BABA
Last night, I saw Baba in my dream. He was sleeping in my bed. Mama was on the phone, and I was sitting on the floor. Suddenly, he woke up—startled, scared—like he’d just seen a nightmare. I rushed to him and hugged him tightly, and then I broke down. I started crying because, in my dream, I had a nightmare that he died. I was sobbing in his arms, not wanting to let go—and then I woke up. And it shattered something in me. Because that’s what my life has felt like these past 7 months. One long nightmare I keep waking into, again and again. I never got to hug him like that in real life. We were never very expressive, both of us holding love silently. I never told him how much I loved him. And now I never can. What hurts even more is watching myself go on with life. Eating. Existing. Sometimes even laughing. It feels wrong—like I’m betraying him. Like I’ve forgotten. But I haven’t. I just… don’t talk about him. I don’t look at his pictures. And whenever memories of that night come ru...