I have a favourite feeling in Oradea, which certainly has been given a name: concert hall. It would be hard to refer to it as a feeling, but you will understand immediately why I call it like that, dear reader. One may find it in a dictionary like this: concert hall = a large building in which concerts (usually of classical music) are performed. Sounds like a formula, doesn’t it? Fortunately, this place is much more than that. Allow me to try and describe my definition. First of all, the concert hall is Thursday, Thursday is the concert hall, this place is a day of the week. A soft, red-flavoured corner of childhood, where one finds a little girl, sitting on the lap of a treble clef, wrapped in sheet music. One’s shrinkage into a zero-dimensional object. The trembling of the soul. Termination and formation. The concert hall is the rush, the tinkle of the tram, the lack of parking space. Throbbing footsteps, opening candy in the tensest moments of silence. A three-hour-long flash of family coexistence. The time when one finds the city in the middle of its most exciting activity: unravelling the secrets of its evening shapes and forms. Embraces of yellow lights. Feathers, hats, the present, the future, the past, elemental noise of existence. Tradition. A wire, connecting the different stages of my life. Faithful partner. Floating and falling. A long walk in the winter, after finishing a Dostoyevsky novel. The encounter of souls in the mirrors of the eyes, musical fingerprints. The part of the brain that is kept alive by the joy of existence. Default response message. The festival of my mind’s eye. Our inner silence, in which we closely examine the foundations and the figures of our lives. Heart-cleanse.
I’m not sure, whether you understand now, dear reader, how I have the audacity to just easily modify the definitions of concepts. Hopefully. But I also hope that you do not believe me, because I want You to see it, to hear it, to touch it, to sink into it, to dress in it, to run with it, to have a laugh with it, to shiver because of it, to burn it, to drink it… I want You to feel it. But not any time… Let it be on the day between Wednesday and Friday: concert hall.
By Fanni Serestély, 3rd year English major
Photos by Arnold Szabó and Tamás Szabó, 3rd year Fine Arts-Graphics majors