, except when I don’t, but usually I do. I’m still a time-millionnaire.

Reading is before bedtime, and writing is after waking, when the mind is fresh. Pilates before the morning shower. Some kind of language study (French or Russian) each week. No debate! No excuses.

I guess that’s enough for now, and I’ll be happy if I can keep these resolutions…

My favourite rose

This year has been the first since 2007 when I didn’t commemorate february, which was the month when I heard Josh Groban sing for the first time. It happened six years ago, and the reason why this event turned into an anniversary is the profound impact this singer has had on me. I won’t repeat myself – if you know me, you know the details. But in a nutshell – his voice reassured me, gave me strength and inspired me in more ways than one, for a long time. There has been no other performer who has had such a big influence on me.

But with time, every influence weakens. It happens naturally, because we grow, and we move on. What used to have an impact becomes trivial, because we have absorbed its message, and have learned our lessons. Josh Groban was never an ordinary singer for me, and because of his extraordinary impact I always considered him a messenger and even a mentor in some ways. As the years went by, the power of the teachings I received through seeing him perform, or listening to his songs waned. I accepted this fact as a natural occurence in life, and I was grateful for two things. For his presence that left a lasting imprint on me for years, and for the fact that I was growing. I tried to stay cheerful when I thought the time of goodybe came. Josh is a wonderful person and I would always cherish that, but if the time came to let go of the side of him that used to play such a crucial role in my life, I would do it. I was growing, and I was learning my lessons all this time – through other experiences, theatre, music, literature, psychology, etc. Josh became a mere singer, however magnificent. And I stopped listening to his music, because I felt no need to hear his voice.

All that echoes came out earlier in February this year (when I think about it, I find the sweet coincidence of months very satisfying – it’s as if he decided to catch my attention on our “anniversary” once again – I know I’m reaching but this thought pleases me, so indulge me, will you?!), and when I first heard it, I knew it was a special album. It didn’t mesmerise me the way Illuminations did, which is a very tight, very deep, very personal record, a resonating realm of private moments which I felt privileged to hear. With each and every one of those songs I was peeping into very personal space. Josh wrote or co-wrote almost all the songs, mostly original, and the album was a valiant jump from the carefully produced, tame and expected music that his name used to mark to a place of confessions and shattering tenderness both in the personal and the musical sense. I cried so much over that album I lost count. All that echoes contains many covers and a few originals that, despite their different styles somehow work together – probably because of the personal power of Josh’s voice. He’s the unifying link. He chose songs that mean a lot to him, and that comes through. I was deeply touched by a very personal experience when I decided to listen to the album for the first time, and this could be one reason why the album did not disappoint. In fact, I cried through half of the record. The other half amazed me. But I would like to give my opinion about it regardless of what I was going through that day. Musically speaking, it’s Josh’s best CD so far. There is so much richness that needs to be discovered in it still. I only heard it about five times – the reason I stopped listening to it was that whenever I did, the power of the songs simply swept me off my feet and I was unable to do whatever else I was doing. Besides, I felt no real need to hear the songs more times: they moved into my heart on the very first occasion.

When the tour dates were announced, I was perplexed and angry by the fact that my closest location, Vienna, was also the costliest when it came to tickets. I impulsively decided to skip this tour altogether. I had no need to see Josh live. I thought I’d make an adult decision and not see him live, for the first time since the “Awake” tour. I felt no envy that most of my Grobanite friends were going to one or more tours, I was happy for them and I knew that my responsible goodbye from Josh was more important than toeing the line for the sake of peace and not standing out. My resolve lasted all two hours until I got home from work and my husband told me I should reconsider. Knowing what Josh meant to me, he told me to go to Vienna, no matter what. My Grobie friends were also not helping, because they displayed disbelief and derision at my original decision. And so, because I could afford it, I was influenced against my original resolve.

I would like to state for the record that I have never been happier to be proven wrong.

There was basically no preparation or anticipation before Vienna. I work a lot, I had no time or energy to mentally prepare myself. I knew that a bus would take me, that I had the ticket, and that it would happen, so why stress or fuss about it? Those time are over. I used to have pre-concert depression, post-concert depression, and everything in between. Not any more. I am better at living for the moment than I used to be. I accept and count my blessings and absorb the joy that comes from being fully present during an experience. I don’t want to spoil it all with expectations, and so I expected mostly nothing from the concert. I’ve had so many wonderful experiences already, that I thought Josh wouldn’t be able to surprise me any more. If I was expecting anything it was that quiet, peaceful farewell to happen.

Just like the new album, the new tour is also, musically speaking, the richest, most complex and many-layered that the J-Gro and his band have put together to date. The acoustics of the Stadthalle were also magnificent. All this resulted in a flow of rich, potent sound, music at its best. And the ultimate best part – Josh’s voice – was also on a higher level than before. (If that is even possible.) He’s learning to play on the instrument in his throat better each time, and I don’t mean with more precision or discipline – I mean that he truly is playing with his voice. It’s what makes the songs more alive every time you hear them. Songs like “Alla luce” alone would be worth going to his concerts. Each year it sounds better and better. (Now would be the time to re-record it!) The new songs literally blow the mind – and thanks to the acoustics, the body, too. The first song, “Brave” and the one that followed, “False alarms” set the mood and rhythm right from the start. “Hollow talk” was a favourite of mine ever since I heard it – and on stage, toward the half of the show, it was indescribable. The potent waves of drum and bass and the sudden explosion of music toward the end of the song tore me to atoms. I wept like an idiot, I couldn’t help myself. “Vincent”, beautiful, wonderful, immortal Vincent… tender and loving song, bringing back so many memories. It was the song that made me truly love Josh – and Van Gogh’s art, as well. They are closely connected and when I hear the song today, I see the paintings of Van Gogh before me as the lyrics describe them. It’s great that Josh still performs this particular song. “Falling slowly”, a very gentle cover of a uniquely beautiful song from a uniquely, memorably beautiful movie, and now, stage play. I’ve loved the movie for years and when I heard Josh would sing this song, I had goosebumps of joy – last night, those goosebumps returned and I felt so happy that he loves the movie as much as I do. “Voce existe em mim” rocked us to pieces, so much so that the audience stood up to dance to the rhythm. The strict Austrian audience. It was my first time dancing at a Josh-concert! This was repeated during “Machine”, which will remain one of my favourite songs by him – by the end of it, a crowd formed just below the stage. I felt euphoric! I watched the faces of the musicians. Their expressions were priceless, I’ll never forget the sense of pride and joy and gratitude that showed in their eyes, in their smiles, in their gestures. Josh was loving our closeness just as much. I felt free, I felt in shock, I felt grateful, I felt alive!

“I believe when I fall in love” was spectacular, but we knew it would be. With a wonderful little choir it took the breath from our lungs. Endlessly uplifting, rich and respectfully different from Stevie Wonder’s equally magnificent original. (The thing about Josh Groban covering a song is that he does it with so much respect. Musicians should learn from this guy.)

A wonderful surprise was hearing “Awake” again. It’s Josh’s most special, most meaningful song and this time, the musical arrangement was different. Toward the end they added a string of fast drumbeats that translates to the fearful drumming of a heart, which senses the imminence of loss. It adds urgency and desperation to an otherwise gentle, tender song about the power of now. It was a touch of genius.

“You raise me up” was sung by several thousand people. Whoever said this song needs to be taken off the setlist should check their hearts and souls. It sounds better and better and the message cannot be ignored.

The last encore was “Smile”. Ruslan, the crazy Ukrainian pianist and Josh, the crazy American-Jewish-Russian-Norwegian singer made us smile deep within our hearts with their duet. Charlie Chaplin would have been proud!

I thought Josh couldn’t affect me much any more. It is very typical that when he finished “Alla luce”, he instantly jumped into the Q & A part, which is always funny. I am not sure how he does this, but he always manages to bring me to tears by making me laugh first. I don’t mean the laughing so hard that one cries part. I mean that moment when laughter changes into weeping. So when everyone else was laughing their heads off, I was trying to make as small of an idiot of myself as possible. After the Austrian waltzing lady fell in her own feet on stage, it was just a riot till the end of the Q & A. (And beyond.) We ate from his hands. I first cried, then laughed, then was cold from all the goosebumps, then became a shaking blabbering mess of snivel during “Hollow talk”, then rose to heights I never experienced during a JG-show. And what’s more important, I saw the man, and I saw the musician, and I saw everyone else beside him – and I was his slave no more. I loved him with all my heart, but I loved him in the moment, aware that after he left the stage, I would let go of him. I loved him for as long as he was mine in that immaculate white shirt and the facial expressions that I know by heart and adore every single time. I took what he gave me and felt glad, and gave back what I could, every way I that could as part of his audience.

This sense of euphoria lasted even after the show ended. The Hungarian “delegation” was quite a big one and many people were taking our photos. Josh noticed our flags and dammit, by now he should know we’re on the map, seeing as 6 of the 10 meet and greet fans were Hungarians! I was disappointed I didn’t win a meet and greet, again. It’s been a long time since I’ve longed to meet him for real, in person, and the occasion just keeps eluding me. I was disappointed and frankly, envious and jealous of everyone who got their chance. Not as envious as I used to be years ago, but there was a trace of envy. I won’t deny it. I felt cheated and worthless as a fan. But I knew, in the end, that Josh has given me so much more already than 1 minute of meeting and greeting and a general smile photo. And I was really happy for everyone who won their chance to meet him. After the concert every sense of anything negative was gone, blown into the murky, grey, drizzly-cold weather. (It just shows that you can have your own celebration inside your heart even if there’s a storm outside!) I felt over the moon. I remember how two years ago Yanni had the same effect on me – but this was better, because this was Josh! My darling, amazing Josh. Josh, who brought friends into my life, who gave me faith, who erased my fears, who stirred my soul, who inspired me to create, and to open my eyes to a lot of new music. And I used to think that albeit being a one of a kind singer, his songs are not the pinnacle of music. I knew he had it in him to grow as a musician, and he proves that with each album, making all of his fans, including me, so proud! Well, he grew a lot with his new album and even though he cannot be called the pinnacle of music, I know that the combination of a unique voice, a truly likeable persona and the humble attitude he adopts as a musician make him rather outstanding.

About twenty minutes after the show (during which time we frolicked and laughed and made group photos) I decided to take a look outside the building, where the tour buses were. Two of my good friends, with whom I shared the love of another unique performer, and who also became JG-fans later, joined me. It was cold outside and we thought that if Josh came out at all, he would come much later. We were wrong – the moment we got to the tour bus there he was under an umbrella Darren (God bless him) was holding above his head, surrounded by appr. twenty people only. We couldn’t believe our luck. I edged closer, waited for Josh to get right where I was standing behind someone and I told him how much I loved the new arrangement of “Awake”. He looked up from signing something to someone and he thanked me, like he meant it. I remember thinking after the meet and greet winners were announced that even if I won the chance to meet Josh, what the hell could I possibly say to him, how on earth could I cram several years’ worth of life-changing experiences, friendships, inspiration that he gave me – into one sentence??? There would never be a way, and I also knew that all these things are important for me, and my friends involved in those experiences, but Josh doesn’t need to know. I don’t need to tell him. He knows he is loved – we buy his albums, go to his shows, we keep his career alive and we give him feedback in all shape and form and through all possible channels. Personal stuff – that’s mine, because I experienced it. He didn’t. I did. So I can’t and probably shouldn’t tell him. And here was my incredibly lucky chance, to see him up close, and to tell him something that would matter to him rather than to me. I did, and it did matter to him, because it concerned his music, and he was grateful. We saw him for about 30 seconds more, before he was ushered into the bus to be driven to Zürich.

There are five rosebushes on the edge of our garden, just under our living-room windows. They were planted when we moved to this house, almost nine years ago. I haven’t done much tending of them over the years, just the occasional spring trim, or some minor fertilizing, when I remember to, perhaps once every second year. Despite my almost negligence, these rose bushes have been growing beautifully, yielding roses every year, from spring till late autumn. I love my roses very much.

But I love the one bush that is the strongest, and largest, most; the one that yields dark-purple, blood-red roses, a hue impossible to describe, truly the mixture of red and purple. And they smell like no other rose I’ve ever smelled. This is my favourite rose-bush. Roses will come and go, but this particular rose-bush will always remain my favourite.

Stupidmistake

Whoever wants to make a Darren Hayes video without Darren Hayes in it, STUPIDest MISTAKE ever. This video is proof. I mean – WOW. My hat goes off to the director of this one. Stunningly gorgeous, a visual feast.

As I was waching the video I thought of Heath Ledger for some reason. Must be because of the Oz connection and the Joker-Clown connection and the hunk-factor connection, too.

Dolgozó nő lettem

Eddig is az voltam, de így mellékállásban is foglalatoskodva kifejezetten dolgozó nőnek érzem magam. Tavaly december vége óta szinte megállás nélkül fordítok egy fordítócégnek, ami mindenféle filmeket elvállal. Fordítottam küzdősportközvetítést, extrém snowboardozást, reality showkat, természettudományos filmeket, állatosat, agysebészeteset, bolygókról szólót, kórházasat, motorosat. Eléggé kitágult a látóköröm, nem csak olyan dolgokban, amik érdekesek, hanem olyanokban is, amik konkrétan emberi vonatkozásúak. Még novellaötlet is akadt, nem is egy. Ezeket egyelőre feljegyzem, mert írni nincs időm. A szinte egész napos gépelés után nincs kedvem tovább püfölni a billentyűzetet az íráshoz is…

Eddig nem tudtam, mit jelent az: fáradtan letenni a munkát és értékelni azt a félóra, vagy egy óra pihenést, mielőtt az ember lefekszik aludni, hogy másnap kezdhesse újra. Most érzem először azt, hogy igazán megdolgozom a pénzemért, hogy azonnali eredménye van a munkámnak, mert a fordításom megy tovább a szinkronosoknak (alámondóknak), és az angolul nem értők számára értékes szolgáltatást nyújtok. A kapott pénzből pedig ház körüli javítások, tatarozások lesznek (besegítek a férjemnek, aki a nagyobb kiadások oroszlánrészét egyedül állta eddig), utazás, a barátaim megsegítése, amikor kell, és amire szükségem van, (nem használt!!!) ruhák, cipők, amikre végre úgy gondolhatok, mint lehetőség, és nem kényszerű kiadás, ami miatt számolgatnom kell.

Egy olyan gazdasági helyzetben, amelyben minden második vagy harmadik ember harcol a mindennapokkal, vagy munkát keres, vagy nem keres eleget, kifejezetten hálásnak érzem magam. Hálás vagyok a filmkluboknak, ahol majdnem két évtizede fordítok művészfilmeket, mert ez a papírok és képzés hiánya nélkül is úgy tűnik kellő gyakorlatot adott, és persze az angol tanárnőmnek, aki úgy megtanított angolul, hogy azóta is ő a nyelvi pedagógusok etalonja nálam, és nem utolsósorban a bátyámnak, aki kellő szigorral heti többször félrehívott és nyolc éves makacsságommal dacolva elültette bennem az angol nyelv alapjait (a nyelvek szeretetéről nem is beszélve), melyekre később bombabiztosan építkezhettem. Igazi csapatmunka ez, benne vannak a szüleim génjei, a testvérem munkája, a filmklub vezetője és a barátom, Tamás többéves erkölcsi és érzelmi hozzájárulása, a fantasztikus angol tanárnőm kitartó és türelmes munkája. Nem utolsósorban persze én is kellettem hozzá. Ha nem fekszem rá úgy az angolra, ahogy tettem, és nem olvasok könyveket úgy, hogy minden ismeretlen szót kiszótározok belőlük, ha nem oldok meg heti több száz feladatot az angol versenyek idején, ha nem gyűjtök ki közmondásokat és idézeteket a kedvenc könyveimből, ha nem nézek meg több száz, de lehet, hogy ezernél is több angol nyelvű filmet, ha nem hallgatok angol dalokat és írom ki a szövegeiket, ha nem levelezek angolul sok-sok emberrel, és még folytathatnám – szóval ha nem foglalkozom az angol nyelvvel huszonhét éven át úgy, hogy eddig tettem, akkor most nem itt tartanék. Nem nagy kunszt ma fordítani, minden második angolul tudó ember végzi ezt a munkát, és hajlamos vagyok lekicsinyleni a saját tudásomat, hiszen tényleg nagyon sokan beszélnek és értenek angolul. Ugyanakkor a gyakori visszajelzések alapján tudom, hogy a lelkiismeretes munkának értéke van, és azt is, hogy nem minden arany, ami fénylik. Folyamatosan lehet fejlődni mindenben, így ebben is… Úgyhogy megtanultam értékelni a saját tudásomat, végig tudva persze, hogy nem egyedül az én érdemem. De én is kellettem, illetve kellek hozzá. Így kerek a történet.

Explode

…and repeat…

my_music

In sickness, health, bliss and dejection, there’s music. If all else fails, music fills the void in my soul and I float above emptiness until I regain my foothold once again. Music saves. It saved me more than once. I know it saved you, too. It continues to save us all, all the time.

There has always been a lot of music circulating in our household. Artists come, and they go, or they stay. There are eternal favourites. There are new acts. There are surprises.

In the past year or so there have been a handful of albums that were the recurring canvas of my inner life. On them I painted new thoughts, I felt inspired by them, I held onto them, I soared with them. I listened to these albums a considerable amount of time, especially compared to the rest of our musical collection. New artists constantly come and go and have been coming and going, but these albums have been my lifeline in these past years. Literally. In belief, and in disillusionment.

John Mayer’s Continuum has been with me for many years. I heard the song Gravity on House M.D. and after that, I had to hear the whole album, and I don’t think I ever listened to any other John Mayer album. Sorry, John. I know you’re a genius and all, but this album is perfection and when I listen to it, no other music seems to exist or have existed. Lyrics, music, vocals, it’s all pure perfection.

She popped into my life through a Josh Groban fanfiction. Hail the genre! Someone built a cheesy piece of fanfic (in retrospect, that’s what it was, just like all of mine that I wrote at the time) on a song entitled Back where we started. Because I liked that cheesy piece of fanfiction, I was curious about the song. And after that, I was curious about Tina’s work. Basically, she’s been my spokesperson since 2007. Her songs speak from me and about me, they come from my heart and my struggles and doubts and thoughts. No other artist has expressed MY feelings as accurately as Tina has. She continues to amaze me with her songs, old and new alike. When I feel lost, she comes to my rescue. She tells me I’m not lost alone… I may be lost, but not alone. We’re all lost. And the only thing we can find is each other. All of her albums are great, but this trilogy is conceptually wonderful and probably has her most profound lyrics.

Where else would I have heard Ben’s song than on a TV show? A gifted man, cancelled after the first season, like so many other wonderful, meaningful shows. Once again, when I heard the full album, the world stopped turning. I stopped doing everything I was doing and just listened… and after a short break, I’ve been listening ever since. Magnificent debut that is receiving accolades from all directions, rightfully so. Ben’s music is fresh and honest, it just grips you with the lyrics and the exciting indie folk-rock sound.

Thank the Universe for French music TV channels. The video for Berlin was like nothing I’ve seen or heard before, too wacky to understand or even like, but when it got under my skin, it stayed for good, and Christophe, the hyper-talented French talent-show winner has become a huge favourite of mine. I was fortunate enough to see him live with two of my friends in Paris – and I must repeat that act. One of the best musical experiences I have ever had! This album is his latest, one that cannot be stopped. At least I find it difficult. To stop. Catchy, high quality electro-disco with some of the most amazing vocals ever.

Darren Hayes is a huge favourite (has been ever since I want you), and this is his best album so far. It is virtually unstoppable. A drug. It’s uncanny! It’s so good, it should be illegal. Melodic and melancholy tunes and the type of lyrics that would sound cheesy from the mouth of another singer, but not from Mr Hayes. I have yet to see him live, but his next tour, I will. I promised myself, I won’t miss him again…

And my latest discovery. I wrote about it on my blog already, I love this album so much. It started with Sherlock and Mr Cumberbatch and then his entire filmography… and a song in one of his movies. Little did I know that the whole CD was as wonderful as that one song… I listened to this album non-stop for weeks, maybe months. I needed no other music, nothing else, just this. It felt like if I could only take one CD with me to a desert island, it would be this one…

And I’ve had this feeling with all of the above. (In previous years, there were more albums, but I wanted to give a heads up to these particular ones, because they are more recent and perhaps you’re on the lookout for great new music…) Thankfully, I don’t need to pick just one CD – or else I would be in great trouble…

Rájöttem

…Arra, hogy a legkisebb dolgok képesek a legnagyobb boldogságot hordozni magukban.

…Arra is, hogy mindig többre vagyunk képesek, mint amennyire képesnek gondoljuk magunkat.

…És arra, amit egy bizonyos koron túl mindenk tud, vagy sejt, vagy érez – hogy nincs biztos pont az életünkben. Senki és semmi sem állandó. Még Isten sem.

…Még arra is, hogy időnként a lélek fellázad, szétfeszíti a rácsokat, fityiszt mutat a határoknak, szabályoknak, elvárásoknak, és csak elkezd szárnyalni… ezek azok a pillanatok, amikor minden és mindenki egy, és amikor minden a helyén van. Még mi magunk is. Ezért hát lázadjunk és törjünk ki, adjuk át magunkat annak, amitől szárnyra kapunk, és éljük meg ezeket a rövid életű pillanatokat… nem fogjuk tudni megőrizni őket, és visszamenni oda, ahol nagyon jó volt, nem lehet… de ha nyitott szívvel és szemmel járunk, talán megadatnak ezek a pillanatok. Nekem, és neked is.

…Továbbá arra, hogy a legártalmatlanabb emlék is tüske, vagy örömforrás lesz az idő múlásával. Kapaszkodunk, nem eresztjük, nem merjük elereszteni, mert ha a múlt nincs, akkor hol vagyunk mi? Honnan jövünk? Merre tartunk?

…És arra, hogy akkor marad fenn valami, ha ápoljuk, ha energiát fektetünk bele, ha áldozatot hozunk érte. És ha jól tettük dolgunkat és fennmaradt, akkor is nagyon sok változással fogunk szembenézni.

…És arra is, hogy akinek valaha szerepe volt az életünkben, mindig velünk lesz. Akkor is, ha elengedtük. Egyszer, kétszer, sokszor. Miért félünk hát elengedni…?

…és nem utolsósorban arra, hogy makacs, önző, türelmetlen, felfuvalkodott, gyáva, gyenge, birtokló, kevély, versengő, gyarló anyagból lettünk megalkotva. Ezért minden nap meg kell tudnunk bocsátani másoknak, de elsősorban saját magunknak is… mert ha nem, valós és képzelt bűneink mások valós és képzelt bűneivel együtt maguk alá temetik törékeny világunk fénylő öntudatát, és elnyel minket a sötétség.

Equus

Az új évnek még csak hat napja telt el, amikor ismét elementáris erővel tépett bele a lelkembe valami, valaki, fontos is, hogy ki, meg nem is, az üzenet sokkal fontosabb, de a helyzet, a körülmények, azoknak is szerepük volt… Emlékszem, felfigyeltem a darabra a bemutató idején. Talán Alföldi neve miatt, talán a ló jelenléte miatt, vagy a cím miatt. Emlékeztem arra, hogy fontos színdarabról van szó, sikeres és összetett drámáról. Kisvártatva Klári szólt: nem nézzük meg az Equust? Ezek azok a bizonyos véletlenek… Megnéztük. Kiütéssel győzött fölöttünk, eldöntöttük, hogy még. Valamikor, de még.

Kati pár napra jött, programokat kerestem, a Tháliát néztem utoljára, nem tudom, miért. Equus. Már láttam. Elhalványult már az emlék. Nem szólított, de tudtam, hogy minőségi darab, érdemes látnia neki is, én meg… én meg áldozatot hozok. Akkor is, ha nem szólít.

Mintha minden emlékemet kitörölte volna a tudatom. Mintha szándékosan tisztára mosta volna elmémet és szívemet, hogy most ismét úgy nyilalljon belém az érzés, mint első alkalommal.

A ruhatárnál valaki fanyalgott az előadás után. Sosem fogom megérteni, min fanyalogtak, de lássuk be, ezer dologtól függ, mikor mi lesz A MIÉNK. Egy óráig, egy értékes pillanatig, amíg megértjük. Amit évek óta nem, és amit azelőtt, évtizedekig nem. Ami végigkísért bennünket életben és halálban. Banális dolog, ami mégis zavaros volt. Egyetlen mondat, pillantás vagy illat elég. És világosság gyúlik.

A politikai helyzet és az én személyes helyem az életben összefonódott most, bármennyire is furcsa ezt leírnom. Mert ha Alföldit nem most távolítják el az igazgatói helyéről, talán nem úgy játszott volna, ő, és Donáth, aki a taps alatt sírt, nem látott nem hallott, és a többiek, és talán ha nem Kati ül mellettem, és ha a lelkem nem lett volna úgy kihegyezve, megélesítve, talán. Talán nem is lett volna annyira. De így annyira!!!

Megértés után pedig az ihlet édes forrása csobbant, hallottam, ízleltem, szomjamat csillapította. Feszülök, ordítok belül, csodát élek meg, pedig csak két ember találkozása, de mi lehet gyönyörűbb és izgalmasabb annál, mint az emberi kapcsolatok kusza rengetegje, az érzelmek vad szőttese? Sosem érdekelt semmi más… mindig erről akartam írni, egyre és egyre jobban.

Csodálatos évkezdés. Szédelgek, hálás vagyok. Kerestem, könyörögtem, és kaptam.

Hagyjatok

Nagyon régen, az idejét sem tudom, mikor… egy orosz műkorcsolyázó felforgatta az életem. Úgy elvarázsolt, hogy általa közel kerültem az orosz kultúrához, és miatta elkezdtem tanulni az orosz nyelvet.

Idővel a lelkesedés a nyelvtanulás iránt abbamaradt. Pár hónapja megint volt egy próbálkozásom, de mindenféle okok miatt feladtam – egy időre.

Jevgenyij pár napja szülőhazájában korcsolyázott egy gála keretén belül, erre a dalra. Már a dallam is marcangolta a szívem… aztán elolvastam a dalszöveg angol fordítását… nem beszélve Zsenya előadásáról…

Úgy éreztem, le kell fordítanom ezt a szívettépő, őszinte imát az anyanyelvemre.

Zsenya ismét motivációt adott nekem!

Стас Михайлов “Дайте мне”

Дайте мне
Пройти свою дорогу, люди
Дайте мне
Дайте мне
Не ощущать тревогу, люди
Дайте мне
Дайте мне
Те крылья, что бы я поднявшись полетел
Дайте мне
Стоять и петь для вас – ведь это мой удел
Дайте мне
Не становиться черствым, люди
Дайте мне
Дайте мне
Не оступиться в пропасть, люди
Дайте мне
Дайте мне
Сердец коснуться ваших – растопив в них лед
Дайте мне
Отбросив глупый страх – ползти вперед
Дайте мне
Поверить, что я нужен, люди
Дайте мне
Дайте мне
Не испоганить душу, люди
Дайте мне
Дайте мне
Не потерять свой смысл средь хвалебных фраз
Дайте мне
Надежду, что пою я не в последний раз
Дайте мне
Пройти свою дорогу, люди
Дайте мне
Дайте мне
Не ощущать тревогу, люди
Дайте мне
Дайте мне
Те крылья, что бы я поднявшись полетел
Дайте мне
Стоять и петь для вас – ведь это мой удел
Дайте мне
Стоять и петь для вас – ведь это мой удел

Hagyjatok
Saját utamon járnom, kérlek,
Hagyjatok…
Űzzétek,
Messzire el aggályom, kérlek,
Űzzétek…
Adjatok
Szárnyakat magasba repülnöm,
Adjatok…
Hagyjatok
A sorsomat örömmel megénekelnem…
Adjátok,
Hogy szívem ne keményedjen, kérlek,
Adjátok…
Tartsatok,
Emeljetek a mélység fölé,
Tartsatok…
Hagyjátok,
Hogy felolvaszthassam szíveteket, kérlek,
Hagyjátok…
Vegyétek
Buta félelmem, hogy előre nézhessek…
Hagyjatok
Hinnem, hogy szükség van rám, kérlek,
Hagyjatok…
Tartsátok
Lelkem életben, kérlek,
Tartsátok…
Rántsatok
Vissza a hiúság mélyéből, rántsatok…
Adjatok
Reményt, hogy nem utoljára énekelek…
Hagyjatok
Saját utamon járnom, kérlek,
Hagyjatok…
Űzzétek,
Messzire el aggályom, kérlek,
Űzzétek…
Adjatok
Szárnyakat magasba repülnöm,
Adjatok…
Hagyjatok
A sorsomat örömmel megénekelnem…
Hagyjatok
A sorsomat örömmel megénekelnem…

Pontok

Egyetlen osztálytalálkozón kellett részt vennem ahhoz, hogy tudjam: gyűlölöm a felsorolásokat, a strigulákat, átlátok a külsőségeken, a mérföldkövek felsorolása semmit sem jelent. A fontosabb állomásokat összekötő pontok jelentik mindig a legtöbbet. Ezek a pontok viszont csak azok számára fontosak, akik megélték őket.

Lehetsz régről ismerős, vagy újonnan betoppant idegen. Tudhatsz rólam szinte mindent, vagy semmit. Nem dicsekvésképpen írok az évemről, nem is tudnék, azt hiszem, dicsekedni. Külső szemmel nézve alig történt változás az életemben. Jobbára csak összekötő pontokról tudnék mesélni. Pontokról, melyek mindegyike icipici változást hoz.

Mit jelent az, hogy változás? Az, ha más frizurát csináltatunk? Vagy az, ha megtanulunk valami újat, mondjuk egy nyelvet, vagy új receptet? Vagy az, ha megértünk valami fontosat? Ha meghízunk, vagy lefogyunk? Elköltözünk? Másképpen gondolkodunk egy adott kérdésben? Kinek mit jelent. Minden változik, az energia folyamatosan áramlik, be, ki, át, keresztül, kasul, bennünk, körülöttünk, tegnap, ma, most. Változnak a sejtjeink, fehéredik a hajunk, ráncosodik a bőrünk, átalakul a fenekünk és mellünk, sárgulnak a fogaink, már akinek még van… Gyengülünk, romlik a látásunk, de erősödik a szellemünk, görbül a hátunk, de egyenesebb lesz a viselkedésünk másokkal szemben, hátralépünk egyes személyektől, de közelítünk mások felé. Tegnap valamit fehérnek, ma szürkének látunk, de az is lehet, hogy már nem is látjuk, mert már nem foglalkoztat bennünket. Valamit nagyon szerettünk előző héten, ma már hidegen hagy minket.

Egy év… egy fénysebességgel elillanó napfüzér. Belefér annyi, de annyi minden, mégis, amikor visszaemlékezünk rá, csak azt tudjuk, hogy gyorsan eltelt, és az egyéni csodálatos pillanatokat elhomályosítja a feledés. Tovatűnt ez az év is, de hova? Ezt kérdezzük magunktól és egymástól. A választ senki sem tudja, mert a múlt ott maradt, a múltban, és minden igyekezetünk ellenére nem lehet átvonszolni a jelenbe. Tárgyak, fényképek, beszámolók állítanak mulandó emléket az apróbb és nagyobb eseményeknek. Aki gyűjtögető típus, az berakosgatja ezeket az emlékeztetőket valahova, ahonnan bármikor előszedve könnyebben felidézhetővé teszik az adott történéseket, pillanatokat.

Nekem fotóim vannak, én azokkal emlékezek. Néha, amikor szokatlanul erősen érint meg valami, szavakkal örökítem meg. Semmi sem örök; a fényképek, a szavak, de még a tárgyak is az enyészeté lesznek. Idővel. Ki tudja, ez mit jelent… van, amit már ma elfelejtünk, és van, amit nagyon sokáig nem. Az érzések, benyomások, a lelkünkre nehezedő terhek és szívünk örömteli zsibongása, ezek élnek a legtovább. Egy telefonhívás, egy kedves levél, egy táj látványa kapcsán bennünket elkapó néma elégedettség. Egy dal, melynek a szövege sokáig szól hozzánk, egy csodálatos könyv, mely akár rólunk is szólhatna. Egy barát bátorítása, szeretete, egy házi kedvenc önzőn önzetlen ragaszkodása. Búcsúk és találkozások, valami régi elengedése, valami új befogadása.

Idén is megjártam a mennyet és a poklot, meneteltem az eufória és lehangoltság között húzódó ösvényen. Régi barátot fogadtam be ismét, találkoztam új lelkitárssal, meglévő emberi kapcsolataim pedig hol lazultak, hol mélyültek. Megtanultam egyik folyamatot sem aggódással figyelni, igyekeztem elfogadni, ha valaki elment, vagy ha valaki új érkezett. Volt, akit nem engedtem be, és volt, akinek az ajtaján én kopogtattam.

Azt hiszem, idén eldobtam néhány mankót. Újra nőttek, de ismételten megszabadultam tőlük. Makacs vagyok, szeretnék a magam ura lenni, akkor is, ha kudarcot vallok. Ha sosem próbálom meg, a siker egészen biztosan kizárt.

Ami alig változott, és talán nem is fog: még mindig elvarázsol minden, ami szép. A szépséghez fűződő kapcsolatom mindig összetett volt; néha többet látok benne, mint amit mások, vagy mint amit kellene, és néha gondolatok nélkül hagyom, hogy átmossa lelkemet. Zene, művészetek, irodalom, filmek, tájak, emberek, állatok, ez mind-mind hordozhat szépséget, és számomra a mindennapok csak ezek jelenlétével lehetnek elviselhetők.

Az eszem képtelen felidézni a fontos állomásokat, melyek a múlt évemet jellemezték. Csak a szívem tudja, mi történt. Annyi minden… mennyi szépet láttam, éreztem, hallottam, fényképeztem, ettem… barátságok, zene, tanulás, érzelmek, harcok, viharok, elengedés, alázat, dac, félelem, megtörtség, makacskodás, vágyakozás, rezignáltság, büszkeség, gyönyör, mi minden volt… Párizs, Tunézia, Dobogókő, Hollókő, Nemzeti sírkert, Christophe Willem, Caramel, Havasi Balázs, Frankenstein (nyolcszor, úristen, NYOLCSZOR), Sherlock és Benedict Cumberbatch, Ben Howard, James Vincent McMorrow, Baricz Gergő (és mindenKI, amit/akit magával hozott), Csíkszereda és Csíksomlyó Katival és egy feleszmélés, a rajtam kívülálló istenkép megtagadása, Gálffy László a Sírpiknikben és az Isteni Sarahban, Alföldi Róbert és az Equus, nagyszerű beszélgetések, fenséges új ételek, az IRKA (amiben új otthonra leltem), lubickolás tengerben, pályázatok, kudarcok, pici elismerések, új lendület, írástechnikai fejlődés, Agykontroll, Testkontroll, meditáció (életemben először), sok-sok-sok fájdalom a fogaimban, Stephen Fry, Louis Begley, Van Gogh levelei, és ismét Benedict Cumberbatchnél tartunk… Downton Abbey… Keane végre nálunk…

Sosem volt még ennyire tömény és csodálatos évem. Semmi igazán nagy dolog nem történt velem, mégis… mégis nagyon sok mindent másképp látok. Hálás vagyok a pontocskákért, amiknek ezt a sok változást köszönhetem.

Jó volt veled, 2012.