The platform is an initiative of five professionals in Arts and Social Sciences whose aim is to articulate and give voice to experiences and positions that are different from mainstream narratives. Throughout 2023, we published texts, images, sound and video recordings that capture these experiences in accessible and contemplative ways. This is a selection of our work and experience.
Contact for free pdf file: othernessproject@gmail.com.
Home
Judit Hajdu
(15th November 2023)
Duthchas – you have to imagine the soft Scottish Gaelic sound of the word that means the people you belong to, their history, their culture, the place you were raised. Everything that surrounds you, but also everything that is inside you. It includes the word nature but also hope. It is belonging to a land and the land belonging to you through hereditary right. It is a force that can go through rock. Something you can always rely on, a calling, a tie you carry inside you.
It is an anchor. To make sure you are not swept away to the sea or that you don’t wander far?
In my language – Hungarian – it is “itthon” – herehome – and “otthon” – therehome. Allowing to wander away and feel at home wherever you are herehome conveniently being always the place you are at the moment. An interpretation. Many others are possible. Of course, as always.
Remembrance
Gigi Guizado
(1st November 2023)
Sitting at your parents table, I saw the faint resemblance to your father;
the curve of your smile. Imagining you grey and balding, I took a picture of you with my heart; to outlast time.
I stood beside you at your father’s bedside; your profile echoing his graceful lines; your tawny health a counterpoint to his pallid decline. Illness, his midlife crisis, seized him before our wedding or his first grandchild.
Upon your visage years have etched his image, as if his ghost travels with you to see granddaughter from time to time. She is a woman now, unmistakably mine, maturing fast at your bedside.
An ultrasound of your heart conjures memories from when I lay supine,
and she was inside. You slept on the floor her first night, making sure to hear newborn’s breath sigh. Unmistakably yours, it is now she who sleeps uncomfortably, to be near you in ICU.
In the silent moments loud with worry, I see a familiar chiseled grey landscape; middle aged male patient, asleep mouth agape. I stop in my tracks, stunned by genetics, as my heart stands still and its film develops.
Jól vagy? / Are you okay?
(Magyar/ English)
Attila Budaházi
(18th October 2023)
A szobafiú ébresztőórája hétköznapokon 5.20-kor szólalt meg. A padlásszoba tolóablakát csak félig lehetett felemelni, ennyire nyitotta meg minden reggel. Aztán a viktoriánus ház negyvenkét lépcsőfokán lement a konyhába reggelizni, főzött magának egy kávét és egy termoszban visszavitte szobájába, ahol még további egy órán át kávézhatott miközben olvasta a reggeli sajtót és álláshirdetéseket. Volt egy sirály, a szemben lévő ház kéményén lakott, aki néha egészen közel jött és nagyritkán benézett az ablakán, miközben a fiú olvasott vagy meditált.
Június végén már jó meleg volt és éjszakára a fiú nem zárta be teljesen az ablakot, keskeny rést hagyott alul, csak a sötétítő függönyt húzta be, hiszen nagyon korán virradt. Így esett meg, hogy a szabadnapja reggelén, ami épp szokatlanul péntekre esett, reggel 5 óra 31 perckor még mindig az igazak álmát aludta és nem nyitott sem függönyt sem ablakot. A sirály nem tudhatta, hogy nem kell munkába mennie. Aggódhatott, vagy ki tudja, mi járt a fejében, mert kevéssel fél hat után egészen közel jött az ablak alatti réshez és gyermeksíráshoz hasonló hangján beszólt az ablakon. A fiú nyugtázta és a másik oldalára fordult, mert tudta, ez az egyetlen reggel a következő nyolcból, amikor tovább aludhat.
*
The housekeeping boy’s alarm clock went off at 5.20am on weekdays. The sliding window in the attic room could only be lifted halfway, that’s how far he opened it every morning. Then he would go down the forty-two steps of the Victorian house to the kitchen for breakfast, make himself a coffee and take it back to his room in a thermos, where he could drink coffee for another hour while reading the morning papers and job advertisements. There was a seagull, a resident on the chimney of the house opposite, who would sometimes come quite close and peer in through the window while the boy was reading or meditating.
It was warm at the end of June and at night the boy did not close the window completely, leaving a narrow gap at the bottom, only closing the blackout curtains, as the sun came up very early in the morning. So on the morning of his day off, which was unusually on a Friday, at 5.31am, he was still sleeping like a baby and had not opened the curtains or the window. The seagull had no way of knowing he didn’t have to go to work. He must have been worried, or who knows what was going on in his mind, because a little after half six he came quite close to the crack under the window and called out in his like-a-child’s-cry voice. The boy acknowledged it and turned to his other side, knowing it was the only morning of the next eight that he could sleep in.
Az ugrós / The Jumper (Magyar/English)
Léda Szemerédi
(4th October 2023)
A kisebbik lányom imádott barbizni, elég sokáig. Miután Angliába költöztünk, nem sok barátja volt akivel suli után alkalma lett volna játszani, ezért filmezni kezdte a Barbie-s történeteket, amiket kitalált.
Végül az apjával kitalálták, hogy komolyabbra veszik a ezt játékot és stop motion technikát fognak alkalmazni, amihez persze speciális figura dukál. Minden testrésze mozgathatò kell legyen, meg kell állnia a saját lábán illetve beszúrható legyen egy arra alkalmas közegbe. Ugyan volt itthon egy kétgenerációs baba-gyűjtemény, ezeket bizony kézzel kellett tartani, hogy a megfelelő pozícióban maradjanak. Megrendelni sokáig tartott volna, így gondoltam egyet, s készítettem egy drótfigurát arra a hétvégére próbának. Alufóliával vastagítottam meg a testrészeit. Ki is próbálták, működött. A hirtelen jött film terve végül nem valósult meg.
Ez a kis drótmanó aztán évekig egy sörös kehely szélén ülve várt jobb sorsára. Addigra már évek óta tanulgattam a papírfonást, mígnem az első kiállításom után gondoltam egyet nagyot -nekik ez úgysem kell már alapon-, papír szemétből elkezdtem körbeépíteni a kicsi testet. Az ingyenes helyi telefonkönyv lapjait tépkedve kellően felpaprikázódtam ehhez a művelethez, ugyanis alapból gyűlölöm a fölösleges pazarlást. Meggyőződésem, hogy az emberek nagy százaléka pont olyan gyorsan szabadul meg ezektől a gondos munkával előállított, példányoktól, mint amilyen gyorsan szétosztják őket. Nem is beszélve az alapanyag pazarlásról, az erdőirtások katasztrofális hatásáròl.
Hogy miért éppen egy magyar táncos lett? Egyrészt, mert mindig lenyűgözött a magyar ugrós tánc mozdulatvilága és energiája, másrészt embert addig még nem formáztam sem fonással, sem sehogy, így ez pont alkalmas kihívás volt számomra.
Mikor gyerekként néztem a legények szólóját a többi táncos gyűrűjében, azt gondoltam, így szeretnék én is táncolni, magasra ugrani, csapkodni a csízmám szárát s földhöz vágni a végén a kalapomat. Be kell valljam, erre a szilaj mozdulatra még most is vágyom.
A szoborban is ezt a játékos, dinamikus, de a férfi virtus fitogtatásának szempontjából rendkívül jelentőségteljes mozdulatot próbáltam megörökíteni. A drótfigura filigrán nyurgasága valahogy erre az útra terelgetett. Ahogy a kezeim közt forgattam, hajlítgattam, egy helyre legénykét láttam meg benne. Formázás közben hangsúlyt kapott a bajusz a mellény a kalap és a csizma is , mint a magyar népviselet szerves részei, de már a Southend- i “arany oldalak” lapjaiból alakítva. Csak, hogy helyi és aktuális legyen a legényünk. A szobor alapja egy vágòdeszka darabja, amit még a szülői házból kaptam útravalónak. Kettétört, de főleg az érzelmi szálak miatt, azt is sajnáltam kidobni.
Felhasznált anyagok: Southend telefonkönyv, drót, alufólia, fa vágódeszka, PVA, lakk. Méretek: 26cm x 15cm x 10cm
My younger daughter loved to play with her Barbie dolls, for quite some time. After we moved to England, she didn’t have many friends to play with after school, so she started filming the Barbie stories she concocted.
In the end, with her father they figured out that they would take this game more seriously and use the stop motion technique, which of course requires a special figure. Every part of the body must be able to move, stand on its own feet or be inserted into a suitable environment. Although there was a two-generation collection of dolls at home, they had to be held by hand to keep them in the right position. It would have taken a long time to order, so I thought I’d rather make a wire figure for that weekend as a test. I thickened the body parts with aluminium foil. They tried it out, and it worked. In the end, the sudden idea of the film did not materialise.
For years, this little wire elf sat on the edge of a beer glass and waited for his better fate. By that time, I had already been learning paper weaving for years. Following an impulse after my first exhibition I started to build the small body around from paper waste. How else would this wase paper could be useful – I thought to myself. As I was tearing out the pages of the free local phone book, I was properly fuelled for this operation, as I fundamentally hate unnecessary waste. I am convinced that a large percentage of people get rid of these painstakingly produced copies just as quickly as they are distributed. Not to mention the waste of raw materials and the catastrophic effects of deforestation.
Why did he become a jumper – a Hungarian dancer? On the one hand because I have always been impressed by the movement and energy of the Hungarian jumping dance, on the other hand, I had never shaped a person before, neither with braiding nor with anything else, so this was just the right challenge for me.
When I was a child, watching the lads’ solos in the ring of other dancers I felt that I wanted to dance like that too: jump high, flap my boots, and hit the ground with my hat at the end. I must admit I’m still longing for these brisk moves.
In the sculpture I tried to capture this playful, dynamic, but extremely meaningful movement from the point of view of the flaunting male virtue. The slender wire figure somehow steered me in this direction. Holding in my hands, I saw a young man in it. During the design process, the moustache, hat, and waistcoat gained prominence as integral parts of the Hungarian national costume, but already adapted from the pages of the ‘golden pages’ in Southend. Just to keep our lad local and current. The base of the statue is a piece of a cutting board that I got from my parents’ house as a guide. It got broken, but mostly because of the emotional ties I would have regretted throwing it away.
Materials used: Southend phone book, wire, aluminum foil, wooden cutting board, PVA, varnish. Dimensions: 26cm x 15cm x 10cm
https://www.instagram.com/ledigumi/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA%3D%3D&fbclid=IwAR1fj_ZGE7SsE8UeqE9M7jp2S4kaJQy7tFki6fmB0JBpu9ccIdqtaBgB6LQ
https://edigumi.co.uk/?fbclid=IwAR0CkOHh7GOYpcgbFWVnByI-q3iHeMPOwBuZ8y1AqDjX1ArWX5QfcBvPAZ0
Mama
Judit Hajdu
(20th Sept. 2023)
So, it’s in the bottom left corner in the more modern graveyard behind the church towards the sea. I walk past row upon neatly aligned row of little gravestones, none too large, none too pretentious.
There’s a knot in my stomach quite inconsistent with the sunny morning and the peaceful environment. I’m clutching the little pot of pink roses, reading the names on the gravestones – McNeill, Stevenson, McLeod, Hamilton – but where is the one I’m looking for?
I’m getting more and more agitated.
In loving memory…
To calm myself I look around. The little cemetery is bordered by an open field on one side and a golf course that slopes down as far as the beach on the other. I see a man walking his dog, a happy collie, bouncing up and down in the high grass. I almost shout out to him for
direction as he looks exactly like my friend … looked thirty years ago.
In remembrance of…
I look back and immediately see the name. Thanks, Tom. It is his parents’ grave and he’s asked me to bring them some flowers as he is far away, in my country, and I’m happy to do it as I’m far away from my parents’ grave, in his country, so in a way it is almost as if … but is it?
Forever in our hearts…
I focus on handling the soil, it’s nice and moist in my hands. I plant the roses, MY mother’s favourite, and arrange them neatly, the heathers, planted earlier by Tom, have kindly left some room for them. Hope his parents like them, too.
Gone but not forgotten…
I water the plants and tidy away the little spade and pot and walk to a quiet part of the beach like the one I went when I heard she died.
Still Life
Gigi Guizado
(13th Sept. 2023)
tall tarnished teapot
infinitely more intriguing
than her shining silver sisters
holds my gaze
as if to say
don’t be persuaded by pressure
retin-a would ruin your patina
peruvian lilies
long lasting beauties gifted from an admirer
brim from her rim
changing with each passing day
black sand hourglass
and marbled porcelain clock
stand in the background still
silently steeping in irony
cigarette perched on crystal
marks time more effectively
in carcinogens and ashes
stamens and pollen
splattered on polished mahogany
look as if they jumped to their death
perhaps being the center of dining room attention
proved too much for them
tragic scene
in perfect counterpoint to rising smoke scented of clove
I consider cleaning up
but my aesthetic
at ease with green sheen and faded flowers
ponders the riddle
Wherein lies beauty
within the open air of free fall
or still life with botox
Meeting Sam
Rita Sebestyén
(6th Sept. 2023)
’Are you open?’
’Course. Sorry for the mess.’
’No problem. I mean, it must be like this, right?’
‘Sure, it’s a workshop at the same time.’
‘I figured.’
‘Have you got some furniture to revamp?’
‘What’s that picture?’
‘A famous one. Do you recognize the people in it?’
‘Not really. The man seems familiar.’
‘Claudia Cardinale and Rob Hudson having spaghetti in Rome.’
‘Excellent.’
‘A hundred quids.’
‘…’
‘If you want it, a hundred quids.’
‘…’
‘Are you looking for something?’
‘How about those two portraits?’
‘My grandpa. He was born in this house.’
‘You… you take after him.’
‘Thank you for saying that.’
‘And the other one is your grandma, I suppose.’
‘A pretty girl from Caracas.’
‘She took a long way here. I wonder why.’
‘For my grandpa. That’s why. I can have your family picture blown up just like theirs if you want to.’
‘And that mirror. What do you call it? We call it Blondell.’
‘That’s gorgeous. We call it old Italian style. And only three hundred quids.’
‘Only? Oh, that’s not much.’
‘You’re right… I mean… Do you want to pay more for it?’
‘Oh, no. We actually own one like this.’
‘It’s gorgeous.’
‘I hate it. We carried it across four countries. It used to be my great grandma’s. I hate it, I just hate it. But it is ours, so we carry it with us.’
’Sorry.’
‘So, you’re selling everything. The copper pans?’
‘Not everything. The drums are mine.’
‘The drums.’
’What kind of music do you like?’
’Well, I’d say, I grew up on jazz.’
’It’s rock and roll. What I am playing.’
’That’s great, I love it.’
’Ok, just some rhythms here.’
’Go ahead.’
’And this? Do you recognise this?’
’Nope.’
’It’s Bossa Nova.’
’Cool.’
’And now we’re sliding into salsa.’
’Love it.’
’My friend plays the guitar. Every Friday evening we’re jamming in this shop.’
’You’re joking.’
’No, I’m not. People sit on those sofas. Original Chesterfield. They are for sale.’
’They are falling apart.’
’Some like it like that. Or I can restore it for you.’
‘Course you can.’
‘Come to one of our gigs. It’s free.’
‘I will.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Sam.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘No.’
‘My name is Sam, too.’
‘Cool.’
‘Look up Sam’s restoration on the Facebook. Come to the next gig.’
Végzetes humor – a szobafiú újabb halála //
Lethal humour – another death of the housekeeping boy (Magyar / English)
Attila Budaházi
(30th Aug. 2023)
Egy konferencia volt a szálloda ötödik emeleti rendezvény-termében. Nyitott ajtókkal. A szobafiút épp arra vitte útja a raktárba, amikor az egyik előadó odabenn megköszönte a figyelmet. A jelenlevők tapsba kezdtek. A szobafiú bepördült az ajtón, széttárta a karjait, mint a mutatvány végén, majd takarító egyenruhájában mélyen meghajolt. A jelenlevők vették a lapot. Nevettek és vastapsba csapott át a felszólalónak szánt illedelmes tapsika. A menedzser is arra járt, de az ő humorérzéke nem volt annyira formában, mint a konferencia-résztvevőké. Méreggel megkente a fiú felmosójának a nyelét. Egy óra múlva a fiút holtan találták az ötödik emeleten.
*
There was a conference in the fifth floor event-room of the hotel. The doors were open. The housekeeping boy was on his way to the pantry when one of the speakers thanked the audiences for their attention. They applauded. The housekeeping boy spun through the door, spread his arms as if at the end of a stunt, and then bowed low – wearing his uniform. Those present got the joke. They laughed and the initial polite applause for the speaker turned into a rhythmical, loud one. The manager was passing by and his sense of humour was not in as a good shape as that of the conference participants. He smeared the handle of the boy’s mop with poison. An hour later, the boy was found dead on the fifth floor.
Credo II (English/Magyar)
Nikolett Pataki
(23 Aug. 2023)
My sacrifices, my struggles, my investment.
Your ungratefulness, your betrayal, your misunderstandings.
My intentions, my years, my isolation.
Your selfishness, your path, your struggles.
My life, my abandonment, my emptiness – Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.
Mea culpa.
*
Az én áldozataim, az én gyötrelmeim, az én befektetésem.
A te hálátlanságod, a te árulásod, a te félreértéseid.
Az én szándékaim, az én éveim, az én elszigeteltségem.
A te önzésed, a te utad, a te harcaid.
Az én életem, az én elhagyatottságom, az én ürességem – Én vétkem, én vétkem, én igen nagy vétkem.
Mea culpa.
Freedooooooom!
Judit Hajdu
(16 Aug 2023)
Free association, free cities, free-cycle, free enterprise, free fall, free-for-all, free-form, free-hand, free jazz the vice of the West …
Free style practiced hours and hours in your free time.
Free love, free sex, free marriage produces free kids. … Free from what?
Free market no-no, freemason absolutely not! acceptable in socialist Hungary. Hence, immediately after the fall of the regime, even before the first free elections, the Hungarian freemasonry was rejuvenated.
Free Saturday, the victory of the working class, where was it introduced first, I wonder. In the free West or in the Workers’ Paradise? Apparently, it was first introduced by the arch-capitalist Ford in 1926. I had to go to school 6 days a week up until 1981. Free Saturdays were also the days when we could freely offer our time and energy on the altar of building the socialist state. (Amen)
Free speech in a free country, free media, Freedom house rating.
Are you free? You mean on Saturday or in general, from a
partner, from family, from religion or state?
I’m free on Saturday. I think. I’ll check.
Free-lance
Free rein
Freethinker …
Free will …
Free bus pass for over 60s. A sure winner.
Me+U=L.0.\/.3.
Gigi Guizado
(9 August 2023)
Papa used to write me love notes in puns on his calculator.
Morse code was more fun
for the radioman stepfather and tap dancing daughter.
We lived in a four bedroom house with tres dormitorios.
El cuarto was at maximum occupancy with his other family
made of tubes and wire.
To be seen I had to get on his frequency;
learn his language of dots, dashes, numbers, slashes. I learned the lingo
and bingo!- we connected.
Mama knew what she was doing
when she signed me up for electronics class, way across town
against my will.
Spanglish was my language and dance class my element;
instead, elementary electronics it would be.
There was a method to this madness; Mami is no dummy.
I still recall arriving on the first day:
Mama led me through the circuitous public transit system,
teaching me how to get there independently from then on.
It was raining heavily. When the bus stopped,
we stepped over a puddle as wide as I was tall,
onto the curb beneath an old oak tree.
As we paused among the gnarled, protruding roots and fallen leaves
to open our umbrellas and my stubborn mind,
the bus sped off to its next stop,
sending a tidal wave of agua sucia into the air and down our fronts.
Soaking wet learning about electronics;
my limp enthusiasm and diluted affinity for this subject embodied.
Displays of affection from Papa took some deciphering.
Eventually I came to see, the Timex watches he gave me
on Christmases or birthdays we could afford to celebrate
were signs of love.
Cold and mechanical, yes,
but filled with cariño.
They had a pulse if you wound them.
They took a licking yet kept on ticking.
They were dependable; with me everywhere I went.
Affection from this parental unit was scarce, not automatic.
It’s transmission was often jammed by AC/DC bipolar
blasts of energy from dark pasts that had nothing to do with me,
or the family tree
I had not fallen far from;
but then rolled away.
Papa’s love was not the norm.
It came in digital form.
In red lines lit up like a Lite Brite.
A moment of fun in a glowing, numeric pun.
I gathered up those dots and dashes; stashed them away in my greenstick heart;
saved them for a rainy day. ❤
A szobafiú újabb halála / A newer death of the housekeeping boy
Attila Budaházi
(31st May 2023)
Még kezdő takarító volt egy szállodában. Az volt a napi munkája, hogy egyrészt a távozó vendégek minden nyomát eltűntesse és így az újak egy makulátlan helyre érkezhessenek. Másrészt a hosszabb időre megszálló vendégek szobáiba is naponta be kellett járnia: megigazítani az ágyat, port törölni, friss vizet tenni a hűtőszekrénybe és tea-filtereket a teás tálcára. Kiüríteni a szemetest, foltmentessé tenni a fürdőszobát. Kiképezték. Volna. Ha hagyja magát. De ő segíteni akart, a trénerének is. Ezért sosem látta, mások hogyan csinálják és mások sem hogy ő hogyan. A munkája eredményét látták csak, és látták, hogy jó.
Így járt szobáról szobára. Bekopogott és ha másodjára sem jött válasz, a minden ajtót nyitó kulcsával beléphetett. Amikor benyitott a 2059-be, a sötétítők be voltak húzva. A kártyáját behelyezte a falon levő kis kapcsolóba és felgyulladt a villany.
– Mi a franc van? – kérdezte a vendég, aki a fényre felébredt. Panaszt fogok tenni, mert nem hagyják az embert aludni! Normális dolog egy szállodában korán reggel rátörni a vendégre? Kérdezte ezeket egyre hangosabb, sikoltó hangon, miközben kipattant az ágyból. Ez tűrhetetlen! Panaszt fogok tenni! Kirúgatom magát!
A szobafiú megrémült, mert előre látta sorsát. Ezért elővette revolverét és a toporzékoló nőt lelőtte. Két lövés dördült el. Mindkettő talált. Először nem értette, honnan szállnak fel a tollak. Azt hitte a nőből. Aztán rájött, hogy a golyók áthatolva a nő testén felnyitották a párnákat meg a paplant. Csak állt megdermedve a véres tollzáporban. Tudta, hogy képtelen eltűntetni a nyomokat, ez még egy képzett takarítónak is sok lett volna. Legalább a vendég megnyugodott békében.
Perceken belül kiérkezett a rendőrség. Letartóztatták, később halálra ítélték és kivégezték.
*
It happened just a few weeks after he started as a housekeeper in a hotel. His daily job was to remove every evidence of the rooms being used at all so that new guests could arrive in a spotless place. He also had to enter the rooms of long-staying guests every day. Tuck in the bed, wipe off dust, put fresh water in the fridge, and tea bags on the tea tray. Empty the trash, make the bathroom spotless. He was trained. Would have been. If he allowed it. But he wanted to help, even his trainer. That’s why he never saw how others did it nor others how he did it. They only saw the result of his work and saw that it was good.
He went from room to room like this. He knocked and if there was no answer the second time, he could enter with the master key that opened every door. When he entered room number 2059, the curtains were drawn. He inserted his card into the small switch on the wall and the lights came on.
– What the hell? – asked the guest who woke up to the light. I’m going to complain that you don’t let me sleep. How can one disturb a guest early in the morning in a hotel? She asked these questions louder and louder, in a shrill voice, as she jumped out of bed. This is unbearable! I will complain! I’ll get you fired!
The housekeeping boy was terrified because he saw his fate in advance. That’s why he took out his revolver and shot the screaming woman. Two shots were fired. Both hit. At first, he didn’t understand where the feathers were coming from. He thought they were coming from the woman. Then he realised that the bullets, passing through the woman’s body, opened up the pillows and the duvet. He just stood there, frozen in the bloody rain of feathers. He knew he couldn’t erase the traces; even a trained cleaner would have struggled with that. At least the guest found peace, though.
The police arrived within minutes. They arrested him, later he was sentenced to death and executed.
Credo (English/Magyar)
Nikolett Pataki
(24th May 2023)
My arms, my legs, my skin. My infertility, my pleasure. My surprise, my pregnancy, my decision, my choice, my baby.
My birth, my surgery, my struggles. My move, my studies, my work. My sexuality, my boundaries, my tries, my loneliness, my friends, my thrills.
My illusions, my intelligence, my co-dependency, my plans. My child, my life.
*
Az én karom, az én lábam, az én bőröm. Az én terméketlenségem, az én örömöm. Az én meglepetésem, az én terhességem, az én döntésem, az én választásom, az én magzatom.
Az én szülésem, az én műtétem, az én szenvedéseim. Az én költözésem, az én tanulmányaim, az én munkám. Az én szexualitásom, az én határaim, az én próbálkozásaim, az én magányom, az én barátaim, az én izgalmaim.
Az én illúzióim, az én intelligenciám, az én kodependenciám, az én terveim. Az én gyerekem, az én életem.
Piros-kék-zöld-sárga kockás / Blue-green-yellow-red checkered
Rita Sebestyén
(17th May 2023)
Kispórolták a lengéscsillapítót az autóbuszból. Zötyög, és minden piros lámpát kifog az öreg jószág, ahogy lassan araszol a tengerparttal párhuzamos majdnem-főutcán. Hibátlan simaságú Kleopátra-frizurás nő száll fel elöl, babakocsival, mellette még egy totyogóval. Khakiszín és mustársárga design tetőtől talpig. Egyszerre szórakoztatja a két gyereket. Nemsokára a tengerparti sétánynál vagyunk.
JáróKelő tekintete végigfut a lassú busz nyilvánvalóan lelassult utasai közt. Alig vannak páran, de sokfélék, ahogy egy vérbeli tengerparti városkához illik. Minden rendben lesz, biztatja magát JáróKelő, és az órájára pillant. Még 7 perc van a találkozóig, és 12 megálló.
Srégen előtte egy piros-kék-zöld-sárga kockás hosszú ruha. Hozzá éppen olyan piros-kék-zöld-sárga kockás apró fejfedő a középkorú férfi fején. A feje minden döccenésre bólint a tehetetlenségtől. Mélyen alszik.
Nyilvánvalóan rendben lesz minden. Ismétli magának JáróKelő, és gyorsan telefonál, hogy elnézést kérjen a késésért, ami már most előrelátható.
Elnézegeti a bólogató fejű alvó férfit a nyugalmas zötyögésben. Hozzá hallgatja a khaki-mustársárga öltözetű designos anyuka gügyögését.
Még nyolc lassú megálló, mire felfedezi, hogy az alvó férfi szája karminpirosra rúzsozott.
Na ugye, mondtam, hogy minden rendben lesz, gondolja JáróKelő.
Még pár lassú megálló – JáróKelő nagyon elkésik, de itt senki nem siet -, amikor kivillan a piros-kék-zöld-sárga kockás hosszú ruha alól a fekete, nagyon ósdi, de kiváló minőségű bőrből készült, és gondos nagy öltésekkel összevarrt puklisorrú bohóc-cipő.
They removed the shock absorber from this bus. The old cattle rattles and catches every red light as it slowly moves down the almost-main street running parallel to the beach. A woman with a flawlessly smooth Cleopatra hairstyle gets on in front, with a baby in a stroller and by the hand a toddler. Flawless khaki and mustard yellow design from head to toe. She entertains the two children, relentlessly. Soon we are at the seaside promenade.
StreetWalker’s gaze runs through the obviously slowed-down passengers of the slow bus. There are hardly a few, but they are diverse, as befits a real seaside town. Everything will be fine. StreetWalker glances at her watch. There are 7 minutes to the meeting and 12 stops to go.
Streetwalker discovers a blue-green-yellow-red checkered long dress sitting in front of her. Completed with a blue-green-yellow-red cap on the head of this middle-aged man. Due to inertia, his head nods at every bump. He’s sound asleep.
Obviously, everything will be fine. StreetWalker repeats to herself and quickly calls to apologise for the delay, which is already foreseeable.
She looks at the sleeping man with his head nodding in the quiet rattling. She listens to the babbling of the khaki-mustard yellow designer mom.
Eight more slow stops before StreetWalker discovers that the sleeping man has carmine lipstick on.
Well, I told you that everything would be fine, StreetWalker encourages herself.
A few more slow stops – StreetWalker is very late, but no one is in a hurry here – when a pair of black, truly old, but high-quality leather-made, carefully stitched gigantic clown-shoes flash out from under the blue-green-yellow-red long dress.
Shoes on the deck
Judit Hajdu
(10th May 2023)
Put these shoes on quick, Uncle Bogdan can take us to the station. Daddy’s managed to get us tickets. No, he’s not coming. Yes, maybe later. I don’t know.
Yes, you can take them off now. It’s gonna be a long journey. You can sleep until we reach the border.
Have you got your shoes on? No, we can’t stay here either. We are going to Scotland! I don’t know, we’ll see. It’s gonna be all right.
Yes, you can leave your shoes in the cabin and explore all 5 decks. It’s what you call floors on a ship. But don’t go further than the carpeted decks!
You are right, sweetheart, they are too small now. Let’s put them in the Duty-Free Shop, shall we? They might still be good for smaller kids.
No, your old shoes will stay here. We don’t want to carry too much. I don’t know. Let’s hope it will be another interesting place. Back? We can’t. Not yet. I don’t know. But everything will be all right.
More than a 1000 Ukrainians have found refuge on a cruise ship at the harbour of Edinburgh for a year now. Having to leave the ship in July they are unsure of the next stop of their journey.
Carry-out
Gigi Guizado
(3rd May 2023)
During this pandemic era with its solitude and carry-out, I found myself reading a chopsticks wrapper to fill the void of conversation. The red paper spoke of history originating in China, and negative association. I replied by looking deeper, and finding this poem.
support
does not move
hold it open
as a substitute
for acts of aggression
Kari-Out bamboo chopsticks wrapper
Kulissza az egész világ /All the World’s a Backstage
Attila Budaházi
(26th April 2023)
Egy nap, amikor a szobafiú a szokásos reggeli rutin során belépett a hátsó ajtón a szállodába, bejelentkezett a munkaórán és hátrament a mosókonyhára, hogy magához vegye az aznapi törlőkendőit és a tiszta felmosó fejet, már éppen megfordult, hogy induljon a negyedik emeleti irodába, ahol minden reggel átveszi a munkalapját, amikor az alagsorban kinyílt egy lengőajtó. Az ajtó mögött a fiú mindig a konyhát sejtette. De most furcsa dolog történt. A résnyire meglebbenő ajtó mögött egy színpadot látott, színpadi fényekkel. Ő pedig a kulisszák mögötti folyosón volt. Itt járt el minden nap, de nem sejtette, hogy odabenn egy színpad van.
És az ajtón sorra fordultak ki a pincérek a leszedett reggeliző asztalok maradékaival.
*
One day, as the housekeeping boy went through the usual morning routine of entering the back door of the hotel, clocking in and heading to the laundry room to grab his rags and clean mop for the day, he was just turning to head to the fourth floor office where he picks up his work sheet every morning, when a swinging door in the basement opened. Behind the door, the boy always suspected the kitchen. But now an unexpected thing happened. Behind the door, which swung ajar, he saw a stage with theatre lights. He was backstage. He passed by here every day, but he had no idea that there was a stage inside.
And out the door came waiter after waiter with the remnants of the cleared breakfast tables.
Window to reality
Nikolett Pataki
(19th April 2023)
B woke up at 4am, as usual. Loved these lazy hours when she felt as if she would have beaten the world. She’s got time to catch up with herself, have proper space for her thoughts and ideas.
Just opened her eyes, checked her phone, as always, and saw the first line of an email, from her ex’s mother. They used to love each other. It took a while for B to be able to close that energy flow, peacefully and gently.
But this morning was different, B somehow wasn’t very surprised, so many things have happened to her recently, all good things, so it was somehow inevitable that she would sense it and would want to be part of it somehow. Email was the usual way for it. She used delicate words, was a real intellectual and B admired her for that. Despite the pain she and her son caused to her, B still loved them – from a safe distance. She knew if she opened that email, she would be sucked back into that reality where she felt powerless and vulnerable. But she couldn’t help, she had already read the first line; “As I was sensing that you are in a welcoming state of mind…”
– God, not again – she thought and put the phone down. She felt a sinking feeling, into the dark. She put her phone down and started to reflect on herself. As she went through her feelings and emotions and embraced them all, she was able to convince herself that she is in another reality now, she doesn’t need to explain herself and she made it (somehow, somewhere, even she wasn’t fully clear with it). But as she was calming down, she decided to read the whole email, as felt strong enough to deal with it. She didn’t know yet what her plan was beyond reading but that didn’t matter. She wanted to face – whatever comes after those words.
So, she lifted her phone again and looked for the email. But it was nowhere. She felt a small panic again, now that she chickened out and somehow managed to make it disappear. She tried every option possible with other messages – still, they were recoverable. How on earth did she manage to get rid of it so quickly and without any trace?
Very slowly did she just realise and accept how she had a peek through a window.
Silence
Rita Sebestyén
(12th April 2023)
Buildings of eclectic styles stretch along a couple of hundred meters. The houses seem to be violently pushed next to each other. Their fragility is in the open. Height, width, roof. Broken lines cast against the foggy sky.
The street is completely empty. No one is tinkering in the front yards. No one is trimming the trees. Or manicuring the lawns in front of their cardboard homes. Well, there are no lawns, but there are trees. No one is out for shopping nor has a drink and a cigarette in front of their porch. Not even listening to music or tv. No bickering between the neighbours or their children. No children are playing in the streets.
Completely deaf Saturday afternoon.
Finally, two high-school girls emerge around the corner. Vivid and synchronised walk next to each other in silence. Both are tall and muscular. They lift their gaze up in perfect harmony.
‘You all right?’ The two high-school girls are blocking the way of Streetwalker.
‘Yes, I am.’
Doubtful pause for a couple of seconds.
‘I mean, I’m not lost’ adds Streetwalker. None of them can decide whether this latter answer is bold or coward. Kind or smug.
Then they all crack a smile.
The two high-school girls open the way.
Nobody’s convinced. Everybody carries on.
A car draws up to the front lawn right now. The driver jumps out of his seat, rushes around, and opens the back door. A corpulent man is trying to get out of the car from a very leaned-back position. Surrealistically wide smile and giggles. Streetwalker stops right next to the car. Casts a glance inside. The two girls have walked away about a minute ago, and the street is completely empty and silent again. Streetwalker is frozen. Staring mesmerised right into the jovial face of the corpulent man stuck in his leaned back position in the rear seat of the car. All the driver’s efforts to get him out of there seem to be in vain. Chubby, white- and ash-grey smoke is swirling through the open door. Chubby, heavy, curly-wurley smoke. The leaned-back man grimaces like someone who’s roaring with laugh, but no sound accompanies his facial expression. His soft leather jacket is falling back on his shoulders. His paperboy cap is sliding back on his head. He is roaring with silent laughter. Almost dissolved in the smoke, in his own cheerfulness, he’s staring back at Streetwalker and stops laughing for a sec. ‘You all right?’ His words are sharp and clear.
Dysfunctional
Judit Hajdu
(5th April 2023)
„The effect of dysfunctional family on the identity, inappropriate emotional atmosphere in childhood leading to co-dependency in adulthood. You know, enmeshment, parentification and the lot. ” read a commission for an article on family therapy, I recently received.
I flinched. I don’t know dysfunctional families or inappropriate emotional atmosphere and do not believe in determinism. I do not think that any kind of childhood atmosphere has to lead to either of those grossly generalising psychological conditions mentioned above, whose only use is to elevate the psychologist to the expert position and convince them and the people seeking help, that the problem is serious, the situation is grave and solving it will require considerable time and energy. I do, however, as an individual-, family- and couples therapist, work with people who make all the effort to handle their painful experiences, find meaning to them and do all they can to separate their actions that don’t follow their values from the ones that do and find reassurance in the latter. Who try to harmonise with their partners the principles they want to live by. A fascinating journey I am humbled to be of assistance.
It is getting more and more acceptable to voice one’s mental difficulties and traumas. You don’t have to hide your troubles and seeing a therapist is no longer shameful. And that is good. I only wish us therapists would encourage people more to discover, examine and get acquainted with their own problems instead of finding a ready-to-use, one-size-fits all, neat little box to lock them in with their problems. Now, try to get out if you can!
Facing your problems is not easy, nevertheless, you can make it a tad easier by taking a little distance from it, and securing the ground under your feet before. The only chance to grab the tail of a dragon, swing it over your head and smash a few of its fire-blowing head if you stand on solid ground. And then you might even tackle monsters like dysfunction, enmeshment or co-dependence, whatever they might mean.
Or
Gigi Guizado
(29th March 2023)
contemplative
mysterious path
mirror, metaphor, opportunity
reflect on life questions
labyrinth
After Bozeman Deaconess Spiritual Care, “Walking The Labyrinth”, 2022, Bozeman Health Deaconess Hospital
Válassza a legközelebbi kijáratot / Take the Nearest Exit
Attila Budaházi
(22nd March 2023)
2007 június 3-án délelőtt, kevéssel azután, hogy a tévé bemondta a híres színész, Darvas Iván halálát, az Orczy út egyik járdaszigetén, az Elnök utcai megállóban éppen hátat fordított az érkező villamosnak, és az még mindig igen nagy lendülettel, pusztán néhány milliméterre suhant el a vállától. A fiú egy pillanatra megdermedt a gondolattól, hogy milyen kevésen múlott.
Az évek során, időről időre eszébe jutott ez a pillanat, néha azt vizsgálta, hogy él-e még? Nem lehetséges vajon, hogy valójában elkaszálta az a villamos ott és akkor, de mivel félt belátni, hogy meghalt, még mindig úgy kalandozik valami köztes térben, mintha élne?
2019 április 7-én, vasárnap, ebédszünet után visszatért az egyik hotelszobába, hogy folytassa a takarítást. Az ebéd és a napi első cigi mindig kissé szürreális közérzetbe kényszerítették. Ezen a vasárnapon kimondottan hűvös volt és szemerkélt az eső. Az ablak résnyire nyitva volt egész ebédszünet alatt, de a fűtés ellensúlyozta a beáradó hideget. Nekifogott, hogy megvesse az ágyat, amikor egyszer csak odakintről, tökéletes tisztasággal, élesen felhangzott Tarzan összetéveszthetetlen dzsungeli kiáltása. A fiú az ablakhoz ment. Az épületek közé lelógó, az égben eltűnő liánokon, egyikről a másikra csimpaszkodva haladt Tarzan, azaz Johnny Weissmuller. És igen: az egész látvány fekete-fehér volt.
Minden, ami aznap odáig történt, teljesen reálisnak tűnt, így egyáltalán nem volt ésszerű, hogy álmodna. Pedig ez lehetett volna az egyik teljesen kézenfekvő magyarázat és ahogy lenni szokott, következő lépésként fel lehetett volna ébredni. De nem ez történt. Megint kinézett az ablakon és most már a sötétrózsaszín égbolton egy idegen város felhőkarcolói között száguldott Tarzan, liánról liánra, egyre kétségbeesettebben. Világvége érzés futott át a fiún. Érezte, eljött az idő, színt kell vallani. Az ajtó felé fordult, de ott nem volt ajtó már. Egy szürkén örvénylő füst-alagút tátongott helyette.
Bárhogy erőltette, nem emlékezett rá, mikor halt meg. Most? Évekkel korábban? Nem lebbent fel a fátyol semmilyen elrejtett emlékről. Ott állt, szemben az örvénnyel, érezte, ahogy egyre nagyobb széllökések érik az arcát.
2023 tavasza volt. A vonatablakon befújt a szél. Egy pillanatra kinyitotta szemeit majd lehunyta ismét.
On the morning of June 3, 2007, shortly after the death of the famous actor Iván Darvas was announced on television, he was turning his back on an oncoming tram at the President St stop on a traffic island in Orczy Street, which, still having great momentum, whooshed just a few millimeters away from his left shoulder. For a moment, the boy froze at the thought of the close call..
Over the years he would recall this moment once in a while, wondering if he was still alive. Could it be possible that he had actually been killed by that tram, but because he was too afraid to admit that he was dead, he was still wandering in an in-between space pretending to be alive?
On Sunday 7 April 2019, after lunch break, he returned to one of the hotel rooms to continue cleaning. Lunch and his first cigarette of the day always left him feeling a little way-out. It was a particularly chilly and drizzling Sunday. The window was left wide open throughout the lunch break, but the heater compensated for the incoming chill. He reached over to make the bed, when suddenly, from outside, in perfect clarity, came the unmistakable jungle cry of Tarzan. He stepped up to the window. Tarzan, alias Johnny Weissmuller, was dangling on the lianas hung between the buildings with their upper ends pinned above the horizon. And yes: the whole scenery was black and white.
Everything that had happened up to that point in the day seemed completely real, so it was not at all reasonable to think he was dreaming. Yet that would have been one perfectly obvious explanation and, as usual, the next step would have been to wake up. But that was not what happened. He looked out of the window again and now Tarzan was racing across the dark pink sky between the skyscrapers of an unknown city, liana by liana, growing more and more desperate. A sense of the end of the world ran through the boy. He felt the time had come, the time to face what he couldn’t. He turned to the door, but there was no door. Instead, a tunnel of swirling grey smoke.
Try as he might, he couldn’t remember when he died. Just right now? Years before? He could not lift the veil off any related memories. He stood there, facing this vortex, feeling increasingly stronger gusts of wind against his face.
It was the spring of 2023, the wind blew through the window of the train.
He opened his eyes for a moment, then he closed them again.
Decision
Nikolett Pataki
(15th March 2023)
– This is it, can’t wait to move in! What’s that face?
– I’m really not sure what I want anymore.
– What do you mean? The contract is here, we paid for the solicitors and this place ticks most of our boxes from the list! We took it slowly, I agreed to be patient with you and we had 6 months to change our mind. Are you listening to me at all?
– Yes, I know it all, my mind knows it all. It’s just my heart.
– What about it? Talk to me!
– I can’t do it.
– Do what? What can you not do exactly?
– This whole thing, moving in with you, buying a house, settling down, having a normal life…
– But that’s what we did so far! We were basically living together and that’s how we came to this conclusion, don’t you remember?
– I do. It’s just, I can’t force myself
– You don’t have to, it’s step by step, a slow process and this is the last bit
– Yes but if we sign this we need to be in for at least 25 years.
– I thought that’s what you wanted, to be together for even more time than that?
– Yes, if it’s now.
– What do you mean?
– I mean if we don’t take time into account just flowing through life, you know like rowing your boat.
– Down the stream, don’t start again!
– I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.
– Is it still the abyss?
– Yes. It’s heavy.
– It’s okay, I just, I just think stability actually would help.
– Maybe not, maybe nothing can help.
– Don’t say that, you haven’t had any episodes for –
– For 13 months, I know. And I really appreciate your presence in my life. I just can’t give you that cheerful easy going person you deserve and I used to be.
– Don’t say that, I love you just the way you are!
– Blah, blah, blah.
– OK, listen, it’s not just you in this, okay, I’m here too! And we, together, did this so far and got here and made the list and –
– I don’t care, I’m sorry.
– What? You can’t be serious!
– Listen, you did beyond imagination and I can’t be grateful enough to you. But this whole buying-a-house process somehow made me realise that this is not what I want
– Ok, so you want another –
– No, I don’t want another house or any house. I want myself!
– But I thought –
– No, listen to me! With you I was the traumatised person who needed extra care, I don’t want that anymore, I don’t want the need for special treatment and I don’t want always to be reminded how lucky I am with you.
– But –
– I know you never say this but you make me feel like it! And no, please do not try to understand, that’s exactly what I hate. Just leave me the f*ck alone.
– Wow! I really don’t know what to say now –
– Nothing, there’s no need to say anything. Just please let me go.
– You were always free, you don’t owe me anything.
– Please don’t make this hard!
– I’m not. I was just hoping that one day you’d see that.
– See what?
– Me.
– What do you mean?
– Listen, this whole story has been around you all the time, your trauma, your anxiety, your studies and –
– See that’s what I mean, I’m broken!
– No, you’re not! Not more than any other person on this bloody planet
– Wow!
– Yes, and I think you need to hear that and get out of your head and
– And what ?
– Listen, I know what you’re trying to do here and it won’t work. I know how to fight for you yet I’m ready to let you go. You need to make a decision now. Not about the house or me or even us, but yourself. You need that, and this is all in you!
– OK
– OK what?
– I understand, just please don’t make me speak now. Can you hug me, please?
Thirst
Rita Sebestyén
(8th March 2023)
There is lipstick on the glass.
Streetwalker is thirsty.
But there is lipstick on the brim of the glass, and there is a black smidgen floating on the top of the water in there.
‘Can you please print me the catalogue of the other flat, too? You know, the one you said I might also be interested in.’
The agent is very unhappy with all these special requests. First the cup of water and now the catalogues to be printed. The agent struggles with Streetwalker’s accent, too. The agent does not want to struggle.
Wide windows filled with pictures of derelict houses on sale.
Two patrols are passing by on their horses.
‘This is the worst time, really’ the agent sparks a conversation, ‘The day of the match.’
‘Yeah’ Streetwalker cannot raise her eyes from the water tightly embraced by that dirty-lipstick-y glass, burdened with the black morsel like a mouldy cherry on the top of the cake in a twisted tale. The water, the one that could bring some sweet relief, is imprisoned in between.
The agent gathers that there will be no quiet, no peace until some service is given.
‘So, the second one… you have not seen that yet… that can be converted into a two-bedroom flat.’
Streetwalker sighs.
The water sits unnerved in the dirt. Catch me if you can.
‘I can call you when it’s available for viewing.’
‘Right,’ Streetwalker has reached to a decision. ‘Call me when the owner is ready.’ Deep sigh. One long step to the door. ‘Bye.’
‘The water!’ yells the agent with a suddenly risen hospitality.
Streetwalker shut the door behind her back, ‘No thanks’.
The view, the view
Judit Hajdu
(1st March 2023)
I started deliberately using the scenery while I was living – for twenty-five years – in a house overlooking the edge of the town and its surrounding hills. I sipped my morning tea looking out, preparing for the day with the view as backdrop, contemplated problems on the balcony, where I had most meals with family and friends. And that was the place I set off from to explore more expansive vistas and the people inhabiting them, as I was sure one would have very different views on life – sorry for the pun – depending on what you can rest your eyes on daily basis.
Robert Macfarlane in his book The Old Ways, where he recounts his many walks criss-crossing the British Isles, quotes Nan Shepherd who, through exchanges between her and her beloved mountains, the Scottish Cairngorm, “understood herself in some way thought by place.” This notion is not difficult to imagine if we regard the word ‘landscape’, as Macfarlane does, “a noun with a hidden verb: landscape scapes, it is dynamic and commotion causing, it sculpts and shapes us not only over the courses of our lives but also instant by instant, incident by incident.”
Intuitively, we have known for centuries that the colour green, the sight of flora and fauna all have calming effects and by now a whole new branch of enquiries, called environmental psychology, has been developed to study the phenomenon and how it can be utilised in city design. With the advance of neuroscience, we are beginning to understand the mechanism as well.
One theme, however, I yet to find contemplation or research on: the effect of not what but how far we can see and the interaction of the two. The joy of seeing the horizon, as one of the prisoners I worked with on the Hungarian prison radio put it: “Every day I wait with anticipation for the few steps in the walk down to our workplace. As we turn the corner, suddenly my eyes can escape and I with it to travel far-far across the river to the place where the mountains shed their cloaks of mist. I feel there is a chance for a new beginning.”
Bibliography:
Robert Macfarlane (2013), The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot, Penguin.
Nan Shepherd (2011), The Living Mountain (Canons): A Celebration of the Cairngorm Mountains of Scotland, Canongate Books Ltd, first published 1977.
Native Grass
Gigi Guizado
(22nd Feb. 2023)
Tired as withered leaves on frosted trees
Blue as wide sky awash in white
Determined as native grass reaching for golden rays
We both know this season will pass
One reply on “shorts”
[…] group of contributors and publishing online regularly has been fulfilling. Our year end Winter Zine 2023 is out now, filled with short stories, poetry, multiple languages, and unique perspectives for you […]
LikeLike