Change

     Change has its way of delivering new opportunities. When my parents informed me that we'd move to America permanently, I was terrified of the transition my life would go through, specifically learning English. In Egypt, we learned some basic English vocabulary along with a couple of grammar lessons, but that about it. I didn't know how to keep up a conversation let alone write an essay. I knew it would be challenging, but I had to be patient in order adapt swiftly to this new chapter of my life.

 Getting used to New York was Challenging as I was unfamiliar with the lifestyle there, but I hoped to adapt quickly. I was excited to start at my new school, the thought of making new friends caused butterflies to erupt in my stomach. On the first day, almost all my classmates giggled when I spoke. However, I could not understand what was amusing. My English teacher would try to hide his laugh whenever I’d attempt to participate in class, which was utterly bewildering. Yes, I had an accent, and my English sometimes barely made sense, but he was supposed to teach me to be courageous, and confident of my work, not force me to feel hesitant, and fearful.

  My classmates mocked my reading, so I only imagined how they'd react to my writing. They always reminded of how little I’m familiar with the language that they seemed to master. I remember my first presentation; I was terrified to read the poorly written poem that I had scrambled that morning in the car. During the presentation, I pronounced “thing” as “think", stuttered a couple of times, all the while trying to avoid eye contact. My sweaty hands were shaking as I closed my eyes to silence my daunting thoughts. “Breath Sara, breath!” I thought. Halfway through my dire poem, I paused as I heard my classmate mutter "This poem is so stupid." I felt my entire body burn as fresh tears stung my eyes, but I quickly blinked them away. I tried to continue presenting, but the looks everyone gave me once again stopped me. My teacher gave me a look of pity muttering ‘aww don’t cry.' But it was too late. A hot angry tear cascaded down my cheek as I glared at my classmates with hurt. The situation left me doubtful. Shouldn’t the fact that we all had our differences make us the same? Why was I singled out?

  After that incident, I went home dragging my feet across the floor. Looking at the mirror, I could not recognize the girl looking back at me. It wasn’t like this back in Egypt; I never felt so insignificant there. It appeared that in America your value is determined by your wits. A big part of me wanted to prove to them, and to myself, that I can do better; that I can educate myself. That day I decided to work on mastering the English language.

 Throughout middle school, I worked on nourishing my mind with new vocabulary every day. However, I hadn’t yet ventured into the world of books. Whenever I had a reading assignment, I looked up its summary online. But I wanted more.  It bothered me when I depended on my teachers, or on the internet to learn my lessons. I wanted to understand and reflect on my own. So I thought the best solution was for me to go to the library, and read lots of books. Maybe then my reading and writing could become more professional.

  It was Late December when I made my first visit to the Library. The smell of dust haunted the place, and the perfectly stacked books seemed uninviting. Skimming through the endless piles of books, one caught my attention. I don’t remember why I even chose that book, but I faintly remember its glamorous cover. I ran home that day, clenching the book I borrowed, only to find out I had lost my keys and was left outside on the front porch till my parents would come, To stifle the boredom that surely would come, I began reading the book I borrowed. I read the first page, then the second, and then a couple more. Sparks of excitement shot through my eyes. I was mesmerized as a wave of intense eagerness burst through me. I couldn’t believe it. I was reading a book, and I was enjoying it. The cold air nipped at my skin, but I completely ignored it as I got lost in the book. Who knew books were far more amusing than films?  I was so delighted that I could read it effortlessly. Overhead, the once bright, blue sky was churning into a dark void, bathing the world into an ominous shadow, yet I took no notice; I buried myself so deeply in that book that I detached myself from reality, even after my parents came. Since then, I built a home between the pages of books. It helped make me more adept at English; my essays became much better over the years, and my grades shifted dramatically.
 

   Reading contributed to improving my writing; I no longer felt tongue tied whenever I wanted to convey my thoughts. I never thought I'd fancy writing, but turns out I it. I wrote my first story during ninth grade. I was extremely proud of it.  The story was long-spun with a need of a few editing, but it was a decent story nonetheless. During the school year, we had an assignment to present a literary work that we've done. I picked my story, and once again, I found myself standing in front of my classmates. But this time it was different. I was not the same girl who cowered in fear of rejection from her classmates, but rather the girl who wouldn't let anyone abase her as she faced her fears with a brave face. I read the story clearly, and with confidence. When I sat back down, the room was silent.  I didn’t expect any acclaim from my classmates, but I didn’t expect silence either. They all gazed at me with wide eyes. For a moment I thought they would taunt me just like they did back in Middle school. However, one by one they all started to shower me with praises. My teacher wore a proud smile on his face. It was refreshing. That moment was special to me, not because of my classmate's praises, but because it made me understand that the challenges life throws at you make you stronger and wiser. Reading and writing changed me; it filled my mind with the appropriate knowledge I needed so I can move forward.
 

  Throughout my experience in middle school, I learned that the foundation of change is accepting challenges. If life were easy, we would never push ourselves beyond our limits. When we face hardships and tests, we unveil our real strength. If you think of gold for instance, it needs to be melted and thrown into a harsh setting for its beauty to shine.  If I were never humiliated in front of my classmates during my first presentation, then I would have never challenged myself. If my classmates never mocked me during middle school, then I wouldn't feel the need to prove them, and to myself that they're wrong. As I look back at my life, I realized that I wouldn't change anything. I'd go through the very same events, for if it weren't for these challenges, I wouldn't have learned to love reading and writing. I wouldn't have recognized my ability, and potential. And lastly, I wouldn't have become who I am today.