Throughout my revision process, I learned to improve the clarity, structure, and emotional flow of my narrative essay so that everything could come together better. I broke up long, dense paragraphs into smaller sections to better separate scenes and to make the story easier to follow. I clarified confusing parts in my essay, especially the part about “six hours”, by adding dialogue and also switching up the sentence length to reflect my younger self’s uncertainty. I also made the transition between my past experiences and my current reflection stronger and showed a clear growth from a straightforward memory into a narrative which showed how language and fear shaped who I am.
Letter to younger me
Dear six-year-old me,
You don’t know this yet, but you are about to experience one of the most overwhelming moments of your life.
You just got to Dubai, you can’t speak English, and your first day of school is approaching.
You are terrified but pretend to be fine.
I still remember how big that school felt at the time. A massive campus with kids from every grade, it was filled with long, endless hallways. The only people you knew were your older sisters, somewhere in the same building.
Everyone was talking super fast, and you weren’t able to understand them. The only bit of English you knew was how to ask for the bathroom and how to ask how long until school is over.
The constant questions from your peers terrified you, everything felt so alien.
I wanted to go back home so badly.
The only way you knew how to leave was to ask for the bathroom; that was your escape plan. It was your escape and a way of feeling calmer. But what you didn’t expect was for the hallways to turn into a maze in front of you, and you got lost walking around the huge school building.
The only way you could find comfort was by looking for your sisters. You knew they were in the same building, so you tried your hardest to find them, but to no avail, you kept on looping around the halls.
You missed one class while wandering around, then slowly one turned into two, and then it turned into you missing your entire first day of school, just wandering the hallways.
When you get home, your dad will be really angry. But your mother will be understanding; she will recognize that you weren’t skipping out of rebellion. She will take up the role of teaching you English even though she herself barely knows it. Slowly but surely, you will find your footing, and you will be able to make friends and communicate with kids in your class.
Dear six-year-old me,
Your hardships and struggles made you who you are now. Learning to get over your fear and confronting it is what made you stronger.
First Draft:
I made myself an outcast. I would walk around the halls endlessly just to avoid any form of communication or socializing with my peers. To set the stage, I had just recently moved to Dubai, and I was around five to six years old. My only language was Bengali, while English was a complete mystery
For the first two months, I was homeschooled by my parents, mostly my mother, who taught me all of the basics I needed to know to ‘survive’ in a new environment. They taught me how to greet someone, how to ask for the bathroom, and how to ask for the time.
The school my parents picked for me was a K-12 school, gigantic in size, especially to a 6-year-old kid who had never been in an environment like this before. I had two older sisters, both of whom were already attending this school, one being in fifth grade while the other was in seventh grade. My sisters were the only people in the school, filled with hundreds of students, that I thought I could relate to, as everyone else felt alien and like an otherworldly entity, not because of their looks, but because of the language barrier.
My first day of school, I was already crying and throwing a tantrum about having to go, filled with an immense amount of fear of the uncertainty, not knowing how I would be able to relate or connect with those around me. As soon as I walk into my first class, I am asked to introduce myself. Something I had already practiced and rehearsed a hundred times over in my head on my way to class. What I wasn’t expecting, however, was being bombarded with the curiosity of my new classmates, none of them had any ill intent, rather just natural curiosity. I started stuttering, not knowing most of the words that my peers were using, everything sounded so foreign to me. I was saved by the teacher telling the class to calm down, and she pointed me to my chair.
The endless questions still hadn’t stopped, as multiple students came up to me one by one, slowly introducing themselves and asking questions about my background. Looking back, I do appreciate that I was accepted, and some took a keen interest in me, but at the time, I was at a complete loss for words.
There were only two questions I knew how to ask. I kept on asking how long it would be till school ended, and when my teacher answered with six hours, I was at a loss, as I had no idea what the number itself meant, so I would keep on asking, hoping for a different answer, or for the number to finally click and make sense. The bathroom question became my escape. The second I was able to leave the classroom and be on my own, I took advantage of the situation and ran around the school building with one thing in my mind, to find either one of my sisters, as I didn’t know how to talk to anyone else.
That first day, I disappeared for hours, lost in a building that felt too big to conceive. The bright colored walls and doors would tower over me, causing me to be terrified even more. Teachers eventually found me. Once I got home, I got an earful from my father since he thought I was skipping on purpose, but my mother noticed I only ran and hid because I was scared of the new environment, not as a form of rebellion, so she took the opportunity to teach me how to communicate in English. Furthermore, she helped me understand that I shouldn’t be scared of my classmates, as they only wanted to get to know me.
With her encouragement and support, I slowly started practicing my English by trying to communicate with more people, and whenever I would come across something I didn’t get, I would ask about it and learn from it in order to improve my skills so I could fit in. Slowly, the fear that once made me run and hide in the hallways turned into a wanting to belong.
Final Draft:
Outcasted
I made myself an outcast. I would walk around the halls endlessly just to avoid any form of communication or socializing with my peers. I had just moved to Dubai, and I was around five to six years old. My only language was Bengali, while English was a complete mystery. For the first two months, I was homeschooled by my parents, mostly my mother, who taught me all of the basics I needed to know to ‘survive’ in a new environment. They taught me how to greet someone, how to ask for the bathroom, and how to ask for the time.
The school my parents picked for me was a K-12 school, gigantic in size, especially to a 6-year-old kid who had never been in an environment like this before. I had two older sisters, both of whom were already attending this school, in the fifth and seventh grades. My sisters were the only people in the school, filled with hundreds of students, that I thought I could relate to, as everyone else felt alien and like an otherworldly entity, not because of their looks, but because of the language barrier.
On my first day of school, I threw a tantrum because I didn’t want to go. I was filled with fear of the unknown, not knowing how I would be able to relate or connect with those around me. As soon as I walked into my first class, I was asked to introduce myself. Something I had already practiced and rehearsed a hundred times over in my head on my way to class. What I wasn’t expecting, however, was being bombarded with the curiosity of my new classmates: “Where are you from?” “Where are your parents from?” “Do you have any siblings?”. None of them had any ill intent, but rather just natural curiosity. I started stuttering, not knowing most of the words that my peers were using; everything sounded so foreign to me. I was saved by the teacher telling the class to calm down, and she pointed me to my chair.
The endless questions didn’t stop. Multiple students came up to me one by one, slowly introducing themselves and asking questions about my background. Looking back, I do appreciate that I was accepted, and some took a keen interest in me, but at the time, I was at a complete loss for words.
There were only two questions I knew how to ask. I kept asking how long it would be till school ended, and when my teacher answered with six hours, I was at a loss, as I had no idea what the number itself meant, so I kept on asking, hoping for a different answer, or for the number to click and make sense finally. The bathroom question became my escape. The second I was able to leave the classroom and be on my own, I took advantage of the situation and ran around the school building with one thing in my mind, to find either one of my sisters, as I didn’t know how to talk to anyone else.
That first day, I disappeared for hours, lost in a building that felt too big to conceive. Teachers eventually found me. I got an earful from my father, who thought I was skipping on purpose. However, my mother noticed that I only ran and hid because I was scared of the new environment, not as a form of rebellion. So, she took the opportunity to teach me how to communicate in English. Furthermore, she helped me understand that I shouldn’t be scared of my classmates, as they only wanted to get to know me.
With her encouragement and support, I started practicing my English by trying to communicate with more people, and whenever I would be stumped by something, I would ask about it and learn from it. One thing I still remember is my mother making me watch cartoons in English and making the use of English a common practice at home between my siblings and me.. Slowly, the fear that once made me run and hide in the hallways turned into a wanting to belong. I ended up becoming more proficient in the language, making it my main form of connection. Kids from all around the world have experienced difficulty in learning to assimilate and fit in to a new place, but having someone there to push and help you is important.
