« You know, I want to go back to Caracas now. »
It caught me off guard to hear my five year old daughter say this. It’s been almost a year since we came out to live in self-imposed economic exile. But she said it like, you know, our life here is cool and everything, but I want to go back home. I wasn’t really prepared for it.
« We can’t right now » I stamered.
She resumed her playing/fighting activities with her brother.
It began in February. Every single day, one of the kids would ask.
« Mom, can we go back home? »
Every time I had to deflect.
« Not right now; Maybe tomorrow; It’s already dark out, no planes fly at this hour; But we are living here now; We will go in August, for your school vacation; Oh look! A bird! »
Sometimes they would stuff their teddy bear, a book…
Voir l’article original 502 mots de plus