Reading

This year, I think I experienced a pretty significant amount of reading growth. One thing that I think I really noticed about myself as a reader this year is my mature in taste. I have for the most part completely shifted from the sports books that I used to read to reading quality novels. I did not get to read as much outside of class in the second semester because most of the time we were engaged in a class novel and the books I read outside were long and challenging reads for the most part. Regardless, the books I have read this year go as follows:
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Purple Hibiscus by Ngozi Chimamanda Adichie
Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian by Sherman Alexie
Red Rising by Pierce Brown
The Firm by John Grisham
The Associate by John Grisham
Golden Son by Pierce Brown.

Two pieces of evidence of my reading:

Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian discussion board- Parents:

In Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian, the main character kind of accepts his parents' shortcomings as a fact of life. He doesn't really complain about them, he usually just hopes for the best and hopes that his parents will do better next time. He acts somewhat disappointed sometimes, but never very surprised. He never really gets frustrated with his parents and argues, he usually keeps his little bits of anger to himself. In my opinion, it is good that he does not raise issues, but it is not good that he feels like he can't tell anyone about these problems that he faces from his parents' shortcoming and failures.

This sort of facing the facts mentality especially applies when he switches schools and need to be driven there and back or else he will have to walk. Even on the first day of school, before he had been at all disappointed Arnold said: "So I stood alone on the sidewalk and watched my father drive away. I hoped he'd drive right home and not stop in a bar and spend whatever money he had left. I hoped he'd remember to come pick me up after school," (Alexie 55). This shows the kind of dismal outlook that he has on his dad's drinking problem. It also demonstrates his low expectations. The fact that that would even cross his mind on such an important day in his life shows how bleak things are with his parents.

Epilogue written as dessert for Purple Hibiscus:

Epilogue

            I looked out of the window of my small apartment in New York City. An hour until my class, I sipped American coffee. How different it is than the love sips of Papa’s tea that used to scald my tongue. I listened to the voicemail Jaja had left me the night before. Things were the same with Mama’s health, but he was taking care of her.

Ever since the day he left prison, that had been his mission- put others first. Sometimes I think he takes it too far. People worry about Jaja, saying he should marry. He has become an item of discussion. Prison changed him as well. He is harder, colder than before.

            The city was buzzing like that festival I had visited so many years ago with Pap-Nnukwu, Aunty Ifeoma, and my cousins. The smiles on their faces make my heart smile. So much changed after that day. I still see Aunty Ifeoma and her children regularly, as we both live in America. They are the reason I am here, after all. Ever since that first time I visited here, just after Jaja left prison, I have been attached. The freedoms America offered showed me what Papa meant when he wished for democracy. The feeling that I could have my own opinion and that it meant something was something that I did not have in Nigeria. That is what drew me to attend university in America. That, and Aunty Ifeoma.

            Amaka is currently studying law at a university called Colombia. She still stands up for what she believes in, participating in activist movements that argue equal pay for women. Obiora is on scholarship at an Ivy League school. He does very well, challenging traditional wisdom and he thinking of some of the best, brightest minds. Chima is still a young boy at heart, and is still in school.

            I still think about Papa much. I have finally learned to see him for his whole self. Papa was a good man, but he stole from me. He took years of my life, years I spent in fear. He stole many brothers and sisters from me. He stole joy from me. I miss him still. There is something so safe about him, so reassuring. “I will one day see him again,” I remind myself. Papa would be proud to know I had said that.

            Father Amadi writes me often. It has been nearly a year since I have seen him now. He came to visit while I was still in Nigeria, but America is not an option. I hope to see him next time I go back. He tells me of all the things in Germany. He tells me he wishes to see me again.

            I looked at the clock and realized that it was time for me to go to class. I grabbed my bag, locked the door and set out. As I walked down the street, I smelled food from street venders, like the ones in Aokpe. I look and see little boys and girls playing on the street, and think about what a country this is, where those children could be leaders someday.