Another surprise letter

Why was I so impatient to watch my email box many times a day while I was waiting for his response?
I still cared for him. The world seemed to be more lovely anytime he told me a kind word. He could be charming when he wanted to be, actually I was afraid he could wrap me around his lettle finger anytime.

Was I still that stupid... like any stupid woman who just get infatuated with the first (good-looking, smart, etc.) man?, I thought almost fearfully. Where was my pride? My intellect? My self-esteem?
Piroska could be highly amused to see me now.
Not as though she had any reason to laugh in my face.
I vowed to myself to remain sensible. This way, there would not be any trouble.

Feeling rejected and sulky, I sent an email to my Gabika, informing her about my newest - and completely senseless - move.
A reply came soon... from Gabika and not from Milán.
My friend comforted me that sending a message to the man was not the same as making an utter fool of myself. Everyone has the right to correspond with another, as long as she does not mention any romantic ways.

I should not feel desperate, I scolded myself sternly. Not in the slightest. Zólyom Milán must not be a main issue in my life. Only because I imagined it would be good in bed with him... which was not for sure. Technically I hadn't been in such a situation with him yet, neither had I let him give me more pleasure than some exquisite game.
Perhaps in a more serious situation I'd feel nothing but embarrassment and disappointment. Perhaps even he would not be able to melt such an icicle like myself.
Could I ever let my barriers down? I really did not know.

However, I considered him more than a skillful bed partner. Strong... intellectual...
Besides, being so loosen up, easy-going and confident, he was my polar opposite.
It was not that I desired him only for his muscular body, big mouth and, well, other endowments that were also big, whilst afterward I felt sick, hating him and despising myself for this degradation. Weren't I interested in him sexually (and I surely was), I could still find him noteworthy.

Nevertheless, my hopes were not blossoming to get any answer soon.
Next day, however, much to my surprise, I had an unread message in my box... sent by Milán.

As though we could be that good together

Being rejected did not do any good to my mood. I felt my gorge rising, and felt that familiar weakness again.
Of course I knew that a relationship between Milán and me would not work on he long run. I might be a nervous wreck, but there is not the slightest problem with my intelligence, thank you very much!

He did not want to take me. Was that such a big problem? At worst, I would not be his plastic doll. He would not use me and keep rubbing my inner muscles until every single cell of my most intimate parts would scream with pain and beg for mercy.
Well, what would happen if he accpeted my offering? I would grow to be fond of him... cling to him...depend on him... and soon he would move on, laughing, without the slightest hesitation, and I would stay there, still sticking to him, exploithed, hurt, to be laughed at.
I knew that with my logical mind.

Then why did I send that letter?!

A message of surprise

The sudden June storm was over just as quickly as it gathered.
I switched on the computer, considering for the twentieth time that I tended to meet only idiots, and Máté was apparently foolish. Just like all those ones who has made that site.
Working in an online adult show, I had already learnt that Internet was crowded with stupid people, and the world is crowded with dangerous ones; however, this page was more than enough.

Naturally I decided to quit visiting idiotic sites.
Instead, I wrote a letter to Milán. Not as though it made one ounce more sense than corresponding with Máté.

Dearest Milán,
We haven't seen each other for a while, I suppose we should meet when I go to Budapest.
I'm still working on the translation. I enjoy it, aside from being lonely. It used to be a long time when I met Zentai, not to mention other firends - so I would not mind you to answer my letter soon.

Yours,
Mina

I sighed when I re-read it and clicked on the 'Send' button. It was not the most passionate of all love letters, but there it was.
Deep down I knew he would not answer. What could I expect? I have never been a girl to be described as hot, and Milán was obviously fond of more sensual women like myself. Furthermore, I was pennyless, whilst he was apparently a well-off man.
Men having their own publishers (their own enterprises!), hardly ever pick up weird girls living in apartments, having any good financial background and an income rising up to the starry sky. Perhaps, if I looked like Vanda, who has been an enticing beauty. Otherwise, I did not have much of a chance.

Besides, which was the worst part of things... was I good enough for him intellectually?
I considered, desperate, that all of my friends were much smarter than me.
Vanda and Ottó run a successful business, my logical skills could not be compared to theirs. Zentai, the once editor of Szukits, has been a professional author and translator since about two decades. Gabika attended the University of Technology, Mónika was a medical student (abroad!), Piroska has been studying law (also abroad).
All in all, each and every one of them was smarter than my unfocused self.
Ah well, I should had learnt how to write during the past few years instead of bitching around.

No wonder that Milán was not in a hurry to answer my unsaid questions about our relationship.

Storm

I felt a rush of rage that could led me to hit my fists into the wall until my knuckles become purple and swollen.
How could I help my Piroska, even with the best of intentions? I was not responsible for my own acts. I seemed to be a constant danger for myself. If I did not have any trouble, I looked for some.
As beautiful Elfriede would put it, I was a gun turned against MYSELF.

I, as though I had nothing better to do, re-opened Máté's message and clicked on the link.
I must admit, I could not precisely describe what had I seen there. The backgroudn was jet black, with screaming vivid red, its contents one big turmoil, utterly puzzling.
It seemed to be a collection of odd articles and links, with the most demagogical titles like "True Christian values in a world of murderers", "We've been observed", "Knife for traitors".
Anyone who has written those outrageous articles (with outrageous stupid spelling, of course), seemed to despise the Nazi radical movements "for their coward attitude", yet it did not look like a radical left underground movement. The creators of the site showed equal hatred towards right-wing and leftist politicians.
The articles contained lots of suspects and assumptions, including the Pope being an expert in dark magic, and when politicians are supposed to be in conferences behind closed doors, they actually play football.
This was getting ridiculous. True that what else should I expect from Máté.

The icing on the cake was a vile video of conspiracy theories, titled 'The Eyes of the Empire', supposedy banned from most servers of the world.
According to it, every single person in the world is observed by secret intelligence services; every email and electronic message is supervised, every phone conversation overheard.
I could not stand the video.
It had some background music and the speech of the maker, besides, underlining its message, a male voice whispered unintelligible words when the commentator held a pause for a second. That whispering was dreadful. I could catch a few words like "Don't be scared though" or "our enemies", but mostly I could not make out their meanings. Which I did not mind at all.

I could not tell why I felt so repelled. I have seen countless horror films like that, and even worse. This one, though, was supposed to be serious, which just sent chills along my spine.

I stared into the space before myself, and listened to the sounds of the approaching storm outside.
The wind shook the open window-panes, and bang them against their frames. It was a dreadful sound, the glass panes shook and vibrate, screeched and shrieked, the curtains were violently tugged aside by the wind as though they moved on their own. I jumped up to shut the windows.

By then, only a dim light came from outside, the sky darkened, I could see steel blue clouds whirling on it. Then the storm burst out, heavy strings of rain lashed the street, the wind howled (our flat is on the second floor, so the screams of the wind can be frightening), lightnings flashed, and thunders roared.

I quickly switched off the computer, before a sudden lightning could cause any damage.
However, I memorised one word that was often repeated on the site.
E*
It sounded like Avalon, or the fictional realm of Eluria in Stephen King's books.

The spells

Where do women put their confidence when it comes to men, I really don't know.
All my efforts I tried to find out what had gotten into Piroska seemed to be in vain. I hoped the best for her though.

Anyway, Jason or not, I doubted I would have much chance to go for the planned Budapest holiday with my cousins. I was not exactly the dictionary definition of practical, but even I could calculate willy-nilly that I would not have enough money for such a trip. Actually I expected better chances when I left Dolores. Instead, my spare money was just gone for everything and nothing, almost all of it.

The politicians whom I wished to join still did not respond.
Instead, I found a new message in my mailbox that was written by Máté. The weird young man, black clad, arranging meetings in dark cellars.
I did not know whether to laugh or cry. As I hardly ever did either, I just opened the letter, though reluctantly.

Our Mina,

we miss you a lot. I hope we'll see you soon. It is not right that you miss our meetings. I suppose you walk a wrong way. You are too intelligent to do nothing except for shilly-shally and waver. I don't think you would be happy doing so. You would be able to reach better things, you should be way sensible.

Máté

There was a postscript, too, with a link of an unknown page, but I was too disturbed to be interested.
His curt sentences were slaps in my face.

From this boy, the most banal things could sound insulting and irritating. And this time his statements were not banalities. They cut.
I really did not like him. How dare he!
Well, let's see. For first, I'm "our Mina" for my closest family members and friends, not complete strangers. Especially not for a bunch of adolescents who were more than a bit unnerving. Secondly - what gave him the right to criticise me or give unasked advices?

However, expressions like "you could do better", "you deserve better" were the magical words which always had a great effect on me. They were true. My life was not how it should be, even this fool could notice that.

Worries about Piroska

I inhaled deeply, to avoid bursting out in tears. Or perhaps to feel better. I felt a bit sick.
Was I somewhat calmer, I would not realised it - I got used to it, as I felt a slight nausea every day, and I was weak all the time. Sometimes I hardly had the energy to do the simplest of things. It certainly had something to do with my depression which got the best of me. Or perhaps it was the after-effect of my eating disorders in my teens.

Whilst I was glad to hear about Piroska, I could not think of anything else than soon I would have to say goodbye to one of my dearest friends.

My mouth twitched.
Listening to my heart, I made all my relatives and friends stay just the way they are. Nothing should ever change!

Suddenly a lovely reminiscence flashed through my mind. When Mónika was in her last schoolyear in primary school, she invited me to her class trip. She had been fourteen years old, whilst I'd been eleven, only a fifth year student.
With her teacher around, who was a respectable lady, we visited the most beautiful museums and galleries. I still vividly remember a colourful painting I had seen in the National Gallery.
We went for a weekend, we spent one night in a hostel which was fun itself. My cousin's friends came to our room and we chatted, and, whilst I'd had hated to go anywhere with my own classmates whom I never had gotten along, I had enjoyed to be with these children - as I had considered them those days, big and cool girls - who were just hilarious.
I dare say it was disappointing to imagine that since then, less than then years later, most of those careless girls must be married with a plain man, living in a boring village, perhaps having children.

I let out a sigh. Actually I secretly intended to invite my cousins to the capital during the summer. I planned our programs with zeal.
We could visit the spectacular galleries and museums where once we'd had such a good time; this time Piroska could have been there, too. We could also visit the Citadella on the top of Gellért Hill, the Buda Castle near it, and the Rose Hill (the most expensive area of the capital, where only millionaires and politicians could afford to buy villas), the Váci Street, the most spectacular downtown street in Hungary, where we could buy some Swarovski crystals - my cousins love Swarovski. The Czechish luxury jewelry brand is the most prestigious one in Eastern Europe. If any woman in Austria, Hungary, and Czechish Republic intends to dress up elegantly, then she would wear Swarovski jewels. Still in Váci Street, we could have some dessert in the Ice Snackbar or the famous Gerbeaud (both of my cousins, unlike me, are fond of sweets and ice cream). We could visit the zoo - Piroska loves animals as much as I do.
Not to mention the pulsing night life of Budapest - the glitzy and elegant bars were much to my cousins's liking.
Or we could simply take long walks. Our capital looks grandiose with its eclectic architercture, those carved stone ornaments on each buildings. Our Parliament itself looks like a miracle.

It could had been so lovely... and it was over, before it could have started. Naturally, with this Jason fellow around, Mónika and Piroska would not have time to visit me in Budapest. They, especially the latter one, would have other things on their minds.

If only I could know that she was happy indeed!
All of a sudden I could fully understand all the parents's worries, and the painful emptiness they must feel when their children grow up. I could fully understand a mother's hostile and suspicious feelings toward her daughter's partner. After all, she was the one who cared for her, she protected her, and wanted for her the most convenient life possible; all in all, the child was hers until a stranger has stolen her, and life suddenly became bleak and lonely.

I also agreed with Dolores. Once we talked about having children; none of us was enthusiastic with the thought. My former colleague asked me whether I would care to have a girl or a boy.
"A baby girl" I confessed with an embarrassed smile. "She'd be so sweet..."
"A girl?" she seemed outraged. "A girl is so much of trouble! She can do anything stupid, she can be knocked up anytime... or anything, who knows!"
Now I tended to say she was right.

Of course I could not be sure either that Jason would be so bad for Piroska.
Perhaps she had more fun this way than alone. Supposedly some women actually like to live in a relationship, as hard to imagine for me as it is. (Sometimes I wonder weren't there their children, their financial status, their convenience, would they choose their husbands again.)

I did not want to give wrong advices to Piroska anyway. I warned myself reluctantly that I tended to think only about myself and nobody else. Maybe I just wanted to protect the status quo of my childhood friends, which would be a selfish thing to do.

Yet I did not like the whole Jason affair. I had a faraway insight that something was not quite all right. I could not exactly name what, but there it was.
My smart cousin, who has been an independent and confident girl in general, seemed almost humble, as though the man was "too good" for her to have, the only thing she could be proud of. Ha! I'd care to ever meet any man who could be good enough for our brilliant, witty, beautiful Piroska.

A welcomed letter

I was waiting rather impatiently for the answer of the liberal party.
It seemed they would keep me waiting for quite a while: They weren't in a hurry to respond to my application.
Instead, got a message from my cousin.

Had the leader of the party himself wrote to me personally, I could not have been happier. My Piroska did not forget about me completely!
It was just as short as her latest letter, shorter than our usual correspondence.

Dearest Mina,
I hope you are well.
I have hard days here, studying for my exams. Mónika is okay, too, she sends her regards. Hopefully we'll meet soon; although we'll go home only for a short holiday. We have to come back soon, as we have lots of studies for next year, especially Mónika. Jason will be with me over the summer.
I can't wait to have some rest. Mónika and me are both exhausted; we'll have a bit of rest at home in July. Please visit us anytime while we'll be there.
Yours,
Piroska

I smiled sadly.
During the previous summers, the two girls could not wait to spend some time at home. This time, however, they were eager to go back. I had a certain dark suspicion that Piroska was going to run back indeed, but not because of her studies but to be with Jason.

As in my latest letter I did warn her not to do any stupid and to be very, very sensible, she hardly had the courage to mention the boy's name. Then again, somehow the entire - curt - letter seemed as though it was written about him only.

I really could not understand why did my friends and cousins long for a relationship. As though it was something fine! Well, I happened to know from experience that it was not. I had tried it, so I certainly would had noticed had it been that enjoyable!

I leant back in my comfortable chair sourly.
Of course, with the rational part of my mind, I knew that it was the way of the world.
Piroska was twenty-one years old, a cheerful and lively person, so full of life, with her twinkling eyes, beautiful face and athletic figure. Despite of our similar looks (our features look quite similar, yet hers are more beautiful than mine, and she, unlike me, has a womanish form), we have completely different personalities. I have always been a loner, whilst she has been sociable and loved by everyone.
Of course it could not be an option for her to be the best friend and paypal of her weird cousin, who, although we were at the same age, was moody and inflexible enough to be her old spinster aunt.
Several acquaintance of mine suggested even I should contact people, young people at my age, not only my grandma and her friends, for my own sake. Which advice I never took.

I felt too old and bitter even to understand Piroska's enthusiasm when it comes to men or "love". However, naturally she needed other companions like me. And, as time goes by, a partner, too, because that is how life should be. I knew that.

Yet, I was almost weeping as I knew I would miss my lovely little friend very, very much.

My next moves

I did not give up though.
I have never wanted to accept when I was not capable of doing this or that. I was too obstinate to admit being defeated, even if it seemed obvious, not until I had the slightest hope to change.

Instead of sinking even deeper into despair, I considered what could I do.
I combed through the Internet for new possibilities.
The first thing I searched was the site of the Hungarian liberal party (which is a small yet influential one; those days it was part of the government coalition alongside with the leading party, MSZP). It had a so-called New Generation section for young liberal activists. Reading their page, I decided I was interested in several subjects, especially environmental and cultural activities, political sciences, jurisprudence, and civil rights.
With one quick movement, I clicked to the Registration button.
I tried to stay down-to-earth, nevertheless, secretly I felt zealous to be involved with politics. It was an old dream of mine.

My next aim was studying.
I visited the English sites of the most prestigious foreign universities to gather as much information as I could. Besides, I spent at least two hours each day by reading classic books in English - in my opinion, reading is the most effective way to perfect one's linguistic knowledge.

I also sent a short yet polite email to Helga asking her for a long overdue appointment to take photos.

This latter fact was the reason that I had to force myself to go on (or rather start) with my exercises. It was not nearly as pleasant as studying. After a very, very long pause, I found the trainings definitely hard. I haven't ever been athletic.
To do a sport which could not only give a spectacular figure but was also useful, I decided to choose Shaolin Kung Fu. I hadalready known some basic movements, kicks and blows.
A bit of self defence could not do any harm to any woman, I had known it from experience (I wish I had known that before the experience).

Guilt of being corrupted

I did ask myself one thousand times: how could I end up doing that work, online peep show, instead of a better one? I did have the intellectual abilities, and the chance as well. I could have gone to a college or found a normal job.
The answer was easy. Because I was interested. I felt intrigued. I could imagine only those jobs which were despised by most people but were considered exciting ones - I thought such a job would give me what a normal relationship never could (except with Feri, and I was mistrustful with him, besides, for a reason): Pleasure and satisfaction.
Being caressed tenderly, it did not attract me. Darker ways like attention of several unknown men, promiscuity, paid love, performing adult films seemed more arousing. As odd as it sounds in retrospect, sexuality was quite appealing for me back then. In one's early twenties it is not that unnatural, but yet...
What had attracted me to modelling, I could not put my finger on it. I never liked to socialise with people, I was glad to hide away in my room. Actually I felt lost anytime when I was forced to meet people, especially men. Why did I wanted to strut on a stage, I did not know.

Juventus ventus, that is true. However, what disturbed me the most, meanwhile I let good chances - intellectual jobs - slip out of my hands.
Was it worthwhile? No way.

As for the operator job, it was - surprise, surprise - another disappointment. Deep down I despised myself for it. Being a mechanically typing robot instead of a celebrated model... but what could I expect, as I always screw up everything, I thought bitterly.

When I told my friends about my job first, they looked me oddly. When I talked about it, they laughed or were a bit scandalised. Sometimes they found it exciting.
In the first weeks of September, 2006 (when I had not hate the entire job, as I was amazed by the income) I offered the job to Zentai and Gabika, as I happened to know that both of them would welcome a well-paid job those days. I did warn them the destructive effects and aberrant guests they could face there, and they apparently understood, because both of them declined the offer with respect. I did not push the issue and never mentioned it again.

As time went by, I became more and more sour. Was I really unable to reach anything, exept for failed hopes which never come true?

I had a few good decisions though - like leaving the operator job or going along on my own. It was just unfair that I tried so very hard and yet I could not have anything except for countless failed attempts... suspicious acquaintances... fruitless tries... hesitation. By then, after one and ahalf year of experience, I could more or less know what to do. Yet I was afraid I would not have enough energy. All my sources seemed to be consumed by vain efforts and disappointment.

Nothing is worse than guilt

Although I did know I made a good decision, I could not help feeling more than a bit disappointed.
Another hope rose, another faded into nothingness. And there was too much of them, too much plans which never succeeded, which led into nothing.
To be honest, I was nowhere near where I longed to be.
In 2005, I came to Budapest to turn into a named model. I even took off my clothes, and for what?! I did not have money, nor success. I did not even mention that I wanted some kind of romance as well. And most of all, the purpose of my life, my long-time purpose and only interest: Writing... the chance at Szukits Publisher... better not to think of it. Rethink it again and again would be a road directly into insanity.
Nothing succeeded. None of my plans.

Instead, I turned out as a BITCH. This way, in capital letters. There was no point to deny that, I thought, tormenting myself with pleasure. This word, BITCH, alongside with the dirtiest expressions, could describe me perfectly. When it comes to sexuality, I can use only the rudest expressions. Thinking of anything related with the subject, I felt only rage and repulsion, and guilt, an incredible amount of guilt. How could I ever sink that low to...
(... No, no, no. It's another road into a mental hospital... )

What could be the reason of failing so regularly?
I have always been intelligent and talented, I could understand, memorise and learn anything very quickly and easily, and all my acquaintances agreed that I have always been an exceptionnally clever girl. Anyone admitted it, even those ones who hated me.
And I intended to have an easy and nice life. Who would not?
Then what had gone so wrong? What had led me into the wrong track, into the wrong direction?

I had too much bitter thought, too much pain to cling to. Too much rage. And I was full of regret all the time.
After all failing was my fault. I was not strong enough, determined enough.
And I was the one who failed.
I was the one who fooled myself into believing that I actually wanted to model.
I made myself believe that my only purpose is having a "lover", having men admire me.
I insisted on having a relationship at any cost - an unhappy, destructive, false relationship, yet a relationship anyway. Only to play the role of a happy "girlfriend". Could one be more stupid?
I was the one who attracted the wrong persons - never a strong man who could had at least satisfied me.

I chose the wrong persons... because there was something wrong with me, too. Something aberrant, something corrupted, which attracted me to abnormalities.

I left it suspending

I failed to ask him about what kind of photos they would be exactly. I did not ask for other details either - where would they be taken, where would they appear. I just had a heart-warming idea of lovely, glitzy glamour pictures. I did not even thought of the fact that, with the same effort, they could plan vile adult photos as well. As much of a mistrustful person as I have been, once in a while I cannot notice the most unmistakable tricks and side-thoughts, at least not immediately. True that generally covers of magazines are hardly distasteful, not even the dirtiest ones's.

Nevertheless, I could not say yes wholeheartedly. My aim was not to co-operate with anyone. Actually I did not have the patience to go through an exhausting journey and doing a photo shoot, meeting people and all. I was too tired and disappointed to that. And who knows - even if this man really intended to support my career, which could not be taken for granted, then he would have a good reason to do so.
One thing was for sure. I never wanted to let anyone near my business. I did not intended to be anyone's fool. I had already been more times than I should had been anyway.

"I'm interested, definitely" I encouraged him at last. "Yet I don't know exactly when will I have enough time. Please call me later."
Whilst he promised me another call in a few weeks, I was rather pleased with my quick wits to find such a propersolution. A few months ago, it could had bothered me endlessly to decline (or almost decline) a fine offer - this time, however, being my own person seemed more important.
Not to mention that I felt some unexplainable aversion which I could not exactly name, yet it existed.

Another temptation

Some possible chances could not wait for me to make up my mind. They simply came to me directly, unasked.
A few hours later my phone rang again.
I picked it up and tried to stay patient.
However, this caller's tone sounded completely differetn than the other one's.
"You must remember me" he began politely after telling his name. "We've already talked to each other. I offered you a cover photo in Germany."
My heart thumped faster. I did remember that a couple of months ago this gentleman called me indeed. I was rather puffed up with the offer - a cover photo seemed to be an incredible chance: It was the dream of any Eastern European glamour starlets. German agencies and photographers, unlike Hungarians, had a reputation of fair and well-paying ones. Besides, I extended my admiration, love, and respect for Elfi Jelinek to all of the German speaking countries.

All in all, I was more enthusiastic than I used to be. Risky photos could not endanger my future career anymore, as I was fed up with entering beauty contests only to fail. Being a laughing matter of empty-headed teenagers was not that enticing.
I could accept his offer as well. Perhaps I could make good use of the photos they would take of me. German pictures must be of quality. Maybe I could upload them on my site.

I've been somewhat clumsy

I was snapped out of my reverie by a shrill phone ring.
I answered the call, although I had never seen that number before.

"Hello" an unknown male voice told. "I'm from ... Studio."
A flash of realisation dawned on me - he certainly must be one of the web designers who were meant to create my site.
"Yes" I barked reluctantly. Being occupied with more serious topics, I was not exactly in the mood to discuss about the settings of my glamour pictures. Or, to be completely honest, my nude photos (and some of them were meant to be not-too-decent yet guiltily attractive.
"When would you like to start running the site?" he inquired.
"Well... I must think it through" I stammered.
I had not had any definite plan yet. Not even in such a simple and crude subject like that. I was afraid that my biggest and worst mistake was being indecisive and unfocused.

To tell the truth, I had not known yet what kind of glamour photos I wanted. I did not intend to, as people in our trade put it, use toys in my pictures. Yet I could not decide between high-class yet true, unpainted and arousing looks (like some photos of top models) or other, natural but glitzy and aloof appearance. I supposed I would give credit both.

Anyway, talking with people was a hard task for me and the subject did not make it any easier.
"But we'd like to know when..." he asked.
I could hear from his voice that he was amused by my awkwardness. Most people usually were.
It made me angry. He really was insisitent, despite of the fact that I was the one who paid for their service.
"I'll inform you by e-mail" I cut the conversation short, more than a bit grumpily.

Nevertheless, I suspected it was high time to make some decisions.

Worth a try

Not as though I had much hope for having the slightest connection with politics. Without any kind of diploma, my possibilities were somewhat limited. I still refused consistently to go to a college. I was not a big fan of schools, and it was an understatement. I have met too many incompetent teachers and educated yet narrow-minded persons to have respect for a certificate.

I really did not know how to go on though, I had to learn - on my own. I was sure that I would not go neither to a school nor to a publisher. How would I be strong enough to get along on my own, I did not know. During the past few years I have lost almost every ounce of my confidence. I got accustomed with the fact that I fail everything. I got used to being rejected again and again and again.

This time, Gabika's information seemed to be a nice opportunity - yet I found it distasteful to get closer to Sári only because of my career. I intended to get close to her because of herself. I found her exciting, and her acquaintances, too. I dare say those people - the intelligent bastards - usually are the most interesting of persons.

My policy about politics

We talked a lot with my friend before saying goodbye. Afterwards, I could not forget the case of Sári's lover.
Not as though I longed for a Ferrari desperately - buying one would be more than a bit snobbish, considering that I could not even drive a car. As for the wrist-watch, I could not exactly know whether companies producing those de luxe things were animal friendly and earth friendly enough.
However, having those possessions meant that the man could afford practically anything. Which was worth to envy.

Being an insider of political circles was an attraction itself. Politics was one of my main interests anyway.
First of all, I loved the very thought of having power and influence. Besides, the subject itself was colourful and intriguing. I have always loved history and jurisprudence. Mostly I have been interested in animal protection and environmental subjects. Besides, I was curious to comprehend the connections, the reasons of certain political decisions. I wanted to know what happened and why happened it that way.

Making wrong things right in this world was another appealing issue. I, as naive as it sounds, have believed in justice, and have been outraged anytime I witnessed any social or political hypocrisy. I dare say my views were liberal. What else could I be than a liberal?
I could never stand being controlled or forced into rules. I had major difficulties with any kind of fitting in.

My desires for power seemeed somewhat unsettling though. My eagerness for expensive belongings was a touch stronger than it should had been. It still could lure me. I had an insight that I was still obsessed with all too earthly things - this time, having money and control instead of getting stuck to sexuality.
One fake idol, depending on love and womanity, has already fallen down, and I, instead of moving on, perhaps just replaced it with another one.

They gave me ideas

Journalism was a dream of me (if not the sweetest, but a pleasant dream indeed). Furthermore, I supposed Sári's man must be a wealthy one. Gabika had already mentioned that all her men were well-off enterprisers.
"Does he have money?" I asked warily.
"As you may imagine" my friend answered cheerfully. "He's got a Ferrari, his watch is Breitling. I don't know how does he do that... I suspect his payment is not enough for that, not even if he's an insider of the media. He must be a smart man."
I smirked. Smart man is a Hungarian expression for fortunate and rich swindlers.
This man was one decidedly - only his watch must cost more than half a million, and I did not even dare to think of the worth of his car.
"I wish I could do that, too" I said.
"What? Would you like to get yourself into a prison?!" Gabika asked with sheer shock in her voice.
I laughed out loud.
"No. I'd like to be that rich" I explained.
"Just be careful" she warmed me gloomily. "He might end up next to his mate's cellar quite easily. In case you are interested, supposedly the fellow himself didn't co-operate by the embezzlement, it was made by local authority members... yet he knew about it much more than a completely innocent person should, besides, he somehow missed to mentioned it anyone... most likey for some financial gain. Fanni, Sári's sister is desperate that Sári is stupid enough to get together with a man like that."
"I understand that" I assured Gabika.
However, I could not get rid of the images of the Ferrari and the Breitling. Those days I did not have enough money to buy a new battery to my watch, so I did not have a wrist-watch at all.

Sári's newest trick

Next day I had another lovely long-distance conversation. Gabika called me via Skype.
"I'm glad to hear about you" I told her earnestly. "How are you anyway?"
"Exhausted" my friend admitted with a sigh. " I still have an exam. I cannot wait to finish. I would like to sleep and sleep. Afterwards, I'll have a couple of months to do my diploma work. What about you?"
"Nothing special" I said easily, which was the truth. (Being half paranoid was old news.)
"Will you come to Budapest soon?" she inquired.
"I suppose so" I answered. Actually I did not have any idea when would I return.
"Visit me soon. We've found a nice apartment. We would be three - my boyfriend and myself, and a girl. I'm a bit fed up with living with strangers, but there it is."
"And what is with your summer job?"
"I have found a company" she reported proudly. "It doesn't seem very exciting... but rather nice anyway" she added, with a touch of uncertainty in her voice. "Oh well, and Sári... the woman apparently went crazy. These days she attends lawsuits."
"Why?" I asked, astonished. "What did she do?"
"As far as I know, nothing... although who knows... but her newest man is the one who is accused with deception, corruption and bribe. He is a political journalist... supposedly a former friend of K* Attila..." she said with a giggle.
"Whoa!" It was the only thing I could say all of a sudden. The afore-mentioned enterpriser was famous, all right, infamous all over the country; he had been sued a few years ago. He was charged with embezzling billions of forints, nevertheless, as several politicians and even ministers were included, he could not be convicted for years.
And a political journalist... I have always been interested in those circles.

What makes the difference?

At the same time, I could not help but had some unsettling side thoughts.
I felt scandalised when a few hours ago my old friend suggested, obviously well-meant, that I should find a partner. I thought - quite gruffly -, that fortunately I was fed up with such juvenile mistakes. I did not intend to be for anyone's use. My aim was being my own person.

However, as important as it used to be in my teens to attract everyone, especially handsome males, by that time it did not hold much interest for me. By then I was rather satisfied with my appearance (still not completely and I had a long road to take to that), and did not care about others's opinions. Nevertheless, those photos seemed somehow betray these views. At the age of 21, I should search attention by using my talent instead of the so-called female attraction, and it does not matter how cliché-like does it sound. I had a decidedly guilty conscience because of it, as though something was not quite all right with that planned site. Some of my pictures, more ones than I wanted to, looked more sensual than I expected.

Perhaps it was because of Helga. Sometimes I really thought she stared me with a gaze which was almost gentle.
Not as though I was so experienced by judging others's reaction - no, I have never been good at subtle non-verbal communication. I have had fine talents and could have learnt and studied many, many things anytime, but interpersonal relationships were not amongst them. Especially when it comes to romantic ways. I could not ever recognise someone's interest in me until he - or she, all right - said it directly.
All in all, I could not be sure.
It was not out of the realm of possibility that somehow I was also guilty in those photos. I still sinfully enjoyed attention.

After all, it was a creative art, a work which makes sense, which was not for emptyness.
Doing that, I could feel happy, confident and successful. In a similar way like anytime I write something good. As though I would be a talented and appreciated actress or model like I wanted to be in my teens. Who would not want all that attention?
It was not meant for someone's pleasure in using me. If I still had some hidden interest in such things, this was still much more safe than having a real relationship. I could say as well that the latter was more repulsive and dangerous.

Radiant and prestigious

During the whole day I was particularly zealous. My aim was to prove my worth at any cost. Zentai would have to realise that he was right when he trusted my talent at first! At last, he would take me seriously. One day not a single person would smirk when I would mention my purposes (by that time, achievements).
I knew for sure I was talented enough to achieve a thing I sank my teeth into. Besides, I did have the most glorious ideas indeed.
Firstly, as I initially planned, I intended to create my own photo site. I loved the very thought of those high class images. I could not really name any model or actress as an idol, but more or less I knew what kind of look I wanted to have. So I started writing down what kind of clothes and dresses would I wear, what kind of accessories (I was kind of obsessed with beautifully chiseled jewels, especially the ones decorated with gemstones), and what kind of background would I need. Helga mentioned she had some costums in her atelier.

I imagined I would appear as a green-eyed, fragile girl who seemed to come directly from the previous century, or from a housing estate of Eastern Europe. A girl whose innocent looking and wan face has witnessed the weirdest of things. (Which was by the way the truth). Perhaps - just to compare - I could name a fantasy actress, Helena Bonham Carter.

Fine advices, odd suggestions

I made a mental note that I was really lucky to have such a honest person like Zentai as a friend. He has always been bold enough to express his disapproval or to tell me when I did something wrong.
"Many people cannot stand or tolerate you" he explained "because you are so very strange. They think you to be a poseuse."
"Why?" This time I was truly surprised - I have never been a hypocrite.
"Well, they say, it is not possible that someone in this grey world would actually be that bright orange like you. That is why they think you play act. I know it is not true, you are like that indeed. You are weird. But never insane, I dare say. You are just sensitive. You can either suffer from it endlessly or make the best of it - you mightwrite amazing stories with such sensitivity. It's up to oyu. Do write about the turmoil in your head... it can be also therapeutic."
"As for turmoil..." I began warily. " I'm still not sure about my mental state. I suffer from anxiety disorders from the age of fifteen. Panic attacks, personality disorders included. I might end up as a mental patient all too easily" I said bitterly. And I still did not mention my newest paranoid symptoms, neither the constant fear of my former colleagues or acquaintances who were quasi criminals.
"No way" he still made efforts to comfort me. "You might get there only in case you mean danger to yourself or others."
"I might" I told honestly.
"Mina" he began solemnly "You look lovely... you are smart, kind, we like each other much... so, in case we meet, please, won't you harm me?!"
I laughed heartily at the mocked fear in his voice. I loved the man more and more.
Then I turned serious again.
"I never attack anyone... but sometimes I beat myself until the knuckles of my hands become swollen and purple."
"You are not foolish. Remember that." He kept quiet for a moment. "Perhaps you should pick up a man" he suggested then. "Women need, for about three times a week, to be..."
"Please!" I interrupted him outraged. "Don't be ridiculous. Going down the bitch road made me that unsuccessful... I don't have the slgithest intention to restart it."
"Pick up a girl then. There's nothing wrong with it" he advised cheerfully.
I laughed again. I've truly appreciated Zentai's distinctive sense of humour.

After saying goodbye, I was in a delighted mood for the rest of that day.

I'm not a fool (?)

I really felt touched, yet I was still unsure. Having back my dearest friend sounded amazing.
"Vanda is angry with me because I'm abnormal" I said.
Zentai hesitated for one second.
"What do you mean?"
"I suffer from a clinical depression... amongst other things. Actually I have plenty of mental disorders. I have already seen several psychiatrists and it's a miracle that I haven't been in a mad house yet."
"Stop being childish" Zentai scolded me fondly. "You are not an idiot. You are simply oversensitive, let me tell you."
"The psychiatrists were rather sure about it..."
"Sod them. In the book industry every single author has a touch of abnormality. Just have a look at Szlovenszkij."
I could not suppress a smirk.
The afore-mentioned gentleman was one of the most talented contemporary Hungarian authors. By far he has been the only person I've ever met whose IQ of 170 could be compare to Wayne *'s. I have talked to him a few times, and he was incredible - he knew every details of the extended European history. I could clearly judge by the way he spoke, by his manners that he was an exceptionally intelligent person. At the same time I knew about his dark side. He admitted publicly that he used drugs every once in a while - how did he dare to risk his intellectual abilities, his mental health, I often wondered. His "love life" was restricted to paid lovers from the street, as he, being neurotic, often depressed and bad-tempered, did not have the patience for any other relationship. When he admitted this latter fact, several readers of his were outraged and accused him of being bleak - but I respected his honesty.
"Really" Zoltán went on. "Do you know Ian Watson? The author of 'Inquisitor'? He visited Budapest two times... and on both occasions he wanted to pick me up."
"Whoa!" I giggled.
"Why did he like me, I don't know" Zentai said modestly. "I was already bald that time..."
"Because you have an air of assurance and a brilliant brain as well" I helped him, still smiling.
"Well, he is gay. And so what. We here are somewhat extraordinary..."
"I'm bisexual, too" I said. And it was still not my oddest feature.
"No problem with that. Were artists normal persons with rational minds, nothing could be created except for grey cubes. No colourful artworks. They'd say, why should we carve a statue, carving a cube is cheaper and deesn't demand so much effort, doesn't need that much of material."
I was still laughing at this comparison. Zentai was truly hilarious.
"You are not crazy" he repeated. "Only somewhat more sensitive than others. You know, most people has five senses. A few has something that we call the sixth sense. Others, like yourself, has not only one but five more ones alongside with the already known five normal senses. Which means that you do have ten channels instead of five ones to gain informations from the world around you."

I smiled fondly. Zentay has been one to say something encouraging.

Good news about my Vanda

I was glad to find out that my Zentai has been that talented. Not as though I ever doubted it. I have read his translations, all I could say he was amazing.
Really, with such a screenplay like 'Matrix' he could have already been world famous. True that viewers in general hardly ever memorise the name of a screenwriter, yet he could have been a named person in the inner circle of the film industry.
"I could not write so well" I told honestly, in a slightly saddened voice. "You really must know Elfriede Jelinek..."
"Who?"
I sighed. Did I hear well that Zentai Zoltán did not know who Elfi Jelinek was? True that hardly anyone knew her. Zentai at least had known our Kertész Imre before 2002, whilst most Hungarians, including myself, had not even heard about him.
"The beautiful Austrian authoress who has won a Nobel Prize in 2004. She looks gorgeous... and she is so very intellectual... Her manners are wondrous, with those wise and very true thoughts and melodious sentences... and she plays with the words just like Tandori Dezső" I added easily, as I knew that Zentai has been an old friend of the Kossuth Prize winner Hungarian novelist and translator, and has always had a great deal of respect for him. "Tandori has translated her novel 'Lust' into Hungarian" I explained. "And I'll never be half as good as Elfi."
Zentai burst out laughing again.
"Don't you compare yourself to anyone" he warned me. "She is simply different than you. The two of you write in two different genres, so you two are not ones to be compared. Don't you care about who is better than you. I'm better than you, too. I'm not pompous, it is true."
I considered it, and found out that he was right indeed. He had so brilliant ideas with an ease I seemed to lack completely, and, adding his linguistic and translating experiences of twenty years, I had to admit that he was truly better than myself.
"I have already written seven hundred books" Zentai claimed. "The truth is that I1m proud of, let's say, one hundred and twenty of them. The others were written... just because. I don't care though."
"When I screwed up with the time limit at Szukits..."
"You did not screw up two hoots. My co-operation with Szukits was more or less over by the time you appeared. No matter how and when have you finished that work, we could not had employed you. We left the Szukits just then."
As much as I respected and loved Zentai, I could not really believe those latter sentences. I was full of self-recrimination. He certainly just intended to be polite and those statements were meant to comfort me.
"Even I cannot always deal with time limits. Sometimes I succeed in finishing in time, on other occasions I don't. And so what. At worst, the publishers will pay a few months later. Some of them feel insulted and won't emply me anymore, but there are always ones which are willing to work with me again. Like * Publisher..."
My heart went running, as the publisher Zentai mentioned was Vanda's and Ottó's.
"I love them much, but they hate me" I confessed bitterly.
"What? How did you get that stupid idea?" He asked outraged.
"Unfortunately it is true."
"Not true! They both like you. Vanda has told me."
"It must had happened ages ago when she had told anything like that..."
"No! Not ages ago, but a few weeks."
"Earlier. Months before, I suppose."
"No. It was just recently, believe me. She talked about you with love. She said she loved you like a mother loves a daughter."
I smiled warmly. I loved my friend much. I wished Zentai was right.

Who has written the 'Matrix' movie?

I shrugged those thoughts away. I knew I had other, more important things on my mind, such as my job, than clinging to ancient memories.
Suddenly a delighting idea flashed through my mind: I decided to call my good old Zentai. He has always been a fine conversationalist. He could comfort and encourage me anytime.

Next morning, when I was alone in our flat, I called him indeed.
"Hello" he greeted me. His voice was friendly. I was glad to notice it: Sometimes he sounded somewhat impatient.

I complained a bit about being tricked. He just laughed about the case.
"It is not a laughing matter" I reminded him, insulted.
"This is an everyday case" he explained himself. "Do you know the film 'Matrix'?"
"Of course I do. Why?"
"I had written its screenplay."
"Whoa..." I gasped.
'Matrix' has never been a top favourite film of mine, as I always preferred horror. However, 'Matrix' - its spectacular and very distinctive ways - was a film of quality, a cultic masterpiece, even I could judge that.
I felt very proud of Zentai. I knew some of the fellow authors tended to lie every so often, then again, Zentai was known as a fair and tough man.
"I could prove how I got the ideas of each scene and momentum" he continued. "At that time, I had read a book by an English chick, she inspired interesting ideas... besides I studied Buddhism, its philosophy also appears in the story... all in all, I could name every influence I got those days, I could describe the whole process of creation. I had written the story in English, then I gave it to a native speaker for correction - anyway, a native speaker can do it better, that's right. A few years later I recognised my own ideas in the 'Matrix' movie... but what could I had done? Should I had sued them?!"
"Yes you should" I snapped, but he interrupted me.
"And how? A lawyer over there would ask at least a sum of one million forint."
I sighed. This way, and adding the labyrinths of law, it did not seem easy.

What to remember

Ah well, those memories.
At that time, writing fine articles about everything and nothing under the sun - I had been together with Feri.
Actually Feri, alongside with Milán, was the only relationship I could describe either a more or less normal or a romantic one. The two of them were the ones I never regretted.

Back then, in 2004, I could not really think of Feri in any romantic sense. I was half amused and half angry when my cousin introduced us to each other. Feri was so very young that only his good looks and nonchalant manners could compensate for it.

I was truly surpriesd when he asked me to date him in a club near a sport stadium where he had trainings on a regular basis.
It was unusual from a good-looking, smart and tough young man, a ladies' man furthermore, to date a loner like myself.
I was not easy to handle, not in the slightest. I did not really let him close, literally and figuratively. I stayed strictly professional and mostly talked about my work and purposes. After those disappointments, nothing else had any place in my life (and it was right that way).
Once I talked about writing enthusiastically. Feri seemed to be interested as well. I thought so.
He was enthusiastic indeed... but, I should had thought, he was more interested in my withdrawn self than in writing.
All of a sudden he grabbed me by the waist and pulled close.
"I love that you are so intellectual" he said, smiling.
"Is that so unusual for you?" I snapped briskly, in my usual cynical manners.
I, as incredible as it sounds, was not frightened. Instead, my arm snaked around his neck, and I snugged even closer. I even returned his smile, whatever has gotten into me.
Half a minute later I came to my senses and pulled away, still smiling.
I knew I would never forget that intimate embrace.

Plans in the media

I was deeply saddened by the negligent and irresponsible way people treated this subject in general. We hardly ever can hear about the practical parts of those topics, environmental hygiene and animal rights, and all the things we could do for it, not theoretically but in our everyday lives. Although all of us could do a lot, buying animal friendly products and boycotting the cosmetics, detergents and other manufactures of all those companies which have improper policy towards animals and environment. For average consumers, watching those labels could mean only a little bit of care, and could help a lot.

Instead, most people do not care about reading what kind of ingredients could have been found in products we use or food we eat every day. Which is odd, considering it is vital for our very own health. Humans are simply too stupid to recognise their own interests and well-being, not to mention other living beings's. I was desperate to find out that most brands we Eastern European know were not proper! It was incredible - the appropriate brands seemed completely unknown and unheard of. I could only hope that in Western countries the case has been different.

I smiled a faint half-smile as I vowed to myself I would always act sensible and conscientious in this matter and I never would neglect essential ethics.
Firstly, I would not ever co-operate with any brand or company which were not animal friendly or earth friendly. I would not use their products, neither would I wear their make-up in my photos.

Then I had further plans as well.
I started getting interested in journalism.
Not extremely interested - I have always been an author tpye and not a journalist. The two things, however, are somewhat connected.
I supposed I could write intriguing articles about one or two subjects. Actually once I had already tried something similar in a blog.

A green model

I felt chilly, so I gathered my cardigan - the soft red fabric kept some warmth. I could felt the coldness of the outside world deep in my bones.
I admitted, though unwillingly, that my fears were real for once. Modeling industry was crowded with swindlers, or even worse. I suspected it did have to do something with the white slave traffic. Not in every single case, of course - several girls, mostly the more good-looking and talented ones, were not willing to "be friendly" with photographers, but not all of them could afford to be picky.
I could hear enough times about certain clubs, parties and cliques. Once in a while, some of the agencies has thrown parties so that to models, photographers, casting agents, future customers and hired lovers could meet each other on a regular basis. The gentlemen who escorted the young female models were either well past forty (sometimes fifty), wearing expensive suit, or somewhat younger, sharp featured, heavily built men, whose head was shaven bald and whose clothing costed thrice as much as a doctor's income. Where did those men get all their money, I never knew. Supposedly they were "enterprisers" which was an explanation itself.
If one wants a well paid job in Hungary, they need to be enterprisers. I would had been one willingly, because of the incredibly good income - as for the business part, I was not that enthusiastic though. I preferred writing and reading books instead.

Now I had a chance to become an enterpriser. A very slight chance, but a chance indeed.
I still stuck to the creative part of the job - my pictures. I planned elegant photos with the retrograde looks of the late eighties. I could easily change my roles in front of a camera. Whilst I, very unfashionably, definitely did not look wanton, sensual or erotic in any sense, I had quite a wide range of various looks.

I could not resisit but intended to arrange a sinister looking and dramatic background, with shining black and crimson silk draperies. Those scenes, altogether with my unnaturally pale skin, firghteningly thin form and troubled eyes, could emphasise the eerie atmosphere I wanted to show. In such photographs I could look like
(... a harmed woman...)
a character of a horror story.
As much as I hated
(... to remember...)
this stereotypical S&M images, I could not get rid of the thought.

At least, I wanted to do it high class quality.
I decided not to wear any make-up or clothes which were not made by animal friendly and earth friendly cosmetics groups and designers.
I would use only animal friendly and environmentally friendly products. I was endlessly disappointed to discover that practically all the prestigious and expensive brands like Chanel or Estée Lauder have not been like that. Several companies claim that their products are animal friendly... but what about the ingredients?! They co-operate anytime with companies which are not animal friendly at all. Which is a shame.

At last, I insisted on using good, reliable Oriflame. True that they are imperfect, too: They do not use improper ingredients, only after five years of the tests... but when those five years has gone, Oriflame do use the same ingredients, so their policy is not an extremely hard pressure on firms and companies which are not animal friendly. However, Oriflame is still somewhat better than most products we here in Eastern Europe can reach.
I have a great deal of respect for Swedish people anyway, since a certain Swedish Academy have given the Nobel Prize in Literature to my Goddess - the intelligent and beautiful she-is-oh-so-good Elfriede Jelinek.

Repulsion

I looked out of the window, and stared at the monotonous, somber grey sky. Those days, in the late spring of 2007, it was raining unusually much for the season. Daylight seemed to be dim, even the street seemed darker than other days. Such days - when dark shades of grey overpowers all the other colours, green become dark green, blue turns into steely turquoise - the world seems wet, chilling and bleak.

Watching the rain pouring, I could not help but recalled the unpleasant memories, the persons I met when I tried to model. I felt aversion for those men. The way they spoke never stopped bothering me. I hated their pretending tones (with a little bit of experience, I could tell anytime when their promises about jobs were false - of course, mostly that was the case). Besides, several of the male agents looked feminine. They were skinny, their hair looked sticky with gel, their skin was tanned in sunbeds, their features were boring and not sharp at all. There were a few with gorgeous appearance, they were tall and strong built, but they seemed simply dull. Complete lack of intelligence was clearly written on their faces - this way I could not feel any hint of desire for them.
It was the worst part: that I should had seduced them. It was required. And how could I had imitated desire when my alarm screamed?
Actually I felt that way anytime a man approached me; no matter what kind of intentions he had... not as though men had all too decent intentions when it comes to women.
I could not exactly describe that feeling - but it obviously has something to do with guilt, terror and aversion.