Thailand - On the return

Well, here we are in Thailand — after seven months spent mostly in Spain, reconnecting and making new connections to Dani’s homelands and to half of the girls’ roots. I don’t think I’ll fully process this time for a long, long while, but one thing is for sure: this trip has been absolutely worth it. Every crazy moment, every moaning child, every stressful border crossing, every uncomfortable night. All of it. Worth it. Amazing, scary, truthful, and everything in between.

As I sit here on a beach in Thailand — where Dani and I first met almost 19 years ago — I find myself reflecting on circular moments. Traveling like this at 45, with teenage-ish kids, and with a husband I’ve been married to for 16 years feels very different. I don’t crave the “totally new” as much as I once did. Instead, I seek out those moments I love to repeat, but now with more mature eyes. Moments I can share with my kids, so they might carry away a sliver of my experience.

That’s what the last months in Spain were about — mostly for Dani, but also for me: showing the girls the places we love from our past. Places filled with joy, and sometimes pain.

It all feels like a dream, yet it’s a dream we’ve made real. And the buzz of knowing we created this life for ourselves is very, very cool.

I do wonder how we’ll feel being back at base. We all carry mixed emotions. There’s so much to return to: wonderful friends and whānau, school for the girls, and a more settled rhythm for a while. Drawers will feel like a luxury bonus.

And yet, beyond the comforts, there’s also a sense of anticipation. How will these months of living in-between shape the way we land back home? Will we slow down, hold onto the openness that travel brought us, and weave it into our everyday lives? Will the girls feel stronger in who they are, carrying Spain and Aotearoa within them? Will Dani and I find fresh energy in the familiar, seeing home with new eyes?

What I do know is that going back doesn’t mean “going back to how it was.” We return changed — fuller, stretched, holding new stories. And as we settle again, I hope we keep choosing with intention: making space for connection, for creativity, and for the circular moments that remind us of who we are, together.

Finding Our People at the Ubuntu Worldschooling Hub

When we set out on our seven month world - schooling adventure, I knew we would learn a lot. What I didn’t expect was how deeply we would come to value community, and how a single place in the north of Spain would affirm the way we see connection, learning and life itself.

How I View Worldschooling

Worldschooling is one of those concepts that seems to mean something slightly different to everyone. At its core, it is essentially homeschooling while travelling, but each family shapes it in their own way, adapting it to suit their values, rhythms and needs.

Over the last few years, this lifestyle has really taken off, likely fuelled by the rise of remote work becoming far more accessible in certain industries. While families have been travelling and educating their children for decades, what has emerged more recently is the rise of community spaces that allow world schooling families to connect, learn together and find support.

To me, this makes perfect sense. We are only doing this as a seven-month experience, and even in that short time we have felt moments of loneliness, craving community not just for our children but for ourselves too.

That is where Worldschooling Hubs come in. They have been appearing all over the world, offering a sense of belonging, shared experiences and collaborative learning. I first came across the idea last year while planning our trip. We decided to try out the Ubuntu Worldschooling Hub in Cantabria, Spain, partly because Spain is our base and we have family in the north, and partly because we loved the values on their website which resonated deeply with our own ideas about community, generosity and connection.

So we took the leap. And wow… I am so glad we did.

A Space Built for Connection

It is the people who truly make a community, but having a well prepared environment certainly helps. This worldschooling hub is the result of a beautiful collaboration between Pas CoLiving (pascoliving.co) and Ubuntu (espacioubuntu.org), brought to life by Neida and Jossera from Ubuntu and Lulu and Oscar from PAS and their support crew Lara, Gabbie and Emilia. These incredible humans, educators, social entrepreneurs, community weavers, and all round wonderful souls, have blended their skills and passions to create a space where connection thrives and beautiful experiences unfold.

We had our own little cabin with two rooms, a bathroom, and a fully equipped kitchen, giving us a cosy private space. At the same time, we had access to shared community areas for working, educating the kids, cooking, and enjoying time together. We became part of the rhythm of daily life, feeding the animals, tending the garden, and pitching in wherever we were needed.

The worldschooling families were joined by digital nomads who were also seeking community, perfectly in line with the kaupapa (intention) of PAS. For us and our children, this was the cherry on top. Not only were there daily activities organised by Neida, Lara and often co created with parents, but my children also gained a group of new “aunties” and “uncles” of all ages who guided them in so many ways from cooking to surfing and beyond.

Learning in Community

One of the most inspiring aspects of our time at Ubuntu was the collective nature of decision making. Everyone’s voice, children and adults alike, mattered. This naturally led to a lot of learning about cross cultural communication, not always easy but always respectful. I loved watching the children connect with others from different parts of the world, navigating not only language differences but also different ways of doing things.

One simple yet powerful example was when they played a board game together. As each child explained how the game was played in their own country, they had to negotiate, adapt, and sometimes let go of “their” rules to create a shared version. It was like a little United Nations in action, a beautiful, organic lesson in compromise, empathy and respect.

The skills my children gained here went far beyond academics:

• Finding a role within a community

• Practising empathy and patience

• Understanding the power of gifting energy as a way to connect

• Using nonviolent communication (NVC)

• Deepening their connection with nature

• And much, much more

As a family, we chose to engage fully in community life, and we loved every moment of it. This hub was not just for the children, it was for all of us. We found our people here. We left inspired to make changes in our own lives so we can continue cultivating the “global weaver” energy we experienced at Ubuntu.

We miss PAS deeply, but we have realised that what Lulu, Oscar, Neida, Jossera and the Ubuntu–PAS community have built is something we now carry within us. The connections are for life. And we hope to continue this work back in Aotearoa New Zealand, while also nurturing our friendships across the globe.

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If you are curious about worldschooling or simply looking for a way to deepen your family’s connections while travelling, I cannot recommend the Ubuntu Worldschooling Hub at Pas CoLiving enough. It is more than a place to stay, it is a place to grow, to learn, and to belong.

Living Between Worlds: A Series on Bicultural Love, Parenting, and Belonging

I’ve always felt most alive at the intersections—between cultures, countries, identities, and ideas. Raised in Southeast Asia by Pākehā parents, I've spent my life navigating the spaces between worlds. Now, as a mother raising bicultural tamariki (children) in a mixed-heritage whānau (family), the questions of home, identity, and belonging feel even more layered—and more urgent.

This blog series, Living Between Worlds, is a collection of reflections from over a decade of exploring these themes—personally, professionally, and poetically. It’s part memory lane, part love letter, and part inquiry into what it means to belong when you don’t neatly fit into one place, one culture, or one story.

Over three posts, I’ll revisit writings from my younger self, offer stories from my life today, and reflect on how my understanding has shifted along the way. 

The titles are:

1. Drawn to Difference – A look at my origin story, what have been some of the things that lead me to falling in love with difference across worlds.

2. Raising Bicultural Tamariki – Thoughts on parenting children who carry multiple heritages, and what it means to raise them with roots and wings.

3. Where is Home? – A reckoning with place, belonging, and how identity evolves when you’re constantly navigating the in-between.

This series is deeply personal, but I know I'm not alone in these questions. So whether you’re in an intercultural relationship, raising global or bicultural kids, or just pondering where (and with whom) you feel most at home—I hope these reflections offer something to you.

Thanks for reading and walking with me, between worlds.

PS: These links will take you through to my business website :-) 

Granada: Phase Two – Old Haunts and New Hangups

 So, here we are, back in Granada!  Twelve years ago, this city was our jam. We were young, carefree (well, as carefree as you can be with a 5yr old in tow), and totally in love with the Granada vibe. Our eldest, Nikita, basically grew up on tapas and sunshine. But, like all good things (or maybe not-so-good things, depending on how you look at it), our time here came to an end. Political winds were shifting in Spain, opportunities felt limited. So, back to New Zealand we went, leaving a little piece of our hearts behind.

Fast forward to now, and we've rolled into town… in a slightly rusty van named Ramona (after a burger we ate, near where we bought her in Madrid). Ramona's a bit of a banger, but she gives us the freedom to roam, which is priceless. And Granada hasn't disappointed so far! Sun-drenched days, tapas, beach trips, valley hikes, and even a jaunt up to the snow – the variety here is insane.

Being back here with Sia and Anika is… interesting. On one hand, it's pure nostalgia overload for me, reliving all those memories of our younger days with Nikita. I'm practically bursting with stories and anecdotes, eager to share the magic of this place with them. On the other hand, they're… well, they're kids. They nod politely, feign interest, and then promptly ask if we can go to the mall.

Yes, the mall. We're in Granada, people! A city overflowing with artisan shops, unique boutiques, and handcrafted treasures. And all they want to do is hit up the air-conditioned, chain-store paradise. I swear, I've aged ten years in the past week just trying to navigate this particular parenting challenge.

It's a humbling experience, this worldschooling gig. Trying to balance my own desire to immerse them in culture with their very real need for routine and, let's face it, the allure of the familiar. I'm learning to curb my expectations, to celebrate the small victories – like the fact that I managed to sneak in a little Alhambra education and a geometry lesson disguised as Islamic architecture appreciation today.

The little glimmers of genuine interest we see in them feel like striking gold. We're trying to become super-attuned to those moments, making sure they know we see them, that we appreciate their (fleeting) curiosity.

The biggest win so far? They seem genuinely more relaxed here. Maybe it's the sunshine, maybe it's the slower pace of life, or maybe it's the fact that we're staying in our friends' comfortable house while they're away. 

Whatever it is, it's working. 

Granada, Phase Two, is officially underway. 

Art as Protest: Teaching Our Children the Cost of War

Yesterday, the girls and I went to the Reina Sofía Museum to see La Guernica. I’d been gearing up for this moment, as we’ve been working on a project to get our heads around not just the painting itself but the cost of war, the Spanish Civil War, and how art is used as a form of protest. No big deal, just your average casual family discussion topics.

The museum was full of artworks that laid bare the horrors of war from all angles—gut-wrenching, thought-provoking, and at times, overwhelming. But standing in front of La Guernica, in a world where women and children are still being bombed from above in Palestine, the weight of it all felt even heavier. Art has this uncanny way of making history feel not so much like history, but like something reaching out and shaking you by the shoulders.                                                                                         

I’ll be honest, I’ve been stressing about how to educate the girls while we travel. I have plenty of grand ideas—executing them with a tween and a teen, though? That’s another story. There’s been resistance. There’s been eye-rolling. At times, I’ve questioned my own sanity. But then, every so often, the magic happens. They think. They connect. They ask questions. They tie their whakapapa to the Spanish Civil War. They ask Dani whether their family was starving during the war. The answer: yes. Madrid’s working class were cut off, left to starve. The suffering rippled across the country.

And then, in front of La Guernica, we got into the big stuff. Symbolism. Protest. How a painting can slap the world awake. And how we can use art to process the things that words sometimes can’t touch.

So, despite my worries, I think we’re getting somewhere. Teaching my kids while on the road may not be a polished, textbook-perfect experience, but that’s fine by me. History isn’t about rote learning; it’s about feeling, questioning, making connections. And if it comes with a bit of pushback and some dramatic sighing, well, I’ll take it as part of the process. It’s sinking in—whether they admit it or not

Healing, Resistance, and the Power of Walking Together

 

#8M in Madrid truly opened my heart. It’s been a long time since I’ve been surrounded by so many people who share my values—who see the world as I do, who believe in justice for all. Walking together, dancing together, talking together, and chanting together—it all has a deep healing power.

As someone who has survived domestic violence and done the hard work of healing, this march meant even more. Violence against women—all women, including our trans sisters—is relentless. And in a time when toxic masculinity is still being glorified by men like Andrew Tate, Elon Musk, and even the so-called leader of the free world, I worry for my three girls.

I’m grateful to have a partner now who understands his privilege—who works every day to model a different kind of masculinity. One where men take responsibility for their emotions, unlearn harmful patterns, and heal from the trauma inflicted by unhealed men. Because it’s a precarious time for women.

Our rights are being rolled back. Women are being pitted against each other. Even within feminism, there are those resisting intersectionality—clinging to fear instead of opening to justice. That was starkly clear in Madrid, where two marches took place: one that was trans-inclusive, anti-racist, and deeply rooted in collective liberation; and another that was exclusionary, driven by anxiety and protectionism.

But standing in the midst of thousands, feeling the energy, the solidarity, the hope—we created something powerful together. Across ages, races, genders, and abilities, we found connection. And in a world that feels increasingly divided, that alone is an act of resistance.

I did my master’s in Human Rights Frameworks because they help us navigate the complexity of equity. They push us beyond fear and scarcity, reminding us that migrants, refugees, the Rainbow community—those who don’t fit into the structures we’ve built since World War II—are not threats, but people we can learn from, uplift, and stand beside.

The hard truth is, the very rights that movements fought for over the last 80 years are being challenged again. So what are we doing about it?

Are we teaching our children that power and success are not about domination and wealth? That real success is about healing, looking after our people, and dreaming of a world that doesn’t harm the planet or each other?

Reframing success. Honouring the movements that came before us. And refusing to go backwards.

These were the thoughts running through my mind as I marched. Walking with thousands. Walking with those who grow, birth, nurture — despite of the men who have yet to truly become men because they are still trapped in a childlike belief that their worth is measured by their bank balance and their ability to bully others into submission.

There is another way. And we must keep walking toward it.

💜💪 #IWD2025 #WāhineToa #StrongerTogether #TransInclusive #AntiRacist #JusticeForAll #ReframeSuccess

Two Weeks In: A Lesson in Patience

What I’m noticing, just two weeks into this adventure, is that my patience needs some serious work. 

Wow. I really can be hard on myself.

These first fourteen days have been all about shaking off the jetlag, finding our feet in this new rhythm, and adjusting to the full-on pace of big city life here in Madrid. The girls have started Spanish classes and are doing some kind of home education with me in the mornings — which, honestly, as I write that down, makes me pause. That’s actually a lot.

But this morning was one of those ones that just knocked me sideways. My youngest woke up missing home. Really missing home. She wanted to call her bestie back in New Zealand, but it was the middle of the night there. And when the tears came, they hit me right in the heart.

Suddenly, all the doubts crept in. What have we done? Why did we think this was possible? Who did we think we were, taking their education into our own hands, dragging us halfway across the world?

It was one of those heavy mornings where everything felt hard.

Thankfully, my husband did what he does so well. He grounded me. He reminded me of our why, of the kaupapa that brought us here in the first place. And he nudged me gently to zoom out for a moment — to see what we’ve already achieved in just ten days.

I have been listing them off like a grounding meditation:

The walks around the city.
The friends and family we’ve connected with.
The way the girls are now confidently hopping on and off the Metro.
How they’re feeling brave enough to head to the local shop on their own to buy bread and milk.

And then there was Sunday.
A golden afternoon at Mercado de San Fernando in Lavapiés, with Anika and Dani getting to model for a local drawing group, the buzz of the market all around us, beers and food with friends. The amazing little bookstores we’ve stumbled into. The art on every corner.

And just like that, I remembered why we’re here.

We lived here 14 years ago but these streets are starting to show me different layers. I’ve found myself completely fascinated with is the faces of the older people here — especially those over 70. There’s something about them that feels like living history. I look at some of them and wonder if they were part of the La Movida, that generation who shook off the weight of fascism and burst into colour through art, music, and literature. It's fitting to be reminded of this during these times when fascist rhetoric seems to be rising again.

There’s a side of Madrid that hums with collective action, with resistance, with this deep, unshakable belief that the status quo is always worth questioning. You can feel it in certain neighbourhoods. You can see it in the posters on the walls, and hear it in the conversations.

And now, as we inch closer to March 8th — International Women’s Day — I’m curious to witness how this city shows up. From what I’ve been told, it’s a day that matters here. A day that pushes feminism to keep evolving. To stay honest. To hold its intersectionality at the core, or risk becoming something else entirely. There are TERFs here too, of course, and I wonder how those tensions will play out on the streets.

But back to today.

After the heartbreak of the morning, and a few days of walking beside my children as they navigate the ache of missing home, I’m starting to feel us settling.

We’re exactly where we need to be. 

I can see it now, through the tiredness and the homesickness. We’ve done the work — on ourselves, on our relationship, on our vision as a family. We’ve laid the foundation to guide our kids through this season in a way that feels grounded and true.

And that, right now, feels like enough.