Gorgeously not bored

Home Affairs: Permission to be bored, three disappearances, a box full of bread, a life-changing light, coffee shops and racist people in Barcelona, and a blessing/curse.

Things, they say, happen for a reason. But no one seems to agree on the Universe’s motive. This week, something mysterious and peculiar happened: I became the only person who can put my son to sleep. A blessing and a curse. It is a blessing because my ego has a ginormous boost. I’m his favorite person, there’s no doubt about it. A few days into the restrictive nighttime routine, I began to see the downside of being THE person, the chosen one. I’m not saying I’m like Neo, but power comes with a price. And the price has been set by, ahem, a (little) man who, despite being my son, is way whiter than me. This doesn’t sit well with me. I might be reading too much into this, I know. But shouldn’t we question everything to withstand a good fight? I’m just a girl in the world and oppressors disguise in different shapes and sizes.

My son has vanished from the face of the Earth not once, not twice but three times in the last four days.