Is it possible that only five months ago I wasn’t even sure I wanted a computer? Then my friend Garnet bought herself one, and was soon giving me glowing reports about the wonders of the Internet. Curiosity got the best of me, and I went out and bought a computer, too.

My son Greg, who lives out of town, came to set up my new computer, having only time to show me the basics: how to turn it on, how to turn it off; then he was gone, leaving me to explore this new virtual world on my own.

Of course, Garnet was only a phone call away, ready to answer any questions I had. At 79, Garnet is quite a surfer!

Ah, that first night online, what a thrill it was. I discovered the search engines, and eagerly asked question after question, fascinated with all that was available to me now. Then I performed my first illegal operation!

“This program has performed an illegal operation and will be shut down” the ominous looking message informed me.

“What the?...” I said, shutting the computer off in fright, convinced that I had somehow broken it, or broken some law and would soon be shipped off to jail!

“You didn’t break it. When you turn it back on, it’ll be working just fine. You’ll become used to these glitches. Every computer owner meets up with them at one time or another,” Garnet explained reassuringly, so I surfed on, gaining more self-confidence as I went.

I was born in Hungary and lived there as a child during the days of World War II. My memories of the old homeland are that of years of war and hardship. Traveling in a wagon pulled by two horses, searching for safety across our war torn country is what I remember clearly. However, safety in those days was not easy to find, so fear was our constant companion.

When the war ended, in 1945, life did not get better for the Hungarian people. Suddenly, our country was being held hostage by Soviet troops, and the newly formed communist government began to practice hard tactics against people who resisted it.

My grandparents, who were raising me, were among the resistors, and were soon in grave danger. We fled our country in the fall of 1947, into neighboring Austria, where we ended up in a refugee camp.

My grandparents loved their country -- its people, its passionate, Gypsy music, its wonderful, rich food. For them, leaving the homeland was a sad and difficult occasion. For me, it was easier, for I was young, and the young can adjust to almost anything.

After four years in a refugee camp, we had the good fortune to be allowed to immigrate to a wonderful new country, the United States of America. As we boarded the ship taking us to our new country, from the Port of Bremen, Germany, in September of 1951, I was an eager 14-year-old, ready and willing to embrace a new life that was filled with hope; a new life that offered a future without fear.

So I went to school in my new country, and did indeed embrace everything it had to offer. Soon, the old homeland became a vague memory, although my grandparents tried to keep the memory of it alive for as long as they were around.

I became a proud new citizen, married, raised children, and just about forgot the mother tongue, especially after my grandparents were gone. But as I have grown older, I have begun to gain some new appreciation for my heritage.

Gypsy music moves me to tears, and chicken paprikash, and village breads bring a flood of memories of gatherings in times when things were still good, just before the war intensified. And suddenly, as I searched the search engines for interesting sites to explore, it dawned on me that the Internet could even give me an access to the homeland. Boy, was that an exciting discovery!

Indeed, I could learn things about Hungary that I had long forgotten or never knew. I could read about its history, about its people, about the war that changed the lives of its people, and I could even find old, authentic recipes, and try them on my family on special occasions. It was wonderful. Then, I found an actual link to the old homeland, when I got myself a Hungarian email pal.

I had, in one of my searches, stumbled upon the webmaster of Hungary’s email address. Wow, I thought, I wonder if I emailed him ... I wonder, would he reply? So I sent him an email and asked him if there was anyone in Hungary that might be interested in corresponding with a Hungarian-American whose Hungarian had grown very rusty.

About two weeks later, I received my first email from my new email pal, Szabolcs, and acted very undignified for an almost elderly person, when I jumped up and down with joy. The email was written in English.

Szabolcs is a computer technologist, and he works in Budapest, Hungary. He is a young person of 24. We soon worked out a deal that would be to both of our benefit. I would write to him in Hungarian, and he would answer in English. We would point out each other’s mistakes as we went along, making this a learning experience for both of us.

He would answer all my questions about life in Hungary, and I would answer all his questions about America. He would help me try to find some long, lost Hungarian relatives. I would try to find him some younger, American email friends -- preferably of the female persuasion!

It has been an interesting exchange for both of us, and I have enjoyed it. What is more important, though, Szabolcs is my link to the old homeland, and his messages are very much appreciated.

Yes, the world wide web is full of opportunities for knowledge seekers, and there are folks out there, online, all over the world, just waiting to be your friend. Seek and you shall find!