Dear future hubster

 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...

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 C...

 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?

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 ...

 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,...

 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 f...

 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...

 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 t...

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. 

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, a...

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. 

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. 

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 secon...

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 th...

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...

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 wh...

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.