Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, Sometimes I feel a quiet relief that you're not around. Not because I want the entire pizza for myself, or because I don't want questioning looks when I'm watching any given episode of Game of Thrones 3+ times.  Rather when times, the universe, the stars, throw an opportunity at me which means packing and moving again. In those moments I am relieved that I don't have to ask you to do it again. That I don't have to ask you to put me first, even if we discussed it, even if I knew you told me it was my turn. That I don't have to think that I'm uprooting you yet again, that I don't have to expect you to start over new because of me.  That I don't have to wonder whether you would say "this time no". 

Dear future hubster, I hope you do realize that there is a chance that you will one day become a grandfather, if all goes well.  By then, I'm sure you will know well enough that it's no easy task in my family. Big shoes to fill, so to say. You will follow the footsteps of grandpas who, way ahead of their time, taught their grandchildren important things in an inclusive environment, with differentiated and adapted teaching methods, gender-neutrally, patiently, lovingly. Girls could learn how to get on a motorbike at an early age, boys could learn how to make pogácsa. Tell the carrots from the weeds. Remember all European capitals (it was a little easier at the time. See also: Soviet Union, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia.). That they don't need to know everything to solve crosswords, just to know where to find the information. To stay within budget, and choose the daily (one!) ice cream from the bottom row. That Grandma is always right, and that they need to finish their pl...

Dear future hubster, in times when I just arrived somewhere, or just came back from somewhere, but either way am culture shocked, tired or anxious for any reason (and reasons are many), and have lots of stuff to do that I really don't want to do, maybe want it to be done but not exactly doing it but know I have to and know I will, when I know you want to help me but I know you don't know how, and I know I'm not helping you help me, because I want solutions but I don't want you to provide them, and I probably don't want you having to deal with them, basically, when I'm being a breathing hissy fit with the attitude of a 3 months-old, please know that I don't enjoy being that version of myself. Know that it will pass. And know that the best you can do is just stick around, be there, and hold my hand time and again. The rock star me will very quietly, but very deeply appreciate that.

Dear future hubster, as an addition or elaboration or continuation of the "how friends happen to you" theory picks up where we left off: that we do choose to put in the time and effort for those accidental friendships to live on. Otherwise they will be no more than a friend fling, a could have been, a "what a great person" moment. We need to make memories. We need to have experiences together. A long car ride is an experience, be it between Luxembourg and Fehérvár or between Gisenyi and Kigali. Entebbe and Jinja. Lucca and Luzern. A long walk is an experience, be it between Logroño and Nájera or between Karanga and Barafu. Long nights of board games are an experience, long afternoons of making food are an experience, long days of listening to music, watching the Olympics and discussing shot-putting are experiences. Looking and sunsets and sunrises and storms and rainbows together. Going to see Tour de France hungover in some godforsaken village. Attracting a...

Dear future hubster, when the Saturday night is a little chillier, and we don't leave all the windows open, and as a result, on Sunday morning we don't wake up neither to the church bells ringing from 7 on, nor to the neighbour's dog's sun salutations, but lazy around in bed because it's Sunday, because I gave myself the morning off from dissertation misery and you can't work in the garden in this heat anyway - those mornings be prepared to me rolling over, with a mild kick to your shin, because my spatial awareness is not very well developed, and expect me to tickle your collarbone and mumble to your shoulders. Probably not in English, but that doesn't matter, you would know that I'm mumbling something about breakfast and coffee, but you would also know that I don't want you to go downstairs and make it, nor do I want to go downstairs and make it, it's but an acknowledgement that mornings, breakfast and coffee somehow go together.  Those ar...