akwaeke emeziKonto zweryfikowane

Sometimes I think about how different being a dead thing dying is from being a dead thing sentenced to life and being obedient to that sentencing. Which is what I write about in #DearSenthuran, essentially.

Sometimes I think about how in flesh terms, being Igbo and Tamil means I am only alive because the families on *both* sides escaped the respective genocides of their people.

‘Escape’ is relative. My father was not home during the war but his father was killed when Nigeria bombed Umuahia. Sometimes I think about how my exile keeps me alive for longer, a displaced god making new worlds to belong in.