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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		wSaturday, December 04, 2004
		It's been an awfully long time since I wrote but I don't really feel like apologizing, so I won't. The piano department at my school had a recital last night in which I took part, and I decided if it went well I would come on here and gloat. If it went badly I considered coming on here to sob. Fortunately, it turned out gloat-worthy. I've had trouble with uncontrollable nerves in the past, but fortunately this time around it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I had two pieces: the slow movement of a Mozart sonata and a Scarlatti sonata. The Mozart was ready a good while before the Scarlatti so unfortunately by the time the concert came round I was a bit tired of it, and that was audible in my playing. But the Scarlatti sounded pretty good, in my opinion. The piano did not meet Her Highness's approval. It's a Petrof piano, and I didn't like the touch (uneven, not sensitive) or the sound (clear but slightly metallic). Speaking of pianos, I'm getting a new one! We have given up on the old Bluthner and are accquiring a Hofmann. It has a nice warm tone and an excellent feel. My parents are loaning me the money for this; I'm supposed to pay them back at some point. So I have gone several thousand dollars in the red. But it is a very nice piano. I have a grand total of two friends now. Well, I was out with a couple of guys the other night who said they counted as friends too, but I hardly know them. But there are two girls (one Hungarian, one Swedish) I know who I can definitely categorize as friends. As compared to cordial acquaintances, of which I have plenty. The Swedish girl is named Rebecka and speaks really good English. She's a singer and we practice solfege together. The family will be going back to the States next year, for which I am thankful. I was rather hoping they wouldn't again go somewhere as inaccessible as Gabon. Daddy won a State Department fellowship which lasts for a year. He plans to spend it traveling through the US studying and writing on American education. He and Mama are very happy about this, I think. Naomi usually has an 'I don't care' attitude when it comes to the question of where the family moves next. Sarah is definitely looking forward to seeing some of the places they plan to go. Like New York, Chicago, San Francisco. I'm jealous. The Hungarians are voting tomorrow on whether to give the poor oppressed Hungarian brethren living beyond the borders offical Hungarian citizenship. Blah. The fuss they make over this is unbelievable. These are Hungarians living in Transylvania and various territories which since World War One have belonged to other countries. This is one of the few political happenings to actually reach my radar screen (yeah, I'm bad), as they keep mentioning it in church, urging the congregation to vote YES. Fortunately they should get it over with tomorrow. Finally, I shall inflict on poem on you before closing. Just because I feel pleased to have written one. Raise a Dead Soul Raise a dead soul By clanging the sword Open blind eyes By bathing them in blood Darkness ripped by stinging light The wind brings a heavy roar The earth beneath tilts As rocks crack Numb ears brought to music By piercing with a stave Twisted feet can dance By rubbing them on gravel Grave stones topple Dust pours forth Blood rains, dotting the ground Thunder and lightening crash together Raise a dead soul By pain and anguish Call forth life By death Okay, so it didn't turn out as well as I thought. Ah well...comments for improvement welcome. :) As well as title suggestions, as usual. posted by Rebekkah at 4:45 PM

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