Silent Tunes

The main problem with this blog is that it's about me. Though I may be captivated by all that I write about me, I doubt that anyone else is. In fiction you can write about yourself under the guise of writing about made-up people.

I live in Budapest, Hungary; I'm here studying music. My father's a diplomat and was posted here for three years. When he got a new assignment in Africa (Libreville, Gabon) my older brother began attending college in the States (Notre Dame), and I decided to stay here. I study piano with a private teacher and attend a music high school for other subjects like solfege and music theory.

I'm interested in people. I enjoy watching them in the buses, on the sidewalks, and in the underpasses. I like listening to them. And I like writing about them. I haven't quite figured out yet how much of a person's art comes from themselves or from the people around them.

Because Daddy's in the Foreign Service, we've traveled a lot. I've lived overseas since I was five, with only relatively brief returns to the United States. This has had the result of making America a foreign country to me: strictly speaking, it is not my home. There really isn't a culture or society that I feel is my home, as I've grown up in so many. Being homeschooled has added to this effect.

I expect it would be good to thrown in a mention (for effect) at this point of the failed mutiny we lived through in Central Africa, and of the riot that took place when we were in China. The latter resulted in our being evacuated from our apartment behind the consulate to a hotel, and the former in our being evacuated back to the States, though in both cases Daddy had to stay behind. During the riot I remember being frightened by the burning down of the consul general's residence next door, and by the thought of how small the walls around our apartment building were. My brother and sisters slept through that night. During the mutiny, I recall continuous gun fire (I was ten at the time) and driving in a military truck through town and not being able to take off at first for Cameroon because of fighting near the airport.

On a final note, my favorite Agatha Christie mystery novel is And Then There Were None.

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		wThursday, April 15, 2004
		Chris, being Chris, had yet another piano repairman he wanted us to try out, so we did. Atticus was away for a week at the repairman's workshop (it was terrible) and returned last Friday. He is improved in that the keys are lighter now. They were too heavy before and were hurting my hands/arms/fingers. They are also somewhat more even, though a few are sticking again. According to the repairman this is natural and he will fix them when he comes to do another tuning in a week or so. But I think the whole touch is off. The keys don't feel weighted properly, they feel like they catch. I can't define it quite, but it's weird. As far as I recall, no piano I have played on felt like this. Tomorrow I have a lesson so I shall compare the teacher's instrument with Atticus. But my piano is at least useable now, which is good. Jesse (my one and only brother) is coming to visit in May! His school (Notre Dame) ends about a month before mine, so he's going to spend that month with me. Then we're going to fly to Gabon together for the summer. I reserved my ticket today, for June 16th. Whoo hoo! I have to get my visa extended so they won't kick me out of Hungary after May 16th, which is when the old one expires. There are half a million papers I have to get. A health certificate for one. They sucked my blood. And x-rayed my lungs. I have healthy lungs. Hurray. Next week I'm starting French classes! I signed up for six weeks' worth of lessons at the French Institute (beginner, naturally). The class meets twice a week. I look forward to it. This time when I get to Gabon I should be able to say at least a few words. Pip pip. posted by Rebekkah at 7:48 PM

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