I've been thinking for a while now that I should also write in Hungarian, since that's more like me, and that's still my best tool to express my inner self. Now that I spent a few days at home (meaning: in Hungary), this feeling is even stronger. I had several conversations about how difficult it is to continuously think and communicate in a different language. About how difficult it is to have a deep, yet funny conversation with someone who have no idea who Vágási Feri is (Google will never tell you exactly). When you first have to explain all the nuances to have the other person deeply understand and feel what you're about to say. Now this is something I miss. Tremendously. When I go home, I try to stock up of these conversations for indefinable lengths. I usually don't sleep much for a few days, because I know I only have those brief moments to express fully what's in me.
I of course have Peter, but we don't talk about all the topics I love to talk about, naturally. And you don't realise this until you're far away from home. My heart is always heavy for a few weeks after I come back and even though my batteries are charged, I know I have to economize on the energy to have it last for enough time. Especially until the end of the Icelandic winter. What even refuses to come this year. I especially miss my artist friends. Those I started my life with, those who struggled and celebrated the same way as I did, while we were going through our character building years. Whose values are still very similar to mine to date, and who are going through the same difficulties when it comes to art. Those, who know how was our art school in 1995, and what was Hungary like in 2005. Those who know what place was there before today's ticket vending machines on Kálvin Square. Or simply know who Vágási Feri is. Maybe I'm growing old, and maybe I just have to let it go. But maybe I don't. Until I feel like these people can still give me a lot (and hopefully vice versa) with all the layers we've collected ever since, I can hardly imagine that this is not a valid need. Exupéry's sentence rings in my ears often: "...there is only one true luxury, that of human relationships.”
So either someone invents teleport for me, or I obtain a huge amount of money in a short period of time, but I definitely have to visit home a lot more. Even if we don't move back, I have to be there to inhale spring, summer, the smell of trees, the smell of the warm rain, the oh-so-many faces of the staircases, the humming streets, the happily crowded nightlife, and anyway, all the nooks and crannies of the smelly, loud, but forever wonderful Budapest. To show this all to my kids. To bring them to the museums I grew up in. To show them the forests we were hiking in. To let them explore those thousands of buildings we visited throughout the years. To show them where we, their parents come from. To decrease the space between us. To let them meet our friends. And our friends' kids. To let them bathe in lake Balaton more. To let them travel by train. By tram. To let them sit on the stairs of the museums, the bank of the Danube, on Gellért hill, on the alley, on "Moscow Square", on Móricz Square, on Kálvin Square. Of course, it'll never mean the same for them, but to let them drink a bit more sips of it, than they do now.
It hurts a bit, writing about it, because I know it would even be difficult if we lived there. We wouldn't be able to hand everything over that builds us up. But maybe if we could continuously share our thoughts that incubated there with those who were part of them for so long, we wouldn't feel this pain so sharply either. Then maybe this lightness of being would be a bit more bearable. If I might say so.
Anyway, thank you everyone, who has charged me this time. (I could write it in English... even if it's sloppy.)