“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…
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