The story of my life begins on October 23, 2005. I came into this world on a Sunday morning in Kumasi, Ghana. Not a cry escaped my lips when I was born. My silence raised many alarms, and for days my mother and I were kept for observation. Until at last, I made use of my new lungs. My mother’s heart flooded with relief. Finally we were free to start our lives beyond the confines of Komfo Anokye Teaching Hospital.

My mother jokes that the silence at my birth was a guise for my vivacious energy as a toddler. The short years I lived in Ghana were marked by my incessant chatter, first steps, and my fearlessness. I was a ball of energy, with a personality that made my parents question whether they had left the hospital with the wrong child.

Just before my second birthday, my mother, older brother, and I moved to the United States, joining my father who had settled here years prior. In Ghana, I had been surrounded by a huge family with a plethora of children; I took to speaking quite early. Once settled in America, I excelled in a new language. Eventually English crept up behind Twi –surpassed it–and became my primary language. My family acclimated to our new life, and I grew up with a golden childhood encompassing my love of books, Disney channel, and youth soccer.

In preschool and kindergarten, I was lauded for how quickly I picked up all the material I was exposed to. Eager to learn, I absorbed all the information my brain could. That is where my love for learning began. From kindergarten through second grade, I was placed in the grade above me for English enrichment. While most of my peers were perfecting the alphabet, I was crafting personal narratives and short poems. When my dad came to pick me up at the end of the day, he was often met with comments such as “Edna’s so smart, she should be the one teaching the class!” Just as I absorbed everything being taught in the classroom, I was also soaking up all the validation being showered upon me.

Throughout elementary and into middle school, I continued the soar. Success and straight-A’s became the norm, and anything less was simply unacceptable, clouding me in shame. After years of striving toward perfection, I came across my first of many road bumps. In the fifth grade, I had taken a quiz I thought I’d aced. When my quiz was returned, I was horrified by the fat zero marked on my paper. One wrong answer had nullified the entire quiz. I was completely gutted and tears gathered in the corner of my eyes. How could I have been so stupid? The consequences of associating my worth with a number in a gradebook were made manifest that day.

This “seeming” failure was the first, but not the last. Since then, I have had my fair share of subpar grades. With the help of some wise words from my English teacher, I realized that zero did not invalidate any of my accomplishments. Nor did one grade alter who I am at my core. I was still the kind, smart, ambitious young girl I’d always been. One bad grade would never spoil that.

I’ll admit that I am still an overachiever, and probably always will be. As a first generation immigrant, and the eldest daughter in my family, a strong work ethic is the bedrock of my being. I now understand that my worth transcends any accolade or number. Being a student–and a good one– is only a fraction of my identity.

My experiences in my roles as a friend, sister, and daughter also are key pieces of my life’s story. My love of learning transcends academics. It is upon that passion that I will continue to build upon the mosaic of my life.

© Edna. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.