Letters to Empress

  I grew up with Empress. Even though I don’t remember the very early years, my mom told me that when I was a baby, just two or three years old, she had to go to school far away — in another state. For months at a time, I was left in Empress’s care. It felt natural to be close to her. My mom once told me about the day she finished school and returned home and empress when to pick her up from the park. When they got off the taxi, my brothers ran to welcome her. And instead of running to my mom, I ran to Empress and hugged her. My mom cried that day — because she knew she had missed so much. She had to rebuild our relationship, bribe me even 😂 just to get close again. Through primary and secondary school, boarding school wasn’t easy — but what kept me going was knowing I’d spend holidays with Empress. She took care of me, and those moments were the best part of my life. From birth, Empress was there for every step — my constant, my anchor. That’s why losing her has been one of ...

  There are some moments in life that no amount of strength, no amount of faith, and no amount of preparation can truly prepare you for. It’s 3AM and I’m back in that hospital room again—without meaning to be. I was just scrolling through Facebook, trying to distract my thoughts like I usually do when the weight of her absence becomes too much to carry… and then I saw it. A post made by a woman who had been admitted in the same hospital ward as Empress the day she died. Reading her words broke me all over again. "Yesterday afternoon, a young lady was wheeled into the ward. She looked so fragile and out of breath  She was immediately placed on oxygen while blood was transfused into her. I could feel her pains cause    she was literally struggling to live. She came with a team of men. Like men literally mounted for her outside. Her brothers. Everything they (hospital) asked for, they provided. Her mother was deligently by her side. You could see the tiredness writ...

    Ever since Empress passed, my mom hasn’t been able to step into her room. She just can’t. The weight of her absence is so heavy that even the sight of her belongings breaks something inside her. So, whenever my mom needs something from Empress’s things, she sends me. At first, it was simple — just grabbing a few items. But recently, I had to go deeper. I had to go through her clothes, her bags, her shoes, her documents. I had to search through eight bags in total. And as I sifted through each one, my heart shattered a little more. These were things Empress spent her life gathering — things she cared about, things she worked for. Yet now, they just sit there. Useless. Untouched. Silent reminders of a life suddenly stopped. It was painful beyond words. I fought back tears while going through her things. I distracted myself mentally just to finish the task. After I was done, I closed the bags and put them away, sitting down quietly to think. I asked myself, is this how i...

  There’s a common saying that everything in life has an advantage and a disadvantage — a light and a shadow.  But I get it, sometimes it feels impossible to see any good in loss, especially when you lose someone who was your whole world. For me, that person was Empress — my closest sibling, my best friend, my heart. Losing Empress felt like losing a piece of myself. Everyone who knew us knew how deep our bond was.  At first, the pain was unbearable. The first few days, weeks, and months were a blur of shock and sorrow. Some days I didn’t know how I even survived. The weight of grief crushed me, leaving me gasping for air. But as time went on, and I traveled through the different stages of grief, I discovered something unexpected — a strange comfort that helped me carry on when nothing else could.  It might sound weird, but the thought of my own eventual death — the day I will finally get to see Empress again — is what brings me peace in the darkest moments. I c...