To say that my family loves books would be an understatement. My father, a Nigerian immigrant and self-proclaimed Renaissance man, was a being of great words and even greater ideas. From his college years in Lagos to his 50s in America, he had gathered a reservoir of newspaper articles, school gossip columns, books about patriots, books about self-proclaimed gods, and books about superheroes. His days were spent either in front of the computer, or exploring the world for inspiration. He...

As a little kid, I was expected to get good grades, go to a nice college, and become a rich doctor. I was one of those kids who only wanted to do medicine because my parents said to. However, that changed in 2011. My 5th grade year, I saw my health deteriorate right before my eyes. It started with chest pains, then weakness, until finally I collapsed at my school. At the hospital, I was diagnosed with pneumonia. I went through...

I open the computer. Upon typing in the URL, I find myself on a website as familiar to me as the back of my hand: Gaia Online. Smiling to myself, I hover over the Register button and, after thinking of the endless possibilities in my hands, I click on it. Since my childhood, I’ve always adored games with character creation. From virtual worlds like Runescape and Sims, to games like Mortal Kombat Armageddon and DC Universe Online where my...

My dad taught me three things. First, any meal that wasn’t Nigerian in nature or bought from a fast food chain never counts as “food” (sorry instant ramen). Second, if an adult wished to watch TV, whether it be the news or the most recent boxing match, there is no negotiation. Third, and perhaps most important, that every moment of my life was at worst a challenge and at best a learning opportunity. Though I never understood the first...

“20 seconds!” My dad’s eyes were glued to the time on the screen. My sister Sarah chimed in. “That starts with an S, I know it!” “Something road trip!” I screamed. The three of us racked our brains for some sort of answer. My other sister Urenna peered in and, after thinking she said, “Surprise road trip?” A silence passed until realization hit us. “Yes!” We glanced at the time. 10 seconds. Pandemonium ensued as my dad sped on the keyboard,...

When I was 11 years old, my family travelled to Disney World. Although the vacation itself was frustrating due to my parents inability to plan an itinerary, I found myself falling in love. Not with Mickey Mouse, if that is what you are thinking (he has a girlfriend!) No, I was in love with Florida. Before then, I knew nothing about the state. I imagined the state to be an island paradise where the sun always shines, hurricanes appear 24/7, and people...

My dad taught me three things. First, any meal that wasn’t Nigerian in nature or bought from a fast food chain did not count as “food” (sorry instant ramen). Second, if an adult wished to watch TV, whether it be the news or the most recent boxing match, there was no chance at negotiation. Third, and perhaps most important, that every moment of my life was at worst a challenge and at best a learning opportunity. I never really...

When my sophomore English class read Frankenstein, there were generally two responses. First, that there were a billion things more interesting than some melodramatic creature yapping at its creator. The second, a bitter compromise where the 256 pages were read only to answer class questions, leading to students forgetting the plot right after. I was none of the above, though I too wasn’t immune to the memory loss. While the plot didn’t matter to me, what did were the...

I stare at myself in the mirror. I notice my rectangular build, my misshapen rib cage, and fingers long enough to make Slender-Man jealous. In the mirror, I examine every aspect of my body’s external sculpt. But at the same time, I focus on the smaller details. When I see scabs, I imagine macrophages eating away at bacteria. When I see my hair, I imagine the division of stratum basale cells. When I see my dark skin, I imagine...

I stare at myself in the mirror. I notice my rectangular build, my misshapen rib cage, and fingers long enough to make Slender-Man jealous. In the mirror, I examine every aspect of my body’s external sculpt. But at the same time, I focus on the smaller details. When I see scabs, I imagine macrophages eating away at bacteria. When I see my hair, I imagine the division of stratum basale cells. When I see my dark skin, I imagine...

In Igbo, “Ugonna” means “pride of my father”. While only six letters, my name is an important part of who I am, and although it has spent most of its time mispronounced and the butt of relentless jokes, my name is the cornerstone of my willpower and a reminder of the most innate part of my identity: A proud Nigerian. Growing up, I loved everything about my heritage. Food that could light stomachs on fire. Music that could make anyone...