Home Away From Home

The fires are back. Climate change seems very real in Portugal. For those thinking we had time to recover from the Pedrogao disaster and take time to (yet again) plan, the 30 degrees temperatures allowing people to enjoy beach summer days in October mean the fires are also aligned with August. Or shall we say worse. Yesterday was registered as the worse day of the year for fires, and the number of casualties piled up again. It used to be that we got upset when 1-2 people were caught in the fires every year. Now we are just wishing it is not as bad as 62. In 24 hours alone we have surpassed 35 and numbers are still work on progress. People got trapped in beaches and even petrol stations (of all places). People want to avoid the roads, afraid they become another number in another yet to be named road of death.  There was public consternation after Pedrogao. But the PM found its way out with a sort of game that was only too expected from someone who was 2nd most voted but still went f

I sometimes miss travelling. Though in a way feels like we never stopped. As we make our way trough Gatwick Friday afternoon and into Roma Fiumicino, I realize I do not even know where we are going. I am so used to being familiar with the places that we go to that I assume we will just as easily know in Rome.  It was painful for me to leave the kids behind, especially as I had a rough week at work and barely spent time with them. But I also knew it to be good for our mental and couple sanity to enjoy this weekend, so rather than leaving on the first late morning flight on Sunday as we usually do, we decided to spend the day in Rome.  Rome was more beautiful than I remember it. The sun and its warmth greeted us and facilitated us going around kilometres bumping into Roman empire columns or 'new' renascentista buildings. The Coliseum remains its impressive self, the Pantheons impressive construction is even more of a mistery, and I clearly acknowledge that I did not remembe

For #worldmentalhealthday I thought I would put it out there. Not that I hide it from people that want or need to know, but it is true that I don't put it out there as much as I could, and that does not help other people like me. I may not go as far as facebook today, but it is a start. In 2015, I entered an emotional roller coaster  that looked like a spiral trending only in one direction. I was constantly sad, tired and disappointed at the world. I lost interest in many things, I did not want to be in large social gatherings,  I lost my bubbly personality. I cried a lot. It did not show at work, but it did everywhere else. Did something life changing happened to do this? I can't justify it by a single event but there were a series of individual events that were more negative than in any other year. Life was just playing tricks rather than treats that year. The week before I turned 34 was when I knew. My birthday was always something I celebrated with joy surrounded wit

I see signs saying we are not afraid. Londoners are tough and endured the bombings of WWII. But those Londoners are hardly the same as the ones here today. Yes people in general are resilient, more than we think we can be when looking outside out. That is anywhere in the world, not just in London. And truth be said there is merit in not letting fear control our lives and terrorism win.  Well I just walked into the district line, 5 stations away from Parsons Green and I am afraid. I am not shaking, crying or running away. But I am afraid mostly because it is all so natural. Life must go on I said, as I decided I was not going to cancel my lunch and avoid the tube. But that is what makes it scary. Life goes on and in an effort to not be afraid we recklessly do not change our habits and rely on the stats that more people die on the road then on terrorist attacks. Reality is, the law of probability does not matter because terrorist events are binary.  So I think about my friend who de

Back to domino stage. Wake up, commute, first glimpse at work, breakfast at desk, meetings, work, thinking, work, meetings and more meetings, watch out for the clock. Missed the first deadline for school pick-up, missed the second deadline to arrive home at 6, it is past 6 and I still don't have my jacket on. Commute, home, hugs. Too late for smiles, it is tantrum time. Bath, dinner, bedtime (short story) bitter sweet taste of having time for myself. They are asleep, I am awake. This is the domino, it is back and haunts me. Nothing can break, or the pieces will fall.  I am breaking the schedule now by writing, it is charity time, or admin time, not time to write. That comes off the script. I gave that up a long time ago. I carry with me the beginning of the different books, I write down the ideas for the different blogs in notepads, even the blogger application is against me as I can no longer blog on my phone. I want to write. Write about this. Write about my passion in busine

Once again the feeling that terror is too close is overwhelming. Paris was a turning point for me, after which I decided it was time to look for a less cosmopolitan place to live. Then the terror hits small places and you start wondering that maybe we will now get small lone sharks instead but in the UK the police seems to be having it under control. Then Westminster. And last night Manchester. In an event any of us could be part of.  As I make myself go out, i walk towards the Chelsea and Westminster hospital, decided to go sit in a cafe nearby, have a snack perhaps even blog, if baby S is up for it. And my mind wonders off picturing what I would do in case terror would hit. Do you call, do you text, do you run for your life, do you stay to help. A hospital seems like a pretty good target. So many vulnerable people trapped and unable to leave irrespective of a bomb. I push those thoughts away and confidently pass in front of the hospital.  As I sit I know I want to write. As baby S fi

Down the escalators, change train, wait on platform. The commute, the London commute. I am coming in the office for a few hours today so I am remembering each step with a certain familiarity that helps the nervous of what a future leaving baby S behind means. These few hours are small trials for me to cope. And this time I ventured a commute.  As I walk with no rush and outside rush hour I can't avoid the smartphones all around me as I go dowm the escalators, walking actively almost wanting to comtradict the end of my pregnant slow commute only a few months back. Someone playing candy crush saga not noticing she is almost in the middle of the escalator, someone swiping left deleting emails, someone swiping dowm checking the news. I myself have almost exhausted my battery. Weirdly enough the smartphone commute is one of the few things I miss. Those 40 minutes for me every day, where I can check my emails, read my book, check on friends around the worls, send my Sims to work or even

The book I never wrote, the book I always think of writing. Here I am hanging out strong, resiting the urge to just lay down as I suddenly feel so tired today. Went to pilates, went for lunch and I am trying to engage with my 16 weeks baby. Anyone who has tried it knows that is a hard task as you get smiles and giggles but not much more to keep you going. I resist the urge and decide to check my email. And there is an ad. One of those I never read but something caught my attention. It is the book I never wrote, the book about the experience in Mozambique, told by someone who has been in and out the last 10 years.  My first thought is positive, I will buy it! I will make it a 2 in 1 and ask B to buy it as a birthday present. And now it has been 10 minutes since that email and it has sunk in. It is the book I never wrote. The book I started three times in different years, I believe 2004, 2008 and 2010, always with different approaches, but I never brought it to fruition. And that is

Should I stay or should I go. It is the question I ask myself many afternoons.  I am on maternity leave and I struggle to leave. I want to stay with the baby playing, I want to go spend time with my number 1, i want to do charity, I want to be fit, I want to write, I want to spend time with myself.  And I just found a combination. I walked to the club with the baby but rather than wait outside the door for a class I cant really watch I am sitting in a cafe enjoying a snack and putting my blog out of misery. The baby sleeps and I got a good work out. Seems simple right? I often debate my life choices (with myself really) but on mat leave even more. In fact by definition I should be on leave to be a mother. But I fear I may go crazy or mistreat my children if that is all I do for my mat leave.  I want to read, I want to write. I want to have a go at being fit again, even if it does not work. I want to do stuff that I love - I gave up on the piano but really want to do some writing. And I

I am now the mother of 2. Almost 7 weeks and counting. And #2 is as hard as I thought it would be. Sleepless nights feel harder, breastfeeding schedule feels harder, crying for no reason feels harder. The only thing that may not be as hard is guilt, as you now know, with the benefit of a 4 year old, you are potentially not the worst mother in the world. Tonight I come back to writing as tonight is a real mother of 2 day. After so much preparation for the charity gala, I had hoped life would come back to normal today. Ok, so there is still tidying up and follow ups but overall somehow I believed things would be more in control. Oh naivity of an unusual optimist. C started being sick yesterday, required my full (now split) attention today and now exhibits a wonderful 39.6C fever. I feed the little one wanting to be cloned again and have my clone just watching over her rather than having to almost hide in another room to avoid contagion.  I struggle not to feel guilt on this one, 2 months