notes from a hungarian sunset
This is my last night in Hungary before I spend a few days in Amsterdam, and then finally land back home. I’m in a small, local town settled right by Hungary’s biggest lake, where my friend’s grandparents have a lovely little cottage.
Going in, I was 18, and it was my first time flying alone, travelling out of the country without my family. Leaving after only a week and change, I’m 19 with more new experience flooding my head than I could ever imagine.
My friend went back a bit earlier from the lake than I did to hang out with her family, but given that it’s my last night, I decided to watch the sunset, and the eventual turning of the sky from a sweet peachy tone to a warmer fuchsia, all the way down to a warm teal. While this is every summer for her, I just didn’t know if I’d see that view again.
I’ve actually spent a decent amount of time exploring alone on this trip, as we have different vacationing styles. As she described it, I have a much stronger social battery than she does. I feel the most alive when I’m out in the world, seeing those around me have fun, live. Nothing wrong at all with our differences, just means I had some time to reflect while it was just me and the last sunset.
Below is my final Hungarian journal note.
AUGUST 12 2025, 8:30 PM
Maybe the hope is that if I immerse myself in every last inch of the world that I find myself, I’ll discover some great truth. About myself, those around me. That I’ll find the key. That it is not worthless to watch the sun that set long ago, that I am one with the last bobbing heads in Balaton lake. That across the lake, where those lights have just started to glitter, there’s someone sitting, watching the moon rise against my bygone sun. That those latched eyes have done something good for my soul, not burdened it more. That every ending period is not just another memory locked away, but a lesson. That I’m not just sitting alone with the ghost of the sun, but with everyone who has sat here before me. They warm my shoulders and guide my eye to each detail in the horizon which they found first. That it’s never for nothing.