Sára Timár
History is what encourages me to stay curious about this world, about society. I often drown in my thoughts, and I strongly don’t mind it. I wonder how people lived back then, mostly in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. How my relatives lived their own lives who couldn’t even have a clue I exist but I know that they did.
I’m in a house, long abandoned, but still not completely rotten. I am in the living room, inspecting every corner but also wondering how those people who lived here used up their spaces as their home. This room has a large interior height with a sparkly chandelier. Typically in the corner, there’s an armchair and a reading lamp. The dust is so visible, especially the way the sunlight makes the specks seen as the sunbeams peer through the old, stout window. The scenery of this is absolutely appealing, and it’s ten times better if I even picture a livelier version of this room, with people laughing together and talking for hours.
Making my way to the kitchen, the tile is cracked, it’s supposed to be white but not anymore. This place reminds me of those kitchens that appear in the rural houses. There’s a wooden, small table with only two chairs. There are some cabinets and the cooker, with many many pots and pans, all of them too rusty to be touched. Once there were some colors to these pieces of furniture, fruits on the table and fresh coffee, lunch about to be ready, with its smell wandering through the rooms. I hear chattering, laughter and multiple pleasant dinners. Neighbours being guests. Now I see a dark, grey, forbidden room.
I sigh as I step into the bathroom. I hate abandoned bathrooms. They are too spooky, which makes my stomach upset. I think I like to look at modern, comfy bathrooms, which highlight the great hygiene. I feel like this bathroom was once a stylish one too, because there are many nails in the walls. The people who once lived here might have loved to hang things from the wall, or maybe fix a running plant against it. I imagine it stunning. I even picture a girl who loved to sing in the shower and look at herself in the mirror. Now, there’s basically nothing left of this. There’s the shower cabin, and a bathtub, too. It is so old, yellow and cold. There isn’t a proper chandelier, just a light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Suddenly, everything is so quiet. I daydreamed so long that I forgot I’m all alone here. I only hear my footsteps in the foyer, some glass pieces breaking under my shoes. It feels nostalgic. I go back to the living room, where I am able to hear the cars passing, and the life outside this flat. I decided to go down and take a look at this home from outside. The building itself is grey, yet again, but its style is historical. It is so unbelievable that once there was life inside and outside at the same time. Now, it’s just taking up the tiniest space on this planet, no longer in use.