Obituary

No worries, it's no big deal.

It's not someone close to me who died. People, eventually die anyway, anytime, anywhere. 

Though not all worth an obituary. 

Hard to start this, really. Firstly, writing this in English veils me under the cloak of anymosity. At least that's how it feels to talk about a friend who has passed away a few days ago.

I lied again. It was not directly my friend, but my dad's.

He was a talented winemaker, living in the Badacsony wine region with his family. Obviously, my main interest during my childhood was his younger son and their huge, huge garden that resembled more a piece of wilderness than a garden. We took the ferry, and they could see us from their terrace as we crossed the lake. 

My friend was a reckless, rural kid, whilst I was the epitome of citylife: pompous until faced a countryside challenge. 

Countryside challenges were numerous and various things, let me list a few to get the gist:

- Finding a mysterious alien-like creature at night which turned out to be my friend

- Building canals for a speedboat race in the backyard

- Building underground tunnels to get the shit scared out of me with jump-scares from my friend

- Talking about sex (I was 8ish so this was an obvious novelty AND challenge)

Good days.

Then the mob evicted them. He liked their house. They had to go. They lived in a cave for a week: father, mother, two kids. And the dog. Shortly after they moved close to the Danube. The mother got cancer but she was cured. Some years were spent, and we totally lost contact with them.

Few years later, they moved to Budapest. Dad's friend had become a heavy drinker. He lost his passion, his interest in life (winemaking) eventually. My childhood friend had gone to Afghanistan. I always knew he was the brave one. 

We even met a few times the past years. It was serious men talk between me and my friend; and pseudo-optimistic talk between our fathers. His dad was diagnosed with lung cancer.

He, surprisingly (had been a chain smoker and never gave up) healed.

Then, half year before it infected his brain. He had a tumor in his brain, and the lung cancer came back as well. Dad called me three days ago that he passed when my friend and his family were visiting him.

Fuck all who complain about how unjust life is. 

(...)

Multi-class

I've started playing the best video game ever. Once more. My head starts to fill up with elves, magic, dungeons and shit. Way to spend a summer.
Few of the many disadvantages of sucking on the tits of Baldur's Gate 2 again:
- night shift ends with some casual point-and-click instead of sleeping
- day off is ruined by staying in bed 'just one more hour'
- browsing geek forums in order to solve puzzles and stupid riddles only geeks can solve
No, I can't really see any advantage expect for:
- Getting excited about fulfilling the romance between the main character and the drow female NPC (and that's painstakingly pathetic)

As you may assume, this is exactly the kind of free time activity one would keep as a secret. But my dearest friend Géza just drew an amazing parallel between my gaming activity and our lives. We discussed our careers during the infamous third-place match at a bar in Fonyód, sipping some beer and trying to look as mature and grown-up as we could. I said,
'I want to have two lives, just as my father. He has an academic one where he teaches and does research; and has the artistic where he plays the piano and composes great stuff.'
Géza smiled and quipped:
'It's intriguing indeed to be multi-classed. But remember, you have to divide the XP between both sides, and you need plenty of support from magical items and companion, otherwise you'll be surpassed by the single-classed ones.'
And that was the best piece of advice I've received lately.

Go for the Master, become a teacher; polish your writing skills and publish your book: be the writer.

That's my multi-class, that is my purported trajectory for the coming years, decades and life.

Saudade

Is everything supposed to be bittersweet? (Click for the improved blog experience)

It's Lake Balaton, top floor of an unknown house. I'm with father and some other unknown people. They are our captors, blocking our way from the staircase.
They are questioning us.
'How do you do it?'- one of them asks. I can't recall his face.
'There is nothing special about it'- says my father with the hint of a witty smile. That smile, the kind of smile that tells me that everything is alright and tells them to fuck off.
'You! You tell me how you do it!'- the man is talking to me now.
'I can't do it. I'm still too young.' - and that is the truth indeed. I haven't learnt it yet.
The man nods, and they leave us. We are on our own, with a few boxes around.
'Grab one, Peter.' - he whispers.
'But I can't! And these are so small.'
'That brownish will just do it. Take it.'
I obey and take the box he points at. Rickety cardboard box, glued together at the edges. I sit in it, father joins me in the front.
'Now, Peter. We have to go.' - he commands.
Our captors are downstairs; the windows are wide open in the room. We have to try.
I can't really explain how it feels like, but since it was the first ever time in my life, I feel obliged to share my experience. Father always said I had to look at the sun, and it'll be much easier. With that in mind, I , grabbed the side of the box and started to focus. The box quickly jumped mid-air and started to levitate a metre above ground. I was still resolute about my goal. Father's word echoed in my head. 'We have to go', he said.

The box slowly flew through the air and fluttered outside of the room. Our captors somehow recognized our escape but it was too late. They tried to catch up with us but we were long gone before they could exit the house.

The open air scared me. It was just the vast sky around, and the miniature earth below. Our crappy box was the only thing dividing us from death. I shivered, and the box started to lose altitude.
'The sun, Peter. Don't think about the ground. Just the sun.'
I couldn't do as he commanded. We were steadily descending. Rooftops and chimneys scratched the bottom of the box. I still managed to keep us mid-air, but our trajectory was like a moody wave on the lake itself.
'You were right.'- father sighed with some resignation.
I couldn't see the sun, nor the sky or the clouds anymore. Just the ground below. The box hit the soil and it got torn apart by the force of the impact. As I looked around, father was gone.
The field around was just as empty as the sky and things seemed just as dull as they were before the flight.

No, I wasn't sitting on a torn box but an old bed: sunlight beamed in through the windows. Oh, damn it. Damn the dream, the box, the flight.
Damn my father.
Damn myself and my inability.

But mostly damn awakening.

I can't fly, not even with a rickety box.