I got back from Romania on Sunday morning. By the time I came back I already had homeworks to do for the very next day. Came back and seen all the long, sad faces. Couldn’t enjoy the wine I had brought with anyone; people have presentations to do. The two bottles of wine are waiting quitely in a kitchen corner in my so-called ‘home’.

I hate this place. I probably started hating it the third week after I got here. A place filled with ghosts. No humans, just the long tentacles that their brains and ambitions spread around them; pretty hard to touch flash and bones or get to a twinkle in someone’s eye.

I encountered this pb with everyone. I long for warmth, for smiles, for understandin’, for open talks, for free-rides, for loosening-up, for hearing time ticking on its own and feeling disconnected. I came to perceive this year as a tragedy. I managed to escape from it one week…last week. It was by far too little. At home everything went alright, even better than expected; opened arms everywhere. I knew it..there was nothing wrong with me, plenty of ppl feel the same way. I stood every morning for coffee with my parents, every night drinking with different friends, dancing , getting hugged, being flattered, being spoiled, spoiling back.

Suddenly, a 13 hours train ride takes me back to the Hungarian iceland. All I managed where plenty of coffees and laughters on the first day. But people are still stressed. I am stressed myself, and still tired as hell. I spent the night sleeping in a bed I hate, terrified of the wind blowing of my window. The night is the only safe time here, the only time out. Sleep ought to take you somewhere else. It did so, so many times till now, but I cannot remember the last morning here when I did not have to rush out of bed with my eyes on a clock. It’s horrible, tearing urself away from ur dreams. It hurts, people should always step from one dream to another, and when they need to jump, someone should hold a hand out and help the passage.

The tragedy lies in my confusion. I do not know how much I’ve earned this year in school, compared to the ruin school brought in my life. So many missed opportunities, so many spoiled moments, so many moments interrupted, limited, acking, breaking and crying. So many thoughts and hopes lost on the way, so much stress and lack of creativity. I used to do that, I used to be a reader, a writer, a play-sucker, a project manager, a good friend, an entertaining girlfriend. I used to have ideas bursting out of my head several times a day. Now, all my last ideas…I had them while sleeping..I wonder why. And the worst…I can feel my own decay and ppl’s faith and interest in me falling…every impression of me breaks like a statue and I am the one spectator.
It’s all supposed to be in virtue of a higher purpose, of something noble, of something dashy and daring. But still, every night when I go home, i hide a terrified mouse under my blanket…and still all I hear around me is : 8 more weeks, 8 more weeks and it’s over!