My Mother, the Crazy African by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I hate having an accent. I hate it when people ask me to repeat things sometimes and I can hear them laughing inside because I am not American. Now I reply Father's Igbo with English. I would do it with Mother too, but I don't think she will go for that just yet. When people... Continue Reading →

How To Talk About Your Past To Others

My past is my past; don't look into it for me. Don't ask me about it unless you want to stay there. Let me be the one to tell you about it. Don't dwell on anything I told you about my past either, I can't get it back and neither can you. When I messed... Continue Reading →

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