Personal Narrative: My First English Class

Long wide roads that seemed to go on endlessly, small houses reflecting the neighborhood, steel fences losing its touch for it was beginning to rust, tall palm trees swaying back and forth, and a black broken down Toyota parked near the pavement of a butterscotch house. Right around the corner is where you’d lay eyes on Thomas Jefferson Middle School. As I walk into unfamiliar building and know nothing about the culture and language a huge chill came over me, which I have never felt before. Something finally hit me I was in school in America. I walked in my first English class and sat there in a full panic mode but pretended I knew what I am doing. I heard a loud noise that said “Alright class take out your notebook and write a paragraph about your winter break”. Although I can understand some English words I had no idea how I was going to do
As I moved to a new country it became even more difficult for me to write because it was in a different language and a different alphabet. I moved from Ethiopia when I was twelve years old and was enrolled in middle school right away. As panicked as I was the first day of class I was more frightened of what was to come. Every time my English teacher gave us a writing assignment I used to say I can’t do it and always use the excuse that I was from another country. Ms. Rodriguez came to me one day and told me that by saying I can’t I am making myself weak. I need to get up and start to do the stuff she has been teaching us. That comment really upset me, How could she say that to me? I just came to this country and I do not know anything. The next day she gave me a journal, she told me to write everything down. Each day at the end of the day to write what happened to me. I was so upset at her I did not even open the journal. Day after day she asked if I started to write in my journal. I was so tired of the excuses I made for me not doing anything, so I started to write in my