Mental trips

Without any reason

Certain facts are true, but there is no explanation for them. I’m sure, that all of you experience the same in the everyday life.

I don’t understand for example, why lastFM shuffles only the best music between 5 PM and 6:30 PM, but not later or earlier, why there are some months, when I get so many translation work, what I hardly can handle. Sometimes I just lose weight eating for two, how come Hungary is a champion in water pool or Brasil in soccer. There is no explanation for it – at least I don’t know its reasons – these things just happen, randomly, but repeatedly. (Why the Hungarians seem to be inable to organize a functional country over 20 years after the fall of the Wall, while other countries, which started with a worse economy, than ours, are going really well…Not explicable, or almost not).

I believe, it is also a mixture of believing in things. I am sure, that lastFM gives me the same quality of music – it is an algorithm, not a friend, who sometimes wants me to get angry -, while with the sports…believe and faith again. Once you are good in something, you start the next Championship “knowing”, that you’ll win, you gain experience, your coach is better, more money, blablabla.

Sometimes not even faith helps.

Since I don’t want to stay in London forever, I took a look at the Italian job offers some days ago to see, if there would be something for me.

Newly I think with a lot of nostalgy on Italy, I remember the superb food, the beach, the sun, my running path, but I disregard that I came to London basically, because a step forward in my career in Italy wasn’t possible.

Not only the companies haven’t hired me, they haven’t even responded to my resume  (Since I’ve arrived here, I had five additional offers for work). Should I really consider to go “home”?

I mean, when I started to work for my last employer, I was in a desparate situation, I had no permit of stay, I was without job and money and I found that fantastic place in less than 10 days. Now it seems a dream to work for a company in Italy and I start to lose my faith.

Some time ago one of my cousins, who wanted to find a job in Italy, has posted a question in a dedicated group in Facebook, if someone has an idea, where to find a job. A nice racist bastard responded to her, that there is no work not even for Italians…Is it only my dream, that people should be hired, because of their qualities and not based on where they were born? (she was cool and responded to that idiot: “Luckily I am Hungarian”).

I have my own activity, yes, and I try to keep up with my client’s needs also while I am working crazy hours here, but honestly, I don’t wanna run this activity forever, I believe, that I can do more, than translating PLC messages, just give me the chance to prove it!

Or there are only high professionals in Italy, so I can’t compete with them, or the companies quit reading my resume after they read my name, which is not Maria Rossi (I seriuoly consider to take the Italian citizenship and change my name to avoid discrimination. It has its own history with my name though…My father’s last name is “Kiss”, but when my mother married him, and took his name – Hungarian tradition in those times – she was registered with “Kis”, since according to the local idiocracy duplicating one consonant in the name was coonsidered, like wanting to be noble, which in the socicalistic Hungary was equal to commit suicide. Since I got my first ID card, I wanted to have my second “s” back, now I want to lose even, what remained from that name).

Is God, who is playing its games with me, telling me, that I am not good enough for the Italian democracy? I matured experience and studied – am still studying – enough, to be a valuable piece in that society.

(I recall the last time, when I called the Italian registry office, to ask, if I still can keep my activity open, registered in Italy, also if I go abroad for a year. After the lady realized, that I am foreigner – I would love to be able to talk with Italian accent, but accents are almost impossible to change) – she started to talk to me louder – yes, a common mistake, when people think, that you are deaf and not only stranger, she switched from the formal speech and started to use “you” informally – why, for God’s sake, I was 36, do you really think, to handle me like you’d be my one of my friends???? – and she even wanted to correct my Italian, letting me understand, that, yes, I still can pay taxes to pay for her work, but no, I am not at her level. It was humiliating…for her, not for me. When I live there, all these things happen all the time, I also remember, when I got my permit of stay, and the officer asked me: “so, you will babysit or work in a factory?” I told him, that I just graduated in Munich and will work as a computational linguist. I so hated him, I should have felt sorry for him.

Sunglasses, Montclair jackets and ignorance. And I still want to get back there and prove them, that I can help in any company and prove them, that coming from Hungary, doesn’t mean to be Cicciolina. (like not every Italian is working for the maffia…or am I wrong?)

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