Why

Well, the title of this post is rather bleak, I know. The reason for this is – and I can only refer to one of the greatest lines in British sitcom history here – because “I’m a genuine, 100%, 24-carat plonker, a wally.”! Add Del Boy’s tonal emphasis to this.

Why do I write this blog?

This is quite simple: I want to keep my English “alive” and not lose what I’ve picked up during the last couple of decades. I’m not a well-informed, highly intelligent, literate person – I almost failed my GCE A Levels, and if it hadn’t been for my French, I wouldn’t have been able to pass. And, of course I could write about my childhood, how difficult it was, and how much strength staying alive cost – I basically had to sacrifice learning on the altar of survival and finding reasons to live. But this is all in the past now, and I’m grateful for all the help I invisibly and imperceptibly received from high above.

Now, back to the initial why. So, there is, of course, another hidden objective: improving my English. Who would have guessed it, right? Not because I’m striving for a Booker Prize, or the title of the most talented author in the history of literature, no. But, frankly, wouldn’t it be astonishing to discover such a word-wielding talent hidden somewhere deep inside, eh?

Why have I written about so many things recently but not my CPE preparation?

Well, to put it bluntly, two antagonistic law systems, Murphy’s and Yhprum’s, have shaped my present. The deputy role they entrusted me with takes a significant amount of time from my days. The tasks and the amount of documentation is so overwhelming that finding time even for my daily workout routine seems Mission Impossible. It’ll be the same for two more weeks, but I’m not quite sure the upcoming period will be smoother. A lot of skeletons jumped out of the cupboard, and these inadvertent instances highlighted many long anticipated but not so pleasant events. Suffice it to say, we’re not over the moon.

Why speaking and using English still feels Hunglish?

Isn’t it obvious my dear reader? I often find myself pondering on how difficult it is to understand how our brains work. Once we soak up our mother tongues like a dry sponge, it, apparently, makes deeply ingrained patterns that shape the way we express ourselves. The more we rely on only one language, the more difficult it is to learn another one as time goes by. Not to mention those obvious differences that separate language families and languages from each other. Now, take Hungarian, a heavily agglutinative language with all those affixes and mainly suffixes, postpositions, compound words, the weird conjugation seasoned with vowel harmony, confusing word order, etc. Even the fact knowing the Hungarian alphabet is enough to read Hungarian texts would not make it easier to learn it. Let alone use it.

And what we find humorous and tend to translate into English word by word wouldn’t make it funny for Brits.

So, occasionally, depending on how exhausted I am, I can catch my brain producing Hungarian-like sentences written in English. And I’m perfectly convinced that there is nothing wrong with them. Brilliant, innit?

Anyway, once you get the hang of it, learning and using Hungarian is just heavenly. Reading in Hungarian and to sample the works of writers who wielded their pens with exceptional mastery opens the door to an entirely new world and it reveals the beauties of this language.

With all that said, if you find yourself trying to fathom what that Hungarian plonker attempted to say, don’t worry, you’re probably not alone. He who dares wins, and one day though, I hope my English gets even better and there will be no noticeable differences between me and a native speaker. (I know, this is a rather far-fetched idea, but bear with me.)

And if you spotted any Hunglishness throughout this post, cut me some slack 'ere, you might understand how knackered I am today...