Dartmouth College

As a child, darkness meant nightmares, so I would pester my grandmother to tell me stories while the sun was trapped amongst silver hues. My religious grandmother would proceed to tell me about the Supreme Being in Hindu mythology, made of Brahma (the creator), Vishnu (the preserver), and Shiva (the destroyer). Together, these Gods defined the cyclical nature of mortal existence through creation and destruction – life and death.

Although I found this idea interesting, each year in my life brought on a better understanding of these Gods' purposes – I only had a certain number of years before I faced my life's "destruction."

My only answer to living more in my one life was to stuff my head into pages filled with the journeys of fictional characters. I was a member of a motorcycle club, a terminally-ill teenager, and much more than what I could be in my physical life. Authors let me experience hundreds of lives through literature, therefore, inspiring me to create fictional lives of my own.

So, hello! I'm Navya – named after a star shining the night I was born. For most of my life, I've struggled with the idea that we each experience life only once before our own lives are destroyed, but books have helped me find a way to live thousands of lives. I am an aspiring author and want to write historical fiction books that cheat the Gods, who said that everything must be destroyed, because my characters will never fade. And all this happened because of my grandmother and her love of Hindu mythology. Mythology sparked a quest for me to find how I could get the most out of my life but my mo'olelo is nowhere near its ending. I have more lives to experience and more lives to write.

My earliest memory is spinning in circles with folk dancers in a flurry of gold, red, and green embroidered on black dresses. We weren't in a dance hall, but in a gymnasium, twirling on three-point arcs and free throw lines. The Bohemian Hall has tons of contradictions like that. In their beer garden, they serve chicken schnitzel and buffalo chicken wings, macaroni and cheese and tlachenka (head cheese). Happy drunken twenty-somethings pass by little kids and nobody thinks anything of it.

Like the Bohemian Hall, the apartment complex I grew up in had its own contradictions. Our Czech landlord, Jardo, was the stereotypical Slavic badass from the movies. Chatting up a crowd drinking their umpteenth Pilsners, he insulted a tenant that dared complain about asbestos in his apartment. After all, asbestos only spreads if you cut the old pipes. Hung on the walls of Jardo's basement were works of all shapes and sizes, from the lush, rolling hills of Moravian landscapes to the curves of the female body in… suggestive posters.

Jardo smelled of cigarettes and beer, which my mom told me to avoid at all costs. I wondered why she befriended him. But then I realized that he reminded her of home. We couldn't go to the Bohemian Hall everyday, but we could always go to Jardo's basement and talk Czechoslovak celebrity gossip.

I am constantly brought back to my Slovak heritage, but it is influenced by American lifestyle. I eat goulash at Thanksgiving dinner, speak a mix of English and Slovak (Slovglish?) with my great aunt, and say Na zdravie! instead of Cheers! when I drink champagne on New Year's Day. My Slovak-American heritage was, and always will be, perfectly contradictory.

They were everywhere— on the streets begging, in the market stealing, at the prison fighting. Even more disturbing however, was the fact that they were just children.

In my neighborhood, people give birth to kids in numbers they can barely cater for. These kids in their quest for survival engage in criminal activities, resulting in an alarmingly high rate of juvenile delinquency.

Having witnessed several cases of jungle justices carried out on these underprivileged kids, I pondered day and night on what to do to save their futures, until I came up with an idea– education. I opened a free school where I taught the kids basics in mathematics, English, and moral ethics. In no time, they began engaging in menial jobs to fend for themselves and eventually dumped their mentality of "steal to eat." I was also able to successfully liaise with some philanthropists who helped the kids further their education after they graduated from my free foundation. A few other kids who got no sponsors surprisingly took up menial jobs to sponsor themselves.

Many people were quite puzzled at the fact that I put in so much passion into the kids' education despite not receiving monetary incentives. However, there was something more than money that inspired me. It was satisfaction– satisfaction from seeing smiles on formerly smileless faces, satisfaction from the feeling that I am brightening dark paths, and satisfaction from knowing that I am impacting my community in a measure no amount of naira can settle.