Dear Nana, 

it's Eid today. the country is in turmoil, the government is about to be overthrown. But I feel for no one as intensely as I feel for myself at the moment because I miss you and I've not let myself feel this way for a while now. I wonder if this is what moving on feels like, sometimes, but then I reel back, find myself staring at the ceiling hours into the night and feeling every nerve ending scream because I can't turn back time. 

Naasith is sick today and it's not the same but it's a little like we're back in 2019 when you told us about your aches and pains. It feels far too familiar, so I understand the frantic expression that's settled into mama's face, I understand the helplessness in dada's, I also understand that I'm not entirely feeling because I'm afraid if I let myself to I might not be able to make it out okay. 

Most days, it feels like no time has passed. But it's day 832. that's... a lot of days.

I wonder if you're sleeping well. If rest looks good on you. I bet it does. Sometimes I envy you because life is becoming overwhelming and I want to be where you are. Other times, I know I'm not ready. Not as you were. I know death came to you at the best moment and it's my most sincere prayer, for myself and everyone I love. For death to come to me when I am ready. Like you were. 

I wanted this to be a letter of updates but I can't help wanting to know how you are. I'll never know, not in this lifetime anyway, and it breaks my heart because you were right here a couple years ago, weren't you? 

Today I wanted to know what age I started speaking in, purely out of curiosity. Ma was quick to note that I was chattering away in response to your endless rambles long before I could even understand what you were talking about. A little over one apparently. and it warms my heart to know that you taught me the words I speak and I learnt from you, before I could even register it. Apparently the standard conversations started with an excited, 'Nangi!' followed by an equally excited, 'Nana?' because of course one of my first words had to be Nana. 

What did we talk about, nana? I wish I remembered. I wish I could recall every word you spoke and keep it in my memory. The more days that pass, the more I am afraid of forgetting the little things. Like the feel of your fingers and the sound of your voice and the ever insistent 'Nangi' because you took all of that with you. Chincha calls me that occassionally, 'nangi', but it doesn't ring the same. It's comforting, but that's about it. 

There's no Eid get-together tonight. It should have been at our place, but given the circumstance, it's understandable, and in a way, better for us too. We were able to have it last time and while I enjoyed being around family, I also felt that nothing's the same anymore. Naturally, we're all grown up and apart, but I think your absence is more pronounced in crowds and every crowded room echoes memories I wish I'd paid more attention to. 

I baked a chocolate cake last night, just to play pretend. And I thought about how you've only ever tried the cupcakes I baked every couple months. That you weren't around when the stress baking started. That the cookies and cakes I failed at baking right didn't make you laugh the way it did everyone else. Because you're not around. But you are, aren't you? You're right here in my thoughts, always. 

I've been at home for over three weeks now. Visited the doctor a couple of times, went grocery shopping twice maybe, but it's mostly been a ritualistic routine of staying home. Ma brings you up every time I talk to her about wanting change. How much change you must have wanted. How much you weren't given. How frustrated it made you. And I understand, and I pray you roam all over the heavens. that you never grow tired of exploring. that the world grows with every step you take because you deserve open skies and rolling fields. And selfishly, I wish the same for myself. 

I'll stop here, because I know you never liked reading unless it was stimulating. You never liked repetition but here I'll tell you again that I miss you and sometimes it makes living very difficult. But you know, better than anyone else, that I'll persist, because it's the only thing I know to do well. Eid Mubarak, Nana. 

Till next time, 

Nangi.