Tombe La Neige. I swear, weren’t it the Fast, I’d have listened to this song at least several times (since) this morning.
Albeit I coined this phrase yestereve, later on adding the «to believe» words and deemed it a cool title of a future song of mine (not that I’m mentioning this here lest someone decides to steal the idea but since I wrote it, please, don’t steal it, if possible, or if you do and you win a Grammy nomination with it, please make sure I receive credits for it. Much as I already lost the hope of becoming an Olympic champion, I still see the prospect of a Grammy looming.)
Those of you familiar with the concept and the special significance of this song in my life will know what I mean, as for the others, you are kindly invited to know what snow itself has a special place in my life as it bears a thick layer of symbols including the eternal circle of descending into filth and being cleansed, and my lost childhood (home), with both of them firmly sticking together in more than one dimension.
So when I saw the snow from my window this morning I couldn’t help unleashing the wishful thinking that had already been at large in my soul since yesterday: speaking in spiritual terms, I had a very tough week since I left Budapest last Wednesday that culminated in my falling out of grace last Sunday and trying to crample up of the pit – in vain – until this Wednesday when I actually realised my basic mistakes in handling the temptation – mistakes I had previously been aware of but let sneak in without paying too much attention to them. I had to therefore urgently change tactics by switching to the paradygm I had acquired in January in Budapest, and do it without enjoying the luxury of having someone to relate to but the Lord. Now you might expect me to lay the blame for my sins at her fear, well I will certainly not, coming undone was a result of my own efforts of tempting myself with thoughts in the vein of being tired of being good, and I must admit to having put much effort into it.
But becoming pure again is not that easy either. Although it seems working for the moment, no one realy knows what is in store for me tomorrow – the less now that tomorrow is the day of my return to Hungary.
This is the less dark side to the coin. The darker side is that as the pantera cannot change its scars, so can we not change ours. It will take something more than a surprise snowfall in the last third of March to wash them away.
Last time I had snow in March I was in Budapest. On the 15th of March I had my hat blown by the wind into the Danube while I was biking across the Liberty bridge.
That very same year I visited Estonia for the last time as of now, and the countryside we were staying was covered in snow. That was when my actual friendship with Lithuania began as I had already taken the first steps while still being an active rotaractor and wouldbe president elect of my team. A wouldbe as that actually never really happened and that tossed me deeper into politics, eventually for the better of my friendship with Lithuania, although that last affirmaiton is but yet another manifest of the lingering wishful thinking joining efforts with the instinctively forced decrease of cognitive dissonance: it would have been great had they elected me. I’d have more experience in leading teams now and it would thus be easier to be promoted.
I wish other good things had happened since that March and some bad things hadn’t happened, but unfortunately those good things did not happen and those bad things did.
So when I saw the snow this morning I really wanted to believe it was signalling the (chance of) a new beginning for me.
I actually dreamt of Yunetz being covered with snow this dawn. And from 2009 to 2013 I visited Estonia each odd year, not so in 2015, unfortunately.
I couldn’t help remembering Estonia this morning while having a breakfast largerly consisting of a carrot (so very cheap in Lithuania ❤ ), black rye bread (relatively cheap compared to other types of bread, especially when their price is not lowered due to forthcoming expiration of the «best before» deadline, yet, as a member of the family of the breads, expensive compared to the average price of bread in Hungary), and some rape oil (stepping in for the «vene juust», or Russian cheese I used to combine black bread with in Estonia back in days, which is natural bearing in mind it is still the Fast so no dairy products dude). Or maybe I could have helped it but I did not want to. I wanted to call on this memory and tear this wound open.
What I can’t help believing is that it all was likimas and this is my true homecoming to the Baltic.
Yet it is too white to believe.