Dear Future Child

The Move

From a small town in Brazil to the middle of London town

2005 was a weird and wonderful year that went by in a blur. Unbeknownst to us, the children, the Brazilian economy had a hiccup and began going into a recession. As a result, my mom was made redundant. As the majority breadwinner of our household, this meant that we potentially faced losing our home.

Our family is of Italian descent and my uncle (yes, the same one from the car story) had lived in Italy for a while and gone through the process of claiming citizenship and was now living in London. Given the situation and following what I imagine were several difficult conversations it was decided that we would pack up our lives and also go live there for a while.

We could stay with him, while mum would go to Italy to do the same process which shouldn't take more than three months since we'd have all the paperwork down from the previous process already, we said naively. So, in May we moved to London, more specifically, Edgware Road.

Central London in the summer really is a beautiful sight to behold. Especially if you're a bike, tube or bus ride away from Hyde Park. The smells, the food, the richness and sheer diversity of people... my 12-year-old mind soaked it all in.

We had no real routine in the beginning - aside from my uncle giving us impromptu English lessons in the evenings (more on this later), we the children focused mainly on trying to soak in and adapt to our new realities.

There were a lot of trips to the park, I remember seeing a lady in a burka for the first time ever in my life, a mom among a group of moms in fact, in the park and playing with 'Beyblades' (look it up) with their children.

For someone coming from such a monocultural small town, the diversity and co-existence of said diversity really blew my mind.

Less than a month or so later, mum went to Italy for the first time. My dad took on two jobs wherever he could find them during the early hours and late evenings so that he could stay with us during the day. This meant he worked as a kitchen assistant in the evenings and between cleaning banks from 5 to 7 am in the beginning. This meant my uncle would almost always be home for dinner and often his roommate and girlfriend would join us, and we'd have happy dinners full of joy.

My uncle knew we would stay for a while, so getting us up to speed with our English language skills (especially for me since Maria was only 4) was a priority. This education was particularly important as we were at that time not going to school yet.

I would listen to CDs on conversational English, he would quiz me on music lyrics and as homework, I would have to describe what was the gist of the episode of the cartoons and series – The Simpsons was a favourite and although harder to understand the TV series Friends was too.

He told me the best and fastest way to learn was to practice and I did. I would walk up to people on the bus and at the park and practice the words I'd learnt.

I still remember my poor dad with all the embarrassment that only small townsfolk can muster sitting there and looking apologetic but to his credit, he let me just carry on. Not to mention those poor people I pestered at the park and bus looking accosted but going along with it anyway looking slightly amused at this random child trying to strike up conversations.

It feels silly now, almost trivial I suppose, but that fearlessness was essential to my picking up the language as quickly as I did.

I also learnt to roller skate (which I will teach you to do one day) and my dad got a bike and soon we fell into a bit of a routine. The world felt bright and inclusive and although mum was not with us, the good times in my 12-year-old mind at least, seemed to stretch by in front of us.

Boy am I glad I didn't know that just months after meeting this open and colourful acceptance and multiculturalism, I'd meet racism and some of the loneliest times of my life too.

When the time comes Dear Child, may you have the fearlessness and joy of a 12-year-old in the pursuit of her dreams.

2005

 Still London - the 'life is not a treat' demonstration

I had planned to move neatly into our next move after the previous text thus this passage was not in my original book plan. However, an unexpected side effect of writing this book is the number of memories I did not know I held onto coming to the surface of my mind at the most unexpected times. An even more unexpected side effect is the amount of gratitude I feel for those who gave me those memories.

As I was falling asleep last night, I remembered what I'm dubbing as the 'Life is Not a Treat' lesson that my uncle taught me during this time too so, I've decided to slot it in. I've always loved chocolate and as a foodie growing up using food as a motivator increased the probability of me completing a task tenfold.

Anyway, we were still in London at the time, and my uncle had tasked up with improving our contextual understanding by setting us the homework of writing what the latest Simpsons episode was about that day and anything new we'd learnt.

As a reward, he had recently taken to giving me a little packet of Ferrero Rocher after dinner, the one that has three chocolates in it. Yes, now that I look at it, I know that this would not have been sustainable and that he'd been setting me up to teach me a lesson all along.

One night shortly after, I had done quite well and was feeling quite pleased about myself.

Well done! He exclaimed.

And off we went to the kitchen. And he takes the packet, opens it and gives me: one, single, chocolate.

It caught me off-guard. I stood there shocked accepting that measly chocolate, my face betraying my silence with an unhappy expression rather than glee.

Recovering I looked at my uncle, who'd been watching me intently and said thank you.

He wasn't having it.

'What was that face?' He asked me.

'What I didn't say anything'. I replied

'No, but I saw it,' he insisted. 'Do you not want your chocolate? I can put it away.'

'No! I do want my chocolate.' I said with a little more resolve.

'Well then, be honest. Even though you were receiving a treat you were upset because you thought you were going to get more, weren't you?'

'Well yes, but that's because you always give me three and I did well!'

'Well, let this be a lesson to you. Sometimes in life, you will work hard, but you won't get the reward you thought you were going to get. Accept it anyway and take it as a lesson. It's still a win and maybe one that will be better for you in the long run.'

It took a little while for that lesson to sink in. But once it did it has been one that has been with me and guided many of my decisions. It's helped me stay open to saying yes to opportunities I wasn't quite convinced of at the time, but that has paid off immensely in the long run.

So Dear Child, here's to staying open to the little treats of life, whether they may be what we were hoping for or just what we need.