Tomboy Style

If not in Budapest, Hungary, I would live in… Athens. If not, New York. Yes, I could definitely see myself living there.And my third choice is Australia.

My current obsessions are… finding new music, postcards, writing

I channel my childhood self when I… jump on beds, dance around the house, or when I'm histerically laughing at something

The fictional characters I most relate to ... have not yet been written down.

If I had to be outdoors all day I would… love every single minute of it! Even if it's freezing cold or puring down with rain, I love being outside! Well, except for when there's a storm. I hate storms.

My favorite quality in a man is… if he is badass. But a good boy at the same time. I like my men bad, but in a good way.

My favorite quality in a woman is… is she is natural. And I don't mean she stinks because she doesn't use deodorant or that she doesn't have fake boobs. I mean natural in character.

I’m terrified of… screwing up University stuff.

My dream car is a… Mini Cooper, black with a white top.

My cocktail of choice is… Mojito, Long Island, Cuba Libre, Singapore Sling, Daiquiri. In that order.

My celebrity crushes are… Anthony Kiedis. Eternal love.

My friends and I like to… spend time together, share stories, discuss, dance, go to the theater.

If I could go back in time for one decade it would be… The Sixties, probably.

As a teenager I was totally into… drugs, theater and music.

I tend to splurge on… books, clothes, accessories.

I tend to survive whatever comes my way …and that’s what makes me have Tomboy Style.

Life as we will never again know it

I am now thinking about the time we first went to Amsterdam, I think it was a warm January, we were jumping on the bed to Madonna-songs in the sauna-hot Apple Inn: he told me a lot of times afterwards, that that time burned into his retina, so many times actually, that the expression got-burnt-into-my-retina became a part of my everyday vocabulary. And now I am thinking about the time when he fell asleep in my lap on the plane to Amsterdam and I realised that one of the stewardesses was my classmate back in high school. I saw mountains from the top for the first time with her. And now I'm thinking about the time we were sitting by the shore, watching those huge ships turn west. We were sitting in a bar on a Budapest street, and he said he was surprised he had found a friend at this age. And now I'm thinking about the time he fell asleep holding my hand. I can't bare to think about whether he was told what was happening to him or not, because I'm sure he knew. I look back and I now understand every single bad decision he made. And now I'm thinking about the time he first came down to the beach and we saw the Danube sparkle, and he screamed out, look, there's a small lake! How cute! And now I remember the nights we worked together, the pink corner, a lot of jokes that only we understood. Now I'm thinking about the first time we went to Brussels. That's when he decided to move there. Paris, windstorm. Amsterdam, club sandwich by the window looking out onto Ej. Brussels, Plattesteen, night sandwiches, bells ringing, chilling, boring-town tempo. At our place, between two chemos, he is planning our trip to the village, so we can rest after this ordeal. Cows, silence with his daddy, chatting to his grandmother. Now I'm thinking about the first time I went camping. I put the tent together in the evening, we ate, we washed ourselves and I waited for the calls, because at night, my sister always called me, and he always called me. That night neither of them called, I stayed up late, cried a little, then fell asleep, and realised the next morning that my phone was out of battery. When I recharged it, I called him and he helped me get home, he knew the way so well. I just finished browsing through his laptop, because I wanted to reach out to him, he can't just leave me here: when I saw his photos from the mountain, that was the worst kind of pain. But it felt good at the same time. Now I'm thinking about the fact that when Constance was hyperactive, he calmed her down by raising her above his head. It worked every time. And now I remember the last time he came home, the walk from the taxi to his bed wore him out so much, that all he could do was collapse and after we put everything away and organised the room, the dog climbed up onto the sofa and watched him from there, longing for a pat, and he actually forced himself to raise his hand so he could caress her.

People from old stories start appearing. Weird, alien manly voices over the phone, shaky, crying voices. Really? Really. Could you call me when ...? Yes. Thank you. It seems so easy to be cool calm collected, I'm standing in front of the pastas in the fucking supermarket with blank eyes and I tell a stranger-half stranger over the phone that yes, he is dead. I wait a little, I say I'm sorry. She asks me, can I tell her how it happened. I tell her. I promise to let her know about the funeral. If I recignise her from his stories, I will call her. She collects herself, says goodbye and hangs up. I go on, I buy a little milk, I pay. I want to kick his bed until I can no longer stand. I try to write e-mails or texts to his friends, to let them know in a discrete way. I throw out the tea he asked for when he was in the hospital. Everywhere and nowhere. It hasn't even been two days. And I knew very well that it was going to hurt this much. When my sister hugs me, I cry a little, almost in a calm way. I swallow my tears until my nose starts bleeding.

The only person I really loved with all his annoying bad habits, is dead. And I feel fucking sorry for myself because he's not with me. Anguish, that I don't want to understand. I knew you, I saw you, I loved you.

Kosher love

I was asked to give a presentation about sexuality, sex, sexual orientation.

What a challenge! I've been blushing ever since.

This is the question humanity just can't deal with most of the time. I've suspected this for a long time, but now that I studied the global history of sex, I am more and more convinced.

I turn the pages of different scientific books, confessions, poems, philosophical, ethnographic, psychological and religious studies with burning ears and an overwhelming interest.

Frigyes Karinthy wrote an awesome play. It's called The Magic Chair and it is about a chair, that if you sit on, makes you tell the truth, makes you start speaking honestly about all those "sinful" thoughts that you keep a secret even in front of yourself. This play, if I remember correctly, ends with the chair being destroyed so the world won't come to an end.

I've been sitting on one of these chairs for two months now, and I have no idea whether I should be embarrassed, or whether I should laugh, be surprised, be amazed, or maybe if I should drop down on my knees in front of the wonder of Life, which was created to fool us (or perhaps to challenge us?). The neverending fountain of the tragedy and comedy of our lives is sex.

It is our greatest value and our greatest misery, all rolled into one.

And there's no way science could be right about this matter, because it never takes into account the deeper layers of our souls, our imaginations and the divine - the metaphysical knowledge of man and woman. In sexuality, the sensual-carnal part of our being cooperates with our most divine part: we encounter each other via our bodies and at the same time we become Creators, we can bring new life to this Earth.

I am only going to mention what I last read.

It seems to me that Jewish tradition understands this complexity. The law states that a man owes his woman three things after getting married.

Food, clothes and sex. If he cannot provide one of these: the marriage is invalid.

Obviously, there were different rabbi schools.

Talmud talks about an argument.

The Samaj school says: if the husband doesn't go near his wife for two weeks, he can be forced to divorce her.

According to Hilel's school, the deadline is one week, which means that the maximum amount of time that can be spent without sex is seven days.

Since married life duties are religious duties in the life of a man, Talmud laws clearly state how many times members of different social layers have to have sex.

Economically independent men have to have sex every day. (Wow!)

For workers, it's twice a week.

For mule-drivers, it's once a week.

For camel-drivers, it's once every thirty days.

For sailors, it is once every six months. (According to the Misna.)

But that is not all.

If a worker lives at home, or works near his house, then it's twice a week for them, as I said.

But if he is forced to work in another city, his wife can legally keep him from working because he wouldn't be able to fulfil his manly duties.

All these things seem funny today. A man of our times would actually think about whether it would be a good thing to be economically independent under these circumstances. The price to pay isn't small: at least once every day by law! That's something ...

But these are only the complicated rules. The metaphysical parts are prettier. Tradition has it that it is not only reproduction which is sacred, but also making love. So the value of making love doesn't depend on whether the man and the woman get a baby out of it or not.

It is a known fact that Saturdays are sacred.

But to hug your lawfully wedded wife or husband, this day seems like the perfect time.

"Let the sacred day be the time of the sacred act."

"Wise men of other nations teach that our sensual experiences are to be kept a secret" - says a Talmud-teacher from the 18th century. - "We say that having sex is good and it is the act of reaching a higher state. It benefits both body and soul - and it is sacred. If the act is done in the right state of soul and with the right intentions, then there is no human act which is at a higher sacred level."

Language also keeps a deep secret, which is relevant to the subject. Making love in Hebrew is called: yáda. It means: getting to know. Adam got to know Eve - and that's how little Cain was born.

If you think about how many obscene words we use for sex, which should always be talked about with respect ... And if you think about the fact that among all these obscene words and expressions, the most acceptable is probably the very scientific-sounding sexual intercourse, you will see where we have sunk with our false preconceptions and our enlightenment.

Getting to know has three stages.

Understanding. When I know with my brain, what the other is like.

The surprise factor. When I realise, "Wow, I know him/her!"

And the third and deepest stage is what Plato calls "remembering".

What do I remember? That he is mine, and I am his.

I remember you, it's just that I forgot you. Of course! We lost each other, and now, in the ecstasy of our hugs, we found each other. We are one again!

"Flesh of my flesh, soul to the soul."

This must have been what Adam experienced when he "got to know" Eve. Of course, this familiar woman was created out of his ribs. She was wripped out of him, while he was sleeping. But in the garden of Eden they were still together. He remembered her back then. And now, he is starting to recall her again ...

This is what people experience when making love is real: "I am now going to hug you back into myself, if you cuddle up real close. And you will find your place, inside of me."