Aurora

Aurora rushed into my Berlin flat, cradling her newborn in her arms, with a nanny following closely behind, laden with bags of baby supplies. She was the epitome of youthful energy, a mother in her twenties, radiating vitality.
The living room was centered around a glass coffee table surrounded by a comfortable sofa and two large armchairs. The nanny settled on the sofa while Aurora sank into one of the armchairs.

“What’s your baby’s name?” I asked.
“Tallulah,” she replied, shaking a bright red rattle in front of the baby. “I have two girls—Feelija and Tallulah.”
“Those are beautiful names. May I ask what you do for a living?”
“I do a lot of modeling and influencing, but my real passion is music—my instrument is my voice.”
“Is it easy to balance modeling and influencing with motherhood?”
“It works well with being a mom because it gives me time for my kids while still earning money. That’s the most important thing for me—giving all my heart to them. I’d never take a job that isn’t compatible with their needs. But if you want to be creative in this field and not just a typical blogger, it’s not that easy.”

“What do you appreciate most about yourself?”
“That I’m arty and have a free mind.”

“Are you a happy person?”
“Yeah,” she laughed. “I’m always happy! Even when I’m tired or the world feels upside down, I stay positive.”

“What’s the most important lesson life has taught you?”
She sighed. “That love is everything. Even letting go…” She sighed. “I’m in a tough place right now with the daddy of my kids. We’re best friends, and I love him deeply, but we’re going through what I’d call a breakup. What I’m learning is that letting someone go doesn’t mean losing them. My kids have also taught me so much—probably more than I’ve taught them.”
“Could you share an example?”
“When I’m utterly exhausted, when I feel like I can’t go on, I just look at them,” her voice softening. “They remind me they need me, and that keeps me going. When I was younger, I’d let myself collapse if things got too hard—just lie down and let everything go. But now, when I look at my kids, I know I don’t have that option. I have to be there for them, always.”
“That sounds tough.”
“It is,” she admitted with a small, weary smile. “Very tough. But it’s also the most beautiful thing in life. My older girl has shown me the wild side of living.” She sighed. “She’s easygoing and uplifting, but also incredibly sensitive. She’s taught me to slow down and act differently than I normally would. I’m used to being active, always on the move, surrounded by people. With her, I’ve learned to pause, to stay home, to meet her where she is. It’s not natural for me, but somehow, I’ve grown to love it.”

“What is love?”
“Love is a deep connection where you let go of your ego for someone else.”

“Is there something you feel is missing in your life?”
“I’m happy with my kids and where I am.” She was rocking Tallulah, who grunted and hummed in her arms. “But my passion for music isn’t fulfilled. Also, I have a best friend, but I miss someone who’s made out of the same stone as I am.”
“Do you feel your partner is from a different stone?”
“In a way, yes. We understand each other, and we share the same sense of humor, but there’s a depth he won’t explore with me. I think he’s afraid to go there.”
“Why do you think so?”
She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the baby in her arms as Tallulah blew a tiny bubble of drool. “I can’t really say why—it’s more of a feeling. When I talk to him, I sense this wall, like he’s disengaged from the deeper parts of my mind. It’s not that he doesn’t care, but his curiosity stops at the surface. Conversations beyond fun or humor feel… unreachable.”

“Do you still find yourself interested in his mind?”
“Of course. I’m always trying to reach through, to get behind the wall he’s built.”
“Why do you think he built that wall?”
“I think he’s scared. Scared to show what’s really going on inside him.” Tallulah interrupted the moment with hiccups, as if adding her own commentary to the conversation.

“What are the essentials of a relationship for you?”
Aurora passed Tallulah to the nanny, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. “To feel love. To feel appreciated.” Tallulah whined, her little nose running. “Oh, bébé,” Aurora cooed, gently drying her daughter’s nose before glancing back at me with a polite, “Sorry.” Tallulah, pleased with her mother’s attention, giggled, and Aurora couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah,” she continued. “To feel loved and appreciated. Not through gifts, but by being truly seen—seen for who I am. I want someone to be genuinely interested in what’s going on in my head.”

“Do you have a dream?”
“Maybe to give myself enough self-worth that I don’t need validation from others. I don’t want to depend on anyone—it pulls me away from myself.”
Tallulah’s hiccups continued. Aurora reached for her, taking her from the nanny. She lifted her shirt and guided the baby to her breast. A serene silence fell over the room as Tallulah latched on, the hiccups fading into contentment. If I were Rembrandt, I thought, this would be a scene worth painting.

“How do you know when to feed her?”
“She starts putting her hand in her mouth. And my breasts give me signals too,’ she explained with a laugh.

“How often do you have sex?”
“Not often. It’s just who I am. I don’t need sex unless there’s a really deep emotional connection. Without that, it feels… dirty. So, it’s been a long time.”

“What’s your greatest fear?”
“To be forgotten.”
“Do you mean after your death?”
“No, while I’m still alive.” She sighed, cradling Tallulah closer. “Take the daddy of my girls, for example. My fear is that if I let him go, he’ll forget about me.”

“And how would you like to be remembered?”
“As feelings. I’d love to leave a feeling inside others. When they think of me, I don’t want them to see something; I want them to feel something.”
“What kind of something?”
She laughed. “Something good!”

“What’s the hardest decision you’ve ever made?”
“To stop caring about what others wanted me to do. I was in ballet school with Sasha (our mutual friend) — that’s where we met. I was very good at dancing, and everyone kept telling me, ‘Oh, you’re so good, it’s perfect for you!’ But it was never what I really wanted. I kept doing it for a long time, just to please others.” She paused. “Quitting was the hardest decision I’ve ever made.”
Aurora stopped breastfeeding, and Tallulah let out a brief cry of complaint, her tiny voice filled with protest.

“Describe yourself in a couple of words.”
“Loving, caring, wild, and authentic.”
“What’s wild about you?”
She laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What exactly do you want to know about it?”
“What comes to your mind?”
“I go where others don’t go.“
“For example?”
She stood up, rocking Tallulah. “While others went to high school, then university, I got pregnant and started earning my own money. I was 21.”

“What made you decide to get pregnant?”
“I wasn’t afraid of it. My partner wanted to wait, saying, ‘Let’s wait till we’re older, wiser.’ But for me, it was like, ‘No, I want to do it now. Why wait? It’s life!’ And life also comes with pain, you know? When I gave birth, I didn’t take painkillers. I never judge people who do, but for me, I couldn’t imagine going through it without feeling everything.”
Tallulah sneezed, the sound drawing laughter from both Aurora and the nanny. “Bless you!” the nanny said.

“You said earlier that you’re going through a breakup. What do you mean by ‘going’?”
“It’s been over three years now. It’s a mix of letting go and taking him back, being scared to lose him. Only now am I starting to understand that letting go doesn’t mean losing him. We’re not lovers anymore, but we’re growing into something else—friends, teammates, a family.”

“Will you still be a team if you have a new lover?”
“Well, there are always two people in this constellation—it’s not just my choice. For me, another man wouldn’t change the team we have, but it’s also up to him. I know it’ll be hard for him because he’s very jealous and possessive.”

“Do you know the flower forget-me-not?”