Interpretations Thailand

 





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Body concept

My body would tell you stories about my life. I would not deny it in front of anyone. Each little scar is representing something that hurt me and I got over it, Each ounce of my belly-fat tells a story about my perseverance whether it comes to exercise                                   or chocolate, you said my nose is big and ugly and my cheekbones remind you of an insect, well, I’m proudly showing off with                 - for you ugly - but for me precious parts of mine as I own them and they serve me well. You said I shouldn’t wear skirts in the summertime because then everybody would see my mosquito bites and varicose veins, well, those are for the conditions            ...
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Waves

Kép
       At the village, there was a legend that he was born in the river. Once, a toddler-form child just emerged there, or at least, that’s what they told. They never saw his mother pregnant, but the folk saw her play with a toddler. He was taken to the riverside every afternoon.      And that remained his favourite place – even though he had long after moved into the noisy city. His favourite place was close to the river: that was his getaway, his hideout when life was too much to bear. He loved watching the waves and tides for hours and not doing anything. Not doing was a thing back then. Somehow that river symbolized life to him. It was stable, unchanging, flowing continuously, no matter what: he could have changed his career, wife, city, could have gone off to the wrong path, but that river always calmed him down.       Not doing was a thing back then: it wasn’t empty doing actually. His mind was running in waves, as well, toget...
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The Secret Books’ Club

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When she picked it up in the second hand’s bookstore, where she was just browsing anyway and had no intention to stay longer, just waiting for her train, she involuntarily grabbed that book. It was thick, its cover has been run down already, couldn’t be seen it clearly was it a street or a house on it? It looked quite interesting, the writer was Maeve Binchy and the book titled as Tara Road . It was about a woman’s life, mid-forty, after divorce – exactly like hers: built up and then crushed down to nothing. She hurriedly took it, paid – almost blushed – how dare she buy a book that relates to her life this much – and left for her train. Only at home she noticed the note on the first page. “Take me to Budapest, to Gozsdu square on August 19th”. That’s interesting. What would an English-speaking book do in the heart of Europe? Anyway, upon returning home, she put down the book and whenever she had time for it, she read a small part or chapter. She quite enjoyed it, she could reflect on...
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