The grief of living is not the grief of losing. It is the grief of trying, of being in the middle of something hard with no clear end date, no guarantee, no moment where someone officially tells you it is okay to feel how you feel. It is the grief of a salary already spent. Of a father’s diagnosis that rearranged everything and the relief that he is fine now, which somehow does not cancel the weight of what it took to get there.
Tag: Essay
You will write long letters home, letters that will never make it home, because if your mom ever reads them, she’ll tell you “come back home, omo mi, at least there is food in your mother’s house ”. And she will nag you until you do, even though you do want to.
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