Contains a link to our handwashing dance in the Vietnam style. Enough said.
On April 11, Hungarians celebrate the birthday of Attila József, one of the deepest and most original poets I have ever come across. […] he is a man of elementally intense emotions, put in perfect words and flawless music.
A previous confinement reminds me that waiting for Easter means having hope that we will walk free again.
I can’t unfeel this: We’re lucky to have the internet and the social media to stay connected and productive. But this is a big fat privilege, and we can’t afford not to take care of those who don’t have it.
A few days ago, when I opened Word to write a new post, an unexpected document came up in the Recommended section: a farewell I wrote for the funeral of my aunt who passed in May 2018. I thought I’d share a redacted translation with you, so that you may find in it something I found: solace, not sorrow.
I delivered my first online training from the home office today. It felt better than I expected.
Today, a lot of good things happened. We made each other feel loved. The proof is that I could write the above. It could only be written from a distance.
I guess I’m saying that it’s OK to feel anxiety, to stay up at night, to imagine symptoms, to sit in the corner and cry. It may not be OK but still understandable if you snap at your colleagues or your loved ones. But if that happens (it happened to me), you must remember that they need support as much as you do.
Noticed the difference in the noise from outside, and listed some feelings. My current location is… Not-Going-Anywhere.
Just an ordinary conversation from home.