Tag Archives: Personal



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.

Secret place


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”)

MMCP: My Most Cherished Project

Like most people, I also possess the natural desire to create something lasting, leave something behind that will touch people. We all long to capture our moment, become immortal. It’s all an illusion as in time, everything perishes; nevertheless, we struggle to attain this goal. Our utmost goal in life.

For me, the closest I have come to perfection and pure unadulterated joy was through writing. It is also my futile but very delectable effort to leave something lasting for mankind. read more »

in my head

there are too many things way too many considering the size of my skull. considering the period of time I am given in this life to experience the things of this life. there is love and there is hate there is little there is great there is rain and there is snow and everything in between. russian words and french kissing and spanish wine and romanian missing. there are questions, growing in number, there are answers, somewhere, at some point, probably, because they just don’t come to me ever. there are cats and there are dogs and there is crocheting and beads. new recipes and sounds, music and roses in the garden. there are books, words someone else had written, my own thoughts divined by someone else from a previous century. time-travel? prophesies? or the collective unconscious? there is mom and there is dad, in my dreams, he is there sometimes. there are things I can’t explain that I don’t want to know about and there are things I can’t, but want to explain. there are friends and people I shouldn’t call friends but I do anway. there is distance and proximity, promises and disappointment. there are colours and scents, lemon and rose, cinnamon and mint. there is young and old, bravery, fear. there is now and there is never. there is hope and there is certainty that it will never. ever. happen. there is beauty and misinterpretation of it, there is despising and admiration. change. lots of change. there are new goals and old dreams surfacing. surfacing. descending into the depths again. why bother? not enough time. not enough time. anger and sadness because of not enough time. there is pretty and there is ugly and there are names. stupid labels, the way we perceive and persuade and deceive ourselves and others. there are words, useless words that push themselves out into the open, I give birth to them but they are born still, not fit for this world, not fit enough. there is no point, what is the point? there are leaves and thorns and grass, beads of joy and streaks of rainbow and change. always, change. open endings, new beginnings. words I go back to, words I rely on. words that are stolen, words that express me. stale and stolen, that is what I am, feeding upon the past with no clue about the future. is this all there is to it? why am I happy with this, why is this enough? if it isn’t, what can I do about it? there are blurs and limits and overlappings, grey. always grey with spots of colour that are sucked in by the void. there is happiness. open endings. I have to see them as open. I have to. there is a lot in my head and it’s going round and round, never stopping. I can’t lie still and I can’t find peace. caged is not the right word, I don’t have a right word, no language has the right word. it’s a feeling and words fail me. in my head.

Something… something

Something’s brewing inside me these days; probably not the marriage-scare thing, although analysts would be happy to say so. It’s just that in the past, I don’t know… years perhaps, I’ve always looked for company to do something. Go to movies, go to the theatre, travel somewhere. When I discovered a new favourite artist, I had to find someone for discussions. When I wrote something, a short story or blogpost, I kindof needed someone to read what I had to say and comment. Slowly, gradually, my spiritual studies and the way I’m changing inside has led me to the thought that even though humans are social beings and they require the company of others, they do not require company at all times. This thought has come to the forefront especially during those times when after a very busy week packed with meeting after meeting with friends, extra-curricular activities etc. I felt emotionally, mentally and spiritually parched, I felt like I never wanted to meet another human being again. This has been going on for years; after my clumsy teens and my timidly sociable twenties I suddenly grew into a full-fledged social butterfly, not in the strict sense of the word, only compared to what I used to be like, of course. I guess the thirties do that to everyone, right? I am part of several circles of friends, acquaintances, or just certain groups of people who center around specific subjects, like new age studies, certain favourite performers etc. One will inevitably feel after a while that there is only as much time and energy to spend in the company of other people, let those be family or friends. I’ve been there one too many times, I guess, and I’m not talking about rare and precious opportunities when someone meets special friends in a very long time, or for the first time ever (sis, this is not about you guys AT ALL). There is a time and a place for being with someone. And there is the time and place specifically designed for spending time with… well, yourself. read more »

To whom it may concern

I just read a quote somewhere that said, it is our choice whether we choose creative altruism or destructive selfishness. And that love is the only answer to the greatest questions in the world. Blah-blah-blah.

Right now I feel like I’m walking toward the dark end of the spectrum. It’s not that I don’t want to love people. I do. I’m trying, I’m doing my best. But… I feel like I’m not getting anything in return.

I’m on the giving end, but where is the receiving end?

It’s true what they say: if you love and expect it back, you don’t love, not really. Or… is it? True, I mean? Let’s face it: keep on giving, try it for weeks, months, and when you feel you’re not receiving… when you feel you would like to receive, but you aren’t? Because somehow… somehow people are happy when you do something for them, but then… Oh well, they probably think I’m much better off. I don’t need anything.

Why would I? I have a roof over my head, I have a fiancé, I have a family, I have friends, I have hobbies, I have work. What in the world would I need more? So why the hell would anyone want to ask me how I feel… if I’m feeling happy… in this “perfect” life of mine… why would anyone care, why would anyone…?

Why remember my birthday? It’s just one day of the many. I expect no gifts, I swear. I just expected… a Happy birthday.

When I ask how you’re feeling, I mean it… when I help, I mean it… someone once said to me: if you have much, you have to give much. She was right. I am giving much. I am learning to give much. But I cannot give more. Not like this.

This is why I prefer my cave sometimes. This is why I often want that desert island so bad. This is why I sometimes prefer our cats… and movies. Cats purr… they are warm… they are there. Movies teach me profound and important lessons.

I don’t want to organize things any more, I don’t want to hold communities together, I’m not an organizer and I’m certainly not a leader. I’m just like you and I did not want this role. Ever. And I never said I was special. You said that. All of you who loved me when I was easy, and exciting, but forgot all about me when I decided to stop catering for your needs. I’m not writing stories any more. I’m not making wallpapers any more. I’m not a service centre… but I do care about you. All of you. I wish I could help you all. I can’t, and I’ve stopped trying. And the moment I stopped trying, you forgot about me…

I need no friends who never, ever ask me how I feel. I wish I could be Mother Theresa. I dearly wish. But I’m not… I’m only me. Despicable me.

I’m just a person like everyone else, I can only operate with batteries. Emotional batteries. My batteries run down every other day now. And I hate that… but I’m fragile and I sulk when I’m not paid attention to.

Please don’t look for me if you need something. Please ask me how I feel first. Because I did what you asked, I listened to you, I helped you so many times.

When was the last time you did what I asked, you listened to me, you helped me?

Dear Josh

It’s 11 pm local time, by the time I finish this post it will be midnight, 27th of February. I could keep it short and simple and just say, Happy Birthday… but this time I feel like I should write more… not sure what… and not sure why… not sure why now.

It has been four years. Four years since I first heard you sing. Back then, you pulled me out of my deepest misery, you chased away my nightmares, you lifted my spirits and made me believe everything would be all right. Always.

Since that time, you have had an impact on my life stronger than most people around me have. You have inspired me artistically, you have showed me how to be generous, you have given me some of the most amazing friends I ever had. Because of you, I travelled; because of you, I was brave; because of you, I became involved. You made me think, you made me soar, you made me help others. Through your music I experienced feelings I have never had before. From your voice I drew strength and bliss. By your beauty the artist within me was profoundly moved. Your humour has made me laugh, your generosity has made me weep, your presence has given me clarity. Your humbleness is a constant reminder of who I want to be.

I am writing a novel that you inspired. This novel is teaching me things about myself and other people I never understood as clearly as now. It may never be published but my soul and heart are in it, and it is a world I can take refuge in, and get recharged by. Whenever I feel off, I only need to write a little to my novel. Indirectly, you’re still helping me find my center!

You have given me new musical insight. Ben Folds, Mumford & Sons, A Fine Frenzy. Charles Aznavour. Thank you for them!

Your foundation made me become involved in doing charity work. Something I have never done, not that I’m proud of it. You set us an example, and you live by it. You do exacly what you preach. You truly live by Christ’s teachings. You get involved where and when you can , you help people, as many as you can, you pay attention to your fans, to as many as you physically and emotionally can. You listen to what we say, you grant us our wishes. You indulge us, you cater for our needs. You care for us. You really do. The way we care for you. It’s a full circle that has not been broken yet, and I know for certain that it’s not you who will break it, when the time comes… it will be our foolishness, selfishness, and greed.

All these things that you do, you do them gladly, without any effort. You stay open and you stay focused on what’s really important in life. You have been brought up well by two wonderful parents in a wonderful manner and you can walk on your path with your head raised high. You exude love and clarity, you have an aura of something genuine about you, something that we find irresistible. A dear friend once phrased this thought in the truest way possible: “We are drawn to Josh like moths are drawn to the fire. But instead of getting singed, we are reborn.” We are drawn to you, Josh, like tiny moths to a gargantuan, magical, surreal fire; you engulf us with the flames of your love and we are, literally, reborn; each of us rise from our ashes, better persons, grown into our better selves. We are saved, and purged, because of you.

Please don’t be frightened of this huge responsibility. It’s a heavy load but it would not be within you, if you weren’t strong enough to carry it. And if or when you decide to throw the burden off, we’ll be there to carry it for you. And you can let go, and fall back on us. We’ll catch you, we’ll break your fall. We’ll give back what you gave us. There is nothing in the world that you can do and make us stop loving you, Josh. Nothing.

I know now why I wanted to write this post. It’s a public blog, you might come across it. Maybe, who knows. Bigger miracles have happened! I know that I can never tell you all this in person, not ever. Not only because I couldn’t, but also because I am not meant to. I’ve been struggling against this for years, I was hoping to get closer to you, one day, maybe, through a miracle, start working for you, or something as silly as that. But all the things that you’ve given me, now I know: I am not meant to thank you for them. Because deep within your subconscious you know all of it already. You know. You see it in our eyes, you hear it in our cheers. You feel it in our love that travels to you each and every time. So there is no need for yet another clingy fan to tell you just how much she loves you.

I wrote all these things down with the certainty that I can never personally express to you what you mean to me. And in the humble hope that written words travel fast. Maybe they reach you while you sleep, or drink your glass of champagne over a slice of cake, or rehearse with the band for one of the upcoming shows. Maybe the power of loving thoughts and words can indeed move mountains. I truly hope so.

Happy Birthday, dear Josh! May your life always be as amazing as you are making mine.

Miracles Inc.

After my high-brow mini-essay on friendship (please insert self-ironic smiley) and the extensive feedback, I was preparing to write my next posts on two important and controversial subjects. I was already discussing the pros and cons in my mind, I was preparing my argument. (God it’s been ages since my last academic essay!) Well, not really; this is a personal blog and I refuse to be cornered by any regulations whatsoever. Back to what I was saying – please pardon my incoherence, I slept a skimpy four hours and my grey matter is preoccupied with something that happened yesterday -, so, like I was saying… yes. Controversial, universally discussed matters. Those will have to wait.

They say miracles happen to those who believe in miracles. My question is: do we start believing once we witness a miracle, or do miracles happen because we condition ourselves to believe in them…? I think I would say both. I don’t remember I ever saw a burning bush or the disappearance of a man, but at one point in my life, miracles did start to happen. True, they were small miracles. Reading the minds of others. Experiencing something that altered my whole existence. Receiving a reply from God (or the universe, or call it what you want) to a question/request, or receiving a reply to something I was only thinking about. Meeting people who changed who I am, who shaped my life and my outlook on the world. I think what I prefer to call miracles per se, are events of synchronicity; at first, I called them accidents, or haphazard occurences, but as time passed, I began to notice that these events of synchronicity started to occur more and more often. Whether I intuitively sensed these events, whether I willed them to happen, I think it doesn’t really matter. I think it works both ways. I think we want something so hard that we do help along that cause, and when it’s almost happening, our precognition flares the red light: it’s happening!

They say that if we love someone very much, we start reading them. We start feeling what they feel without talking to them. Perhaps even without being on the same continent with them. I have had so many instants of synchronised thinking, or unpremeditated thought-synchronising between me and my friends (and sometimes even strangers) that by now, I’m not even surprised whenever it happens again. I divined people’s thoughts and they divined my thoughts, too. We read each other’s minds and hearts, we visualised them; I sensed actual numbers, objects, places and settings before they happened. (No, I do not play the lottery. Moronic, right?) I knew what hotel room number a celebrity was going to have a year before he came to Hungary. (No kidding.) I talked about an event at a particular setting, something that never happened before, and the next day the news came of that particular setting being used by that celebrity. I visualised thoughts and memories and feelings in Photoshop wallpapers, memories and thoughts of others. I figured out small personal events in someone’s life without ever having spoken to them. I don’t use a crystal ball or even cards; these things just happen. And they happen increasingly more often these days; pretty soon I’ll stop talking to people because the mind-reading (it goes both ways!) is starting to happen on a ridiculous scale!

I’d like to stress that I don’t think I’m a unique person when it comes to extra-sensory perception, in fact, I’ve lately come into contact with people whose lives contain some pretty hardcore stuff. You wouldn’t believe them if I told you, I myself wouldn’t believe them if I hadn’t been there. The thing is, humankind is evolving; whether we like it or not, ESP is a daily ingredient of our lives and everyone, each and every one of us is capable of becoming a precog. We all are precogs. It’s there whether you believe, or not; some of us are more open, some of us are very close-minded, but that doesn’t change the facts.

In any case, this just happened: I went to a concert last October, the band got through to me big time with their music and stage presence, I wrote a blog post (a concert review) several months after that with the aim of making the band’s name more present on the world wide web (they are not yet very well-known, it’s a shame because they really rock), several months passed, there were no comments, and I thought, I performed my duty and I talked about them, as well as my own feelings openly. I owed them this much. Last night on my train home I listened to their album for the first time in months and wondered to myself if the guys ever came across my review and whether they liked it. I arrived home and a comment from the lead singer of the band was waiting for me under the review. He thanked me for my honesty and he said that if they moved just one person in the crowd the night of that concert, it was worth it and that my words mean a lot to them.

I will spare you the graphic details of my emotional implosion; suffice it to say, when I was able to think straight again, I thanked him on my blog and I thanked the universe and God for a lot of things. For getting a reply to the request (plea is more like it) that I sent forth just yesteday about not getting love in return. For the simple, unmistakable proof that words do matter, and that honesty moves people, that an open heart is the shortest way to another person’s heart. For the fact that my blog is not redundant, and for the fact that my words get there; perhaps not always, perhaps there is no feedback, but my words do get there. I am of little faith and God saw it fit to shake me back into the reality of miracles with a gigantic, loving nudge.

So now here I am sitting on a pile of miracles that is growing every day; I look around and tell myself to keep an open eye, ear and heart at all times; you can never tell when you see, hear or feel something that will rock your boat and create ripples and waves to other people’s soul. I was so not expecting a warm-up band to rock my world last October; after a few years that were (in my opinion) jampacked with miracles, I did not expect any more. Even now, sitting on my pile and cherishing the memories, I fully believe that that was it. No more are coming, I mean it’s impossible. What more could happen?!

And yet, I know, based on my firm and wonderful experience, that life is full of doors ready to be opened.

And behind those doors, miracles are ready to occur just for us.

On friendship I.

This is a heavy subject for such a light-mattered blog, and since I believe there will be sequels (as years go by, almost everything changes around and inside us, and this usually happens together), I will make this Chapter 1. I think many of us struggle in this field, whether it’s about justifying ourselves, or because of disappointments; I would welcome comments from friends and strangers alike. Truth be told, I would be grateful for some moral support and encouragement. From time to time it is by strong belief that my being an Aquarius is not tantamount to being a good friend.

I would like to go back in time, all the way to kindergarten. My first friends came from that community. Little girls of whom I only remember the hair colour. In primary school the widening of my circle of interests widened my circle of friends, too. I remember two girls very distinctly, that is to say, three. Irina was a pretty, sassy and slightly lecherous girl with long, black braided hair; she taught me a lot about the world and we often ate salami from Sibiu, which at the time was a delicacy in Romania. We played a lot outdoors, she was a great runner and was always picked for group games; the boys adored her, they sensed the archetypal woman in her. Elizabeta was more refined, but also a truly Romanian girl, one of the smartest in our class, and she ran like a gazelle, graciously, softly. Claudia was a real country-girl but endlessly loveable. I lost touch with them when my family emigrated to Hungary. I wonder if they ever think of me…

In Budapest, everything changed. My heart’s desire was granted: I grew up. The teen age hit me hard with all its glory and doom, I was struggling with my weight, with my acne, with my glasses, and the sense of being an outcast I had experienced in the last two years of primary school here, as well as high school. I was always very reserved, I was the odd girl out due to my height (5′ 9″) when in all honesty I’d rather have disappeared from the entire world… and so, I always walked with a slightly hunched back. My shyness blomed until the age of eighteen, due to the intimidating social life of my older brothers – as well as the fact that I considered every girl around me prettier, and smarter. Sadly, the boys concurred. (I know now that it was my lack of confidence that triggered the refusals and the loneliness. They were neither prettier, nor smarter than me. They were only able to open up and they were brave enough to live.) At the end of primary school I had a friend whom I had met at the Refugee camp in Békéscsaba; her family had arrived from Nagyvárad, mine from Bucuresti. We ended up in the same high school and we have been keeping touch ever since, with shorter or longer breaks in between.

High school brought a few honest, beautiful friendships together with their hitches and initial hardships. In the beginning, these were mere encounters between misunderstood and mocked-at souls, and then, as we stepped out of the shadow or the institution and our class, we found our own voices and were able to open our hearts to each other. We looked upon each other as human beings in our own rights; years passed, relationships came, as well as other friendships, changes and pain, and of course, joy. We could talk about almost everything.

I made some friendships during my university years, too. I remember a lot of faces, names. Some of them I remember very sharply, there are even a few with whom I meet occasionally. To my greatest joy, there are some who came back into my life only recently.

And here ends the part where I discuss relationships which are traditionally accepted by society. Although… these days internet encounters are pretty much considered normal. After all, where else would the forming of an emotional connection that transcends countries and borders possible? I confess I’ve always been more open in writing. Already in primary school I was sending notes and letters to my friends, or to certain (platonic, of course) love interests. I raised the bar and perfected this form of communication to an artistic level in university, when I typed down a loose, stream of consciousness-shaped inner monologue regarding my feelings toward a certain guy in one of my seminars. I think that this piece of writing is still good, even today. (Poor miserable chap, who got the confession in an envelope on his message board did not think so. It is my belief he considered me a psychiatric case. I still know his name; he was a young man with beautiful chocolate-eyes and hair, a pretty face and an intelligent, sensitive mind, his wrist was gracious and his gaze was intense. I fell for him like a stone falls into a river.) Then came the internet, I got accustomed to it, and I came upon certain chatlists, then, the message boards, where I would discuss my favourite celebrities with other fans. One of these chatlists brought me together with my fiancé through a fairy-tale encounter; the message boards gave me a few wonderful persons, friends I often meet in person, too; and they gave me a few people with whom I am only in touch through e-mails, due to the almost insurmountable physical distance. (There is a chance of my meeting one of my most intimate friends this year I never met before; the prospect of this meeting means a lot to both of us!)

The long and short of it is that times are a-changing, and so are the methods of friendship-making. Luckily, my initial reticence disappeared by the time I was in my twenties; I’m not a typical party-girl, but in writing, I open up very fast, and if I communicate with someone who appreciates it, I will open up in person, too. Like everyone else, I follow the changes in the world around me, I adapted, I toed the mark, and joined the current social networks, where I was invited to by friends and acquaintances. I still remember a time when I wrote letters with my hand, with a pen, on paper; then came e-mailing. The telephone was followed by the cellphone, then skype. After the message boards came Facebook and Twitter. And I’m finally arriving at the issue I originally wanted to tacle.

I do not know what friendship is. I thought I knew. I was so wrong. I thought that if a friendship exists between two people, or within a community, for many years, then that can only be a solid friendship. I thought that if two people knew each other for seventeen years, and have been friends almost ever since, good friends, too, then this relationship could not crumble. I thought that if two people can read each other’s thoughts, can finish each other’s sentences, are willing to share their innermost secrets with each other, then there can be no anger, misunderstanding, hurting and being hurt in this friendship. I was wrong, and wrong again, and wrong yet again. For years I’ve been experiencing the fact that sometimes even in the friendships we think most stable there can surface a badly chosen word, a misunderstood phrase, question, opinion, which in turn will furrow itself deep into the flesh of the friendship, like a thorn. This thorn can easily get infected, unless removed in time – discussed openly. During the course of the last year I’ve been living these disappointments and the sense of wonder at how things can happen, and that’s why I’ve recently started to ask myself questions. I’m past the part where I blame myself. I cannot be the cause of every crack. I am not that important, I’m aware of that. It usually takes two. Or more.

Can there be hatred in a friendship? Can there exist lies or secrets in a friendship previously thought completely open? What does it mean to love a friend? How far can one go when giving advice or opinion? Does one have the right to interfere in a friend’s life? (Even when one knows they are at fault.) Why are we sometimes jealous of another person, whom our friend befriends? If a friendship falls apart because someone hurt someone else, and then that someone else hurt them back, but the two parties miss the wamth of their past friendship – is the resuscitating of this friendship allowed, or possible? If there are no common grounds, only anger, hurt and misunderstanding, can a friendship be sustained, is it worth sustaining? When is there a time to let go, and when to hold on?

And why, how can a friendship stop living, that had lived fr many many years? Is this the fate of every human relationship? Farewell?

In time, I realized that the modern day methods of communicating are vastly responsible for the fact that human relationships are becoming more and more shallow. In the paper and pen letters, but even in those e-mails that we worded for hours on end we were still able to dig down into the depths of our soul and haul up secrets. We opened up before each other. We bared ourselves to each other. We confessed things from our past that we never thought would become public. We told our wishes, our dreams, and fears. Then came text messages, which allowed us to communicate with each other regardless of place, several times a day, even. Facebook and Twitter enable a constant presence and communication with more people than one, a quick and efficient report on the person’s doings, situation and occasional state of mind. (Twitter reduces the character number; I quickly have it up when I realized that some of my acquaintances were using it for their daily chat-room and tweets came by the dozen each second.) Facebook and Twitter is attractive to many because celebrities, favourite TV shows, communities or even websites have their own pages, where one can follow the news. Who wouldn’t like to know what Justin Timberlake is doing, for example? (Yeah, I know, whoever doesn’t like the guy. But millions do.) The gist of it is that thanks to Facebook and Twitter, people are carrying their speedy lifestyle over to their communication and social skills. They want to use two sentences, or two words, to tell others what they are doing. They want to convey encouragement, empathy, love, and give opinions, create or deepen an emotional connection through one sentence or one single smiley. It is my experience that this only works if two people meet in person and share thoughts outside the internet network. But sadly, we waste most of the time set aside for the internet (in worst cases, the time set aside for building or maintaining relationships) on these networks; we barely have time for e-mails any more, proper letters written by hand, on paper are slowly slipping into oblivion (I would like to remark that my mom, and my brother living in England still write letters by hand!), instead of the phone we use texsts, and private messages on internet boards or Facebook. Sadly, this process, or phenomenon doesn’t spare the strongest of friendships, either. I have been recently brought face to face with the sad fact that some things happening on the internet can mar a friendship almost twenty years old.

I feel that our consciousness has been veiled by the nightmare of loneliness to such an extent that we allow more and more people to enter our lives, we don’t have enough time for our friends, we want to build relationships quickly and in an efficient manner, we don’t want to waste a single word more on the person than needed. A text will do, a comment to their Facebook post, and we can continue with our day. We post that we are happy, that we are sad. A single person comments; the person we carry on a daily correspondence, and with whom we also meet relatively often. And perhaps one or two more people, sometimes, when they are around. But what do we know of our virtual friends? Do we know what their hair colour is, what their favourite food is, what they like and hate in people, what their favourite movie is, when their anniversary is, if their parents live still, if they love their parents, if they have siblings, what they feel when they see a beautiful flower, if they like animals, etc etc etc.? And what do they know of us?

What do you know about me? And what do I know about you?

My life is more or less an open book to everyone who knows me, who corresponds with me, who meets me sometimes, who used to read my fanfictions, and to those, who take the time to read this blog. Sometimes I am flabbergastingly candid. I won’t say people have not taken advantage. Some have. But I won’t say that this has changed me, either. I like to open up to people, I like to look at strangers as potential friends. Most people react similarly, and this makes me happy because it proves to me that we can still be open and sincere, that we are still able to bare our souls to each other, and we are still able to maintain profound, meaningful relationships.

This post is an invitation to you all, to you in particular. Share with me, with us, a secret. Or just read this, and think about your relationships. Think of your friends, ask yourself, do you pay enough attention to them, or do you just fleetingly ask them how they’re doing? When was the last time you made friends with someone, or when was the last time that your soul resonated with someone else’s? If you’re open, why are you open, and if you’re withdrawn, why are you so? Are you scared of being disappointed, of being refused, or of getting hurt?

I must think many things through. I don’t know anything of friendships, or of love, for that matter. It took me thirty-three years to grasp this.


It’s not possible to keep my thoughts to myself. I re-read and re-write and I die each time I see a smile, I feel a touch, I read a thought of fear, of hope, of impossible desire. I’m locked with him and her in their tiny space of timelessness, I’m immortal like them, I weep with them and embrace them, separately and together. There’s no one I could talk to, no one I can share all this with, no one can understand, I can only seem crazy and vain. I told a friend I have been teaching myself to keep the bad things to myself… not burden people with everything I feel. That applies to the good also… I wish I could break my promise now, but as punishment for making myself unreachable for so many, no one is within my reach at this very moment of endless, divine bliss. I’m torn to pieces and I’m reborn each second, every time I blink and I see the world be resurrected over and over.

They say there is no pain one cannot endure. I don’t know about that, I never had to endure much pain… I only know that there must be a limit to enduring bliss. If there isn’t… then I’ll shortly know what God feels.

Thank you, my angels


Angel no. 1

So this is my own private Angel no. 1. I would not be me without him. I love, love, love you so much dearest!!!!!!!! :-********

Ő tehát az én személyes 1. számú Angyalkám, aki nélkül nem lennék önmagam.

vili1.jpg read more »

Not much…

…is happening these days… time flies, or lingers, it’s basically all the same; I do the same things; I see the same people…

Is spring really here? I can see it and hear it all around me… but I can’t feel it.

I think a bout of loneliness is coming… I have been euphoric for quite some time now. It was bound to end. Everything always ends… We set our hearts on something, we get it, then we leave it behind… and we go for the next things to keep us high. High is everyone’s favourite mood, ain’t it? To really feel, to experience, to understand, to virtually go through something, if it was never meant to be actually lived.

My better half is far from me… and going home to an empty flat is the most heartbreaking experience anyone who has had their soulmate by their side for years has to go through. I cheat on solitude by filling the silence with an angel’s voice; the blanks I see before me I fill with colours and shapes and things that will never happen; the lack of human touch I try to balance with people somewhere far, people I have never seen or met, and will probably never do so; I miss my better half, as I can only see with one eye, I can only breathe with one lung, and my legs only take me halfway to where I want to be.

Oh, the places I’ve been to these past weeks… I have soared on borrowed wings, and I have touched the heavens. Now I think it is time to give the wings back. Not that I want to. But this is how it works… and I can be grateful I receive them once in a while. Most people never feel what I feel. Thank you, my protective angels, thank you, Whoever, Whatever, Wherever- living or not- existant or divined.

I hope I can still take a few sips of this wine… I need to stay inebriated, otherwise hell awaits me.