Anxious days It was one of the day of the week but it was not ordinary as it seems. It was the day which decides my whole life. I was nervous as hell but my parents and my grandmother were more anxious compared to me. They treated me as I was going to battlefield and checked me out to see If I am alright and ready to fight. As you might be wondering what I am talking about, so let me tell you that It was the university entrance exam which I prepared my whole to get accepted. Therefore, My mom cooked me the most delicious foods ever and made sure that I am full. My father drove me to a place where the exam held and my granny accompanied us. At that time I literally wanted to cry seeing their support all the time towards me. They always gave me a hand when I need in whatever situation without resisting. So, with the thought of being lucky in the world and knowing that they are here to aid me, I proudly headed to exam place to take tests. When I was going into test room, I was stopped by security guards to check If have any illegal things or cheating papers which did not bothered me since I know I will never do such kind of things. After all of that investigating things, finally I was in my seat waiting for the test begin. The test hall was huge and full with amount of people whom are strangers to me also every corner of the hall has security cameras and doing live so that parents or relatives of the test taker can see what they are doing. But I was not sure that my parents and my granny could find me from this big place apart from that my seat was situated in corner which is hard for cameras to capture me. As I was looking around the room, suddenly the announcer announced the start of the test. I was feeling nervous, anxious, worried, scared, a little bit confident too, It was the moment that I can not describe with word. I was ambivalent about my feelings but still tried to stay calm and focus on test only. Exam takers distributed the test papers, there was only 90 test questions which I should answer. I opened the test paper and started to answer them one by one, I left the most difficult ones at the end and solved the easy ones at first. There was a questions that I had no idea what it was but still attempted to tackle. It took me one hour and thirty minutes to finish the test then I rechecked my answers and handed it over to exam taker. I was feeling nervous as always while heading outside, there were so many going in my mind. I was outside without knowing and started to look for my parents and granny. After a few minutes I found them sitting in a bench, after sawing me they hugged me and told me “how was it”, I could not say no more words than “Not bad”. They told me that they were watching me from from the beginning in live and I was shocked to know. Then, my father told me “why did you came out early, they were still thirty minutes left” and so on, I was questioned by everyone even strangers that was the most tiring day ever…. We came home, only thing left was looking for the results to be out, these days looked forever to finish. Not only me but everyone was being impatient, my father even told me If you can not enter there, do not worry, I will solve it by giving money. One day when I was crying in living room where few people come, thinking what If I can not enter, my mom found me and told me “do not cry, everything will be okay”, I was so touched at that time and cried more. My granny told me “I believe in you and your knowledge and I am pretty sure you will achieve your dream so be happy”…. It was the day which results will come out, I waited until late at night and lost the hope when I did not get answers so I slept while crying again. In the morning when I woke up I saw everyone smiling and I was so confused what was going on. Everyone came and congratulated me that was when my granny told me that I got accepted to university. I said “How” and they told me there were a problem with system so we did not get the results on time instead it came out very late, the reason they did not told me that I was sleeping. After hearing it, I was over the moon and can not believe in my eyes, I literally shouted “YESSSSSSSSSSSSS”. After that we held a party and I enjoyed the company of my dear family. That was the time when I realized that there is nothing better than a family support and your hard work, in the end they will all pay. So I have never and ever regretted my sleepless nights and hard work. It was one of the best day of my life which I will never forget. This is true story of me, I hope it is enough to motivate you to accomplish your dreams and never stop working on yourself. Do not forget without sacrificing one thing you can not achieve other one.

I attempted suicide, twice. Don't be perplexed, please. Can I lend you my voice? Pressured or overwhelmed with the ills of life? Or have you made a terrible mistake worthy of public shame and humiliation? Suicide is still not an option. Truthfully, if I had successfully committed suicide then, I probably would have been a forgotten history with no form of relevance. I attempted suicide first after I failed my O'level exams (WAEC) for the fourth (4th) time. Then, to me, it was finished and pointless trying to live. After my 4th failure, I was tired, and instead of me taking a rest, I decided to shut down. Suicide became the only available and valid option for me. The shame and humiliation of writing the exam with teenagers and students I taught and that I was far older than and I was certainly brilliant than they were, but, I still failed in blinding colors, with those teenagers excelling and moving forward. I was tired of remaining stuck for the fourth time now. Was I brilliant? Yes. Did I burn mid-night oils? Yes. Did I get my textbooks and past questions booklets? Yes. Did I attend tutorials? Yes. What went wrong? I had no idea up until now. I had no encouragement from my family then. I rather got rebuked and scolded for not putting in so many efforts as they expected. I was trying, I knew. At age 21, I was still writing my O'level exams and was still failing in blinding colors. It wasn't easy for me, but, only I understood that. I was in a world of my own. Drowning in a deeply disturbing ocean with none to rescue me. For a girl who graduated secondary school at age 15, and was still struggling to pass her O'level exams till age 21, you should imagine how humiliating this could be. I felt God had left me to my fate and that destiny was been unfair to me. That night, after returning from the cybercafe, I gulped down a bottle of Gentian Violet, GV, (a liquid purple ink used on open wounds to prevent germs intrusion and to cure skin ulcers). How I survived to die from that attempt still remains a mystery. On my fifth attempt, however, I finally passed my O'level exams. I never would have had a chance to anchor that success and victory if my suicidal attempts turned out successful then. But, I sure enjoyed the feel of victory and success after so many failed attempts. My second suicidal attempt when I was raped and jilted by my first boyfriend. We dated for two months. Young and naive, I was pressured into giving him a chance by my peers since they had changed boyfriends for more than the third time. He was fourteen years older than I was, even though he lied at the initial stage that he was just ten years older than I then. As a teen who wanted to be in the know-how, and to feel among, I allowed him to kiss me behind vehicles at night (that happened only once though). We met at his place (he lived in the same street with me), and on my first visit, nothing happened. My second and third visits were the same, and to me, I had met an angel, a perfect gentleman. I felt safe and secure around him. My fourth visit was what gave me a huge scar which I still bear till today. He dared and threatened me to lay with him, despite all of my pleas. And against my will and pleasure, he penetrated into me with my hands tied to my back, and legs left hanging up, like an animal about to be castrated. I regretted accepting his proposals that evening. I should have just maintained my stance of 'no relationship' until I was physically, emotionally, and psychologically prepared for it. Peer pressure gave me a huge blow. He had sex with me and also deprived me of the opportunity to feel the assumed 'pleasure' associated with 'sex'. My acclaimed boyfriend and first love raped me that evening without protection and absconded from the area the next day. Since that evening till this moment, I am still yet to lay my eyes on him. I still have nightmares though. I tried careless walking on main roads several times to be knocked down by an oncoming car and die, but, it never happened. I bought rat poison, and I took it, hoping that I'll die, but, I didn't. I have lived with that hurt up until now, and I love the relief I am getting in the inside of me as I write this to you. In all, God wins. No matter what life throws at you, please, suicide should and never be an option. Even if the worst happens, don't stop believing in God and believing in yourself. You should live. You deserve to stay alive, mentally, and psychologically fit. Overcome your past, overcome your hurts, overcome your failure, overcome the heartbreaks, it is a very good step to healing. Your mental and psychological well-being is my concern. Thanks for your time once again.

I hate being black. No, I don't hate being black, I just hate that being black carries with it much more than just a darker pigment to my skin. I have always felt reluctant to share my experience of being a ‘little black girl' in fear of sounding like the angry, black, self-righteous and victimized lady that we see in a Black Power movement. That isn't who I am. I am just your regular 19 year old girl living in Queensland, Australia. I probably have similar hopes and dreams to anyone my age; uni, travel, meet a tall handsome man, marry, babies, the whole shindig. I speak fluent English (to the surprise of many old ladies I meet) and am always on time (contrary to the stereotypical black person we hear about). I was adopted from Ethiopia, graduated high school and no, I don't run cross country. No, I don't sunburn easily, and yes, I have been to Africa. No, I don't speak ‘African' and yes, I can (and do) brush my hair (but no, you can't touch it). I know I look different, and I know you don't mean to offend or mean anything by your questions, but sometimes the questions, in my eyes, serve much more as evidence of my blatant differences than curious inquiry into the unknown. I have always been told that being white is much better than being black. Very few times has this been said outright but it doesn't take a mastermind to read the signs. In fact, it can just take a preschooler, sitting, listing in to her teacher, minding her own business, wearing her afro. She hears a boy say behind her, ‘I can't see over that girl's hair.' He means no harm, but she begins to notice that ‘none of the other girls have hair quite like mine, nor have little boys struggling to see over their curls.' She begins to notice that there is something different about her, and that this thing that is different, it isn't good. I wish that the colour of my skin wasn't the first thing people notice about me, my most defining feature. That the reason I am picked, or not picked was because of my exterior hue. At age 7, again sitting in class, that same little black girl enthusiastically threw her hand into the air, desperate to be chose as a volunteer for a magic trick. With hand still high in the air, the boy ‘magician' upfront, looks her is the eyes and says, feigning sympathy, ‘sorry, the volunteer has to be white. They can't have…..olive skin' Abashed, confused and unsure of how to react, she places her hand back into her lap, an invisible blush spreading up her neck, heating her cheeks. I never like to admit that these encounters affected me, because maybe by admitting their impact and facing my emotions, I would be acknowledging some sort of truth to what was said. In grade 5, the cogs of reality already beginning to spin in her mind, this little black girl copped her first earful of overt racism. Miss Heidi Sutton, a beefy, red faced, blond haired grade sixer spat that one loaded word in her face. ‘Nigger'. She didn't know at all what to do. ‘Do I cry, shout, tell her she is wrong.' But is she? Is she really wrong? is that who, is that what I am? I remember hearing my older brother say that he wished that he was white. I didn't know what to say. In high school she started to compensate for her ‘blackness'. ‘If I am going to stand out, I want it to be for the things I choose.' Music, art, sports, academia, all a cleverly played act to hide her fear of really being seen. A beautifully constructed but frightfully precarious wall she built and a cleverly constructed curtain was hung to hide her innermost fears Of really being known. Of finding a truth that was too unsavory. Buckling down and straightening out, if I had a biography of my high school years there couldn't have been a more fitting title. Nose in a book, feet in netball shoes like every other year nine girl. Hair straightening appointments and the stress of watching curves form as I grew. Buckle down and straighten out. Fit in and don't stand out. I have, and always will stand out. Amongst the company of my white friends I will always be the blackest and in the company of my black family, I will always be the one who is most ‘white'. I had to make the choice between my culture and comfort and I chose the latter because it was simply easier to ignore one more thing that made me different from my peers. I don't hate my white friends or my black family, because I know they love me for me, but I also know that I am always going to be that random, not quite exactly how it should be, refraction in the looking glass. That little black sheep. I have always been told that being white is much better than being black. Very few times has this been said outright but it doesn't take a mastermind to read the signs. I am black, and I will always be black and, you know what, I don't mind. I don't mind that I look different. Or that I'm constantly asked the same, sometimes stupid questions. But sometimes I just wish I could be invisible, even if it was just for one day.

When I picked up the book 13 reasons why at a book store many years ago I had no clue it would change my life. I didn't know that I was fixing to read my story written by a stranger. A noticeable difference is that I am 31 and still alive. I lived Hannah's life but I made it. When I was 15 years old a friend called me one Friday night. She was intoxicated at a party with all males. She wasn't comfortable and asked if I could walk across the street to where the party was and stay with her. I thought nothing of it and told my parents I was sleeping over with the neighbor (just not the neighbor they thought). I cared for my friend and got her to bed with no issues. I locked her in the room and made sure none of the males present went near the room. We had all been friends for years with the exception of an older guy there. He was very attractive, rich and popular. As the early morning hours approached the friends all started to pass out. I was given my own room and soon found myself fast asleep. I woke up to the guy I didn't know asking if he could crash in there with me because the rest of the beds were taken. I remember hearing the door lock and even telling him that was a fire safety issue. I wasn't nervous because I was in a house full of people I had known for several years. I must have fallen back to sleep quickly but that wouldn't last. I was awoken to him on top of me, forcing himself inside me. I was a virgin and scared truly to make a noise. I think I may have whimpered but that only made it worse. I don't know how long it lasted. I remember he left the room and didn't come back in. I was scared to leave the room. When morning came I practically ran home. I can remember my friends calling me the next 2 days asking what had happened because the male was saying things about me that were not nice. I realized later that he immediately started saying things about my character so people would believe him when he said he never touched me. I had no intentions of telling anyone but made sure no one would believe me if I did. Something I didn't realize was that he was already 18 which made what he did statutory rape. I can remember that first day back at school how all my friends shunned me. People I had known since elementary school treated me like I did something wrong. I never told my parents. I quit cheerleading and the school newspaper. I didn't talk about it with my childhood best friends. They knew something was wrong but I shut down anytime I was asked. Things moved on and I finished the year barely passing after having been an straight a student. I thought for sure the next year would be better as junior but I was shocked the first day of school to find that my attacker had been held from graduation and would be back at the school for another year. Not only was he back at school but would be in some of my classes. I told myself that I could handle this by just pretending he didn't exist but he seemed that he needed to make my life hard. He would say things under his breath when I talked, he would loudly make comments about my reputation and would try to turn my few peers in the class against me. After a few weeks of this abuse I started taking sleeping medicine to get past the nightmares. One day he seemed particularly nasty towards me and called me to his table during lunch. He had some of his female friends call me some names and tell me how he would never have touched me. I took enough sleeping pills that night to never face him again. People wondered how I got the pills. I asked an older neighbor friend to get them for me. That moment of survival changed my life. I still didn't speak out of the attacker mostly out of fear. I felt like I was having a heart attack when I saw in the local paper that he been arrested with trying to pick up a 14 year old girl in a sting when he was 30. My first thought was he may have hurt other girls. I was so scared to tell and that may have left him able to harm others. I have dealt with the ptsd of the attack for years. Sometimes are better than others. Everyday I am glad that I didn't die when I wanted to so bad. I I am so happy that I got to meet a great man who understands my cold days. I am so thankful I got to be a mommy. When I hear people say that Hannah Baker from 13 reasons wanted attention I want to scream that she is real. She is me. I never asked for his bullying. I never asked for the whispers. I never wanted the sympathy. I just wanted to make the choice of my first time being with someone I loved not a stranger who prayed on virgins.

I took the steps two at a time just to get down to soak up the first rays of summer after kindergarten. My hand-me-down sneakers hit the unmoving concret that we use as our backyard. I ran down the narrow passageway and as I did it transformed into a tunnel made by towering jungle trees. Once the tunnel breaks open a large cheetah runs pass me and lets out a roar. As it speeds down the jungle path I run across and open the door to the lion's den. As I walk into the bar and to where I know I will be able to find my mother, the owner greeted me by name. My mother sat at her favorite slot machine, and I plop into the spot next to her. “I am back from the last day of school Mother and my teacher gave me a bag of clothes for me and they are so pretty but there isn't any new shoes, can I get new ones yet cause you keep telling me tomorrow but that never happens and I really could use new shoes so I can play.” After waiting for a response that I knew wasn't going to come, I hopped off the stool and strolled out of the bar. I head back up the stairs to our little apartment above the church where I'd find Morgan, my best friend and niece. When we are together our imaginsoin run wild. I call Morgan by her pet name she has had since she was born, Gorgan, and ask if she wants to come out to play. We didn't have a back yard so we played in the many allies in the town. We ran around dodging cars and jumping pot holes. Morgan and I made our own village where we were the rulers and we lived by our own rules. Living in trees and grabbing apples from nearby branches was how we lived. When a grown-up was needed we just go to the the bar. When my mother was home it was hard to stay inside because Mother was the type of person who didn't like little kids and become angry with us for things any little kid will do. When Mother was home we couldn't play with our toys because they made a mess. Singing and dancing made too much noise. Wasting paper is what she called drawing. So the only thing we could really do was watch tv but the only thing allowed on was the news. Having fun was a bit difficult but we learned that we could enjoy ourselves by telling stories and playing with things that weren't really there. Most of my summers were never real but they were all amazing. It is such a rare treat for Morgan and I to go to Walmart and when we do it is a bit crazy with all the people. To our mind it is a marketplace full of people running around and shouting. The dust being picked up as people rush around and it seems like almost everyone on earth was there. We never see this many people in one place. As Morgan and I were playing in the marketplace weaving in and out of people, we end up in the area where the people are selling the little girl's clothes. I almost run directly into a girl I know from school. As the dust flies around us and the vendors are shouting, the girl looked me up and down and wrinkled her nose with a sound of disgust. Her mother came up behind her and looked me over just like her daughter did, only this time she said, “What kind of person would let their kids out in those rags. Their rude things pulled me from the marketplace and landed my feet on the white tile floor. This is the first time someone had really been rude to me. It made me realize what I was wearing. I had holes in my shirt and grass stains on my pant. I had all kinds of spots on my shirt that didn't even come from me. The back pocket of my jeans were ripped off from jumping out of a tree. The soles of my shoes were almost gone and my hair was all tangled because no one was around to brush it out. We never got new clothes and all mine are so worn by the time I get them. The first new clothes I have gotten was a bag from my teacher because she felt bad. For the first time I felt ashamed about my clothes. Instead of joining Morgan back in the marketplace, I marched up to Crystal, my older sister who took us here and asked for new clothes. She looked at me and told me, “You know we can't afford that Molly, now please go get Morgan we are about to leave.” The way that Crystal said it I knew that I wasn't getting it. That night I thought about the clean and pretty clothes that girl was wearing and how I wish my hair was combed out and put into a braids like hers. That night instead of dreaming about flying or being super strong, I dreamt about have a brand new pair of shoes like that girl. I woke up in the morning with a smile on my face and almost completely forgot about it.