If I could have taken your pain away!

Fear is only as deep as the mind allows, says a Japanese proverb.

That day of November 2016, my mind let fear enter for a short while only. But I still have the taste of it in my mouth.

It is funny. If I read what I wrote last, it was about you, my love. Gaia. About your second birthday and all the joy you are bringing us every day. You, our fearless and wild one.

But a few days after your second birthday, your fearless and wild self grabbed a bowl of boiling tea on the table. You were so fast. Everything went so fast. And in less than a second, you were screaming...

My parents and I removed her clothes in the blink of an eye and rushed her to the kitchen sink. We let cold water run over her body. I was composed, calm, and efficient. I believe I am not the type who panics when the girls get hurt or get daring.

But then, I saw it. Her skin, her soft, perfect, beautiful baby skin starting to melt in front of my eyes. This is when my mind plunged right into the deepest distress I have ever known. I screamed to my father to hold her and stumbled onto the sofa in the living room. I remember Alia, standing there, watching us silently, without understanding. I remember my face in my hands. I remember screaming. Just a scream.

A few days later, my mother told me that this scream made her understand it was more serious than just a little burn.

After some painkillers and twenty minutes under running water, we jumped on our motorbike and rushed her to the clinic, where she was taken care of by an amazing doctor. She did everything she had to do and more: calm Gaia, comfort me, bandage her wounds, and show love and compassion.

She reassured me that Gaia will not have a single scare. She promised me Gaia will go home and play.

Two hours of being in a state of shock, sitting on the sofa back home, then Gaia fell asleep for a couple of hours. When she woke up, she took her painkillers and indeed, ran to play with Alia.

The next week was nothing but changing her dressings, giving her showers while she was crying out of fear for pain, and taking care of her.

We also called a healer to take the fire away from her little body. Gaia was asleep when the woman arrived. She started working on her relaxed and sleeping body when Gaia woke up. She looked at her, closed her eyes again, and let the biggest sigh of relief out. She then let the healer move her around to work on every burned area of her body. Right after this day, I believe the wounds dried and healed faster.

Gaia sustained second-degree burns on her shoulder, chest, side, and lower back. And a few first-degree burns around her belly and mouth.

A few weeks later, her skin had healed, but the pigmentation had not yet recovered. Thanks to a mix of essential oils a dear friend mixed for us, a few months later, we could not see where the burns used to be.

I realised I did not write anything because I was scared of facing that day, in front of the white page of my computer. But I could not continue without writing about the scariest event of my life.

The day I wished I could take the pain away from my child.

Stay wild Moon child

Gaia, a few days ago, you turned two.
I am looking at you and I cannot believe how fast time went by once more. You are such a strong willed little thing! You are a child of a few words but you always know how to make yourself understood.

This is a great gift.






You know what you want and how you want it. And you are hardheaded. You may be the youngest child but you have a World of your own. You know when you want to join your sister in a game and when you want to play on your own. You are fun. So much fun! You know how to put up a show and there are time, I have a hard time believing such a young body can hold so much humour!


You are a kind soul. You care so much: about people around you, animals, and even your dolls! And you are sweet too. Always up for a cuddle and a kiss - and you give the best hugs in the World! It makes people you love melt.

You are such a free spirit! You hate being held and restrained - in a seat, in a chair, in a carrier. It has to be on your own terms. You are happiest in the garden, in the water, around animals.

You are wild. You know, the kind of fun, crazy wild! You, sometimes, remind me of a fun version of a Nacho Libre. Running all around making weird sounds, rolling around, your tongue always sticking out, a big laugh out of your chest!

You are so easy to be around. You love all food, you sleep easily, you are mostly happy, actually. But oh boy, when you disagree, the whole World knows about it! You put guns instead of your eyes, take this high pitch angry voice and scream: Arrête! (Stop) Veux pas! (Don't want) Mine!

You are fierce, my love. And even if some days, we feel powerless in front of your willingness, I know it is important we never crush this or let anyone reduce it. Because you will need it in this World: to protect yourself, others and make great things.

You know, the day of your birth is a special day in many ways. You were born on the first anniversary of Yolanda, this terrible typhoon that hit your beautiful country so hard. On our first birthday, typhoon Ruby hit the Philippines as well. On your second birthday, America voted for a president that might change the face of the World.


But you, my love, you and your sister are our light.

And the love you have for one another is beautiful. And special.

The way you are looking for each other's hand when sleeping is priceless.

Nothing can change the fact that November 8 is a beautiful day. It was the day we got to meet you and be complete. It was the day your healing light started shining. You and your sister are our Hope.

And every single decision we are taking in our lives is for you girls. So you can live in a beautiful World, full of love, hope, happiness and people helping each other and caring for one another.

Because you inspire us to be better every day. Because you push us to have bigger dreams, higher hopes. Because we cannot stop thinking the World is a beautiful place as this is the World we brought you in and will leave you in.

"And though she be but little, she is fierce"

I grew up wanting to be a boy.

In the World we grow up in, we have this weird belief (and a part of it is true although completely unfair and unjustified) that if you are a man, you have more freedom, things are easier, you are more powerful, you can achieve much more, do whatever you want and be whoever you want to be.

Do not get me wrong, I was always a strong willed, stubborn, independent girl. But I wanted to be a boy. I thought it was much cooler to be a boy. A boy could do any sports, dress however he wanted..

A boy did not have to deal with periods, shaving hair, breast growing, boys constantly cat-calling you or insulting you for not giving them what they wanted. And they can pee standing up. How cool is that?

Then, I became a mother.

And I started learning the power of the women.

I think I actually became a feminist the day I gave birth to my first daughter.

I have learned much more about being a woman in the last 4 years of motherhood than in the past 30 years. I discovered our unbelievable and undying strength. I became more aware of women’s condition, I have opened up to the power and the gift of being a woman.

I believe I was always strong. But becoming a mother made me stronger in many ways.

Which, I have to say, may not be fun for my husband everyday.

Being married to an independent and strong woman may means that she will never take any of your bullshits. 

Well, I do not need my husband. I am with him because I want to be with him. Because I enjoy being with him and I love him.

But I do not need him in a dependent or clingy way.

I can travel by myself (and even alone with two toddlers). I am working and can earn a living. I can take decisions, pay my bills, cook, clean, paint the walls, drive my scooter, take opportunities, carry heavy stuff, use a hammer or handle the weekly budget of the household. 

Despite this, I still had my share of cat-calling, unwelcome hands on my butt, traumatising harassment etc. Lucky me, I was raised in a family that always been very open to talking, sharing and supporting. And a dad surrounded by sister, wife, daughters, nieces and grand-daughters all around.

Unfortunately, years pass and technology becomes more advanced but it looks like the condition of women is not. Social media make teenagers share way too much. It makes young girls feel like they have to prove something to earn attention from a boy. It feels like girls are trying to take each other down instead of raising each other up. That sex is coming before courting. If courting even exist anymore.

Movies and advertising made sex and violence look like it was normal daily thing in a life. Something you do to take power over someone or gain respect.

Rape became barely punishable. And we still are at the same point of thinking men are untouchable and girls could have avoided it.

Walking in a toy store or a clothes shop makes you realise girls are taught to be pretty and good housewives when boys are trained to be bold and adventurous. 

And it makes me feel scared, raising two girls in this World. 

And it makes me feel like I want to change things even harder.

And it makes me feel it will start with how I raise my girls.

And I am raising my daughters for them to always remember that a woman can do or be whatever she wants to. That she can think however she wants and that no one can look down on her because she is a woman.

Boys won’t be boys and girls are not supposed to be pretty and sweet. 

My girls are not sexy. My girls are children.

My girls can be superhero. They are mine already.

My girls can say no if they do not want to kiss you goodbye. 

My girls can climb trees and play cars.

My girls can be princesses without needing a prince.

My girls can love pink without having just this colour in their closet.

My girls can wear a two piece bikini one day and a board short the day after.

My girls can be pretty. But also smart, witty, funny, bold, fearless, loud, annoying, daredevil.

My girls can play dolls one minute and pirates the next one.

My girls do not have a boyfriend. They have friends that are boys.

My girls are not too fat nor too thin. They are strong and healthy.

My girls do not need to wear a dress to be beautiful. They will be beautiful because they are happy.

This two human being are teaching me so much  every single day.

About myself and what I should improve.

About the undying love and  unending strength a woman can hold in her.

About the strong meaning of what it is to be a woman.

So my girls will not grow up thinking it is ok a boy hits her as a way of showing his interest.

Nor they will grow up thinking their role is to be home.

Nor they will think they owe something to anyone.

Nor they will believe their only purpose is to make babies and make a man happy.

Nor they will think they have less worth than a man.

Nor they will learn how to use bullying or belittling someone in a way to gain friendship or coolness.

Nor they will wait for the Prince Charming to come along.

Our children may be wild at times but it is the price to pay to have strong adults when they are grown up. Some days are harder than others. 

Sometimes, doubt passes by in my mind. 

But in the end, I am following my heart and what I believe in.

I may be a pain in the ass for my husband at time, but it is all with a cause.

"Strong-willed children become adults who change the World as long as we can hang on for the ride and resist the temptation to "tame" the spirit out of them" Sarah Stogryn.

"And though she be but little, she is fierce", William Shakespeare.

“Home isn't a place, its a feeling”

“Maybe you had to leave in order to really miss a place; maybe you had to travel to figure out how beloved your starting point was.” 

― Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care


I am lucky.

I am lucky, because I have more than one place I can really call home.
I am lucky because I have people in many places I can call family.
I am lucky because I have friends, some since my tender childhood and some that came later in my life that never left my side, wherever we are in the World.
I am lucky I grew up in a beautiful countryside my children are able to experience every year.

Charles, my eldest friend and I, in my parent's garden.

When I moved to the Philippines, it was a natural move. I felt it was the next step I had to take. It was not hard, not heartbreaking, not challenging. Just natural.
I was not escaping a hard past, a relationship or a terrible country.
I was exploring and taking a step towards my independence and most importantly, I was making my own choice.
My parents raised us to be free to choose what we wanted to be (even though now, they may have doubts it was ever a good idea: it was, really).

Once I moved here, I never thought I could feel the need of coming back home.
I am happy here, I built my life here, grew my family here.
And even if I loved my country for the beauty of it, I left a country that was going through an economic crisis and where opportunities for people my age were not really great.

Playing at the park in France

I was never homesick. Just extremely happy to go home every year and enjoy great time with family and friends, amazing food and beautiful road trips. I was enjoying being a tourist in my birth country.

I felt like I had the best of both Worlds.
And I still do.

Once I gave birth to Alia though, things started to shift very slowly.
I rediscovered France with another eye.
I started feeling a pinch of homesickness every time I would think about something I used to do or eat at her age and how I wanted her to experience it.

Daddy Yo, Alia and Gaia in Anilao

The first two years of Alia's life, we kept going to France and visit only for a month. But when Daddy Yo went to work abroad for the first time, Alia and my pregnant self went to visit my parents. I was planning on staying a month but when complications with my pregnancy came, I had to extend another month. When it was time to go home, I realised it was the first time since I left my birth country that I stayed such a long period there. And on top of that, we did not travel around like the other years, we mainly stayed in the home I grew up in. It gave me a great amount of time to see friends and hang out with family.


When Daddy Yo went to work abroad for the second year, I thought: I really enjoyed being in France for two full months! Usually, we were only staying 4 weeks, travelled around for 2 full weeks and had very little time to see all the people we wanted to see. We would manage to squeeze in one dinner or lunch with every person we wanted to spend time with, which was not enough to really get to enjoy their presence and catch up with them.

So that second year, I decided to stay two months again. And the end of these two months came so quickly. Of course, it was awesome as we were going to visit Daddy Yo where he was working, so it was one more family adventure. But, all these trips and plane alone with two children wore me out. I went home exhausted and kept on being sick. Dengue virus was the last warning my body was giving me to make me understand I was tired and needed a little rest.

Playing in a wooden playground near a pond in France

This year, we took the decision to only go to France. No visit to Daddy Yo, which was a big and hard decision but a wiser one. And I asked my parents if they minded adopting me and the two girls for three long months. It felt amazing to be there. My mom was freshly retired so I had extra hands to help. My sister and I never had such a great bonding and she spent some great time with her two nieces. We got to spend so much time with my family and I got to spend much time with childhood friends, old and new friends. I even received, over a weekend, one of my very best friend who was visiting her in-laws from Australia. I have not seen her for 9 years and our children (who are the exact same age) met for the first time. They instantly became such amazing friends, it was heartwarming to see!


We had the opportunity to enroll Alia to kindergarden for the two last months of school year, so she could have activities and improve her french. Schools in France are free and mandatory so any child with a French citizenship is welcome anytime to join a new school. It has been a great experience for her! She is now speaking fluently in french to me, had a great time visiting the farm, playing with kids of the village where we live, getting to know the customs in France.

First day of school with warm clothes, new language, new classmates: Fun time!

School fair in Alia's school

I also spent some quality time with some very dear family members who are sick.
I may live on the beach and enjoy life where I am, but as an immigrant living far away from my own country, I am missing things out. This includes being present for your loved ones when they are going through hard time, sickness, problems, depression, or are just getting old. And it sometimes feels so heavy and challenging. I do sometimes feel like I am not fulfilling my role of friend, grand-daughter, cousin, niece...

 



We got to enjoy quality food, organic vegetables, good quality meat, amazing cheese. Food that I am not scared of putting in my daughter's body thinking of all the hidden antibiotics and GMO that might make them pubescent too early. Alia and Gaia took some poney lessons, rode the carousel endlessly, ran in the fields, went to the cinema to see beautiful indie children movies, visited a farm, baked with my sister, made a fire in the chimney when it was cold, jumped in the inflatable pool when it was hot, ran around and played with friends, mowed the lawn with their grand-dad, gardened and planted and watered flowers (and picked a lot on the way), played piano, learned how to behave in a restaurant, enjoyed food, food and more food, had a road trip in Switzerland to visit more family...

    

                                                        

I was also in France during a very painful time for all of us. Terror attacks.
The past ones that happened, I was in the Philippines. I felt lonely. It was just an awful event that had happened in the news for most people around me. And even if I could talk about it with Daddy Yo or a few other people, it kept on following me every second of the day for weeks.
It happened in my streets, to my friends, friends of my friends. I was far away. I could not hug them. I could not join the protests and the walks and reflect on what happened in the streets of the district I called home for 6 years in Paris.

A fire in the chimney to warm our hearts and soul

When the attacks happened on July 14th and a few days after again, it felt horrific and scary. But as weird as it sounds, I was surrounded by people who would talk about it and share my feelings. It did not drive me as crazy as the attacks of November and January 2015 because I could unload what I felt with people who felt the same way. I was there and I could share my pain. And my pain was lighter just by sharing it.

Yes, I have the best of both Worlds. And I want to keep it this way.
But it can also be challenging to jump from one World to another.
This is when you realise you can also be homesick for people.

The beautiful Eiffel Tower a few days after the attack in Nice, France.

Are we there yet?

"Each day of our lives, we make deposits in the memory banks of our children." Charles R. Swindoll

Playing in the park in Chartres

This past years have been challenging in many ways as Daddy Yo went to work abroad for the low season. It is the third summer I am spending alone with Alia and Gaia and of course, it is not a reason for us to stop the adventures! Last year, we went to visit my family in France then Daddy Yo in the USA. It was the first time for Gaia to go out of the Philippines, so it was quite an adventure for her! This year, we travelled to France and Switzerland. 

This is about me, the two girls, a big luggage, a couple of passport and too many airplanes.

Being a single parent is hard. I mean, you always have the perks of it: 

No one to fight over the movie to watch at night.

No one to fight over that last piece of chocolate or cheese after the children are gone to bed.

I am in charge of the menu, which means more healthy meals! (wink wink Daddy Yo!)

I am in charge of bedtime by myself, which means kids are going to sleep early and are not over excited and over stimulated right before sleeping (wink wink Daddy Yo!)

I am in charge of activities and daily schedule, which means I do not have a bad surprise when coming back from the shower seing kids painting on each other with textile paint.

Rolling down the hill

But it also can be overwhelming at time. And frustrating. Very frustrating.

I have very little break time. The kids are asking for my undivided attention at all time. Both of them. At the same time. Over different things.

One wants to breastfeed while the other one wants a cuddle. One wants to sit on my laps so the other one wants too. One is sick and needs me a lot more. The other one wants the same. One wants me to feed her, so I end up not eating with two children on my laps, feeding both of them.

Snack time!!!!!!!

And I am here in the middle. Pouring my love on them. Playing good cop, bad cop. Not having anyone who can step in and take over when I am ready to explode. And there are times when it gets to a point when I am craving to get my body back for an hour, a day. When no one will ask for me, touch me, grab me, climb on me, bite me, pull me, hang on my leg… It is a weird feeling when it seems your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. Not an single second of the day. 

Even at night :)

When Daddy Yo is here, we can share this. If one girl need me, he can take care of the other one. If I put one girl down for a nap, he will do something with the other one. They can share their needs between both of us. It seems a small, petty thing, but after 6 months of being more than their everything, it is hard for me. We may have a nanny but they don’t want them as they want their parents, of course. At least I am glad for that! They can still make the difference! 

I love them as much, maybe even more as the bonding is of every minute and we carry each other everyday. But It is also weary some days.

I first spent 3 months in France. And it never felt better being home than this year. 

The vibe, the choice of food from the market, the variety of activities for the kids. This year just felt good and I will get back to why it felt so good in the next post.

Poney ride in the countryside and around the lake.

While there, I had my parents and sister to share the attention of the kids with. And most important, my childhood friends, sister and parents to talk to at night. Once the girls were asleep, I would sneak out of the room and sit with my childhood friends and sister over a beer. Or sit on my parents bed and watch a movie or talk, talk and talk. After being a mother all day, it feels nice to feel like a child again, sometimes. Curled up on the foot of their bed. 

Sliding in Jardin du Luxembourg,
Paris

After we travelled back to Boracay, that was the hardest part to adjust to. Once the girls are asleep, it is me, myself and I. 

Long, silent evenings. 

No one to share the hard day I had with two sick children, or the homesickness of being back from my hometown, or the tantrums I had to deal with other than waiting for Daddy Yo to wake up over the computer and chat with him for a bit while he gets ready to work.

But it still is nothing, these challenges, compared to the gift and magic of having well travelled and adventurous children. 

To get to explore the World and our own limit with them, see their eyes get filled with excitement and slowly understand the World unfolding in front of them. 

To see them open their heart, their mind to so many different people and culture. And to never forget how it is to be a child. 

Because we all can. Just kneel down and look through their eyes. There is just love for us and amazing adventures awaiting.

A stroll in the French countryside under the rain.

If you travel with young children by yourself, talk to them, always. 

I kept on telling them: We are a team. It is us against the rest of the World. It is gonna be hard for me, this trip as the only adult. So you guys gonna have to help me. Check on each other, check on me as much as I will check on you. Never leave my side. Never leave your sister's side. Be patient as much as I will be. This is one long day and then, it will be over. Let's hold each other's hand and work through it as a team. 

And guess what? It works! Yes, kids are smart and sensitive enough to understand all of the challenges. They can adapt. They can be the best team mates you would ever imagine. Just give them the chance to be. You might be surprised! 

Now, Alia's favorite mantra is "Family hug! We are family! Gaia, it is you and me forever!". 

When they are not hitting each other, arguing over a toy or my attention, this is them, learning that sisterhood is above everything else.

Sister love in Baler, Philippines. Credit: Sabs Bengzon

Hiraeth

I come from everywhere and nowhere.

I call home a few places: Chartres, Paris, and Boracay. And Algeria. But not the country of today; the one who used to be, long time ago, who is not anymore. The one I never knew and will never know.

According to Geiriadur, Welsh-English / English-Welsh dictionary, "Hiraeth is a Welsh word for which there is no direct English translation. The University of Wales, Lampeter, attempts to define it as homesickness tinged with grief or sadness over the lost or departed. It is a mix of longing, yearning, nostalgia, wistfulness, or an earnest desire for the Wales of the past."

This is a concept hard to grasp, a fascinating word yet altogether.

How can one long for a home that was never home? A time one never knew?

It is hard to explain, yet very real. I know this feeling well, actually. How peculiar it sounds, thinking about it.

My family is pretty big. And by this, I mean my direct and extended family. Yes, in my family, extended family IS family. Grandchildren of cousins are cousins. Great great uncles are uncles. Third-degree cousins are the same as first-degree cousins. And some of my family members were patient and brave enough to research the roots of our family and managed to go back as early as the 15th century.

And there we were, jews from Andalusia who went through the expulsion of all Jews of Spain by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in 1492.

My family escaped to North Africa and settled in what is now known as the country of Algeria. 

They spent five centuries there. During the 20th century, France colonised Algeria, and my great uncles fought for this foreign country during the First World War. My grandfather was born way after them, as my great-grandfather had about 13 children (the last one was born when he was more than 70 years old).

The book "80 Letters from Abraham Ben Meir to his
Five sons mobilized during the war, 1914-1918."
by Andre Chouraqui. 

My grandfather left his country to study and become a doctor in France. The Second World War came, and my grandfather worked in the French villages to help people. He met my grandmother, a catholic young woman, daughter of a steelworker. She never really went out of her village, was years younger than him, but was bold enough to marry a Jew at the nose of the Nazi. 

Fortunately, a relative of my grandfather told him he was on a list of Jews supposed to be arrested. He had to plan a quick escape back to his home country. My grandmother, young and very adventurous, followed him in the Free Zone in southern France, crossed the Mediterranean Sea, and ended up in Oran, Algeria. 

Oran before 1962

Three children were born there. My mother was the youngest. They had a beautiful childhood. The sea was breathtakingly beautiful, they were living all together with their cousins, grandmother, uncles, and aunts. The Sundays on the beach, grilling fish with the family. The seeds of the fruits were used to play marbles.

But when my mom was 4 years old, the Algerian War started against the French. Nasty, scary. Every day, the impacts of bullets in the walls, the death threats in the street, the killings in front of anyone, anxiously waiting for my grandfather when the curfew started, but he was still taking care of patients, the bombs. This one bomb that exploded right next to my mom while she was biking, throwing her to the ground, while my grandfather ran to check if she was still alive.

Oran, 1962

When my mom was 12, they had to leave the country. The War was still going on, and it was not safe enough to stay any longer, as the Jews were attacked as well. As France colonised Algeria as early as 1830, my mom was born officially French. The easiest solution for them was to move to France. My mom was the first one to leave, joining my uncle, who was married to a Swiss woman. She left everything behind in the middle of the night. She could not bring her teddy bear, nor say goodbye to her friends. She left behind her mother, father, sister, and brother, who were older and had things to fix before leaving. 

She spent a trimester in Geneva at her cousins' before meeting her parents in Paris, their new home. Since then, our family has been in France. I am part of the first generation of our family, born in France. And my children are already born somewhere else.

But to go back to this word, "hiraeth". I always felt my roots were in Algeria. I always felt that part of me was so strongly North African. During family meetings, we will always talk about Oran, Ain Temouchent, Tlemcen, the towns and villages in Algeria where we are from. We would always cook the food from there. 

A beach in Ain Temouchent

For many years, it's been an untold custom in the family to try and find the perfect recipe of this orange pie my mom, uncle, and aunt were eating when they were small, the one Madame Pedro was baking. None of us ever tried the original, but we talk about it almost like our own childhood memory. We heard them talk about their childhood so much, the fond memories, that this is also part of us. We miss it as much as they do. 

And it is sad because it is no longer a safe place for us to go and visit. But it is home. My great-grandfather, Abraham Baba Ben Meyer, an old man with a white Sarwel and a headwrap like the Ottoman time, is buried there. As my great-grandmother, Ramona.

This man in the photo, Baba, even my mom never met him. He was born in 1848 and died in 1929. He was speaking Judeo-Arabic, a dead language today. But we talk about him as if we all knew him. And I carry this place and these people in me. 

Baba is inside each of us, standing proudly. He had a dozen children, 54 grandchildren, and more than a hundred great-grandchildren. We stopped counting. 

My children are far from Andalusia, Algeria, and France. They are born in yet another continent. But I do hope they will carry Baba inside them as much as we all do on this side of the family. Because it is home to me.