Haze and Fire

May 29th, 2026.

I was talking about a haze a year ago. A haze that appeared not solely in or around my head but my heart. I seemed to know. I seemed to be certain. I seemed to be completely awake.

About a year past.

A few months ago I wrote a poem, titled Feathers. At the beginning it says:
“I thought I had clarity a year ago
and now I came to realize
that was just temporary blindness.”

The line saying “that was just temporary blindness” was perplexing for me from the very moment it appeared. I wanted to change it. I thought it was contradicting the whole idea of me coming to realizations, but couldn’t switch it out because it belongs there. Sometimes my poems know better than I realize at the time.

Time passes and things happen in our lives. Most of that is unknown to the public.

I thought of stability. The need for having a fix point. To be that point. For myself and for others.

I thought of what family is. I was thinking about it last night. How I didn’t know and how I still think I perceive the idea perhaps differently than how I should. Maybe I can’t really comprehend it. The need to give oneself up to belong. It shouldn’t have to be like that. I don’t think.

It’s not selfishness. It’s the overstressing of self-reliance. Maybe it’s not trusting anyone else completely and perhaps sometimes not even being sure of ourselves either. Or should I say: myself.

I am not, but I am alone.

I read other people’s writing. I see pictures. I hear stories of people staying together all their lives. In fact most people I know stay together no matter what… “till death do us part”.

That reminds me of the time when as a little girl I was standing in my great aunt’s bedroom. Above is a picture of her resting place.

I stood there a few times. Older, too. She had a wall with all family photos on them. Her wedding photos, her son’s, grandchild’s and great grandchildren’s pictures. She was talking to me about them. With that love in her voice and that shine in her eyes. We sat in that room after my grandpa passed. Her younger brother. She comforted me with her signature calmness, soothing the pain without ever touching.

I remember how amazed I was seeing her young face in the picture, when I’ve always known her with silver hair. A somewhat plump older lady in sensible clothes, doing her chores around the house. Not a young, vibrant girl with all the dreams of theatre and art.

Below is a picture of my maternal grandmother’s older sister and her best friend, who is my godmother’s mom, when they were young. The woman on the left has past on her birthday, this past January 1st, the woman on the right is now in a nursing home, turning 96 or 97 this summer.

This, seeing old photographs, always makes me wonder, what’s underneath. If that thing is still there or they’ve given up on their dreams. If they’ve come to peace with losing them. If they’ve lost them at all.
Time and circumstances can alter the course of our lives. Maybe it’s not that. Maybe we do things unknowingly, thinking that is the right thing to do. Starting down on a path…
“You’ve had your fun now.” rings in my head again. Have I? And is it fun? She, my mother didn’t understand (me).

I heard someone talking about this just recently. How with leaving we grieve the person we might have become if we stayed. That’s what nostalgia or being homesick might mean. Though not only. What do I grieve? The ‘easiness’ of it? The routine? The support? Who am I lying to?

I know, I am on the path of my own. I am certain about that. Thinking about what might have been is not only useless, I know that’s not the way I wanted to live. So in that knowledge I am content. But perhaps… Perhaps what? Is there more? Is it too late? Am I still that ‘alive’? Can I be?

This is the row where my paternal grandparents, my great aunt and my father was laid to rest. Perhaps one day my ashes will rest here, too.
“s remélem, testem is majd e földbe süpped el”/“I hope one day my body will sink into her.” (quote from I cannot know by Radnóti).

I remember the feeling, when the opportunity came for me to make my big leap. I didn’t know if I was going to succeed, but I had to try. How did I put it?
“My curiosity was stronger than my thought of worthlessness and imminent failure.”
I wonder how much I changed? Is that fire still burning or did I give up on it? Or am I just about to make a decision. A compromise. To settle. Because if I do, then there will be nobody else but myself to blame.

I am sober. I’ve never been anything else. With my head above the clouds. Still dreaming. Still in a haze. Not about travelling. But about the fire that is still burning. Alive.