Augmented Potential

Even at a young age I could recognize that I was smarter than the others. I mean, I knew I was different. I was only 11 years old when my mother took me to see a psychologist and psychiatrist.

I remember there being lots of tests and questions I had to answer. The results confirmed my suspicions, but also revealed to me something that I hadn’t ever given much thought to.

The nurses, in an attempt to explain my prognosis to my mother, used the term nagyon okos robot—very smart robot.

They described the man they thought I would become. A man who would be unable to live up to his potential. Intelligence without perseverance isn’t much at all, they reminded me as my mother escorted me out the door.

Unbeknownst to them, this label followed me around for the rest of my life, stored away in the back of my mind, always reminding me of who I was—if I ever dared to forget.

In primary school I worked hard at trying to do the right thing. It wasn’t always easy. My teachers entered me in lots of different competitions- math, literature, chess- against kids from other schools. Despite competing against older students, I placed well, and won first prize many times.

When 7th grade hit, I realized that these competitions weren’t getting me anywhere, and my priorities shifted from school to business.

I was trying to make money any way I could, which mostly meant buying and upselling anything I could get my hands on. My high school years were all business and trouble.

My brain worked just fine, so even with a lacking attendance, I was easily able to succeed when it came to my finals. I thought I could do anything, but I was wrong. This is when the real trouble started.

I was 17 when I had a gun pointed to my head for the first time. I was doing business with some very scary people who did some very scary things. The big guys, not just in Hungary, but Romania and Ukraine, too. They were not happy with someone stepping on their turf.

Realizing I had gone too deep, I pushed myself hard to shift my focus to academics. I managed to finish high school and was even accepted to college, where I choose to major in computer science and business.

However, I had only completed one semester when I was forced to drop out. The situation in Hungary was getting really bad. Wages were low, prices were very high, and a lot of people were struggling. Especially young adults like me. My attempts to change the trajectory of my life were thwarted, and I had no choice but to flee.

An advertisement for a farm job just outside of Dundee, Scotland caught my attention, and although the man I contacted seemed shady, I was desperate.

He was some fast-talking guy from Slovakia. I had to pay him in advance to set up the position. It was quite a lot of money. Although it was a daunting journey, two of my mates had agreed to join me, so at least I wouldn’t be alone.

The plan was to get to Slovakia, then catch a bus to Scotland. With two missed busses due to the guy giving us the wrong address and directions, the trip took 3 days and was horribly uncomfortable and cramped. Living off of no sleep, and with no money, we spent the first few months in misery. We also didn’t speak English then, just a few words.

I worked a simple factory job, but I was good at it. The pay was decent, too. I rented an apartment with four flatmates. Dirty dishes and pizza boxes riddled the counters, but nobody really cared.

We were packing boxes of biscuits by day and doing hard drugs at night. The drugs helped us stay up so we could gamble our factory wages playing online poker.

I had been living there for 4 months when one of my flatmates introduced me to his Polish girlfriend. She took to me easily and vowed to hook me up with one of her newly arrived Polish friends. And sure enough, three weeks later, Lèna’s beauty hit me like a ton of bricks. Despite broken English being our common language, we fell in love with each other’s body language.

Lèna was good for me. She got me to sleep more, quit energy drinks, and even introduced me to vegetables, something I had been avoiding for most of my life.

She quickly became my everything. We liked going for walks in the park. She would bring bread to feed the ducks. I would usually smoke on the park bench behind her, marvelling at the grace for which she tossed the crumbs. Even the ducks loved her.

Two years and many ups and downs later, I popped the question on New Year’s Eve, right at midnight. It was the best time of my life. I started doing normal people things. Bringing milk home after work, mowing the lawn, discussing what we were going to make for dinner tomorrow.

I began to believe that maybe what those psychiatrists had labelled me as all those years ago were wrong. Like I wasn’t just some smart robot, but I could be a husband, too. And maybe a father one day.

Things started to propel when we began the wedding planning process. We were reminded over and over again what little we could afford, and I started to sense her pulling away. The animation behind her eyes faded, and then one morning, a day before my 30th birthday, I guess she just changed her mind. No note or anything, she was just gone.

After she left, I moved to London. I didn’t really know what I wanted anymore, but I also knew that I didn’t want my old life back. I was in a really dark place and decided to move in with my older brother in London.

Then I started getting really good at playing online poker. I started to win big money. I got a pair of aces tattooed to my arm. The distractions helped ease the pain of losing Lèna.

The money also meant I could afford to travel. Every week I was visiting different friends around London and other parts of England, connecting them with people back in Eastern Europe. I helped these people get together. To make business together. There was a lot of opportunity around me, but I never got anything out of it. I never wanted anything, either.

Then one morning I turned on the news, as I usually did while drinking my coffee, and was surprised to see the faces of so many men I knew.

My confusion quickly turned to disgust. Not only for what they had done, but for me having played a small part in it. I knew that they were smuggling goods, but nobody ever told me that the goods were more than just cigars and hard drugs. These were real women and girls. Real people with favourite colours and childhood memories.

I was on a beach in Cornwall that evening, thinking for the first time about suicide. Despite never having met any of the victims, I couldn’t help but see their faces whenever I closed my eyes.

I also wondered what Lèna would think, if I were gone. Would she blame herself? Would she even care?

I was at the height of my own personal head trial when I began to hear voices from a distance.

Their voices became more tender after noticing me, the couple walking in unison towards my crouched over silhouette. They approached me with caution, asking if I was okay. I don’t know why, but I felt relaxed around them from the start. I told them everything, right then and there. My whole story. Just like that.

I was surprised when they began to take my side. Assuring me that I didn’t know. That it wasn’t my fault. They had no real claim to the truth, but them saying it made me believe it, too. Like I had been spared and given a second chance in their eyes.

The woman told me they had been housing a tenant for a few months in their old barn, but he had returned to his home country just a few days earlier. I didn’t hesitate when they offered it up to me in exchange for house and garden work. It felt like fate.

The barn turned out to be more run-down than they’d led on, but I didn’t mind. I got busy watching YouTube videos, training myself on carpentry, painting, planting, and other home maintenance necessities. I was determined to earn my keep.

After four months of working the barn and surrounding yard into shape, she approached me with a business proposition of converting the old barn into a wedding venue. Boho barnyard weddings had become a big trend, she explained. My room would, of course, be moved to the spare room in the basement.

I liked the idea and set out early the next morning to pick up a can of lavender paint to match the plants surrounding the exterior. A long harvest table in a dark mahogany stain was placed in the middle of the barn, lanterns with battery-powered tea lights lined the walls. The chandelier situated directly above took me two days to install, its wiring requiring intricate attention and focus.

My job title expanded, adding wedding planner to my role as handyman.

The magnitude of our success surprised me. It also brought about local media attention. At first the attention was good—we were booked up solid for the next two years. Seven months had gone by and it felt like each wedding was more well-run than the last. We received stellar reviews for our décor and services.

Then one hot Saturday in July the barn caught fire from a tossed cigarette.

One of the last guests to leave the venue that night, their discarded butt only took about 5 minutes to tear down everything, thrown nonchalant atop a decorative pile of hay outside the barn doors.

I thought about leaving, moving back to Hungary and getting some job somewhere doing something. Slipping back into shady business. It would have been easier to run away, to start with a clean slate in another country.

But instead, without really thinking about it, I started to clean up.

I rented a trailer and shovel. Hauled the remains of ash and wood to the local dump myself. I made blueprints for a more modern barn. I chose fresh colour schemes and created a new cocktail hour section. I installed new cement flooring and added more stalls in the bathrooms.

Piece by piece, I rebuilt. I planned, adapted, and reinvented the space. In doing so, I kind of reinvented myself. I discovered my potential, exposed what I was capable of achieving.

In doing so, I built a person I was proud to be. I was complex, so much more than just a nagyon okos robot.