I miss my granny

»I miss my granny, « she sighed with her big eyes looking through the window glass of the bus. It was one of those days, when you could easily feel blue. Clouds were blocking the sun and the cold wind was hauling around the corners. It was cold and my daughter’s remark made the day even colder.

One of the most difficult things I have to comprehend by living the life of a traveler is my insecurity about parenting. No matter where or how you live, it is not easy to be a parent. At least a good one. We always have some personal dramas, questions about our identity and purpose in life, searching for the meaning of all of it and solving childhood traumas. I ask myself: “How can anyone raise a normal child?”

For me traveling and discovering the world is a way to discover my own self. I find it interesting and inspiring. But the problem can occur when you have kids. They are their own self. What if my way is not suitable for them?

When my partner and I decided that we’ll leave everything behind and just move somewhere, my body embraced an ecstatic feeling of freedom. But this feeling faded away as soon as the image of my daughter and son popped into my mind. We were renting this nice, cozy apartment in Ljubljana. Neighbors loved our kids and kids loved the chocolates the neighbor was carrying in her pocket for them. During the weekends we often visited their grandparents and they also often visited us. The kindergarten they were attending was like sugar and spice and everything nice — they loved going there. So, why did we move? Just because…

We threw the shoes off our feet and ran towards the sea. Soft sand subsided under every step we made. Its color was orange, like a fire already going down. It was hot and the sea still had the pleasurable temperature. I laid down on my towel and watched my happy family through my yellow glasses. They were holding their hands and jumping over the waves, laughing like crazy. My hand traveled on the surface of the silky sand under me, massaging my palms. We were in Gozo. It was late October.

“Mommy, I have a new friend. Her name is Ayana!” the eyes of my daughter were shining when she came out of the classroom. Her teacher was right behind her.

“I have never had a foreign child that would adapt so quickly,” she said to me. “She still doesn’t know how to express herself in English, but she already understands my instructions. See you tomorrow, Lejla, ok?”

“See you tomorrow,” she yelled back, while holding my hand and excitingly jumping by my side.

We were walking under the tower of Xlendi. Waves were breaking and invading the shore, every time throwing drops of salt in the air. In the distance breathtaking cliffs were rising from the sea. Kids were looking for the pirates and imaginary monsters by bouncing on the back door of the tower. It was in the middle of winter and my kids were still healthy — no cold, no fever, no ear infections.

We were living in Gozo for half a year. Although it’s a beautiful island and we met a lot of interesting people, made some nice friendships, we became nervous.

“I cannot stay here,” he said to me.

“I know,” I replied.

“It’s not a proper environment for development. I need to be challenged, I need people with similar vision on business around me,” he continued.

I understood him. It is a nice place, which takes you in your comfort zone. You can lie on the beach and watch the sunset. But it’s not enough, we cannot do just that. We have to move forward.

While I was cleaning the apartment that’s not really our home, my mind was full of questions. Where to go? How will kids react on another change of the environment, maybe even other language, another kindergarten?

“Please, stop shouting!” I yelled at my kids because they were fighting again over something, realizing that I am shouting as well. And that I am not reacting on their behavior the way I want. Because I feel stuck again. I have to go! I have to move again! Not because I am running, but because I am searching. For better environment. Like birds. Something better for the kids to. I inhaled deeply, went to the balcony, set on the chair and looked at the sea. When I felt calmer I called my daughter. She sat on my lap while I was clipping her nails.

“Mommy?” she said.

“Yes, darling?”

“You are the best mommy in the world! You know?”

My heart melted: “I hope so, darling, I do hope so!”