Abby Chu

Happy good birthday, Cupcake. Yes, I’m the one that named you that. No, I’m not collecting it back.

Here’s what I don’t say out loud enough: you’re the hardest-working person I know. You bake cakes till morning, deliver three in one day, then still go and help fix somebody else’s cake all the way in Festac. You’ve made 70% of all hairstyles known to science. You remember everybody’s birthday — including mine, which I was busy pretending not to have.

You know you always look beautiful — I never have any issues with anything you wear. The red afro? Iconic. The braids? Lethal. The bonnet? Still cute. And the short hair… that one makes you look like an Ex-Cultist, which is exactly why I’ve been running away since.

And the care, ehn? You check on people before they even know they need checking. You supported me when I was doubting myself, and you did it like it was nothing. Talking to you turns an ordinary day into a good one — that’s just what you do.

You told me birthdays matter because you get closer to an age many people couldn’t get to. So here’s to your new age, ma. Thank you for supporting me, for feeding people like it’s nothing, for being exactly who you are. Whatever this year holds, you will not face one second of it alone. I love you past the moon and every stop after it. Happy birthday, my favorite person.