I attended a business meeting with international clients. I was there with a colleague who was born in 1997.
A new (potential) client arrived, looked at the two of us and asked: “Mother and daughter?”
My colleague is a beautiful young woman. Smart, hardworking and lovely. I like her. But no, she isn't my daughter.
Obviously, it hurts a little to realise that people see me as an older woman who could already have a child who is almost 30. And obviously, asking questions like that is rather impolite.
But that's not really what I wanted to write about.
1997 was the year I graduated from university and started working.
1997 was five years before I met my husband.
1997 was also the year I was still in an unhappy relationship with my ex-boyfriend. There was only one occasion that year when I thought I might be pregnant (I wasn't). I shared my concern with him, and he coldly replied: “We'll choose abortion.” (I would never have chosen that.)
Not long ago, my mum mentioned my ex-boyfriend in front of my eldest niece, who was utterly surprised. Somehow, she had never realised there had been someone in my life before my husband (such a sweet assumption!).
Suddenly, she had lots of questions about my past. I told her there was really only one thing worth telling her: that I had spent seven years with someone who wasn't kind to me (without going into any details, of course).
My niece looked at me with wide-open eyes and asked: “But why were you with him, then?”
I replied: “That's actually an excellent question.”
I wish both my nieces, and all the girls in my family, that one day they will meet someone kind who will treat them the way they deserve to be treated.
I was lucky enough to meet my husband. He is the love of my life.
PS: The photograph shows some seashells I saw during my most recent walk along the Adriatic coast, on the Italian side. I love seashells. They remind me how short and fleeting life is. How many living creatures once inhabited them, and are no longer here. They remind me that I need to live now, in the present moment.






