Dear, dear diary

I am transitman. A woman, who came to this world as a guest and tries to do her best to feel comfortable herself without hurting anybody's rights or conformism. The transitman I am, lives in Hungary - the black whole of Central Europe in the XXI. century. 

I started writing my blog in hope to have a nice, a little bit confusing art-work, that might be worth reading but I realised that nothing that really relates to art is interesting nowadays.

So I decided now to write something just for myself, since I do not know whether anybody in this cyber-world is interested in the life of a transitman in Hungary. I was always independent, my soul was always free from any force, I have never sold myself to any party therefore I might be useless for an average human being. But what I am useful for is my objectivity and capability of remembering and noticing sometimes very small, tiny things in life.

Today I do not live but exist in Hungary. Although I speak several languages, my descendants were university professors, news writers, writers, I can not consider this beautiful land, this beautiful culture of Hungary my home. Although I am Hungarian from the deepest of my heart not only because the richness of the language itself, but knowing Hungarians, who are in majority a calm and little bit depressed people. It might look like being an intellectual in an intellectual country is a kind of paradise... It used to be a paradise... 

Today, - where a dictator changes the law and demolishes all the ethics and last whispers for optimism and future that Hungarian have - , living in Hungary is not a life, but being a part of a game, a forced character of a surrealistic drama where there is no law.

As I go by the streets I see people starving, most of my friends, who are intellectuals live a hopeless life, only because a couple of lawyers, who do not have faith, nor love for their people, are changing everything that is reasonable into unreasonable just to rule. 

Average Hungarian lives under very hard circumstances: if he wants to do his best, he has to accept that he is just a puppet of the system that was imagined by a clever but selfish person who admires himself. 

There is no strategy, there is no aim, there is no future, there is only a game here. A game where everybody loses. Firstly their faith, then mind, then self-esteem, and lastly their dignity. The person, who only has the right for dignity is not Hungarian. It is the Prime Minister of Hungary and his friends.