Home Away From Home

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