Another posthumous birthday, brother.

I wonder how, I wonder why, I wonder where you are. 02/06/23.

Emeka, happy birthday. 🎂

I remember. I do. I always say that the people who are forgotten are the ones who have no one to remember them. I think this is true. The ones we know who have attained immortality despite physical death are the ones whose memories we have carried on in books, in music, and in anything they did while here.

For you, it is your family that carries you on.

I’d like that anyone who walks or waltz into my life and peers close enough sees traces of the fact that you have been, even though you are not anymore. I’d like that they know who you are, what you meant to me, to us all, and can use that information to conjure images of what you might have been if you were here.

I dream of you often. It seems like my dreams are taking hints of these Gen Z times because in a recent one, you had dreads on, and Daddy did not seem to mind. In the last one, you came back and said it was all a prank and that you were still around. When I woke up, I thought real life was a dream because you weren’t there.

I once tried that Snapchat filter that changes the facial structure to that of the opposite sex, and I wasn’t fazed when I saw you staring back at me. I am glad I look like you. I used to hate it. But now, I am glad I look like you.

Sometimes, I wish I felt more pain.

Time isn’t healing, it’s numbing. We’ve had to get used to being without you. We had no choice. Every tomorrow became today, and suddenly 2018 has become five years ago. Would you want us to stop time if we could, for you?

I wish you could see what I have become. Your little sister, who couldn’t sit at the dining table to eat without a book in her hands to read, now has two books to her name. You would have been proud.

I remember you when I play the music that you like. I never really hear the lyrics, I hear your bad singing, and I see your excited facial expressions as you cheered your younger siblings on; always the life of the party. We had to like whatever song you took a fancy to because we would have to listen to it until you were tired of it.

I have your shirt too, the one with the lined blue collar. Sometimes, it’s a souvenir of your existence, and sometimes it is just another easy shirt to get into when I need to run an errand. Either way, I am glad I have it.

I don’t like Burna Boy as much as you taught me to.

I don’t think you would very much too. But I don’t know, maybe that’s because I prefer Maverick City songs now. But that’s beside the point; he’s been a bad boy these days. I can’t explain it.

What else is there to say? So much, so much. But I am not here to say so much, not today. I just want everyone to know that I remember you. I do. These memories won’t fade if I find somewhere to keep them. Somewhere safe. I have chosen the memories of others to keep you in, so whoever reads this will know that I had a brother, a very special person, our firstborn, the one who opened my mother’s womb.

P.S. – You should know I had to double-check my calendar to be certain today was indeed the 2nd of June. Of course, it’d be easier if you were available to post ‘Happy birthday to me’ on your social media and then hassle me for a birthday gift. I guess I’ll have to make do.

I love you very much,
Your little sister,
Ogo 🤍