Is where I was reborn, at “the oldest hospital in all of Hungary” (my father told me after my release). After spending time there and having conversations with doctors, nurses, patients, students, ex-patients and security personnel, it should be the policy of any institution, that those who experience a hatred for anyone of a different color, race, religion, sexual orientation should experience the same beautiful treatment, because I had that feeling towards a professor from my university and made an attempt on his life and was thrown into there from a real medical professional, placed in an ambulance and it rehabilitated my soul, not just through pills, but through the consistent visits of friends, text messages and phone calls from my family thousands of miles away until I could see them again which I have, and especially my grandfather Charlie and his wife who has lost her memory.
I used to think that a policy of a month in Disneyland could cure that, but no, I was wrong, hate needs to return to its rightful place, among Hungarian specialists who know how to treat for the kind of feeling I have had only twice in my life experienced. Once, in Colombo, Sri Lanka (when my wallet was stolen on a crowded bus) and twice, Budapest Hungary (after a meeting with a certain professor who ridiculed the most talented students I have ever met).
Only until those who have gone through the same procedures I went through can one truly be cured of a hate. The unit I was committed to made it possible for me to calm my anxiety, my AD/HD, alcoholism and feelings of rage towards that professor who made me call the U.S. Embassy and acknowledge that an attack on students of a private American university, and U.S. voters, is an attack on the United States of America, and it’s diversity, which we so warmly welcome at our borders, those who choose to live a more freer-er life than maybe they have experienced and take the jobs citizens are unwilling to do themselves.
The institution should be visited by those seeking to volunteer in Budapest, because some good people still exist and maybe do not belong there, I don’t know the history, and it is none of my business, but the garden they are planning to build should have donations made to it so that it can be beautified for those who are released into it to walk, smoke, converse and enjoy its wonder. I have taken many walks there and on occasion, with friends released to enjoy more of the beauty that city has to offer. Which I saw prior in both Buda and in Pest.
If there is any worry that this may create (assuming people read this) an overload to difficult to handle by the staff there, that should be put to rest immediately, there are professionals and they can handle it. I trusted them with my life during that time, as well as my friends, and so Send them to Semmelweis should be the new policy of anyone under substance abuse that can lead to a violent reaction on anyone else. I was unable to accomplish this due to a restraint in my blood that the Peace Corps has taught me. I made the mistake of thinking I could do it all on my own, and when asked for help, I said “no”, and then I said said “yes” and I am glad I did
This is when I was rushed down the stairs at the hands of personnel from the university, photographed, rushed into the prayer room at the university (while seeing that same professor out of the corner of my right eye), then to the doctors’s office to wash out what was blinding my eyes. AD/HD is a disease that is difficult to live with and the best way to overcome this is through walking, and being in constant motion which I have been doing with my hands – writing. I am able to write again which that professor took from me after that meeting.
Furthermore, this computer is placed in my hands again thanks to the goodwill of a Romanian immigrant who brought it back for me from the US of F^&*ing A and have been able write about my life experiences since before and after Peace Corps. I have been able to write about beating this feeling through words and walking with my brother and visits to my grandfather a WW2 veteran. It is a miracle that I am able to pick up a wireless signal from his second floor room in the Legacy retirement home and still communicate with friends still in Armenia, Hungary and the USA. Tomorrow, I will be meeting an Iranian couple to drop off my resume to work at a new market in order to be gainfully employed again and saving money to pay off debts from my undergraduate years, visit Vegas to keep a promise made more than 5 years ago to one of my best friends, and one day return to that University to receive, in hand, my Master’s of Arts Degree from CEU as soon as the final version of my thesis of circular migration is finished. It is until that point that I will be writing and working as my official R&R so as to be again, hopefully, a fully functioning member of, for a time, Salt Lake City, which tonight with another best friend, observed that the co-existence of difference is possible at an arts festival located near a downtown library and courthouse, another miracle that I have not been to, but probably should have given my history. The fact that I am still alive gives new meaning to the word angels, and their existence. I have been watched over as well by a Mexican who had the courage to allow me express myself (he knows who he is) and also to place me safely back with my family after a 3 year hiatus during which my family has undergone some of their most difficult time, to which I have been absent making some poor choices, but also some good ones. It is difficult to know which outweighs which. But who cares, I am alive and all because I was saved at Semmelweis. May that institution always stand as a great institution for those who need treatment and its patients that they may recover. I have; or at least I think I have. Cheers!