A student, no more - Part 2

"I'm sorry, but I have other plans for you." The words were like a song I'd been playing on repeat in my head for the past week or so.

I was now on the train to Budapest, talking to this lady in her fifties about leech therapy and zodiac signs. She knew nothing about phones, and although she said she'd traveled a lot, she didn't seem to know a lot about that, either. Romanian was not her first language; I couldn't figure out what it was, because my fear of awkward situations prevented me from asking (this fear will become a recurring theme throughout this story - fair warning to you, reader). She was really nice - bordering on intrusive. Asking me how long I was going to stay in Budapest and where. I told her about hostels and she seemed to have the biggest Eureka moment of her life, realizing that for the price of sharing a room with 4 or more strangers, you could get a roof over your head for the fraction of what you would pay at a hotel. I feel like I've changed her life.

Finding my hostel in Budapest was a matter of walking up and down Rákóczi street, finding, fist the street that I had set as a landmark telling me I'd gone too far, and then the street I should have known came before the one I was looking for. Finally I found my street, and walking along it gave me the best feeling I'd had in a long time. It was full of cafes and pubs and bars and restaurants, each with its own personality and a representative crowd of people in front. Street singers, languages I kind of understood, languages I recognized and languages I had never heard before - all spoken by young people in colorful clothing, smiling and going... God knows where. And the hostel itself? Just... wow. Friendly staff, a guitar hung up on the wall, a bookshelf with a sign on it that said "Take one & give one", beanbags everywhere, and the beds - each, a room in itself, a little shelf with a drape towards the room, so you could create your own tiny universe to read, write or sleep to your hearts content. There wasn't much socializing among room sharers. But that's okay. Only the guy in the bed below mine (I was bed 7, by the way) was quite talkative - both online and with whoever was around him and awake at the time. No matter, I fell asleep like a baby that night, after a long walk.

I crossed Elisabeth bridge, and I swear, the Danube worked wonders with the hills/mountains around here, and then the Hungarians worked wonders along its banks. I mean, look at this view! I was greeted by this wonder before I even got to the bridge. 

Ignore the ladies in front. I did. :)

And after crossing, there was a waterfall with some stairs around it. Climbing the stairs was fun, I found these little gems along the way:

You can't really see, but in the picture on the left, some passer by (I wandered if they were tourists or they lived around here) left a glass bottle upside down on that wall.

And on the right - well... a picture speaks a thousand words, I think that's what they say...

When I got to the top of the stairs, I was so glad I had taken that little detour (the plan had been to walk upstream, to Margaret bridge, passing the famous Chain Bridge along the way, and return on the other bank). This was the view from up there:

Looking to the right...

... and to the left. You can see the bridge I had just crossed.

I just gave up on taking pictures after that. I remembered that the Internet is full of pictures of landmarks, mine weren't going to make a difference. I could probably download much better ones, if I ever felt the need to look at these places again - although I am pretty certain that Budapest is a city I'll revisit more than once.

I followed the plan. I walked along the bank to Margaret Bridge. I got cursed at (I think) in Hungarian, by some angry guy on a bicycle - although he might have sworn at the much bigger group I myself was trying to find a way around. I got thanked (this I know for sure) by another, much calmer guy on a bike for getting out of his way. And I saw a sad man. He was in his 40s, I think, and he was hunched over, sort of hugging himself as he walked, as if trying to comfort himself through some great tragedy he'd been through. He didn't even notice the people around him; he was in his own bleak world, and his eyes were staring somewhere far away as he walked. I wondered where he was coming from and where he was going. But I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.

I watched the sunset across the Danube,  slowly starting to feel cold and tired, by this time. And as the nightlife was just beginning to stir - clubs opening, people drinking beer right off the docks where boat-restaurants were conveniently waiting for cash-laden tourists, and streetlights in the distance making the city look more like a fairy town - I got back to the hostel.

I was too tired to eat. I had a shower and went to sleep in my little box.

The next morning, in the kitchen I made myself a cup of tea and simply had to take a photo of the goulash recipe printed on the wall:

Blurry picture, but a good reminder that there's always a recipe online if I want one

After finishing my tea, I got my stuff, and went downstairs to wait for the buss that would take me to the airport. The bus that the hostel staff so kindly helped me book was right on time, which I really appreciated. But I had a little time to spare, so I started reading this:

The first few paragraphs seem promising. I'd like to read the rest, some day. I wonder if that copy will still be there, the next time I'll go to Budapest, or if someone will have replaced it by then.

When I got to the airport, with lots of time to spare and famished since I hadn't had dinner or breakfast, I decided to buy a sandwich and a latte and go outside on the terrace to enjoy my food and drink. Imagine my surprise when I realized I'd have company for breakfast.

They enjoyed some crumbs I decided to share, and they were so close!

After that, I took the flight I'd really come to Budapest for...

A student, no more.

So, I don't think I'm the only one who's had this baffling experience: For ages before handing in my dissertation, and especially between the time I did hand it in and the time I presented it in front of an intimidating audience (a grand total of two people) I felt like once that was over, my life would be great. I would go out and drink, and party, and then sleep like a baby and then drink and party some more. Instead, the minute I walked out of the room, once I'd messaged everyone who needed to know that my time as a masters student was over, I had this sinking feeling in my stomach; this emptiness took over, even before the actual thought struck me: "What now?". The deadlines I'd been dreading all these years, the pressure to write essays that would actually be worth reading; they had, all of a sudden, vanished. And my life suddenly had no purpose. I felt lost, and in no mood to celebrate. The epic night that I thought would follow my last day as a student was now far less desirable than a day of wallowing and just trying to figure out what I was going to do next.
And all this happened despite what turned out to be my mom's best idea ever. Sometime during the week between my dissertation being handed in and my presenting it to my vast audience, she IM's me, asking what my plans for the near future were. I tell her I'm not really sure if I should go visit my dad (it's been at least two years), or if I should start looking for jobs immediately. She says "I'm sorry, but I have other plans for you."
And that's how it all started.

To be continued.

27 Things

1.The way you kiss me.

2. The fact that you have no idea how amazing you are.

3. The wrinkle on your nose when you laugh at something cute.

4. The moments when you make me feel like a child.

5. Your hands.

6. Your fears.

7. Your courage.

8. The way you say you need space and then do all you can to minimize it.

9. The way you pay attention to my every move, expression or word. And the fact that you always know the perfect way to react to them.

10. The way you encourage me to strive for my goals.

11. The fact that I’ve come to realize that if I just wait a couple of seconds, you’ll say exactly what is on my mind.

12. The way you understand my interests and find a way to translate and include them into yours.

13. The fact that I can rely on you even if you’re afraid I can’t.

14. The fact that I got to watch you sleep.

15. The way you take care of me.

16. The way you enter protector mode whenever we’re in even the smallest amount of danger.

17. The fact that you’re just as afraid of putting important things into words as I am.

18. The fact that you take the time to understand everything I cannot say yet.

19. The fact that you express important things through actions.

20. The way you said you’d miss me.

21. Your voice.

22. Your history.

23. Your passion for planes.

24. The fact that you feel you can let your guard down when you’re with me.

25. Your writing.

26. Your determination.

27. You.

 

De ce sunt revoltata? De asta sunt revoltata.

*Articol postat la mult timp dupa ce a fost scris...*


"LUNI, 20 IANUARIE, ORA 16:16 - Chirurgul Radu Zamfir suna la 112 si anunta ca avionul in care se afla alaturi de alte 6 persoane s-a prabusit in munti.  Echipajul medical aflat la bordul aeronavei mergea la Oradea pentru o interventie de prelevare de organe."

In urma accidentului, Media  a luat foc. Media a inceput sa ia informatii de unde apuca; si-a trimis reporterii si cameramanii sa incurce cat mai mult posibil oameni care incercau sa salveze niste vieti. A inceput sa sune oamenii care INCERCAU SA SALVEZE NISTE VIETI! si sa ii tina in telefon, cerand explicatii despre un eveniment in plina desfasurare, care avea nevoie de toata atentia lor, pentru ca incercau sa salveze niste vieti.

Trece ziua. O parte din vieti sunt salvate, o parte nu. E tragic ce s-a intamplat. A murit un tatic al unor copii si o fetita a unor parinti. E crunt. Dar eu, in timp ce mureau oamenii aia, mi-am dat ochii peste cap si am inchis televizorul, gandindu-ma: "se descurca ei; si chiar nu am chef sa ii vad pe cei de la stiri facand tam-tam si incurcand niste oameni care incearca sa salveze niste vieti." Asta am facut. Mi-am dat ochii peste cap, am inchis televizorul si m-am culcat. Mi-e sila de mine. Dar sunt convinsa ca primul pas in a schimba ceva la mine consta in a imi recunoaste greselile si a-mi permite sa imi fie sila de mine.

Trece si a doua zi, in care nu am aprins televizorul nici macar odata, iar in dimineata celei de-a treia zi, ajung pe internet, unde gasesc stirea asta: 
http://stirileprotv.ro/stiri/actualitate/victimele-accidentului-din-apuseni-ar-fi-trebuit-sa-traiasca-aveau-la-bord-telefoane-inteligente-cu-localizare-si-internet.html
Titlul este "Experiment Catalin Radu Tanase si George Buhnici: Cum poti localiza un om in cateva secunde. De ce MAI si STS nu au reusit?" si contine un clip de cateva minute in care doi tipi inflacarati ne arata cat de prost s-au organizat autoritatile si ce solutii simple existau la problema lor. Comentau la doua zile dupa tragedie si ridiculizau subtil incompetenta celor care incercau sa salveze niste vieti. Comentau ca dupa un film de actiune de la care au iesit impreuna. Ca nu trebuia asa, ca de fapt alta e tactica folosita in ziua de azi, ca s-au vazut firele, ca efectele nu erau de calitate... Iar eu, pe masura ce ma uit la acest clip ma enervez; si ma enervez; si ma enervez. Si mi se face sila de mine. Abia acum, in al noualea ceas, mi se face sila de mine si de tot ce e in jurul meu. Dar ma includ in sila aia care ma sufoca, pentru ca nu pot sa arat cu degetul doar pe cei din jurul meu, stiind ca am reactionat exact ca ei. Si comentez la stirea aia. In speranta ca sila asta, care o sa ne curete, pana la urma, de toate, o sa ii cuprinda si pe altii:
"ok. Autoritatile nu se ocupa de ce ar trebui; nu sunt preocupate de competitivitate si nu s-au gandit la solutiile promovate de voi aici. Si totusi... de ce nu le-a sugerat cineva mai devreme? De ce... vorbind cu reprezentanti ai autoritatilor in timpul cautarilor (pentru ca ati reusit sa ii contactati, nu-i asa?) nu le-ati facut aceste sugestii? Ati asteptat sa esueze ca sa faceti un articol de impact? Daca asta ati facut, sangele celor doua persoane moarte este atat pe mainile voastre cat este pe al autoritatilor incompetente. Iar daca nu ati facut aceste demersuri pentru ca, pur si simplu nu v-au venit ideile, pe moment, din cauza ca incercati sa coordonati cat mai bine demersurile incepute deja, atunci nu mai judecati oamenii pentru ca sunt oameni, exact ca voi. Mesajul acesta este pentru toata lumea: pentru reporteri, pentru cetateni... chiar si pentru mine. Puteam sa fi ajutat, daca ne interesa."
Asa simt eu. Asa gandesc eu.
Imi pare rau.

Perseu îngenuncheat

 

 Mă urc în mașină să merg să văd spectacolul dat anual de fiii cruzi ai lui Perseu, deasupra capetelor noastre. 

An de an, lumea nici nu știe ce se petrece. An de an trec pe langa chipuri reci de oameni preocupați de treburile lor, care nu știu - pe care nu îi interesează - unde ne aflăm.

0

Nu știu încotro mă îndrept. Sper să găsesc vreo parcare, vreun loc întunecat de popas pe marginea drumului. 

Puteam să fac dreapta aici.

Sau aici.

Fir-ar să fie! Nici nu mă mai uit după drumuri spre câmp. Dacă nu le-am văzut ziua, dacă nu știu că urmează, nu am nicio șansă să le văd la timp. Caut parcări. Sau un drum secundar pe care să merg mai încet.

Uite! Perfect!

0

Greieri. Mulți greieri. Unul e chiar nervos; aproape că îmi vine să îmi cer scuze că l-am deranjat.

0

Sper să nu vină nimeni... de ce-am venit singură?

Pentru că nu am nimic de spus nimănui, de fapt.

Uite! (O fractiune de secunda, nimic mai mult. Departe de centrul câmpului meu vizual, a apărut o liniuță; pentru o fracțiune de secundă.)

 

1

Mi-e puțin frică.

De ce nu ești aici?

De ce ai fi?

1

Ne uităm la aceleași stele.

Colega mea e în Vamă. Spunea că ea se va uita în sus de pe plajă. O sun.

Vorbim ca fetele.

Zgomot?

Merg să verific.

Nu e nimic. Mă întorc să mă sprijin de mașină.

Începe să mă doară gâtul, dar nu mă întind pe-aici. Nu știu cum e, de fapt, pe jos.

Oau! (Asta a fost cu totul altceva. Exclam la telefon, ca un copil. Ea nu a văzut nimic. Oare a mai văzut cineva? Dâră lungă de lumină. Mijlocul s-a stins primul, capetele s-au stins concomitent. Ciudat.)

2

Închid telefonul. Nu cred că mai stau mult. Am văzut despre ce era vorba și devine din ce în ce mai ciudat locul acesta.

3

Stelele se uită la mine. Aș putea să jur că mă privesc.

4

Cassiopeia pare să stea comod. O salut cu un surâs; noi ne știm de mult. 

5

Parcă n-aș pleca înainte de 12. Dacă se întâmplă ceva mai interesant? 6

6

OK. Șase stele căzătoare. Îmi ajung pentru o singură seară. Nu mi-am pus dorințe. Am tot ce îmi trebuie, iar dacă e să primesc ceva în plus, vreau să cred că am meritat - nu că am forțat mâna vreunei zeități a bucăților de materie cosmică.

A fost o seară interesantă.

Aveți grijă de voi!

Cu pirați

A fost odată, ca niciodată un pirat. Iar modelul lui în viață era Căpitanul Hook. Și tare trist era piratul nostru, pe numele lui, Niagord, că nu avea și el cârlig. Simțea că alura lui de Simbad îi diminua din frica de Timp pe care era convins că trebuia să o simtă.

Însă nu știa Niagord că Timpul murise odată cu teribilul Hook, iar tot ce rămăsese era legenda - tâlcul. Ticăitul acela mecanic, apăsător, tot ceea ce inspira teamă tuturor piraților veritabili dispăruse. Încetase de îndată ce crocodilul, prea epuizat să mai încerce a-l provoca pe  Hook la discuții, s-a transformat în delfin, si a plecat să-și strige prietenii pe nume.

The End.

Take care!

Goodbye Agony?

When you feel like letting go of something that may never even have been there to begin with...

... and you know you've fought really hard - to avoid getting in way over your head in something you knew you wouldn't want to get out of - and you fought in vain...

It's like...

It's like a drug; like a gateway drug that you start off having just at parties, just for a bit of fun. 

And then you begin to notice that it helps you get through the harder moments in life... without doing much - just by being in your system.

Then it becomes a part of your everyday life. That one thing that just makes your day feel complete.

And then you get hit in the head and left for dead because you owed someone some cash and you were just too weak and doped up to fight back.

But I haven't been hit on the head just yet, now, have I? There are just a few scrapes and bruises here and there... Self inflicted, all of them... But that doesn't count. It's not enough. I need that sobering pain that comes with being left for dead in some ditch. Then I'll come to my senses.

Then I'll be okay.

Hit me. Hit me hard, like I owe your boss some money. 

Only then can you leave.

Only then can I live.

Take care of yourselves.