How many new lives can a person have? What happens if one uses them all?

The 20 minutes drive to work is great for pondering heavy questions like these. One can admire the mountains, the mist and the animals in the mean time... it's almost therapeutic. But then questions like these emerge and the mist crawls in front of my eyes. Precipitation occurs.

There are many things that denote the start of a new life. Take Earl Grey Tea for example. I didn't get a taste for it until I came to this continent, then it became part of me, like a little piece of home. A new home. It feels like it was a life time ago actually, but here I am at work now sipping on a cup of it and dealing with the myriad of images it recalls in me. They say that one of the most stressful things in a person's life is moving houses. Or just moving. Moving. But I don't like to do things in a mediocre way. Hmm, that's a lie, whether I like it or not, I don't get to do things in a mediocre way. When I move, it is always the side effect of a life changing event or the move itself is life changing. I had 12 of it I think, this one is lucky 13th. And friendliest friends, it doesn't get easier...

Some of us belong right off the bat, without trying... without even realising it. But most of us are just left to long. I don't have the arrogance to decide which one is better, which one is the right way.

In all honesty though, I always felt attracted to the Amish way of life.

When shall 'longing' become 'belonging'?

"each pray'r is accepted, each wish is resing'd"

Just what I have been echoing relentlessly... and then I come across this song... who are you and where did you come from? Have you been here before? How did you know? And why are you here now? You know, I'd like to scream some of these lines with you... but most importantly, how did you know? I like your name, Bear's Den... I love bears.

The cold wind made your cheeks glow
Shivering away under your coat
Berlin was all covered in snow
All I could offer was a hand to hold
So we made our way to the memorial
You traced your hand along the wall
When they put on the video
I felt your hand tighten in mine

Oh, to be lost in an Alzheimer fog
Like the grandfather I lost before I lost
To raise the root but spare the tree
And cut you out of my memory
Leave my world just black and white
Snatch the sun out of the sky
For the only colour in my life
Is the memory of you and I

Oh, for every crime that I commit
Is there not a punishment that fits?
I'm sorry is an endless corridor
Where behind each ever open door
Are my doubts, my fear, my sin
I don't know how to begin
It's a maze within a maze without within
My mind, my mind, my labyrinth 

I can't forget you
I try all the time
I can't forget you
Berlin, with your hand in mine

So happy is the blameless vestal's lot 
The world forgetting by the world forgot
Is it eternal sunshine or endless dark?
Or just a branch left hanging by the bark?
Maybe there are victories and defeats
That slip through the cracks of history
We're just two little people in the sea

But    know    that    it    meant    everything    to    me

The cold wind made your cheeks glow
Shivering away under your coat
Berlin was all covered in snow
All I could offer was a hand to hold
So we made our way to the memorial
You traced your hand along the wall
When they put on the video
I felt your hand tighten in mine
You were always on my mind

The bottom line is that you can't make someone want you...

If you want it done, you have to do it yourself... I have to want me...

I am mother's aching liver, begging for forgiveness...

that being a woman is still an ungrateful task in this life...

barátocskák, a helyzet az, hogy nőnek lenni bizony, hálátlan feladat...

There are moments when this still gives me a fright... but it's getting older, and with that it is getting more and more familiar. Perhaps one day I will come to terms with it.

Spending 5 hours in the Volvo is only good for one thing: to take inventory. These are the places where I felt I belonged (the bitter fact is though, it was always temporary)... well, ladies and gentlemen come forth and take a good look: Kolozsvár, Budafok, Csepel, Kertváros, Uránváros, Óváros, Egyetemváros (a legkedvesebb dimenzió Pécsből), Oslo, Parkville, Brunswick, Plenty, Omeo. 

Polyva is the Hungarian word for tumbleweed. It might as well be a great chunk of my character too. Nonetheless tasting the word polyva in my mouth, certainly weights my heart down. It's just another painful realisation about myself versus the world, like when I learnt that I don't have a middle name... or a home...

Perhaps that's the idea of believing; you are just a passing moment in this machinery and therefore you are not supposed to belong... not to people and not to this world... you don't get to belong here... not yet.

I am always okay.

yeah... keep telling yourself that.