summer in the city.


, , , , , , , ,

Summer afternoon — summer afternoon; to me those have always been
the most beautiful words in the English language. – Henry James

As for me, the third most beautiful word is a margarita.
and the fourth is Budapest.

I realized that its summer only that night in mid-July, in a bar on the top of the world Budapest. And so what, that the first half of calendar summer is already gone.  For all I care, I can celebrate summer till Christmas. Or while I can still find a watermelon or sit outside while drinking my coffee. _DSC0059 Budapest sunset 2_DSC0059 Budapest sunset 3_DSC0059



, , , , , ,



It is a mistake to believe that the crucial moments of a life when its habitual direction changes forever must be loud and shrill dramatics, washed away by fierce internal surges.

This is a kitschy fairy tale started by boozing journalists, flashbulb-seeking filmmakers and authors whose minds look like tabloids. In truth, the dramatics of a life-determining experience are often unbelievably soft.

It has so little akin to the bang, the flash, of the volcanic eruption that, at the moment it is made, the experience is often not even noticed.

When it deploys its revolutionary effect and plunges a life into a brand-new light giving it a brand-new melody, it does that silently and in this wonderful silence resides its special nobility.”

— Pascal Mercier (Night Train to Lisbon)

Amen to this.

Delicious Ambiguity


, , , , ,

“I wanted a perfect ending.

Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next.

Delicious Ambiguity.”  — Gilda Radner

_DSC0875a - Kopie_DSC0869

It is indeed about not knowing. The sun comes out when you give up on waiting for it.

no man is an island, but a mountain.


, , , , , ,

So I stood on the bridge, in awe, and couldn’t remember a time when I felt so small and insignificant.

Was that on the rocks of Patrick’s Point in North Cali or was that feeling the power of Atlantic storming the Nantucket surfside beach? Was that among the woods and rocks of Balaklava on the coast of Crimea or was that among the crowds on the crossing of 46th and Broadway in New York? Was that when the Elbe flooded half of the city last June or..

And then it hit me. Just like once I learned that I don’t need to capture every beautiful view I see, in a fraction of a second I realized that I don’t need to compare the experiences I have to the ones I had. I found myself obsessing with the ratings when what I really should have been doing was absorbing the magnificence of creation around me. _DSC1348_b_DSC1367_a_DSC1387_c_DSC1366_a_DSC1417_a_DSC1345_ab_DSC1339_a




, , , ,

Love is a fire. But whether its going to warm up your heart
or burn down your house, you can never tell.
– Joan Crawford.

Things that break us are often the most unexpected ones. And then its all about how you restore your inner peace and move forward. ‘Cause there’s a hell of a universe next door and there’s no time to waste.

I will always remember the silent beauty of D. in early May before the tourists fill the city with the noise of their languages.

D, I grew to really like you. But not enough.




Seventh heaven.


, , , , , , ,

They say: stop for a moment, smell the flowers, look around, find happiness in little things.

There’s only one problem: we confuse happiness with joy. We use these two words interchangeably, like those are identical things. And while joy is an essential part of happiness, not every joy constitutes happiness. We have this illusion in our heads that happiness is something constant, something one must feel all the time. This perception guilts us into thinking we better appear to be something we not necessarily are.

I believe that happiness is more of a random feeling, which comes and goes as it pleases. You cannot summon it whenever you need it, and that’s the beauty of it. Imagine, you are standing on the top of the rock, looking at a valley filled with every pleasure and pain you have, realising that you can be blown off the top at the very next moment. And the fact that you are alive, lucky to have your life just as it is, fills you with joy you can’t contain. There it is. That dangellion-wine-kind-of-moment, when the things you have previously only known in your head suddenly hit you and you realize them with every fiber of your everlasting soul.

A friend of mine challenged me to a 100 happy days project a couple weeks ago. I thought, wow, what a wonderful idea to notice things that make me happy every single day. Doing that should make me feel better. It should make me appreciate the things I have. It should make me happier. However, the only thing the project really gave me so far was realization that 99% of things I posted on our collective tumblr were pleasures which did not make me happier.

I chose those little indulgences because they brought me joy. All of them kinda made my day, but none of them, on its own, was powerful enough to bring me happiness. Because it cannot be brought. Happiness is not a perpetual feeling or a state of mind. Joy is.

We carefully choose our pleasures. We are hoping they will look good in the valley. After all, pleasure is probably the only thing in the world we pick for its own sake. But abundance of pleasures, however good they can make us feel, are not capable of bringing us happiness. 

Happiness cannot be neither pursued nor controlled. It takes you in its warm embrace whenever you least expect it. It pours the truth at you, opens your eyes and lets you see. Happiness does not come in a box. It doesn’t stay with you. Its like a blaze of lightning, showing you the world for a brief second.

If you must control something in your life, look for joy wherever you go. You shall find it.

_DSC0148-Recovered_DSC0084ab _DSC0067a

Tell me again.


, , , , ,

Tell me again about the girl whose hands
have no color. Whose hands are completely
white. This time make them damned, or
untouched, or have her open a red umbrella

or point at some maple leaves and damned
near cry. Those hands. As freakish goes,
I wish I had a tail. Maybe then you’d know
how much I like you. It shakes me through,

damn through. It shakes me. When she carries
a peacock feather. When she touches her neck
or thighs. You’re a person. It’s not so bad.
You have hands. You are a person with hands

to hold things. Things you like. Tremendous
things. Tell me what you will hold today. I
know there is room for everything. There is no
need to be ceremonious. Tell what gets let go.
― Rebecca Wadlinger




Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 528 other followers