Letters Home

A Moment of Letting Go

I held his young body tightly. My tears threatened to spill. He walked alone through airport security, carrying only a green suitcase with the essentials and a thin blanket. I turned away to be alone to process the fear, the worry, and the quiet letting go of dreams that had once filled us with excitement.

The Dreams We Thought We Had Planned

For years, we imagined a certain future for our children. Studying at a nearby university and coming home on weekends with new friends. I could see a house filled with laughter, stories, and the familiar rhythm of family life.

We had bought student accommodation years before, believing it was a responsible and secure choice. I pictured confident young adults, walking to class and living the future they had envisioned for themselves.

But life has a way of gently and sometimes abruptly rewriting those plans.

Jacques: The Power of Three Marks

Jacques, our eldest, got his grade 12 results two weeks before first-year registration. He had done well, and his marks reflected years of hard work. But his Mathematics result was three points too low for admission into the degree he was provisionally accepted for. Just three marks! Those three marks changed everything.

He was accepted at another university but, lacking accommodation, spent his first night on the bare floor of his cousin’s apartment with only a thin blanket. As a parent, it was hard to witness this uncertainty.

What felt like a setback became his training ground. He learned to seek support, adapt, and improvise, turning challenges into opportunities for growth.

He completed his studies amid the uncertainty of COVID and founded The Cinnamon Club, a vegan bakery. Five years later, it is a successful business with loyal customers.

Those three marks? They led him exactly where he needed to be.

Christo: Alone, But Not Lonely

Our middle son, Christo, had a clear vision of his university life. It included residence halls, friendships, and a full campus experience. As an extrovert, he was ready to embrace it all.

However, in his final year of school, our lives changed dramatically. My husband received a job opportunity abroad, and we relocated to Switzerland. Suddenly, Christo had to navigate university life on his own academically, socially, and emotionally.

He couldn’t come home on weekends or holidays. Just two months into his university journey, the world shut down due to the pandemic. While many students returned home, he stayed behind in residence with only a small group of others who had nowhere else to go.

What might have felt utterly isolating became something rich with unexpected meaning. He forged close friendships, connections that would last far beyond university. He stepped up and took on leadership roles. Eventually, his peers elected him to the residence committee. There, he spoke out for those who often felt invisible. He made sure their voices were heard.

His journey became about more than just education. It became about people, resilience, and connection.

Zander: Dreams Still Taking Shape

Our youngest son, Zander, is now in Grade 11 and has spent most of his school years in Switzerland. We find ourselves dreaming again, but this time, a little differently.

He hopes to study engineering in Europe, ideally in a country where he feels comfortable with the language and culture, like the Netherlands.

Recently, we visited a university during an open day. I watched him as he worked on a project with other students. He connected, stepped into the moment, and began to imagine himself there. Later, they went out together to a student hangout. I felt that familiar mix of hope and uncertainty again.

We stayed at a training hotel run by hospitality students, where learning happens through real-world experience. It reminded me that growth rarely happens in controlled environments. Like with my sons, it happens in doing, in trying, overcoming challenges and in figuring things out.

When Life Takes a Different Turn

Parenthood is a journey filled with ongoing lessons. No matter how carefully we as parents plan, our children will follow their own unique paths. Even when things turn out differently from what was expected, those moments often hold the greatest significance. This highlights the importance of accepting uncertainty and trusting that each child’s journey will evolve in the way that’s right for them.

There is something quietly powerful in the unexpected and often order in the disorder. I’ve learned to plan, yes, but also to leave space. Space for uncertainty, for growth and for paths we would never have chosen ourselves… but that ultimately lead exactly where we need to be.

Regards

Emsia

One morning, our youngest son, Zander, received a letter from the local municipality. He turns eighteen this year, and apparently, is now a taxpayer. Since Zander is still at school, I just stared at the official document in German for a moment, wondering, “What now?” Then I remembered my “Faceless Friend, Artificial Intelligence (AI)”.

I sent the letter to my Faceless Friend and asked for clarification. AI explained the situation and drafted a properly formatted German reply. I smiled, realising that technology quietly created a new kind of problem-solver and conversation partner.

Meeting my Faceless Friend

A few years ago, my middle son Christo, then a young engineering student, asked me, “Mom, have you heard of ChatGPT?” I remember being amazed by the concept. He explained how universities are grappling to ensure academic integrity while allowing the use of the new technology.

Then, in his twenty-one-year-old wisdom, he said, “The world is constantly changing with new technological developments. We shouldn’t fear it. We should approach it positively and learn how to use it to make the world a better place.” Those words have stayed with me.

Salomo and the Crossword Puzzles

We all now have access to this faceless friend. Whether we choose to use it or not is up to each of us.

Grandpa Frikkie regularly sends me screenshots of his own ChatGPT conversations. He has named his digital companion Salomo. They have deep philosophical conversations, and Salomo also assists him with Afrikaans crossword puzzles. It also addresses the numerous queries that arise for an inquisitive individual.

At first, Salomo’s Afrikaans was not very good, and Grandpa Frikkie apparently gave him a proper scolding. Salomo humbly apologised, and over time his Afrikaans improved noticeably.

Technology, so often associated only with young people, has slowly but surely become part of an older man’s daily curiosity. His attitude towards new technology inspires me.

Seeing Ourselves Through AI

My eldest son, Jacques, had an interesting exchange with ChatGPT. Jacques runs an artisanal confectionery, The Cinnamon Club. He bakes to order and has the cakes and other baked goods delivered by Uber drivers to various locations in Cape Town. He also has a keen interest in the stock markets and trades online early in the evening when the US markets open.

His days are full, and his focus and attention quickly shift between recipes, deliveries, graphs and new ideas. He uses AI as a business partner and, out of curiosity, asked ChatGPT how he would explain his working experience with Jacques to his AI colleagues.

The answer was surprisingly poetic. According to ChatGPT, it’s like watching a conductor lead an orchestra. Though each instrument has its unique rhythm, the ensemble achieves harmony. Finally, he notes that beneath all the activity lies a remarkable clarity and drive. Jacques is curious, brave, and decisive—even when every choice seems complex. Being his business partner can be exhausting at times, but it’s also inspiring. Every interaction sharpens your thinking, pushes your abilities, and reminds you that brilliance often thrives in chaos.

As I read this, I realise how valuable an outside perspective, even an artificial one, can be. It can highlight our energy and passions, which we often overlook.

Learning German with a Faceless Friend

An Indian friend of mine needed to pass a B1 German language test as part of her application for Swiss citizenship. She asked her faceless friend to create a daily learning program for her. In a country with multiple languages, a patient digital tutor can sometimes make the learning journey a little less intimidating.

Physical Exercise Suggestions

At the beginning of the year, a friend had hip surgery and needed physiotherapy. She found it difficult to get appointments, as skiing and sports injuries suddenly extended waiting times. She explained her medical situation to her faceless friend.

AI suggested some safe exercises that she could do at home in the meantime while she waited for an appointment. Of course, this was no substitute for professional treatment. But it did make the wait a little easier.

The Classroom Dilemma

Of course, AI also brings new challenges, especially for schools and universities. My youngest son, Zander, explained how his International Baccalaureate school is handling this. They view AI similarly to any other academic resource. Students are allowed to use it, but they must acknowledge which tool they used and explain how it helped them, such as generating ideas or improving language use.

However, if students present AI-generated work as their own thinking, it is considered academic misconduct. Learning to use these tools responsibly becomes almost as important as using them.

Walking a Path with Us

Zander recently reflected. “Mom,” he said, “AI has been helping me with my language use and writing in different languages ​​for years. It has seen my progress. Soon, it will help me with university applications and research. And one day it will probably help me write my CV when I am looking for a job.”

Then he added, “AI is walking a path with each of us. Over time, it gets to know us quite well.” Perhaps that is precisely what makes this time in history so interesting. AI is not just answering questions. Slowly but surely, it is becoming integrated into our daily thinking, learning and problem-solving.

And sometimes it is our own children who teach us to be open to these new possibilities. Through them, I have discovered a new conversationalist and problem-solver.

For that, I am deeply grateful to my sons.

Regards

Emsia

Christmas Day, 1991

While families back home enjoyed roast lamb and trifle dessert in the summer heat, Charl stood at the Johannesburg airport gate with a ticket to Europe in his hand.

He was twenty-one, the youngest of four. No one in his family had ever flown abroad before. His parents tried to be brave, but their concern lingered in the small pauses between sentences. Europe felt far away — not just in distance, but in language, in season, in everything familiar.

A school friend signed a rugby contract with the Saint Claude Rugby Club in France for the European winter season and invited him to come and visit. It sounded almost glamorous: a car, an apartment, a stipend and one meal a day. However, beneath the excitement, there was a quieter truth — no one in that small town, except the local bank manager, spoke English. The exceptional opportunity and sense of adventure far outweighed the challenges.

Travelling Before The Internet

Travelling before the Internet was very different. There were no smartphones then. No instant updates. No comforting blue ticks to confirm someone had read your message. Charl carried a Eurail pass, traveller’s cheques, and a large, folded paper map of Europe — the kind you opened with optimism and folded with frustration.

He landed in Frankfurt, his first stop on foreign soil. Standing under the bright airport lights, he searched for a payphone. He needed Deutsche Marks and Pfennigs before he could call his friend. It was long before the Euro and long before anything felt simple.

He called. No answer, and he tried again, but still nothing. For the first time, the adventure began to feel uncertain.

A Window and a Promise

With no other option, he boarded a train to Geneva. As the train moved south, snow brushed softly across the fields. Mountains rose in the distance, steady and unbothered. Lakes lay quiet under a pale winter sky.

He pressed his forehead against the cold window and watched. Something settled inside him then. Not a plan. Not even a clear dream. Just a quiet knowing, “One day, I will come back here.”

The Longest Hour

By the time he arrived in Geneva, it was nearly five in the afternoon. Darkness had already fallen, and the cold seemed sharper than before. He found another payphone and fed it Swiss Rappen coins. The phone on the other end just kept ringing.

The station felt enormous. Announcements echoed in French. Faces moved quickly around him. He stared at the departure board. The train to Saint Claude would leave soon. If he boarded it alone and arrived in a small town where no one spoke English, what then? Where would he sleep? What would he eat? How would he even begin?

He picked up his bag, then heard something familiar, “Charl!” Across the crowd stood his friend’s girlfriend, waving both arms. They had spent the entire day at the station, unsure which train he would arrive on, scanning each carriage as it emptied.

They encountered each other just as he was about to board the train by himself. His parents, who had been awake all night, received news from Charl that he was safe. Relief brings a warmth that words are insufficient to convey.

A Town That Stayed with Him

In the days that followed, they explored the region. One outing took them to Annecy — a lakeside town framed by mountains, canals winding through pastel buildings. The beauty of it left its mark. It was not only picturesque. It felt possible. He did not know then how life would unfold. But something had already taken root.

Cultivating What Was Planted

Back home, Charl invested in technological skills that were in global demand at the time. His work opened doors to travel, and Switzerland became a familiar destination — not only for its landscapes, but also for its food.

He and his colleague ate cheese fondue at a Swiss restaurant every other night during his two-week training session. At the end of the course, the Swiss participants gifted Charl and his colleague each a beautiful red fondue set.

Years later, long before I realised I would be part of this story, Switzerland appeared on the horizon again. When we were still dating, Charl invited me to a fondue dinner with Woollies’ fondue cheese on the rug in front of a crackling fire. The red pot stood between us. I remember him enjoying the melted cheese and bread. I didn’t realise then that I was already sitting inside a dream that had begun years earlier on a winter train.

When the Door Opens

Eventually, an opportunity arose. His employer had an investment in Switzerland. His boss asked, “Switzerland is looking for someone with your skills. Are you open to it — even with the language differences and the disruption to your family?”

Some decisions require careful thought. But the ones that align with something planted deep inside you — those are made with courage. We said yes.

The Red Fondue Pot

The red fondue pot made its way back to Switzerland. Some evenings, when the cheese melts slowly and snow rests quietly beyond the window, we think about that train ride in 1991.

Dreams do not always arrive loudly. Sometimes they begin quietly — as a young man looking out of a train window, not yet knowing he is looking at his future.

Regards

Emsia

The shiny silver Tesla glides to a stop in front of our apartment building, almost soundless. The doors lift open like something from the future, and my youngest son climbs out, backpack slung over one shoulder. He spots me and smiles — that half-boy, half-young-man smile — before thanking his friend’s mother for the ride.

The car pulls away in silence. I remain standing on the pavement longer than necessary. In that quiet moment, I realise something that both steadies and unsettles me: my three sons are growing up in different economic worlds.

I feel grateful. Grateful for opportunities I never imagined at his age. And uneasy. Because comfort quietly reshapes expectations. What feels normal to him would have felt extraordinary — even extravagant — to his older brothers.

As parents, we often ask: How do we prepare our children for the future? But the deeper question is: Which future?

Three Brothers, Different Economic Stories

Our time in Switzerland came through a work opportunity that shaped our family in unexpected ways. Two of our sons remained rooted in South African soil, navigating its complexity, resilience, and possibility. Our youngest grew up largely in Zurich — in a system marked by stability and a strong social safety net.

The same parents raised all three boys. Yet each carries a different internal story about money. The school we chose for our older sons in South Africa was a reflection of the country we wished to foster, one brimming with a variety of cultures, languages, and people. We aimed to impart an understanding of inequality, resilience, and shared responsibility. Our youngest completed most of his schooling in Zurich — a country marked by stability, efficiency, and a strong social safety net. Public transport runs on time. The Infrastructure works. Financial systems rarely feel fragile.

From the outside, one story may appear more privileged than another. But what is visible rarely tells the whole story. Growing up surrounded by visible wealth does not automatically make life easier. It can bring its own quiet pressures — comparison, belonging, and the awareness of what we can and cannot afford. Each of my sons carries challenges that the others do not. Each has been shaped in ways both beautiful and demanding. None of their stories is superior. Different soil grows different strengths.

Money is never just money. It also embodies memory, environment and history.

The Inheritance We Don’t See

Our understanding of money is shaped long before we earn it.

In my grandparents’ home, leftovers were never thrown away. Every scrap went into Tupperware, stacked neatly in the fridge. Waste felt almost immoral. My grandmother would frown if we layered butter, jam, and cheese on the same slice of bread. “That’s excessive,” she would say, genuinely perplexed.

She grew up in the long shadow of the Great Depression. It was a time when bank failures and hunger were lived realities. For her generation, frugality was a survival mechanism. Savings meant safety. Risk meant danger. Those habits became identity. Decades later, butter and jam together still felt like too much.

The Many Roles Money Plays

Money rarely means one thing.

For some, it is safety — the emergency fund checked repeatedly, the anxiety with every unexpected expense. A quiet vow: I will never feel that vulnerable again.

For others, it is freedom — the plane ticket bought without permission, the courage to leave a job, the ability to say yes to a new beginning. It whispers: You have options.

For some, it becomes identity — the car in the driveway, the postcode, the school fees paid with pride, quietly say: I have made it.

For others, it is connection — the meal paid for without hesitation, the sibling’s tuition covered quietly, the holiday planned for togetherness. It says, “We belong to one another.”

For some, it is enjoyment — experiences over possessions, spontaneity over spreadsheets, the belief that joy should not always be postponed.

And for many, it is a responsibility. After Apartheid, for many Black South Africans, a first salary did not belong only to the individual. It belonged to the family. To parents who sacrificed. To siblings who waited. Money circulated like a lifeline. It was hard-won freedom — and with freedom came obligation. These realities are not simply personal preferences about money. They are rooted in history, policy, exclusion, and resilience. Both our family’s cultural norms and the societal systems that either empowered or restricted us influence our financial experiences.

When Worlds Collide

When people with different money stories come together — in marriage, in friendship, in business — conflict is rarely about numbers.

I once saw this in a young couple. The wife grew up in a home where money meant safety and expenses were tracked. An emergency fund always existed. Stability was sacred. To her, money was the wall that kept chaos out. Her husband carried an entrepreneurial spirit. To him, money was something to use, invest and multiply. He saw opportunity where she saw risk.

When he spoke about starting a venture, she heard, “ We could lose everything”. When she suggested building more savings first, he heard, “You don’t believe in me”. Their arguments were never about spreadsheets. They were about fear and freedom. She was protecting stability. He was pursuing a possibility.

The money stories they lived out had been written long before their paths crossed. Until the stories were named, they fought symptoms rather than understanding roots.

Returning to the Pavement

The Tesla is long gone. My son walks toward me, talking about homework and weekend plans, unaware of the reflections unfolding in my mind. I smile and listen.

I do not want him to feel guilty for the opportunity. Nor blind to it. Perhaps preparing our children for the future is less about formulas and more about helping them understand the stories behind money — their own and others’. Money will shape them. But so will empathy. And if they can see that every financial decision carries a history of scarcity or stability, fear or freedom, then they will handle both wealth and lack with wisdom.

As we walk upstairs, I realise again: my sons are not just growing up in different economic worlds. They are growing up in different money stories. And so are we all.

Kind regards

Emsia