Sometimes things are so transparency

Dear future hubster,

during the yearly routine of watching Love Actually (after having convinced/outvoted Little P that this is better than the Grinch) I realized that there is a part that might very possibly be applicable to us. And it's not where you, returning politician tell me that I weigh a lot. And while I might find your British accent very cute (provided you have one), it's not where my four super sexy sisters and I invite you to stay in our tiny house where we wear no pyjamas either, sorry.

But since the topic of accents came up: when we decide to make it official, and if you choose to discuss this matter with my family, you are probably in for some linguistic hurdles in the style of Jaime and Aurelia. While they will certainly appreciate your (supposedly) broken Hungarian, and will do their best to understand what you're trying to say, they will also be mildly unsuccesful at trying to hide their excitement that finally somebody is brave enough to put a ring on it, and will find everything you say adorable and hilarious at the same time.

And I'm almost certain somebody is going to ask you which hand of mine you want. Just to demonstrate that jokes don't translate well. 

So shine bright

Dear future hubster,

you probably know by now what I think about spending outrageous amounts of money on things we think we need to have because society tells us to (overpriced Valentine's Day's dinners being a case in point). 

So if you really feel like you want to get me a diamond ring for when you finally work up the courage to tell me what I already know (that is, that we are such a uniquely hilarious, nerdy, caring, stubborn, brave, hot team that it would be a crime against humanity for us to not become uniquely hilariously nerdy, etc old together), please make sure that the diamond is a lab-grown one. They cost a little less outrageous amount of money, and are definitely blood-free.

Also, I can tell everybody how hip my soon-to-be hubster is. One of the many reasons why I chose him.  

Waiting for that bell to ring

Dear future hubster,

maybe the Universe sent me to so many weddings this year so I can revisit my revolutionary ideas about my - our - own wedding.

And so I have been. Revisiting, that is. My earlier idea of "let's just go to the city hall you and I and keep it very low-key". I still want it low-key, but maybe not at the city hall. Can we deploy the officiant to some intimate location where we are not rushed? Actually, can we get somebody who knows us to officiate it? You know, the person who would make fun of both of us but would also be touched that they get to do it, because clearly we were made for each other, and we're cute and gorgeous and there are a whole bunch of beautiful people in attendance, so they also get to be a little nervous.

As for the beautiful people in attendance: you were right, I actually don't want it to be just you and me. Sometimes I forget about the importance of simply showing up, but then I'm reminded of it again when I least expect it. And I rarely ever forget about the beauty of sharing, especially when it's joy we're sharing. I have so many feelings that I can barely contain them on an average day, and will certainly experience significant overflow on that day. Better to have people around to take it in.

Plus I want them to hear our lovely, funny, nerdy, silly, serious, emotional, corny, witty vows. I may have drafted mine already. Together with the playlist.

The other parent

Dear future hubster,

you were talked about a lot today. On a strictly professional basis, I had to make up scenarios in which you are not Hungarian, or stay at home watering the plants, or stay behind at the duty station with the children until the end of the school year, or have a home country we go to on home leave. Or any combination of the above, you versatile hubster of mine. 

When discussing establishment of entitlements, I also made reference to Harry Potter. For good measure. 

And beyond

Dear future hubster,

when the parallel lines of I love you and you love me meet, will that mean that we've reached infinity? Will that be the end of everything, or the beginning of it all? 

Or is infinity just a synonym for never, a future that doesn't become present? 

Or have we been there already? That one point where parallel lines meet, have we passed it? Are we on the other side of infinity?  

#overheardgva

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. 

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.

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.

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?  

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. 

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?

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.

Star damage injuries at that

Dear future hubster,

although we've established long ago that I only purchase clothing items I can put on and take off without external help (which often means thoroughly examining the zipper and its accessibility, on some occasions, it would still make practical sense if you were around. When I forget what the Caribbean sun can do to me, and as a consequence, I need to attend to my injuries in the weirdest places, for instance. 

Applicable not only to medieval churches

Dear future hubster,

the term "taken for granted" is so overused that we don't really think about it much anymore. We might know what it means, but we're not stopping to try to revoke how it feels. 

Probably because it is not a good feeling. When we realize we have been taking something for granted is usually the same time we realize it is under threat of being lost, destroyed, or otherwise taken away. We might also realize that we haven't exactly been appreciating it as much as we should have and do now that it's under threat. It's not that we're ungrateful, but when something or somebody is part of our daily reality, it seems pointless to imagine a life without them, and also somewhat unnecessarily painful. Why would we torture ourselves with the thought of living without something that we can't actually grasp losing?

Still, dear future hubster, things, people, relationships, places, habits, comfort zones, they all get lost destroyed, or otherwise taken away sometimes. Being in constant fear of losing them sounds like a terrible idea; spending the available time enjoying, appreciating, and thanking them, a much better one. 

No need to rock. Or to be one.

Dear future hubster,

when your future wife feels like her life is a carousel spinning out of control, when all the things once wished for and then forgotten come at her all at once, and sometimes even ones never wished for, when all decisions need to be taken, except that by the time they are taken they are also outdated and need to be put on hold and/or reconsidered, when she feels so dizzy that she just wants to hold onto something, and preferably sleep through it all, not only because she's a natural conflict avoider but also because the continuous turmoil her mind is exposed to drains her body from all energy -  when you see her in that state, do you know what to do?

Just hold her. Her world is spinning and her head is a very noisy place. Hold her, close, tight, steady, until the noises quiet down and the spinning stops. Be her anchor.

For enhanced results, you might turn on the fake fireplace you have on your TV.

You might throw in a drawing or two

Dear future hubster,

so far, I have used the fridge to stick disputably useful notes, love messages, and tacky magnets.

But you know what? It may be about time to get a whiteboard in my kitchen. One of these immaculate, big, shiny and reassuring boards, where all thoughts, plans, wishes, grocery shopping list could be easily displayed, prioritized, and catalogued.

I have the impression that my head is becoming too small for everything I want to fit in it. Does it ever happen to you? Or is it something that only us women have been blessed with?  This capacity of thinking about three different things at the same time, while doing at least another two completely unrelated tasks at the very same time.

Anyway, when you come home you will probably see me drinking wine and scrabbling on my board, trying to get some sense out of the week's schedule, my ideas and the bureaucratic deadlines.

Get some wine and a marker, and help me cross out the things that you will do, those we will do together and those that do not need to happen for my mind to be at peace.

To take your heart away

Dear future hubster, 

some days, all I want from you is to talk to me. Talk to me with all the words, beautiful in their sound, beautiful in their meaning, beautiful because you say them to me. 

We can build our own fort in the living room, our fort of words. You build the walls, I'll bring the furniture. You make it stand, I make it cozy. And then we move in, to our fort of words, and read them to each other. I read your words back to you, you read my words back to me, until we no longer know who said what and it doesn't matter because it's all warm and soft and safe and we never want to leave.

My lava cake is as good as theirs

Dear future hubster,

you know how every Valentine's day I roll my eyes and say something like #FutureNotFlowers or "Send a girl to school"? 

It wouldn't be any different this year - were you around - as I would tell you that instead of spending an evening in a restaurant crowded with couples either smug or uncomfortable, getting probably overprized food while trying to not judge everybody around us, we should offer the same amount of money to do something good with it.

Thing is, we can. Thing is, I already have. Not only because you're not around so I don't need to look for heart-shaped business card holders or edible underwear, but also because you would like this idea, and you would donate too, and then we would have sent two girls to school. 

We can make dinner at home. I'll wear red if you'd like. 

In every single way

Dear future hubster,

that "believe in yourself" mantra, I think that's a bit of a myth. Some people never lost their initial, unchallenged belief of their worth, but the rest of us, we have to learn again.

And it doesn't just happen because you keep telling yourself all the good things. Even other people telling you all the good things is not going to make you believe. If you're a fellow beneficiary of the impostor syndrome, it might just make you feel like you're faking everything. 

What does make a difference though is when people tell you things without those nice words. Unplanned, instinctively. When they look at you and it's obvious that they see beauty. When they giggle uncontrollably. When they wake up crying from a bad dream, and they tell you what it was about. When they ask you important and complicated questions because they are certain you know the answer. When they count on you because they know they can. When they show up for you on small days, not just the big ones. 

Those firework-less, no-big-word, almost unnoticed moments: they make us believe that we're worth it, whatever 'it' is. 

I just wish there was enough of those moments for all the beautiful broken boys and girls with loud ugly voices in their heads telling them nonsense. So that they could also see their beauty. And maybe one day even start believing it. 

Dr. Grey recommends it too

Dear future hubster,

ever since Dr. Simon recommended that I dance to my own beat when stressed, emotional, overwhelmed, or simply need to express things I have no other way to express, I have been practicing rather regularly. I would describe my style as a mix of all 3 belly dancing moves I know, some good old headbanging, shaking everything Mother Nature gave me to shake, some poor imitation of line dancing moves and what I think should be polka if it was more elaborate, some jumping and fist-pumping and pointing other people do at concerts (where I normally just stand still), and of course dramatic moves to accompany my stadium anthem singing. You might refer to it as "versatile" if you ever have to discuss it. 

Now why I'm telling you all this is because I want you to be warned: whenever I take a second Monday off and say that I don't have anything special planned, please know that most likely you will come home to some kind of soup enough to feed the Dothraki hordes, but also please know that this is not an invitation for you to come home early or unannounced. 

Should you do so, you might find me in the kitchen, working on those soups and making a mess. Or in the living room, following Dr. Simon's advice, dancing it out. Probably naked. 

Get lost and then get found

Dear future hubster,

working in flexspace teaches me many things, and routinely disinfecting every morning is just one of them. It shows me, if occasionally somewhat forced analogies with life in general.

It is probably not surprising that I have a selection of tried and confirmed locations where I like to sit. It is definitely not surprising that I do not like being told where to sit. It is understandable that untried locations feel like they are outside my comfort zone, and I only move to new ones on days when I feel I'm up for a little challenging stretch. 

Now there are days when I move far away from my usual locations. Maybe for more quiet, maybe for more pleasant climatic conditions, maybe for discovery.

Or maybe, just maybe, sometimes I withdraw just to see if anybody would notice I'm not around. If anybody would make the effort to come look for me. 

Almost like saying "You're missed".

And maybe not just at work.