The immigration officer smiles as Elisa exits the gate. She says my kids stack up one by one, like stairs, and that I have my hands full. I tell her that they are good travelers, at a good age. She smiles again as she stamps my passport, says something I can’t quite make out about another family. I smile back, pleased in the moment.
The young woman at M-Mart convenience store in Bali greets me as I enter the store behind my kids. I had been in the store alone earlier and exchanged a smile with her when she asked me if I wanted “cigs” which took me a while to understand before saying no. She asks me if these are my kids, and I say yes, and we exchange another smile and I feel at ease.
I spent a week in Singapore and Bali with my kids for a summer vacation. I travel alone with them as a single parent. Most of the time I want to make sure they are having a good time and that I don’t mess up any of the logistics. My emotions subjected to their emotions in some loosely coupled way. It dawns on me that while the vacation is fun and the kids are great, that my needs are not being met (as if I know what those needs are beyond the primal). This is why I highlighted to two interchanges with the immigration woman and the convenience store clerk. In those two interactions, I was fully present and with a warm heart. I felt like me.
I also had some other interactions where I also felt like me, but these were of the unpleasant, frustrated, anxious, variety. The long check in when we arrive late and hungry to Singapore. The long checkout from our hotel to Bali when we needed to get to lunch before heading to the airport. Angling to cut off a woman trying to nudge her way past us in the airport security line. Getting angry at the Bali Airport porters who acted like they were part of the taxi service and then asked for a tip. It is that last one that I will highlight. We exited the baggage area in Bali and walked past the hawkers to the Taxi stand. I had read that it was a fixed price depending on what part of the island you were heading too. When I asked they said it was 200,000 Indonesian Rupee (about $15 USD) which was more than I had read so I went immediately into “they are ripping me off” mode to which I am gene adverse. The porters asking for a tip when we got into the taxi got me more tweaked. I didn’t yell or anything but I stood up to them and said sharply “I didn’t ask for your help. I already paid a lot” as we climbed into the cab. The kids were quiet in the backseat, feeding off my anger, waiting for it to smooth over. Or was it me -- projecting myself back in time. My dad driving the station wagon with us kids in back, our excitement slammed shut to silence in response to his anger at our anticipation. Was that me; I am not having that same effect on my kids, am I? Or is it a good thing that my kids see me in different moods. In any case, I felt bad for the tension in the car, then and now, real or imagined.
As we made our way to the hotel in Bali I made some small talk with the kids. Compared to Singapore they were not impressed with the small, crowded, chaotic streets. Suddenly we pulled into our hotel which felt out of place. Into our rooms and the kids spirits started to lift when they saw the size and in particular the stand alone bath. But what really changed things was when the restaurant. Thanks to tripadvisor I found a decently rated one 100 meters from the hotel. The staff was friendly, the pizza and steak had the kids happy and enjoying Bali. The next day would be our big tour day of Bali but it was that moment over pizza that I will remember most. Not for the peace or frustration of the real me slipping through but for me the parent doing my job. The fact that I could separate the two gives me hope. Hope that one day, with time, with work, and with luck the two sides can coexist like surf on a wave.