Good afternoon, everyone! I’ve never asked anyone for any help before, so it’s not easy for me to get started on what I want to say.Perhaps the easiest thing to do is to write down my story. I’ll keep it brief, I promise, as much as I can. After nearly 30 years of renting, I bought a house with a CHF mortgage in 2006. Unfortunately, however, the mortgage repayments rose so rapidly that I had to work three jobs just to keep up with them.I hadn’t been looking after myself, so I ended up in hospital due to an illness in November 2007... I was discharged after 10 days, and immediately decided to sell the house. I was lucky enough not to have taken out the loan against the house (as no bank would have granted one for that), but we received 4.2 million for a property belonging to an acquaintance.However, I still had to pay that back, as I would never have taken advantage of his goodwill, and it was my debt. In early spring 2008, I sold the property and paid the entire amount towards my debt, but unfortunately it wasn’t enough.I moved back to Budapest, rented a tiny flat there, and continued to pay the instalments until 2014. I worked in several places back then – it was still possible, though no one wanted to register me anywhere.Then, in 2015, the largest domestic bank took pity on me and I received a loan of 1.2 million as a personal loan. Of course, even then that was considered a small amount, but at least I got something. Somehow, miraculously, I was able to use this to buy a 16-square-metre property with a wooden house near Tokod, which was registered at the Land Registry as land withdrawn from agricultural use.In other words, it wasn’t possible to live there permanently. Regardless, I lived there for two years; admittedly, I had the electricity connected myself and made it habitable, but that was all there was to it, and I was happy with that. It was a somewhat nomadic lifestyle, but it wasn’t unfamiliar to me. I’d already endured much tougher times...I loved that little wooden house, and if there had been even the slightest chance that it would ever be classified as a proper dwelling or at least a building plot, I would never have sold it.But unfortunately, I couldn’t stay there in that state. So I went back to my favourite bank, and they readily offered me a personal loan of 3 million. I managed to sell the wooden house for a very good price, leaving me with 4.2 million net, including the loan, from which I had to find a house.I found properties in a dreadful state. The whole thing was awful, almost hopeless. After all, there were dilapidated houses without fences, 150–200 km away, for 3.5 million, with huge cracks in the walls, and so on...Then, in August 2018, I came across my current house. It was also in a dreadful state, but I couldn’t put off the purchase any longer, as I had to hand over the wooden house in September according to the contract.However, the advantage was that it was close to the railway station and Budapest is only 86 km away. This is an important factor for me because I work in Budapest now and have always done so. Over nearly eight years, I managed to make it habitable; the interior is now in an acceptable condition but it has swallowed up an awful lot of money.All the doors and windows had to be replaced, the floor in every room had to be concreted and then tiled. A bathroom had to be fitted, as did a kitchen. Plumbing had to be installed, and then the walls had to be plasterboarded because they were literally hideous.Of course, plasterboarding isn’t straightforward either, as I can’t stick it directly onto the adobe walls because that would completely block the adobe’s ventilation and airflow; so I have to fix wooden battens to the wall first and then screw the plasterboard onto those.In the garden, or rather on the plot, I couldn’t improve anything further because there was simply no money left for that. Whatever I could do without money, I did, such as removing old vines, clearing out shrubs and saplings, etc... Unfortunately, I don’t have a large gate, because if I were to install one, I’d have to rebuild the fence as well, and that would cost a fortune.The roof structure is far more important than that. I don’t know the first thing about roof structures and wouldn’t dare touch it. It’s nearly collapsed in places, but unfortunately I can’t and won’t take on any more loans. My monthly repayments are currently 230,000 forints, and I still have to pay that for another 84 months.The bank won’t give me any more either, as my net salary is less than 500,000. But even if they did, I wouldn’t get anywhere with 1 million, as this roof needs a complete replacement, and that’s certainly a 5-million-forint job. I’ve thought about selling it, but precisely because of the state of the roof, it would be severely undervalued...and also because of the exterior cladding, which is ugly too. I’ve put a lot of work into it, and I don’t want to sell it for a song. I’m 58 years old and I can do a lot of things, but I wouldn’t start this all over again because it was incredibly hard and gruelling.I came home after a 24-hour shift and started packing boxes in 30-degree heat... it was back-breaking work. I did that three years ago. Of course, everyone has their own worries and problems; I know that well, as I work in exactly this kind of environment. With people who have neither a chance nor any hope of a better future.But I’d rather not go into detail about that because it’s a long and very complex story. I myself set out on the path of life with the attitude: ‘Get lost wherever you want! If you drop dead, I don’t want to know about it.’ All this happened in March 1984. Back then, I went out to the railway station at Barta puszta, which still existed at the time, and boarded the arriving train that took me to Budapest.I didn’t go into the compartment; I sat down outside on the platform – the carriages back then still had seats – and suddenly, after Cegléd, the ticket inspector arrived. He asked for my ticket and I told him I didn’t have one; he looked at me – my face was covered in blood from my broken nose – and he just waved me away and left me there.When the train pulled into Nyugati station, everyone got off, but I just sat there wondering what to do next. Then I pulled myself together and got my thoughts in order. You get up, find a washbasin and wash your face. That’s the first thing. So that’s what I did.Then I got terribly hungry; it occurred to me that people leave their beer bottles on the train, so I waited for an arriving train and when everyone got off, I ran through it before the cleaners arrived and collected about twenty bottles; I could barely carry them all.After that, I asked people where I could exchange them, as I knew nothing about the big, sinful city. Everyone said the Skála department store, so I went in and immediately had 42 forints.42 forints, do you realise??? That’s huge! That was a fortune to me back then. Half a litre of milk was 2.80, 50 grams of butter was 3 forints, and a quarter-kilo loaf of bread was 2 forints – a proper feast! But where was I to eat it? I spotted an express train due to leave quite a while later, and I wolfed down my dinner on it.I realised this worked, and that I could do it again in the future. So I stayed on the western line, collecting bottles, which meant I had something to eat, and I could even afford a phone and an advertising paper... because there was no internet, no smartphones or anything like that...:At night I slept in the express trains that weren’t running, although the police sometimes beat me with rubber truncheons, because the cleaners really hated me for collecting the empty bottles from the trains before they could, so they often reported me to the police for sleeping in carriage X.But when that happened, I’d just move to another train. Meanwhile, during the day, I was first and foremost looking for a job. No one would hire me. I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t take me on, not even for the most menial of jobs. I was pretty stupid. They wouldn’t hire me because I hadn’t turned 16 yet. It was only after about the tenth rejection that I finally got it.I was just coming back from the Northern Vehicle Repair Depot towards Orczy Square, on foot – because I walked everywhere, partly because I didn’t have money for a ticket and partly because I wanted to get to know Budapest – when I spotted the huge factory called Ganz Mávag. I decided to go in, come what may.I didn’t care what the job was, I’d do anything, just as long as there was work. But it was the same old story again: I’m not even 16 yet, and so on… At that moment, deep down inside, I was overcome by bitterness; I can’t describe that feeling in words.I didn’t cry; I’d got used to the idea that I shouldn’t, and anyway, what sort of man cries? But I felt utterly defeated and ended up begging for the job. I promised everything, I’d take on anything; I even said I’d be happy with half the pay others got, just so they’d take me on. They asked where I lived, and I said near Nyugati :) But of course, my ID card listed my address as Barta puszta... and that’s a good 130 km away. I made up a story that I’d only been in Pest for a few days, and so on...Which was actually true. But I couldn’t say I lived in Nyugati :) The point is, the head of department, who was an incredibly empathetic man, took pity on me and hired me as a warehouse assistant.That was the best thing that could have happened to me at the time. He told me what time to go for the medical fitness test the next day, and so on... but my mind was already elsewhere. I was so happy that I treated myself to a special dinner that day.I collected even more bottles and bought 200g of salami to go with the usual milk, butter and bread. I didn’t even mind if the policeman gave me a whack or two with his truncheon… I didn’t care. I had a job, and that meant life to me back then! Well, starting work wasn’t easy either.I was uneducated and used to the idea that in the countryside you had to get the most out of any given task. I went into the big factory and met the team, which consisted of seven people including me, and the female team leader said, “Sit down, Laci, and have a leisurely breakfast.” I felt really awful; I was even ashamed of my very existence...“I don’t eat breakfast,” was all I said, and I asked what I was supposed to do there. The team leader took me to the back of the warehouse and showed me in detail how to tally up the stock: write down the name of the item, the code number, etc., along with the quantity and the date on this piece of paper. “Right,” I thought. I got straight to work.There were 12 rows of racks in the warehouse; by 11.40 I’d finished three rows. The team leader was inside the warehouse office checking the boxes with the warehouse manager, so he didn’t even see how I was getting on. We had to stop at 11.40 because it was time for lunch, and that’s when he snapped at me. ““What have you been doing, Laci???” he asked... I just stood there feeling ashamed because I must have messed something up... “Have you done half a month’s work? You mustn’t do that! How are we going to last two months here if nearly half the recording is already done in the first two days?” Then he explained that I should record a track and then take a break......or go to the canteen or go for a walk... Well, from that point on, I knew that the work ethic here was different :) But I adapted straight away because I was afraid they’d send me away. So, by then I had a job, but I still had to sort out somewhere to live. Without a single forint, I didn’t stand much of a chance of finding a flat to rent anywhere.I’d been ‘living’ at Nyugati station for 23 days, and both the railway staff and the police were giving me increasingly sharp looks, so the situation was getting tense – I had to find something, and urgently.I found a notice on a pillar looking for a flatmate for a room for 870 forints a month. That would be perfect for me. I rang the number and headed out to Óbuda, though not on foot this time, but on the number 60 bus :) I was greeted by a very elderly couple; the gentleman showed me the room, which was a small separate outbuilding. There were two beds, a table, two chairs and a stove. I said that this was perfection for me. It was towards the end of the month; I wouldn’t get paid for another ten or so days. But I thought it didn’t matter – I’d just make do in the outbuilding until then.We agreed that I’d come back on the 10th of the following month, as I’d be able to pay then, and they asked where I was living at the moment. I told them I was staying at the hostel. I’d just said goodbye to them when the lady whispered something in the gentleman’s ear. I must have walked about fifteen metres, and inside I was happy...Very happy, because I’d have somewhere to sleep, eat, and so on... That’s when I heard the gentleman call out: “Young man, come back here!” I was back in a flash because I thought they’d changed their minds. In the end, yes, they had changed their minds, but not in the way I’d thought. He said: “My wife and I have discussed it and decided that you should move in today if that suits you; you can pay the rent when you get your wages.” I really couldn’t cry because I was always forbidden to, but then my eyes filled with tears; I didn’t know what to say...The tears ran down my face; the man noticed, put his hand on my shoulder and simply said: “Come on.” I knew I wouldn’t be eating that evening because I’d calculated that when I got back to the western part of town, I’d collect bottles.But who cared? I’d gone hungry plenty as a child; it wasn’t such a huge problem. I drank plenty of water, and I still could barely take in what had happened. And as for just how good those people were, I have another story about that. Christmas 1984. My monthly wage was 2,800 forints.That really is very little, but I managed to make it last. I paid the rent, and when I needed some clothes or shoes, I bought them, and I spread the rest out over the days. Of course, there were times when I couldn’t resist, say, a cream cake… meaning I’d blow the next day’s money. Well, then I wouldn’t eat for a day and I’d be back on track.The hardest days were the public holidays. On those days, all I could think about was food because I had nothing else to occupy my mind. Christmas was dreadful for me back then. All my colleagues were talking about what gifts they were planning to buy, what food they were having, and so on...I couldn’t even bear to listen to it anymore. On 23 December 1984, I went down to the big department store on Batthyány Square and bought a tin of food for every day. I could afford this luxury because, in recognition of my excellent work, I’d been given a 100-forint bonus.So, for every festive day, I had a tin alongside the usual milk, butter and bread. On Christmas Eve, I lay in bed, recalling the horrors of past Christmases that had taken place on the farm... and then there was a soft knock...Then someone called out: “Is Laci home?” I opened the door and there stood the old man, holding a plate covered with a napkin...He’d brought me two slices of fried meat with mashed potatoes... and he even apologised for the fact that they fry it in oil instead of lard... All I managed to say was ‘thank you very much’. He wished me bon appétit and a Merry Christmas, then left. Once again, I was completely stunned...but hunger is a powerful master. I wolfed the whole lot down in an instant. I could go on writing at length, but I don’t know if anyone is actually interested in this or not. So I’ll say goodbye for now, and thank you in advance for your help, but if you’ve read through my post simply out of curiosity, I’m grateful for that too!