A little backstory
Before the pandemic, I stumbled upon Remi’s Instagram in 2019, but I only realised his name last year. I called him Apollo. It was his Instagram handle, and it felt right. His stories reflect his views on life, but on a few occasions, he mentions his brother. The crust of the matter is-his brother is dead. So, yesterday we spoke about what that feels like. Initially, it felt like an interview, and I had to tell him to relax. Our conversation made me realise how death can shape us even if we had almost no bond with the deceased.
Death
Remi and his brother had one thing in common; they were named Damilare. This shared name would coincide with several moments where Remi questioned his identity. Damilare passed on when Remi was four years old. Five years later, Remi found out. When asked if he felt betrayed by his family from them hiding this from him, he said, “No, I feel like they were trying to protect me.” From having no idea of grief and a 5-year handicap, Remi was about to be conscious of the lens his parents viewed him and the expectations looming behind him.
The Aftermath
It only took five years, but it soon dawned on him how his parent expected him to be like his brother. “They would say things like he used to do that too. Or, that is not what he would do.” Remi knew his brother was intelligent. Forgetting was not an option; the plaques on the shelves and medals were a constant reminder.
Unconsciously, Remi tried to soothe the ache his brothers' absence left by trying to be the best at everything he did. Every second place made him feel less than enough; almost was never good. Remi said, “I felt like I was auditioning for a dead person. I had to grow up faster than I should.” He remembers his parents telling him to relax, “my parents even had to tell me to calm down when they saw the monster I was becoming. If we had a competition at school, and we came second, best believe I’m screaming at anyone I thought made us lose first place.”
Carry a memory you do not own
While talking to Remi, I asked how he invested so much emotionally in who his brother was, considering he was a toddler when his brother passed. His answer was, “Stories. Every time they spoke about him at home, I got to know who he was a little better. This person everyone want’s me to be like; I got to know him through them.”
“ I felt like since I was still young, my parents thought they could make me into the son they lost. My other siblings were grown and had come into their person, but I was easy to mend to fit into a hole their son left.
So how did you break free, Remi?
“One day, I woke up, and I was tired. The child in me I had been suppressing for years was screaming to be free. I was not my brother- I was not this big superstar of a son my parents had in their heads. I am Remi, and that is enough. Yes, we share similar qualities, but I’m still me. I had to change it for them. You have to change it for them early. You cannot wait until you are 23 or 24.”
It’s only right that I asked what he would say to his younger self.
“I’d tell him to be a child and just do him. People talk to me now and say I’m always serious, I find it hard to let things be, and I think it affects how I interact with people. Like when we started this call, you told me I was being too serious and to relax.”
Our chat ended as everything does, but I keep thinking of how people might unconsciously want us to fill a void someone left in them. The pressure and mental comparison they put on us and vice versa.
I hope you enjoyed this conversation with SeunCaleb. If you did, don’t forget to subscribe and share.
This was a really nice read. Death really does something to us - good and bad. Love to you and Remi.
There was a strange resemblance to this