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The power of stories

On a recent weekend, I came home to my son Lorenzo, who’s almost six, sobbing. I had just taken my other son León for a walk while he napped, and the tears threw me. Lorenzo was shaking, standing next to Nacho, my partner, in the

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Forever in the archive

Greek cicadas and children: a lesson on listening

Tzitzitzitzitzitzi Tzi Tzi Tzi Tzi Tzi Tzi The continuous sound of cicadas invades my ears. It goes on and on. All day long. And even at night, when the full moon tricks the cicadas into thinking it’s daylight. In Greek a cicada is called tzitzikas

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Lost in motherhood

I’m just back from my two-week staycation, during which I ate well, tried to exercise regularly, and dreamt a lot. One night I dreamt that I was at a work meeting. We were in an outside space where everyone was chit-chatting. All of a sudden,

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Due to patriarchy …

This week, I’m exhausted. I could blame it on the summer heat, or on my son’s sleepless night because he’s teething. But that is not the kind of structural thinking that I’ve been encouraged to do here at The Correspondent. As our founder Rob Wijnberg

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Why do we decide to have, or not have, children?

In a time that now seems incredibly far away, a time that my colleague OluTimehin Adegbeye calls 2020 BC (before corona), I co-hosted a meet-up with members of The Correspondent in Buenos Aires, Argentina. It was February, and little did I know that it would be

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Ruminations on the fragility of life

This week my son Lorenzo fell while bouncing around in the park. He was holding a tiny stick, which ended up poking him just above the eyelid. It was a miracle he didn’t scratch his cornea or poke his eye out. But was it a

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Forever in the archive:

Welcome to the magical land of home

Last week the peace and quiet of my parents’ well-curated rooftop terrace, which includes a collection of cacti they picked up all over the Americas and repotted here in Naples, was disturbed by workers refurbishing the building next door. My parents were horrified as the

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Calling on grandparents

As I type this, construction workers are hammering outside my window, standing on a mobile scaffolding. The noise of traffic joins in, rising all the way up to the second floor. Then comes the smell of freshly-baked pizza from the joint just below. Such mundane

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On the other side of fog

Since I published my piece about play last week, a very interesting conversation has been unfolding below it. In the article, I focused on how necessary unstructured play is for us as a species in order to learn. But some great contributions from members and invited experts pushed

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