A change is gonna come. If we bring it, that is.

 Dear future hubster,

this is a friendly reminder that things are not going to magically get better overnight. 

Those who were hungry yesterday will probably be hungry tomorrow. Those who were beaten last week will probably be at the risk of being beaten next week. The girls who didn't get to go to school, were forced to marry young, have children their bodies and minds weren't ready to have are not going to feel any better tomorrow, next week, next month. Governments will not suddenly give back rights they've taken away this year. Hatred is not going to turn to love.

For love, grace, salvation don't just appear. Neither do solutions. They take a lot of work. Maybe a little more so in difficult (unprecedented, extraordinary, trying, challenging) times, but making the world a little less of a crappy place has never been an easy task. 

The only thing that can (somewhat) change overnight is how much of that hard work we're willing to do. You know, good old Gandalf said, "all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us". That's a decision we take every day, so it's a decision we can take tonight.

You can choose to be the one who brings the light. The change. The colours. 

Tell your friends.

I won't even wish for snow

Dear future hubster, 

when we (the world) first watched Love Actually, that grand finale scene at the school Christmas play seemed very cute on many levels.

Looking at it today, it was also a bit of a prophecy. Remember when the girl points at everybody's favourite little drummer boy saying "all I want for Christmas is you", and he practically melts and we all go awwww? But then she keeps pointing at pretty much everybody in the room saying "and you and you and you", and he's well, a little grumpy, understandably.

Now imagine them playing a show 2020-style, to an empty auditorium, with their audience watching online. All they want for Christmas is us. All of us.

Or, try if you can, with a wild somersault of your imagination, picture being a person in 2020 who hasn't seen, for most of the year, most of their favourite people other than on screens, from the shoulder up. I for one admit without hesitation, that yes I want you, dear future hubster, for the Christmases to come, and I also want a great many other people. 

I never thought that girl represents me (she's an amazing singer with admirable confidence, and I would never take a flight on Christmas Eve out of London. What were they thinking? And having a school play the same afternoon? What could possibly go wrong?), yet here we are. All I want for Christmas is you and you and you and you. And you. 

 

Or are we dancer

 Dear future hubster,

the expression "dance like nobody's watching" now should be understood as "dance like it's 2020 and you've been stuck in your living room for long enough to carry a pregnancy to term and The Killers are blasting it from Lollapalooza in 2018 and you actually have enough room and lack of other sweaty bodies to freely shake what Mother Nature gave you to shake and also you're not wearing a bra and the remote control is now your own personal microphone".

Do they get royalties for saving the day?

When the hardest part is over we'll be here

Dear future hubster, 

hang in there. I'm saying this to you so I don't have to say it to myself. 

Hang in there, because there is an end in sight. It's not as near as Frankie said it, but there is some light. I don't know if we even acknowledged the progress that has been made in the past weeks. I for one might or might not have been in tears seeing Maggie Keenan getting her shot. Tears of hope certainly, but not tears of relief. Tears of anticipation, anxiety, cabin fever, uncertainty, lack of trust.

For all the things we couldn't do externally, this year, for many of us, has been severe labour on the inside. Too much to think about, too many things to question, nobody to give answers, and when they do we don't believe them anyway. 

Grief - anticipatory, real -, misery competition, guilt, loss of perspective, loss of appetite, circles to go around in. Anger, jealousy, resentment towards those who weren't there. Anger, jealousy, resentment towards those who were there. Mood swings, crazy dreams, K-drama marathons.

Just writing these makes me want to lie down. If you've felt like you're dragging your body from the kitchen to the living room and back at any point this year, you're not alone. If you've felt like nothing has meaning anymore, and you couldn't think of anything to look forward to, you're not alone. If you were hiding from the people you love the most, if you felt unheard, unseen, not understood, not cared for enough, stretched too thin - you're not alone.

And that really is the trick. If you're reading this, you're not alone. And if you're reading this, we are both still alive. In times like this, it's no small feat. If you're lucky like me, and most of your loved ones have been spared so far, and you're clenching your fists and jaw wanting so bad that they will continue being spared and healthy, I'm with you. It feels like that last hour of a long bus ride, or a transatlantic flight, if you remember those - it feels longer than any other hour of the journey. Time is not only a social construct, it's also perceived very subjectively. The coming few months might feel longer than all of this year has. 

It sucks, I know. 

That's why I keep saying, hang in there. A few more incredibly long months, at least half of them with very little sunlight, a few hundred more takeout dinners, underwhelming online workout sessions, solo birthdays to go. After that, there will be colleagues who have legs, friends we can hug, movies not in our living rooms. 

There will be life. There will be love.

Just hang in there. 

Be kind.

 Dear future hubster,

I'm sure you remember where you were when the US last elected a president. 

I woke up in the house I shared with the Russian boys in the metropolis of Hatfield, having gone to bed the night before thinking I don't need to stay up all night, I have school the next day, and this is going to be boring. 

As we all know now, it was not boring, and I woke up to a world in horror and disbelief, reflected in social media posts. I remember what Zyanya wrote - "the man can't finish a sentence!" -, what Yohann wrote - "So instead of Netflix & chill it's now CNN & panic?" -, what Simon wrote - "fear is a weapon of mass destruction", what Ponyo wrote - "vox populi, vox Dei" -, and, most of all, I remember that Tara's post was calm and constructive, and suggested we reflect, pause, organize, act. That was grounding thought in a flurry of "holy shit"; something I still think back on 4 years later.

Yes, these were Facebook posts and you might say they weren't important and had little added value as they didn't come from experts and in any case the whole thing had no direct personal impact on me. This is all true. Except, look, I still remember all of those things. Because emotions reinforce memories, and clearly that was a pretty emotional moment, regardless of the relevance of the messages, most of which weren't even directed at me.

So why talk about them now? Because we've just collectively had another very emotional moment, and my guess is that most of us will remember where we were when this election was called. More importantly, there are other collectively emotional moments in all our lives, memories of which we're going to carry for long years. 

This why what we say and how we say it is important. Words matter, and sometimes they weigh more than we think. Sometimes they land with somebody they weren't even intended for, and have an impact we couldn't imagine. When emotions are high, hurt is deeper, and gratitude is higher. Choose your words carefully. 

Some say you will love me one day

 Dear future hubster, 

we all know the saying about the way to anybody's heart leading through their stomach. If you're a returning reader here, you also know that I have a tendency (and some skills) to feed people. 

While I can be rather adventurous and ambitious with my cooking (I had no issue inviting 10 people for a couscous dinner BEFORE I even asked my colleague for her mother's recipe because, well, I'd never made couscous before?), I also have a few items that I've practised and foolproofed over the years.

Some say that one of those will get me a husband one day. Now while getting a husband is not an ultimate priority for me, I also don't want said husband to be disappointed, or, worse, have an allergic reaction.

So it's better for you, dear future hubster, to know, that my current list of signature dishes are mostly desserts, although I make a mean vegan stuffed pepper too, and my zucchini pasta has earned some recognition as well. I hope you will find your heart's desire somewhere among the cheesecake, the jammy brownie, Raluca's lava cake, The New York Times' perfect chocolate chip cookie, the garlic cheese bread, or, if you happen to be vegan, the banana bread. 

Other recipes might be tried upon request - please send advance notification and don't expect perfection. 

That's not my name

 Dear future hubster,

in case I haven't told you before: my family name gets mispronounced a lot in Hungary. Not because it's particularly complicated, but because people mistake it for a common although very old-fashioned noun that has a meaning. Also they probably think I don't know how to spell my own name correctly and fix it for me.

Outside Hungary, where accents on vowels are a mere exotic and slightly kinky feature, my family name gets mostly left alone. My first name on the other hand gets butchered a lot. Again, not because it's particularly complicated, but because people like to stick to what's familiar and comfortable, and there's no harm in addressing me in a nearly correct but not-quite-there way. 

I used to get more annoyed about my family name, because seriously, how hard could it be to put aside your own assumptions and read what's actually written. I used to be more forgiving with foreigners because... actually I don't know why, because it must be already difficult to listen to my accent? How can I expect them to also bother with my name?

Those days are gone. I've been noticing recently that family name mispronunciation has reached the critical level of irritation in me and I started - politely but consistently - correcting the mailman, the dentist's receptionist, the lady in the local government office. If they can handle Csajkovszkij, they can certainly handle Kaplár.

In that spirit, I hereby announce that I no longer will be responding to any cutesy variation of my first name that wasn't previously discussed AND endorsed. If it doesn't sound pretty to you, too bad. I'm not Katie, Cathy, Catherine, Cathy, Kate, Caitlin, Katalina(!!)*, Kathleen, or whatever other original solution comes to your mind. 

Identity matters. 

 *"Catalina de Baní" is acknowledged and authorized for specific circumstances.

Even cold November rain

 Dear future hubster, 

it's been a while. Time is a social construct and it's perceived differently depending on the circumstances, and the circumstances this year, I don't need to tell you, have been all over the place. Yeah I also moved countries and started working remotely so now I have 3 very distant time zones to manage but that's just the kind of things I do. 

And yet. Something has been off, or maybe everything has been off. While rationally I very well understand why it's difficult for the fascinating but also somehow dumb human brain to deal with uncertainty of this depth, width, and length, I do not particularly enjoy the experience. At all. And I have a hunch that I'm not the only one. Maybe you, dear future hubster, live in one of those neighbourhoods where they organise collective screaming at 5 pm, and if you do, I both envy and applaud you. Assuming you do participate, otherwise I think our future marriage needs to be reconsidered. Or maybe you took up some serious home-workout routine like my infamous upper neighbour in Geneva, or you've become an excellent home cook or DIY guru, all of which will be deeply appreciated by your future wife (me) when the time comes. 

However. All of these coping mechanisms are exactly that - ways to make life bearable under the current, mostly unpleasant, and hopefully temporary conditions. Some of them might be good habits that we hope would stick, but even with those, most of us are using them to help us sit this out. And it feels like we've been sitting for an eternity now, that there is nothing left to look forward to, that the only things that do happen are bad things. 

I have been feeling that way too. At times more hopeless and helpless than others. It's hard to look further than tomorrow when there is so many things that we don't know, and continue not knowing. 

It's no big news to anybody who knows me a little that when I feel that way I turn to the wise words of others. Mostly somewhat established, somewhat tacky pop stars. Music is good for you, and you don't have to feel guilty for thinking and saying those tacky words, somebody with royalty rights does it for you. Some tell you to carry on, to fight till it's over, others that it's just a moment, and this too shall pass.

And when it feels like we're never getting out of this dark, no-perspective ditch of lockdowns and hurt and pain, there is one more thing to keep in mind. I'm sure he wasn't the first one to come up with this groundbreaking thought, but if there is one thing that we've learnt from good old Axl (other than the singular "they"!) then it's that nothing lasts forever. Even this nonsense will come to an end.

#thisgirlcan

Dear future hubster,

if you thought that my saying that I don't need anybody was but a lockdown-induced hissy fit that I didn't really mean and will take back, well, let me tell you that a hissy fit it might have been, but certainly one that results in action. The action being that I used the lockdown to learn how to fold a fitted sheet. All by myself. 

I'm getting more independent by the day. 

Alors on danse

Dear future hubster,

when the weight of global uncertainty, the anxiety of the future, the grief of what should have been and now might never be, all the plans that ended in disaster, and the boredom of having to cook for yourself for 4+ months seem to get you down, and you wonder whether your future wife also has moments of feeling like garbage, worry not.

We all do.

I also happen to be dealing with mountains of bureaucracy as moving countries is a procedure you can practice many times and still never be prepared for what the next country or employer or bank has in store for you, under the Ridiculous Requirements tab. 

I'm also bored with my own cooking. Starting to get bored with Korean dramas and I'm worried about what comes after. My covid brain stops me from enjoying long reads, but entertains me with crazy dreams instead. 

And summer is here, which this year doesn't mean anything it used to mean. My European tour was cancelled before it could take shape, and I wary even of things and places I'm currently allowed to do or visit.

Sounds gloomy, doesn't it. I'm sure you've tried all the recommended methods to make it a little less gloomy. You've established and kept a schedule, eat well, exercise somewhat regularly, limit your news consumption, keep in touch with your loved ones (except me, don't think I didn't notice that), trying to hang in there.

I've been doing the same. It works to some extent. But you know what I rediscovered recently, that works beyond that extent?

Music. Good old music to dance to. Now that it's summer and hot to Swiss standards, I have an excuse to keep the blinds down most of the time, which means I can dance like nobody can see me, because they can't. Neither can they see what I do or do not wear. Lockdown has made an impact not only on the colour of my hair, but the length of it too, so it's not only ma booty that I get to shake. My neighbours try staying in rhythm with their drilling and elevator-door-slamming, and every now and again a police car adds their vocals too, probably in a desperate attempt to fade out mine.

It's an experience I almost forgot about: having music on not as background noise, but actually for the purpose of actively listening (and dancing) to it, and it's an experience I'm thoroughly enjoying. I might not have the moves like Jagger, but I certainly have a little more endorphin in my system, and in times like this, I want all the endorphin I can get. Maybe uptown funk gon' give it to me.

#déconfinement

Dear future hubster,
I don't know if it's a good thing, but I wanted to let you know that this week is the first time since the lockdown started that my household doesn't have any pesto.
Why yes I like living dangerously. 

It's times like these

Dear future hubster,

there are a million theories about how the "new normal" will be like. Nobody knows, of course, and that's the most unnerving thing. We don't know what to prepare for. And we don't know what's socially acceptable anymore. For people like me, sticklers for rules and also super anxious about what everybody else thinks it's a special kind of not fun. 

BUT. Since "allowed" is no longer going to cut it, and we don't know what others are comfortable with, I expect some groundbreaking habit to creep up on us. 

We will have to ask people what kind of interaction and what closeness they are willing to engage in. Is it ok to hug? Can I sit here? Whispering ok, or is that too close? And don't even get me started on the "can I touch you" bits.

Basically, we will have to constantly be ASKING FOR CONSENT. 

Revolutionary.

And it only takes a global pandemic. 

I'll tell you all about it when I see you again

Dear future hubster,

It's been a while. I've been hiding away, not just because it's strongly recommended to the point of mandatory, but also because I've been angry.

I've been angry with pretty much everybody, and you in particular. I took it very personally that I have to go this alone, got irritated at any advice on how to deal with being stuck inside with your family or significant other, snarkily commenting that yes it must be awful to be with the people you love, and I would snap at anybody who'd tell me to take care of myself. I don't want to, OK? There's supposed to be somebody else to take care of me, so in turn, I can take care of them. Where's my future hubster when I need him most, this is what we were supposed to tell our grandchildren, how grandma made spinach twice a week but also gorgeous garlic bread so grandpa couldn't really complain, and he thought it was funny that she kept bumping into the furniture well into the second month of the lockdown, but would also very kindly and gently apply the calendula cream on her bruises. This was supposed to be a fundamental bonding time, and we missed it.

So when this is over and you show up, I will have to ask you where the hell you've been, and I suspect you'll turn out to be one of those people who were, in fact, taking care of others. I bet you're a hero somewhere on the frontlines, so technically you're protecting me, my health and my sanity, by not being around. Well played. 

Meanwhile, I'm doing my own bonding. With my hula hoop and tiny hand weights, but also with myself, with what I want and what I have. I might still be considering slamming the door on anybody's face who tries walking into my life once we're allowed to do that again. I might still tell them "You weren't here. I don't need you now." But I'm also taking note of all that is here. I look around and register what it looks like living through a major historical event that I most certainly didn't choose. These are the books I read (or, more accurately, open and close). These are the series I watch and re-watch. This is the food I dream of, and then this is the food I cook. These are the people who keep me from losing it; the people who protect my sanity by actually being around. 

These are the stories I will tell our grandchildren, and you will bring your own. 

Stay on these roads

Dear future hubster,

I hope you're well. I really do. I never put this line in emails because honestly, why would the other person not be well, but right now, all I want to know first thing of everybody is whether they are ok. 

I hope you have enough food even if it's getting boring, and toilet paper, or replacement. I hope you're safe, don't need medical attention, but would have access to it if you did. And I hope you have people to talk to, since we weren't smart enough to exchange numbers before this happened.

I know there's this poem out there about the people staying home and reading and listening and exercising and healing. I know we're all trying to make sense of this all, put some meaning where there isn't any, because otherwise we might go crazy much faster. I know we're looking on the bright side and trying to make the best of a difficult situation.

I just hope you know, hope we all know and don't forget to acknowledge that that's what this is. A difficult situation. It's scary, it's sad, it's hard. And there's no shame in saying that. There's no shame in admitting that we're worried about pretty much everybody we ever met (and occasionally about future spouses we haven't met), that we are sick of being part of a major historical event, that we are personally offended by all cancelled plans, even though we understand that it is for the better. It's okay to feel the loss we're experiencing.

You know what else is okay? Not doing more. More of anything. I know we're getting the impression that this is a great time to reinvent ourselves and do everything we normally don't have time for, and bring out Our Real Selves, and frankly I don't know whom that is directed to. Most of us either work full time from home, or have children to take care of, or both, and those who don't probably have just lost their source of income so they might not be in the mood for taking up online pottery classes right now. Anxiety is tiring, not knowing how much longer we have to worry even more so, and not knowing what the future will look like can be downright terrifying. If you don't have the energy to learn Arabic now, don't. This is not a study leave we decided to take. This is a lockdown to save us from things that are worse than this lockdown. Best we can do is to sit it out. Actually, quite literally that's sort of the only thing we can do. And there's no recipe on how to do it well: we will only know how we've done when we're after it. Once it's over. 

And it will be. One day the sun will come out.

So stay on my love. We shall meet, I know. 

When it all falls, when it all falls down

Dear future hubster,

since half of the world has already gone into lockdown and it's only a matter of time till the other half follows suit, we've heard truckload of advice on what to do and what not to do.

Take care of the elderly. But preferably from a distance. Don't wear a mask, unless. Don't go outside, but stay healthy. Preferably active. Wash your hands and clean your phone and if you have a spouse and 4 or more children then sorry but somebody will have to leave. Get used to it but also don't give in. Find healthy coping mechanisms - which I'm afraid my neighbour thinks includes constant singing, and unfortunately they are not a good singer and our bathrooms are spookily connected so I can hear them through the pipes. What is healthy for one might be mildly unpleasant for the other.

However. When you do all of those things and cook your increasingly boring meals and drink your coping mechanism liquor and watch all the documentaries available and call into work meetings in PJs, here's one request.

Think about those who are alone. Not sick, not old, not out of toilet paper, just by definition of social distancing, alone. 

I know we all think this is an introvert paradise, and it is, with all the don't go anywhere and don't talk to anybody, and we get to read all the books we've been eyeing, and watch all the shows and write all the PhD applications, but it turns out that even introverts like to decide when they want to withdraw. More importantly, they need to withdraw and be by themselves when they've had too much interaction and stimuli. Now "too much" might mean something else for every introvert, but on average it's more than zero. 

So when you feel like it's day 200 of home office when in reality it's been only 2, or when your flatmate, parent, significant other, stranded stranger gets on your nerves, check on your party-poopers, bookworms, dinner party hosts, social butterflies. The world is a crazy place right now, and nobody knows what, how, and when next. It's a lot to handle for everybody, and sometimes it could be just a little bit too much to handle it alone.

So send your borderline bad taste memes, call the people you normally don't when you think about them, drop a line, have e-drinks on Fridays, have Skype cooking sessions, watch movies "together", KEEP IN TOUCH. 

Speaking as one of those introverts, I can tell you, that's what I miss already. Touching, poking, nudging people. 

And once this is all over, I'm going to hug the living hell out of everybody who lets me. Ok maybe only those I actually know. 

Until then, I'll be very happy to receive your penguin (cat, llama, hippo) videos. 

We do our crying in the rain

Dear future hubster,

as we finally, finally bid farewell to a January that was the longest in recent history, it feels as good a time as any to talk about resilience. What it is and what it isn't (note: this might be part of my upcoming TED Talk). 

The APA will tell you that resilience is the process of adapting well in the face of adversity, trauma, tragedy, threats or significant sources of stress. Bouncing back, if you like. Note that it says: adapting well. Not easily, or with a smile, not even voluntarily. Maybe crawling back instead of skippy bouncing really. 

If you read on, the APA also tells you that being resilient does not mean that a person doesn't experience difficulty or distress. Au contraire, they might be in major pain. Because - newsflash - if one has to be resilient, it's because they're dealing with something unpleasant at best. Realistically probably something difficult, hard, painful. 

So if you thought that a resilient person is one who never gets knocked down, one who takes all lemons life throws at them with their tequila ready, one who dances in all proverbial and real storms, think again. 

Just because they don't smile through it all, just because they have days when they are not in the mood to pretend everything is rainbows and unicorn poop, it doesn't mean that they are any less resilient. Life can be hard, and anybody who keeps getting back up deserves a medal, a pat on the back, a hug, or simply to be left alone. 

Resilience doesn't mean we had it easy. It means we did it anyway, and we are still here. 

For Auld Lang Syne

Dear future hubster,

when there is no church tower with a clock or a bell to strike twelve times to mark midnight, and the neighbours start their celebration half a minute before we do, and the fireworks go on ten seconds too early, you might hear your future wife shout something like "It doesn't matter! Time is a social construct!" while casually holding a glass of Veuve Clicquot in one hand, and waving to the jumpy neighbours with the other. 

Now there are a few things you can do at this point. You can, for instance, be amused and proud, because who doesn't like a nerdy future wife (who also makes a killer lava cake and sports cat ears like nobody's business).

Or, you can be slightly irritated and want her to stop talking. In which case you should proceed to kiss her to shut her up. It's midnight after all.