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Forever in the archive

So, what if you find play boring?

It’s time to lay it all out, folks. I will confess: sometimes, when my son Lorenzo picks up his copy of The Gruffalo to hear me read it out loud while he plays with the animals that appear in it (he owns a stuffed toy

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My one-year review of myself

Let me tell you a secret about a rather useless skill I have: I have an incredible memory for people’s birthdays! You tell me the date, and somehow it just sticks to my internal hard drive. This includes people I haven’t seen since middle school.

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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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Forever in the archive:

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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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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