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We Are Writing History in Real-Time
2020, Hungary, in the times of the pandemic
We are writing history in real-time. Our stories matter. Now and for the sake of the future, too.
It’s early. Six in the morning and the streets are empty except the few lone runners in their sportswear, heading towards the riverside or the island on the Danube.
If you take a close look at perfection, it’s imperfect, flawed, disrupted. Like we are.
The air is crisp, and I breathe it in while sipping on my morning coffee. For a moment, I get lost in the serenity of it all, the pureness of the morning and the silence of the sleeping houses around me. It’s almost spring, you can feel it in the air, the cold doesn’t hurt your lungs anymore, it’s smooth and soft. The birds are chirping in a weird cacophony and the first buds are just coming out at the tip of the branches.
It’s easy to forget about the world when everything looks so perfect.
I am reluctant to get up and face the day and I almost wish it would stay like this, when I remember, this is exactly how it is during the day too. The streets are almost empty. People are retracting in their houses, there are fewer cars and less noise. If you take a close look at perfection…
