Why Jesus is better than Santa Claus

December 11, 2006
Budapest, Hunagry

I've been meaning to write to you for the last few days but booze, the opera, and refugees have been getting in the way. Also, I figured that I might try and spice up these emails because frankly, I am sure you are tired of " and then I met the most wonderful person blah blah blah" or "and then we went out to the coolest bar in the pouring rain yadi yadda yadda" OR my personal favorite, " and it was magical" as I am. Seriously, what kind of crap is that? I am even more ashamed of it than I am of Plato's cave theory and Mango's horrible excuse for a sale last week (but not in that order).

Instead, I thought I would take a page from a writer's worst enemy, a philosopher, because, well, I am fresh out of style --aka in a word rut -- and who better to cheat off of than the nemesis. I hate philosophers, I really do; It's all a bunch of made up mumbo jumbo to make 'em sound esoteric. But hey, I mean, people buy it all the time -- look at Marx, he started a movement, for the love of God (or not). OK, so I think I am going to start with one of the earliest. Hint: a type of dialogue

Me (To myself in Ferihegy Airport): OK, another country, Khushbu. Just try and get out of here alive with you ginormous luggage and you are golden.
Turkish Man 1: Hello. Where you from?
Me: Seriously, buddy, not right now.
Turkish Man: *Stream of Turkish*
Me: Sorry, don't understand. You can stop now.
Turkish Man turns to Japanese Man and asks him to translate between us. Me (To Japanese Man): Did he seriously just ask you to translate from Turkish into English? I'm impressed.
Japanese Man: Sorry, I don't understand. I don't speak.
(Then I have Turkish Man 2 grab my 120 lbs of luggage, hand them off to his drivers and proceed to stalk me. It's almost a continuation of my first hour in Ankara. I am so blessed.)

Me and Australian are climbing up the hills to the Castle in the late night...
Me: No, I am not a big fan of pretty things. They just don't intrigue me 'cause all they are is beautiful.
Australian: Really? I quite like this castle sparkling over the Danube. And the church is amaz--Me: Whatever. I am never impressed by beauty (At the same time, I see the first side of the church). HOLY SHI--
Australian: i can't see from this angle but I reckon you see the chruch.
Me: Ooooh, pretty things.

Me: So, did I tell you? The very first friend that I made in Turkey is visiting me next month. I can't wait!
Friend: Oh, really. When is he coming?
Me: Uhhh... 23rd-26th?Friend: Does he not realize that those are the worst three days of the year to visit a Christian country?
Me: Well, it won't be so bad. We have a party to go to and then we can go out the rest of the days. He said he doesn't care too much about museums.
Friend: What kind of people go to a bar on Christmas Day?
Me: You CANNOT judge me. Hungarians were Communists for decades. If they allowed that on Christmas, I think a Muslim and a Hindu can ignore Jesus's birth. Wait...Jesus is in the Q'uran... Friend: Do you really think that humanity is still going to let you try and save it?

Me:Everybody know the story of Madame Butterfly? I mean, unless we all know Italian or Hungarian...
5 blank stares
Me: OK, we have...oh, no, it's starting. OK, American navy jerk/man marries Japanese beauty. He has to go back home. She waits for three years has a kid. He comes back with a wife, Butterfly is depressed, kills herself. The end.
Friend: Yes, Khushbu, you are a writer. A true artiste because now, I just can't wait to see this opera.

Intern: Yeah, I am here to get a new perspective on life. I thought an NGO working with refugees and human rights would be a great spin after IT and film.
Me: Well, I've always been obsessed with the human rights' issues, and I've always known what I've wanted to do. I guess I'm lucky.
Intern: How old are you? 23? 24?
Me: actually, I am turning 22 in a month.
Intern: (clasps hand to heart) Awwwwwwww, that's precious (She's 29).

If you're still reading this sorry excuse for philosophy/screenplay, I am completely meaning to offend Plato in trying to emulate his Socratic Dialogue. La-dee-da-da. I can see that it wasn't so pretty. How about some poetry?

Budapest, like Istanbul, is split into two,
The grungy Danube and a gazillion bridges let you cross through,
Thanks to global warming it is raining instead of snowing,
So we are soaking wet at night after the drinks have been flowing
But I still love this fairy tale,
Even though there are lots of Canadians here who drink Whiskey and ginger ale.

Fine, Robert Frost I am not, but let me just say, I came up with that in 30 seconds...annnnnnd you can probably tell...never mind my quickly deflating pride.

Maybe this wasn't the update you were looking for, but I hope you can see that I am insatiably happy (but NO, I am not on medication or taking drugs -- I KNOW you are thinking this N&J).

This was my easiest transition and the best place so far. It is so beautiful, I am never home, and I have met, cheesily enough, so many great people. I will write more about the city and send some pictures after Cagri visits in two weeks and Heather visits right after. Or, you guys could book some tickets and get here ASAP because Budapest is fabulous. And so is my apartment, complete with an old, out-of-tune piano but I adore it.

For now, though, I will leave you with a truly deep thinker:
"Aristotle was not Belgian. The central message of Buddhism is not 'every man for himself.' And the London Underground is not a political movement. Those are all mistakes, Otto. I looked them up." - A Fish Called Wanda

--------------------

While I may be off my usual style, I am still taking everything in with this in mind: "We do not know what we want and yet we are responsible for what we are - that is the fact." -- Jean-Paul Sartre. I read it four years ago and I still have no clue if I like the quote or dislike the quote, but it makes me think. And I am slowly learning that even if i don't know what I what I want, let alone which country I want to live in, there is no rush. Well, except for the parentals pushing for me to get a real job.