If I had one wish that could be granted, then I'd wish to return to my childhood, how I miss the days when I could play about with no care in the world. I didn't have to worry about books. Not because I didn't go to school, but because everything was so simple back then. I didn't have to wake up every morning thinking about how much I dreaded school, or go to bed thinking about how bad my report card was looking. Well, not that everyone can relate to having a messed-up teenage and adult life.

"Karen," my mother yelled. In African households, our mothers tend to yell while calling. You show up anxious and trying to remember what you could have done wrong, only for them to ask, 'How does this dress look on me?' in the most innocent voice as though they didn't just command your presence. "Yes, mommy", I reply. " Aren't you going to wish us farewell?" Oh, that's right, I forgot to mention that my parents are heading off to India with my baby brother, who is currently suffering from cancer. Back then, I didn't realize what cancer was, and I didn't know what death meant.



"Bye, mommy, bye, daddy, bye, Elijah", I said hurriedly as I glanced into the house, trying to hear what the cartoon characters were saying. "Say it like you mean it, Karen", my grandma sighed. " Bye, mommy, daddy, and Elijah. Safe journey. I'm gonna miss you", I said in the most sincere voice I could master up. My dad simply chuckled and got into the car. Back then, I thought my dad looked pretty normal, but maybe if I had paid more attention to his expressions, I would have seen the pain in his eyes.

6 months. They were gone for six whole months as my grandma took care of me. I missed them at some point, but as a child with no care in the world, I didn't think much about them, though they would call occasionally to check up on me, and honestly, they sounded just fine. Or so I thought. My life went about as normal: wake up, go to school, meet up with my friends, get perfect grades, come back home to my grandma, and let the cycle repeat itself the next day. Over and over and over again

Until one day I came from school ready to watch TV as usual, only to be met by a strange yet familiar face. Had I forgotten how my brother looked after six long months? Maybe. Had he changed? Yes.

I stood there looking at him, looking at me. He was building with blocks. 'Isn't he a little too old for this kind of stuff?' I thought to myself. 'And where is his hair. Why is he so bold?' Back then, I didn't know what chemotherapy was and the marks it left on its patients.

"Karen", Elijah struggled to say my name. He had?no teeth? What was happening? Scared of my brother, I ran to my room and just stared at the wall. I don't know what I felt that day. To this day, I still can't explain it myself.

Life went back to normal. Kinda. My brother needed help with everything, and it was unnerving when my parents heeded to his every request and not mine, but whatever, he was younger than me. Sometimes I feel like I grew up a little too fast. I took on responsibilities a little too fast. My childhood was short-lived. Before I knew it, my parents were back to fighting, though it was normal sometimes, one day it didn't seem normal. Fists were exchanged, blood was spilled, and innocence was shattered. That was just the beginning. Suddenly, the cracks in my perfect little family were visible, and even I could tell we had no way through.

At last, Elijah was growing his first tooth and had put on some weight and hair. Life seemed smooth. One day, my dad picked me up from school. I was excited because I got to leave school early. I mean, I practically bragged as I walked out of that classroom. " Hi, daddy. Where are we going?" I asked my dad with excitement bouncing off my face. Silence. My dad didn't respond. " Is it someone's birthday?" I asked again. He simply looked ahead and continued driving. I thought 'Maybe it's a surprise. For me. So I stayed silent and simply smiled. We stopped at a hospital.

My heart seemed to take a step back. But I wasn't scared or worried because my brain couldn't think of anything bad happening. Yet deep down, I felt a pull in my chest as though something inside me was screaming 'DON'T GO IN'

I went either way. Following my dad, who seemed like a walking ragged doll. We reached a room, and there he was. My brother. My sweet Elijah, whom I had fought with every day for the TV remote. 'Why is he wrapped in bandages or clothes or whatever that is?'

I don't know what happened next. Maybe I blacked out, or maybe my brain simply erased what happened next so that the pain could fade. The rest is a blur. Me holding my brother's picture as we head to our village for the burial, my dad buying me roasted liver at every stop, which probably explains why I don't eat liver to this day. Maybe I tied it to that memory of my brother. Me sitting there as the reverend blessed my brother's body, walking out and taking a look into his coffin. He hasn't changed a bit. And my dad tells my cousins to take me inside as they lower my brother's body, while the reality hits me, and I break down into tears.

The rest I don't know. Two years. Memories of two whole years evaporated from my mind, and I can't seem to recall anything. Sometimes I sit down and cry. I'm a bad person. How could I not have any memories of my own brother's funeral or even before his death? It's like my brain chose to erase it all, but I want it all back now.

Presently day I have a little sister. My chest hurts every time I look at her and see my Elijah. My dad went to live abroad to seek better work, or maybe to run away from us. The ones who constantly reminded him of Elijah. He calls every day, though. I'm not surprised my parents still fight even though there is a whole ocean between them. My sister is new to the family. It's only Elijah and I who saw how broken our family truly is. She thinks we're perfect. She thinks our parents love each other. I've seen enough to know there is no room for love in their relationship. Sometimes I sit down and imagine my parents coming up to me and telling me they're going to get a divorce. But I know they can't do that. They want to protect my sister's innocence. They forget how they ruined mine and never even tried to fix it. It's all good, though. I learned to just suck it up.

I once heard a quote by Zendaya that changed the way I look at life: "If you expect disappointment, then you can never really get disappointed."

Since then, I stopped setting my bar too high. I'm a Catholic, and my family was all Catholic and very religious Catholics at that. I believe in God, or at least I believe there is a supernatural being out there who watches us and grants our wishes when the time is right. I can't say I stopped putting my faith in Him because I'm scared of what might happen. Rather, I can say I stopped expecting and waiting for what I pray for to be answered. I'll move on with my life as I wait. I stopped struggling to be perfect and stressing over grades. I stopped trying to maintain a perfect relationship with my parents because they don't show any effort at all. I stopped caring about the perfect family because I came to the realisation that it doesn't exist. I gave up on choosing a career because it makes you ' happy'. After all, a career you want without money leads to a family like mine being born. The problems in my family were born the day my brother fell sick, but they fed off the debts my parents had after his death because they had put everything into treating him. Yet God still took him. I don't blame God, though. I used to, but came to the realisation that we must all die. When it's your time, you will go. Now I just sit and think of ways to escape my family. Perhaps if I, too, put an ocean in between us, I might start to live again, but for now, I feel dead. Like a vessel that eats, breathes, and talks every day. I have no purpose, though. I'm just there.