On Raising Naughty Daughters (And Why I'm So Glad They Didn't Turn Out Perfect).

Some call them naughty, Gran. I call them fearless. And I wouldn't change a single untamed moment.

Dear Gran,

It's a beautiful day in Borong, East Flores, and we're on the beach with the dogs. White powder sand stretches for miles, wrapping around the coast. The ocean is azure with the sun high, diamonds dancing on the waves. The salt air carries that familiar scent of seaweed and possibilities.

It reminds me of White Beach in Cebu - Ravenala Beach Bungalows. The last time we were all together as a family, my brother wedding, before everything changed. Do you remember how much the girls loved being there? How free they were, loving life and soaking up every experience, grabbing it with both hands like you always taught them to.

Watching the waves roll in today, I can almost see them again - eighteen and twenty, fearless in their bikinis, racing each other into the surf. You'd be so proud of the women they've become, Gran. It got me thinking about something someone once said about them, and how wrong - and right - they were.

The Moment Everything Shifted.

After I was made redundant, I spent Christmas and New Year in Dubai with my brother and sister-in-law. His wife is from Cebu, and her parents owned that little resort, Ravenala Bungalows on White Beach. It is a diver's haven. It's also where my youngest fell in love with the ocean in a way that would change everything.

We were snorkelling around Pescador Island when she took her first breath from a scuba tank. A tiny, unexpected aha moment - the kind that shifts everything. You would have loved watching her face light up underwater, Gran. That pure joy you always said was her superpower.

Looking back now, that moment was the beginning of who she'd become. But at the time, I was too busy worrying about who I thought she should be.

Raising Girls, Raising Myself.

Raising teenage girls by myself wasn't easy. It was my decision - a story for another time - but I was often out of my depth. They are only 22 months apart. They're thick as thieves, but chalk and cheese in every other way.

You knew them both so well, didn't you?

My eldest girl was the planner. She knew what she wanted, mapped her GCSEs, chased grades, walked a steady path. She appeared to all, to float through her early years like she was walking on rose petals. Everything neat, everything controlled, everything exactly as it should be.

My youngest girl was more untethered. She left sixth form after a year and wasn't sure what came next. At one point, she was dating someone five years older. They talked about getting married. Picked baby names. Sunday dinners with his parents.

Remember how stressed I was? How I'd call you, practically hyperventilating about her throwing her life away?

I was horrified. Not because of him, necessarily - but because I wanted so much more for her. For both of them. I wanted the world. I wanted movement, wonder, and mistakes made on the other side of the world, not at the end of someone else's dining table.

You kept telling me to trust her. "She'll find her way," you'd say. "Just like you did."

The Wrong Kind of Mum?

One day, my youngest told me her boyfriend's mum was a "proper mum" - she cooked every day, had fresh flowers on the table, remembered everything.

I felt like I'd been punched, Gran.

I thought I was a great mum. I never knew we were measured by how many hot meals we served. Remember how you'd try to teach me to cook a Sunday roast? How I'd get distracted and nearly burn the kitchen down?

I'd forgotten birthdays, missed sports days, ate M&S ready meals for dinner most nights. But we were happy. We laughed. We adventured. We were full of love.

I wasn't the school-gate kind of mum. I was the embarrassing one. The forgetful one. The one who showed up to parents' evening in my work clothes, hair still damp from the gym.

But I showed up in the ways that mattered most, or at least, I tried to. Just like you showed up for me, even when I was making my own beautiful messes.

Looking back, I was trying to ski through motherhood the same way I do on the slopes - stop every few metres to make sure I'm in control. Catch my breath. Check that no one's crashed. But life doesn't work like that does it. You can't always stop mid-slope. Sometimes you just have to trust the mountain and hope you don't barrel down, making a mess of everything.

When "Naughty" Looks a Lot Like Joy.

During that Christmas in Dubai, your voice was still so clear in my head, Gran. My sister-in-law, called her parents in Cebu, to wish them a Merry Christmas. She told her father I was there, and reminded him I was her sister-in-law.

He replied, "Ah yes, the one with the two naughty daughters."

I laughed - nervously.

Were they naughty? Had I raised brats? Was this what everyone thought of us?

But then I remembered what you always told Dad about me: "Spirited children become interesting adults."

They were the first ones at karaoke, singing their hearts out. They were the first to volunteer for a snorkelling trip. The first to order shots at the bar (much to my horror). They were living.

They weren't naughty, Gran. They had zest.

They were young women with salt in their hair and stars in their eyes. I realised then: if this is what being naughty looks like, I hope they never change. I hope they always choose the adventure over the safe seat. I hope they always sing too loud and laugh too much and dive in first.

Just like you taught me to do.

Growing Up Together.

I had my eldest young - you remember, I was barely older than she was in Cebu. I didn't know what I was doing. I was learning on the job, growing up while trying to raise two girls who were doing the same.

There were hard years, wild years, rollercoaster years. There were moments I wanted to get off and breathe. Moments, I called you crying, wondering if I was ruining everything.

But I was the parent, and whatever our version of parenting looked like, I wanted it to feel safe. Loving. Open. I wanted them to know they could tell me anything, even the things that scared me.

Maybe I wasn't the perfect role model. But I hope they saw what I tried to show them - that they have choices. They can walk away from anything that makes them unhappy. That life is big, messy, beautiful, and theirs for the taking.

Remember when I left to go travelling? I was so worried about how they would feel if I wasn't living in the house where they grew up. And you reminded me: "It doesn't matter where you are in the world, they know you love them and are proud of them."

You were right, as always.

The Women They Became.

At the time I left for New Zealand, my eldest had just moved to Australia, she travelled and then settled down into work as a graphic designer - exactly as she'd always planned. Steady, brilliant, building the life she'd mapped out in those teenage years.

The girl who once wanted to get married at 18, was sailing the world with the Royal Navy. That snorkel around Pescador Island changed everything. One breath underwater led to a life of adventure I never could have imagined for her.

They are bold, bright, beautiful brave women, Gran.

Both of them live fully, love fiercely, and choose their own paths.

And if that's what naughty daughters become, then I am proud to have raised the naughtiest.

As I sit here on this beach in Flores, watching the same kind of waves that called to my youngest all those years ago, I can feel you smiling. You always said they'd be fine. You always said I was doing better than I thought.

The dogs are playing in the surf now, just like the girls used to. Wild and free and completely themselves. There's something about the ocean that calls to untamed spirits, isn't there?

Maybe that's what good parenting really is - not creating perfect children, but raising humans who know how to be perfectly themselves. Who choose courage over comfort, adventure over approval, authenticity over perfection.

You taught me that, Gran. In your gentle way, in your fierce love, in the way you celebrated every beautiful mess I made.

And now I watch my daughters making their own beautiful messes on the other side of the world, and I know we did something right.

From the quiet of the mountains, walking beside you.