Szofia Borbas

I never imagined university would feel this lonely. It’s not that I don’t talk to people—I do. I’ve already joined two student groups, and there are always events, lectures, even parties. But sometimes I look around and feel like I’ve landed on a different planet. I live in Budapest, Hungary, and ever since I started my political science studies here, the distance between me and most of the people around me has only grown wider.

At home, it was always the same story: my parents at the kitchen table, my brother watching football, all of them agreeing that “Hungary must stay Hungarian.” Whenever I challenged that, they’d either laugh or roll their eyes. My father once said, “You’re too young to understand how dangerous the world really is.” I’m eighteen. Maybe I am young. But I know fear when I see it, and I know that shutting doors doesn’t make anyone safer. It just makes the room smaller.

One night last week, I stayed late at the university library. I wasn’t studying—I was reading about the Treaty of Trianon, about how history gets twisted into a weapon. And I don’t mean in some abstract sense. I’ve seen it in how people talk on the trams, how politicians frame every outsider as a threat. There’s this low, constant hum of suspicion in the air. It wears on me. Sometimes I sit there and honestly feel afraid. Afraid that Europe will break apart, that everything we’ve taken for granted could disappear. Maybe that sounds dramatic, but have you seen the news?

When I told my mother I wanted to study political science, she sighed and said, “So you want to argue for a living?” I didn’t answer. I just packed my things and left. Not because I was angry, but because I didn’t have the words yet. I still don’t, not really. I just know that hiding won’t save us. If anything, we need to look outwards more, not less. Be curious, not defensive.

I don’t think I’ll change the world. But I want to be someone who at least tries to understand it. Even when it feels like no one around me wants to.