Friday, September 27, 2019


Dear future hubster,
if you ever wondered what conditions one needs to fulfil to be considered a real Swiss girl, wonder no more. My undercover Hungarianness resulted in gathering considerable life advice from the two women next to me in the canteen who didn't know I understood them.
One is considered a real Swiss girl if they had at least one Kosovar or Albanian boyfriend. 

Monday, September 9, 2019

Say you'll wait, you'll wait for me

Dear future hubster,
while I really enjoy road trips in a team (remember, that's what we're supposed to be: a team), often for the destination, and almost always for the journey itself, I also appreciate and cherish my solo drives.
Oddly, considering how many others are on the road with me, they feel like quality me-time. I get to listen to bad French radio and then move on to bad German radio, with all the painful accents; I get to sing along to even James Blunt because I will never have to admit it, for lack of witnesses. 
I get to look at the ridiculously pretty landscapes, admire the mountains in the clouds, the lush greens, to doomy dark greys. I get to contemplate on life, the journey, the purpose, the meaning. I get to find some of the peace I thought I lost forever, because I couldn't hear the words of wisdom in the noise of everyday.
See, I don't miss you on the road. I do at the end of the road. That's where I wish you were, waiting for me, laughing at my complaints about my silly fellow drivers, the bad radio, the weather. Making me unpack in less than a week, having my ginger tea ready for when I arrive to that place we share and call home.

Monday, August 26, 2019

You can take the future

Dear future hubster,
you know I like fairy tales and happy endings. I also like realistic depictions of emotionally overwhelming times. You know, the stories that remind us that it ain't that easy.
What I don't like is when the protagonist throws their hands up in the air saying "it wasn't meant to be". Or when they expect a carriage ride in the sunset because "it was meant to be".
That's just lazy. And/or sloppy writing.
You know what is meant to be, in every story? A choice. You are meant to be given a choice - fate can only push somebody in your way, but it can't know what you're going to do with them.
If you choose to stop, to give it consideration, time, and effort, then you choose to give the story a potentially meant to be ending - sunset ride optional.
If you choose to sit one out, because it's not the right time, not the right place, not the right colour, too much work, not enough potential return on investment, you choose to throw your hands up in the air. 
Whatever made you do so is a valid reason, just own it. Destiny doesn't decide that it wasn't meant to be. We do.

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

Carved in your name with a pocket knife

Dear future hubster,
there are many thins being said about tattoos - some accurate, others less so. 
They hurt, yes - don't let anyone tell you otherwise -, but some of them aren't that bad. Where they hurt more is a frequent subject of debates. Some say it's worse closer to the bone, some say it's worse wherever you're a bit fleshy. If you're fleshy closer to your bones, you might be in for some fun. 

And then there's the very philosophical discussion around when and why it hurts. 
The practicalities to decrease the physical pain are fairly simple: don't be drunk, try to be rested, don't go there hungry (you're gonna faint my friend), try to be hydrated but not too much because then you have to hold it, have something or somebody distract you, give yourself enough time.
But then the other pain, the one under your skin. Does it hurt more when it's fresh? Or does it get worse the later you treat it? Do you get your tattoos to cover up the scars; to numb your pain with a new, superficial one? Or do you get them to externalise the inner pain, hoping it would ease? Do you cover your skin to make your hidden scars visible?  

Friday, July 12, 2019

All the times you said

Dear future hubster,

please remember that your words matter. What you say will stay with me longer than you would think, or would like. 
If you don't want to make a promise, don't say things that sound like one, because you're talking to somebody who will remember that you said we can play house, and who will be anxiously looking forward to the time we can, and will be disappointed for a very long time because we didn't.
You're talking to somebody who is way too excited about putting on the onesies even in the dead of summer, because you said we would, and who fully understands why their current location at the bottom of the winter clothes' pile might cancel that plan, but who is not at all consoled by that logical explanation.

You said "don't think I don't love you" to somebody who was smitten and swept off her feet by that, and who now can't shake the thought of the double negative it was wrapped in. 

Friday, June 14, 2019

When the stars go blue

Dear future hubster,
where do you go when you're lonely?
When you can't find your place,
when you can't find your peace?
Do you look for it everywhere?
Do you wait for it to come to you?
Do you go quiet when you hurt? Is that how I would know?
Does it hurt when you're quiet,
when you feel like you can't talk,
when you feel like you don't know what to say,
you don't know how to say it?
Do you try to fill the silence, so you don't hear your racing mind?
Do you try to listen to the silence, try to hear the answer?
Do you hide out, waiting for the dark grey clouds to go away?
Do you hope to be found?
Do you know I'm trying to find you?

Thursday, May 30, 2019

A girl is a lucky one

Dear future hubster,
By now you should have somehow realised that your future wife is a bit of a traveller. You might have also noticed that although I am one to go with the changes, I might not necessarily be one who enjoys them immensely (to put it mildly). Probably because I ache to belong? But I also ache to be recognised, appreciated, wanted, and if it doesn't happen, I get itchy to look for it elsewhere.
Luckily, I'm not the only one. The upside of being one constantly on the search is that there are many others, and the more I move around, the more of them I know. And the best thing that can happen to anybody arriving to a new place after having left everything behind yet another time is to know that somebody is already there.
Somebody of the same tribe, somebody who knows how it feels, how it's exciting and terrifying and shiny brand new and sad and funny and joyful and overwhelming and bizarre. Somebody who doesn't ask the big whys, just tells you the little hows. Somebody who, by their simple existence, can prove you that yes it is possible and you will be just fine, and at the same time knows without saying that it's bloody hard and it might take a while until you're actually fine.

Eventually, you become that somebody. And when the next one arrives, you're grateful again that you're not alone, that your experiences, although personal to you, are not unique. You're not that special.

You might not see these people very often, or ever again, but the moment when they were there remains an important one. A melodramatically bonding one. We just don't talk about it much, because we are these cool strong brave people (what all of those things mean is a story for another day).

So until you come around, dear future hubster,  and we can do this nonsense together, I will keep relying on and being deeply grateful for these people. And once you're around, know that you and I, we are going to be those people.