after yet another busy weekend, i'm sitting on the train on my way back to budapest. life feels all right again, as the train is clattering under my feet and the sun is descending behind my back. i'm listening to lana del ray's somewhat depressing and monotonious, yet truly unique and calming music, and i feel like being a writer again. i finally feel like pushing myself towards writing again, writing in hungarian, facing my truest self in my mother tongue. i am thinking about writing a novel at last, as everybody seems to be writing novels these days (even my 14-year-old sister, my mini-me), and some of them publishing them at huge publishing houses with the best pr in town.
as always, summer makes me giddy, excited, and creative. i feel like pulling out that (not even) half-written novel of mine and rewriting it completely. i can't just abandon it, as that is my very first fruit, my first born baby to whom i must give a chance, even if she is losing the battle of staying alive. cause that's the story i have to tell first, the one that i have to get out of my system, and only then can the rest of my stories follow.
and so it's summer again, sun beaming, warm hard-to-bear hot all around, even in the shade, and you cannot quite bear to shrivel out on the sun. although i am not quite sure whether i like summer, as most of the time i am leaning towards disliking it; yet, since it's only the very beginning, the very first weekend of the long hot season i can't resist but enjoy it. it makes me dizzy, it makes me want to grab a pen, and write, write, write, write my heart out after all this time, after all this hiatus, when i can't even remember when i held a pen in my hand the last time, when i wrote a page or two, just for the sake of writing. these first days of summer also make me excited, as the sunshine and the warmness of the earth fills me with energy and eagerness. i can't help but feel truly happy. i want to go outside all the time, spend entire days on lush green fields, just sit in the grass and enjoy the lovely weather, walk around and take a thousand pretty photos of the descending sun, capture the beauty of the dandelions, and the crispyness of the bright blue sky. i don't like summer, i loath the heat and soaking in my own sweat, my sticky body sticking to the filthy leatherette seat of the stinky metro car. yet, today i feel alright, because everything feels just fine, with a capital f. (if only i were in the mood to use capital letters.)
my creativity is in bloom, and i feel like doing a thousand different things, creating a million pretty things, going to all the places i have ever wanted to go, and taking all the gazillion photos i haven't had the chance to take. oh, that sweet old wanderlust is overtaking my adventurous mind.
as i blow the candles on my belated birthday cake i realize: i am 25, and i am just fine.
cause today everything is all right. i may not be sure where i am going, but i have all the freedom in the world, all the determination, creativity, and talent. i am confident, and i know that i am going to get there someday. not sure where that there is, but i do know i am going to get there. day by day, book by book, word by word, and photo by photo, i am more sure of the direction. and i am more and more sure that my freedom, my talent, my creativity, and determination will get me there. i am 25, and i am free. i can still go wherever i want to go, cause i have a pair of healthy and strong feet and they gonna get me there. i can still be anything i want to be. i can try out everything i want to try out. backpacking through europe. backpacking through the usa. taking a thousand breath-taking photos of a thousand breath-taking skandinavian forests. lying on the grass and staring at the cheesy but ever so starry sky on balmy summer nights and wondering at the enormosity of the universe. writing a book after a hell of a lot of struggle and laziness. writing half a dozen other books after a little less struggle and laziness. struggling to publish the books. starve. then publish the book at last. enjoy being an artist. enjoy being quite everything at the same time. enjoy not being quite anything. enjoy being a peniless explorer of the world. enjoy investing and keeping all my little money in books and shoes and bags.
and most importantly: fuck society for pushing and pressuring me into any kind of direction, building a career, working 12 hours a day 5 days a week, buying a tiny little flat on mortgage and paying it for the rest of my life, and all that shit.
because actually all i need is my two good feet, a backpack stuffed with all the essentials, and most importantly, a narrowly lined notebook, a ballpoint pen, and my neat camera. (and maybe a little money.)
and off i go, on the road.
I wish you'd be published with all my heart (and a bit of envy perhaps). Already this post felt like poetry to me and it hit the right note again as I was just beginning to give in to depression. I envy your confidence, enthusiasm, and determination. If only I believed in all this and didn't feel like an old bag of crap without a chance in the world!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Andi!:)
ReplyDeleteI do think that you don't actually have to be the best, it's enough if you (simply) beleive it.
In my opinion, it's all about the attutide, that's the only thing you have to change.