Hi, my name is Cicilia. Yes, the Cicilia—the one who fought soldiers in the camp, the one who was named the first queen of the universal people, or famously known as the Libitants, which means "free people." That's me—Cicilia.
A lot of people think they know my story, but most of them don't know the real one. The one filled with tears, anger, and trauma—the kind of trauma that leaves scars, that wakes me up in the middle of the night. My therapist says I should write a book about the things I've gone through. So here we are.
Let me start with something everyone from Asia to North America knows: my true name—Chinwe. It means "God owns life." The name came from a tribe in Nigeria, where I was born and lived for the first six years of my life. After that, my parents decided Nigeria wasn't the place for us and moved us to America. It was tough for me and my brother, but it was especially tough for me.
I don't want to sound like I'm fishing for sympathy, but my brother was only four, so according to Georgia's rules, he couldn't start school. I, on the other hand, was old enough. People made fun of my accent, and even though I only lived in Nigeria for six years, I still had a pretty nasty attitude. While they made fun of my accent, I made fun of their school lunches, saying the ones in Nigeria were so much better. I didn't mention that even though I went to private school, we had to bring our own lunch—and yes, it was still better than their sad cafeteria food.
Eventually, I made a few friends, and three years later, at nine years old, I moved with my 6-year-old brother and 2-year-old little brother to Colorado. Let me tell you, that was the literal worst. In Colorado, everyone was as white as snow, and yes, they could check too, because there was snow everywhere. Now, not only did I have a thick accent, but I was also the only Black kid in the class.
Let's fast forward to the part where everything changed. It was March 20, 2025—exactly one month before I turned 13. I was sitting in my first-period math class, 7th grade. I was at table number 8, the only table in the whole class that seated four people. I was sitting next to Devon, with the teacher's podium across from me. Abby sat behind me at table 5.
Abby whispered quietly, "I feel so bad for you."
"I feel bad for myself too," I replied.
"I know you're talking about me," Devon chimed in.
Devon was one of those jocks who acted like a smartass. He was cute, with short black wavy hair and light brown skin that didn't quite look Black. I had a strong feeling his mother was a white Latino and his father a dark Latino, but who knows? I could be wrong.
I glanced at Mrs. Kellogg and saw her eyeing us. She had probably switched our seats on purpose, knowing we'd be sitting next to each other. Honestly, I hated Devon. Not only was he a terrible boyfriend, but he also blamed his ex, Elizabeth, for everything that went wrong.
"I think you guys should date," Mrs. Kellogg—or Kimberly, as we called her—mouthed.
"No," I mouthed back.
People were always trying to push me and Devon together, even though I told them over and over it was never going to happen. Nora looked at Kimberly and me and said, "Oh, why not, Chinwe? I think you two would make an awesome couple."
I gave her an unwavering glare before replying with mock kindness, "I think you should lose a few pounds, but sadly, neither of those things will ever happen."
Abby snickered behind me, while Nora's face turned bright red. Embarrassed, she turned to her friend and started talking to her, flipping her highlighted blonde hair.
Then Nora, in that smug tone of hers, called me out, "You're such a loner, Chinwe. That's why you're always so bitter."
Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. It wasn't just the insult. It was the truth in it. I was a loner. I hadn't had a boyfriend in 12 years—almost 13. But still, I hated hearing it out loud. I looked at my body. Even though I had just told Nora to lose a few pounds, I knew I needed to lose more. I felt ugly, fat. I tried starving myself, telling myself I wouldn't eat, but then I'd end up eating rice or chicken instead.
I knew I wasn't obese, but every time I told myself that, a small voice in my head whispered, "You're not far off." I hated everything about myself—the way I talked, the way I walked, the way I looked. I hated it all. I felt worthless and useless, and I just wanted to be done with life. I wanted it to be quick and painless so no one would have to worry about me.
I didn't tell anyone about this—not even my parents—but I'm sure my mom had her suspicions. As far as anyone knew, I was just the girl who smiled too much, laughed too much, and tried too hard.