The day has come

Oh my god, the day has come. Yes, thats right, the stuff of nightmares: the day that I return to full time employment, post maternity. This is the day that I have been dreading since the day I became pregnant. Given that Baby M has never been more than 10m away from me in that time (except for the odd night out, gym session or shopping expedition), I am reigniting my separation anxiety all over again, except THIS TIME FEELS WORSE. Much, much, much worse. How on earth am I supposed to spend 50 hours (including travel time) away from my little man each week? How on earth am I supposed to concentrate when all I want to do is kiss his cheeks and tickle his tummy? Why does someone else (ie: my mother and husband), get to see him crawl, or maybe even take his first step without me to hold his hand? Why the hell did I decide to have a baby if it meant that I had to leave him? Yes, I have landed the perfect job now I am here in Sydney, and yes I always knew that day would come, but it doesn't take the sting out of the situation. There is that everpresent debate about working mothers vs stay at home mothers, and all I can say is- SOD your debate. I hate the fact I have to go back to work, but I also know that I need to provide for my family. If it was a choice between feeding/clothing/putting-a-roof-over-our-heads and singing nursery rhymes all day, I would inevitably love to be at home, but still be torn that I have to walk out the door every day to make that mulah. Its ultimately a choice between paying the bills and spending time with my son, and I hate that I am even compelled to make the decision. This is agony. I know I have to grow up and face the situation like the capable woman that I am, but I am not ready, and I don't think I will ever truly be happy no matter what choice I take. Lets hope Baby M fares better than I do

World class traveller

It was somewhere over Afghanistan, as I was sitting on Singapore Airlines flight SQ321, holding my screaming infant, tired, exhausted and slightly delirious, that I realised that flying to the other side of the world (on my own) with a tiny baby was absolutely the worst, stupidest and most ridiculous idea I have ever had. I could see the eyes being rolled, the exasperation and the slightly pursed lips of  fellow passengers as I tried every trick in the book to pacify Baby M (short of elephant tranquiliser). This was utter hell. Yet, I couldn't quite complain as we finally landed in Singapore and turned up at the oh-so-amazing Crowne Plaza hotel. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt like I could relax. Facing 30 degree heat, delicious pan asian cusine and decor to make an urbanite like me to swoon, I felt like I could stay forever. Baby M absolutely loved the swimming pool, the attentive waiters and screamed in delight when we visited Sentosa Island and chilled with cocktails on the beach. It was a short transit, but I felt like I could face the remaining 8 hours onwards to Sydney where my parents would be awaiting with their grandparent love and endless cuddles. Im turning my little man into a world class traveller. 5 star only please!

I love you London

I am leaving London for a little while. I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I know I will be. London has been the third love of my life, apart from my husband and baby, London has given me so many opportunities to fall in love, be in love and feel like a lover. I have had the worst fights with London, the most heated arguments and the worst of the silent treatment. I have cried, I have laughed, I have been angry because of her. Almost like a lusty lover, I have yearned to come back when I have been away, and I have always had the time of my life when I stayed. But as life moves on, you need to think about turning the page. And today, we are turning the page and heading back to my home town of Sydney. Sydney is glamourous, beautiful and full of promise. It is full of light, amazing people and the gorgeous beach. But despite all of my passion for Sydney, I know she will never come close to my great love, London. London with is cobbled alleyways, its maze like tube network, its sycophantic, gritty darkness. I love the way the sun sets in London, and I love what happens when the sun goes down. I love the friends that have loved me since the day I arrived, and those who I have met along the way. I cannot believe I am leaving my beautiful flat, our little love nest. I cannot help but shed a tear at the thought of all those sunny days spent on the Embankment, or the times I would stroll hand in hand with my husband down Portobello Market. I will miss the galleries, the parks, the madcap fashion and the "I don't give a f**k" attitude adopted by everyone from 5 year olds to 85 year olds. I will  miss the Christmas lights down Regent Street, and I will miss the endless stream of parties in Shoreditch. London is the centre of the universe (sorry New York), and it will always be the greatest love of my life.

The immigrant mother's experience

I am an immigrant twice over. My parents arrived in Australia 26 years ago, fleeing the civil war in Sri Lanka, with nothing but two suitcases and an 18 month old me and my 3 month old sister. I cannot imagine the fear they must have felt walking into a foreign place like Sydney, where the lands are wide open, and the faces are (almost) all white; where knowing English was not only a requirement, but an expectation. Through sheer hard work and determination, my parents have become the success story of the immigrant experience, raising 3 children who have all successfully completed university (with at least 2 degrees each and work for amazing companies), run their own business successfully for 20 years and negotiated a minefield of challenges since they day they landed. I have repeated the immigrant experience a second time by moving to London 5 years ago, but my story is different. I have moved as a confident, vivacious and focused woman who isn't afraid to make new friends or to challenge myself. I live in a fashionable part of town, with endless resources and a husband who has always taken care of me. So in thinking about this experience, I also wonder what it must have been like for my mother to be a mother in circumstances that are challenging even for myself, let alone for a woman who couldn't drive until she was 37, a woman whose english has taken 26 years to develop, for a woman to raise children who's ideas on life challenge every conservative thought my parents have ever held. It must be hard to let your children exist on their terms, and not your own and I respect my parents even more for not conforming to the constraints of their immigrant view, but have wholeheartedly embraced the idea of allowing their children to be their own people.
 Sometimes I walk past the council estates in Hackney, and I wonder what lies behind each door. Are they immigrants? Are they poor? Are they finding raising children a challenge? I find it challenging, despite my available resources. I couldn't imagine doing it with limited english, no partner or being constrained to the 4 walls of my house. I know there are many people in London who have never taken the tube, never been to Central London or have never gone further than their immediate suburb. Social mobility is a real challenge, and the London of today shows the stark contrast between the "haves" and the "have nots." I cant help but wonder how much women in this world struggle. They struggle to raise their children right, to make sure they are fed, clothed, loved and nurtured, often at a huge expense to themselves. I know that not every mother gets it right, and not every mother is perfect, but it must be recognised that the immigrant mother perseveres. I have my own mother as my inspiration, but I can honestly say that there are many more of you who walk down the street with a stroppy child, carrying heavy shopping, worrying about money, time and life. You are recognised. You are important. You are doing a great job. Being a mama is hard, but lets take some time out to acknowledge those who are having it harder than us. Keep on movin mama, you are more powerful than you think.

Tokio Aoyama @ Hoxton Gallery at the Arch

I love a pop up. Especially where the pop art is right near my house and involves some amazing artistry. Strolling home after a heinous day of shopping with the flu, I was instantly revived when I stepped into the Gallery Under the Arch on Kingsland Road, hosting artwork belonging to the uber cool Tokio Aoyama. Skateboard Art, De La Soul and psychedelic reggaeton all fused together, Aoyama's artwork can only be described as one of a kind. Its almost as if he went on a mad acid trip and painted his dreams using every colour of the rainbow. I loved the way the artwork is totally irreverent, yet so fun. It sums up everything I love about my little corner of London. The exhibition is on for one more week only, so make sure you check it out! http://www.hoxtongallery.com/tokio-aoyama/

Vegetarian? Yes Please

Who said being a vegetarian meant being boring? Whilst I love to cook meat for my family and friends, I am a confirmed vegetarian since the day I was born (thanks mum, you have given me a habit for life!). As a result, I am always on the look out for interesting, tasty (and somewhat) healthy recipes to keep me happy, not to mention alive. This particular recipe is one of my favourites, and is versatile as a starter or as a main meal. You can mix it up by using figs instead of beetroot, or blue cheese instead of goats cheese. Easy Peasy!






Caramelised Beetroot and Goats Cheese Tart

Cooking Time

45 minutes 

Ingredients (serves 6)

• 2 sheets frozen puff pastry, partially thawed
• 1 egg yolk
• 3 medium beetroot
• 3 x 5cm long pieces lemon rind
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
• 1/2 teaspoon sea salt
• 2 tablespoons caster sugar
• 70g baby rocket
• 2 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar
• 1/3 cup walnuts, toasted, chopped
• 150g goat’s cheese 

Method

1. Preheat oven to 220°C/200°C fan-forced. Line a baking tray with baking paper.
2. Using a 10cm round cutter, cut 3 rounds from each pastry sheet. Place pastry on prepared tray. Combine egg yolk and 2 teaspoons cold water in a bowl. Brush pastry with egg yolk mixture. Bake for 10 minutes or until golden and puffed.
3. Meanwhile, wearing rubber gloves, peel each beetroot. Cut into 1cm batons. Bring a medium saucepan of water to the boil over high heat. Add lemon rind and beetroot. Cook for 6 minutes or until beetroot is almost tender. Drain. Discard lemon rind.
4. Heat half the oil in a frying pan over medium heat. Add beetroot. Cook, gently stirring, for 2 to 4 minutes. Add cinnamon stick, balsamic vinegar, salt and sugar. Cook, stirring, for 10 minutes or until beetroot is caramelised and tender.
5. Place rocket, vinegar, walnuts and remaining oil in a bowl. Toss to combine.
6. Gently press centre of each pastry round to make an indent. Top each pastry round with beetroot mixture. Sprinkle with goat's cheese. Transfer to plates and season with salt and pepper. Top with rocket mixture. Serve.