Reflective Portfolio Letter

Alawadh6

Hussain Alawadh

Composition 1

Mr. Angelyn

12/2/17

Becoming a better student

When I first came to the United states to start to study English in language institution, I sat there in the hard seat of my work area and held up persistently. The sweet aroma was overpowering in the room, yet I knew by the second week it would be concealed by an aroma like smelly youngsters and chalk clean. I couldn't sit tight for my new educator to walk around to me; eyes filled with awe, and she gave me my paper. I had buckled down on it for almost a month in the middle of the late spring before this new school year. My written work abilities were first class, obviously. Checking out the room at my new classmates, it was anything but difficult to tell who had done the late spring assignments, and the individuals who were moving around in the back of their brains for a convincing reason with reference to why they had not created anything following three months.

My understanding was exhausted by this point. I needed my paper and I needed to see that great "A" shining brightly at the highest point of the page. Suddenly, she was directly before me. I looked up, smiling, attempting to make a nice impression. In any case, her face didn't demonstrate what I had expected. Her expression read, at the absolute best, drained and uninterested. She flipped the paper over and slid it onto my work area.

“Good try”, she said sarcastically and went on with her rounds.

Something inside me shook me. My earlier experience had revealed to me that when a paper is given to you front down, it won't be something to be glad for. I hesitantly flipped over my paper. I sat there for some time, looking at my paper. Never in my life had I seen such a many options of red checks on a solitary bit of paper. My eyes gradually moved towards the highest point of the page, where an angry looking letter "D" sat. As I slumped in my seat, crushed by such an unworthy review, I started to re-assess myself.

While writing was a difficult task to accomplish, it was not as difficult as learning to read, reading was a different story completely. The first memories I have of reading are painful at best. Reading a simple sentence seemed impossible for me to do, I was singled out almost immediately. Teachers had no patience with a child that dared to slow down their teaching curriculum.

“You’re going to be held back if something doesn’t change.” they would tell me.

As though, I was deliberately acting rebellious by being half illiterate. It didn't take much time for my mom to get some answers concerning the condition. Although she was angry with my teachers, she taught me things that would show signs of improvement. The following day, she gave me a gift. It accompanied no bright wrapping paper or heavy strips, no card that may have a couple of dollars in it. I had not even opened the box, and already I was disappointed. At the time, I looked at her “gift” as an insult. I was not so dense that I needed Hooked on Phonics, I thought. In spite of the fact that I put up an amazing show of disregarding the gift, I in the long run came around and chose to try this new thing out. Within weeks, I was reading far superior than any of my classmates. The confused and envious looks of my classmates filled my motivation to continue practicing with Hooked on Phonics, although I could never tell the others how I was advancing so fast.

Coming into my second semester in the English language institution, I was frightened. Despite the fact that I had overcome my fear of reading out loud by this point, this would be a totally unique environment. As I lurked into my classroom, I investigated, I tried to get a fast idea of the people I would need to contend with.

After all I experienced in my first semester; this is the way I started to view English class, a competition. Many students were sitting in their work areas, looking around in wonder as though this were the first occasion when they had been in a classroom. I saw a couple people toward the back of the room that seemed, by all accounts, to be dozing. How a man could nod off in a room that was well beneath the point of making clear and had such a stench of crisp paint, I would never get it. I took the main empty seat, opposite a young boy I knew from elementary school. It didn't take me long to understand my reading and composing abilities were above most in the class.

I knew I was great at the subject, and every other person knew it was well. On the off chance that there was ever an issue or somebody required help, I happily offered my help, not on account of I was being a kind individual, but rather in light of the fact that I wanted to display my insight. As a matter of fact, I needed everybody in the class to admire me, to think I was significantly more impressive than I really was. All the attention I was getting for my newly discovered skills in English appeared like a fantasy works out as expected at the time. Unfortunately, it would make me a vain and unconsciously self- centered individual.

All of this paved the way to that basic minute when I got a 'D'. The minute I ended up sitting at my work area, confounded and stunned at the review I had been given. Being the self- centered boy I was at the time, my first review was "This must be a slip-up, an undeniable mix-up." I sat tight waiting for the class to finish, twisting in my seat each second, at the same time consoling myself that I could deal with everything. At last, the bell rang loudly and after whatever remains of the students had shot out of their seat and set out toward the exit, I stood and walked over to her work area and courteously asked about my article. She immediately investigated the original two pages then gave me back the article with little energy.

“Your writing skills need some work. You were going off subject quite a bit”, she informed me.

With an ego of my size, even the littlest of feedback hit me hard. I gestured and understood that regardless I had such a great amount to take a shot at, yet I was strangely sure this instructor could help me. Mrs. John was her name, and I started to regard her more than any English educator I had earlier. She demonstrated to me how composing is much more than quite recently taking a seat at home and attempting to consider something important that will inspire an educator. I discovered that dialect can have endless significance and give such a great amount of delight for readers who set aside the opportunity to break down writing.

Studying a writer's validity and their explanation behind composing a specific piece were things I had never been made a request to do until her English class. All through my first year in the language institution I adapted more than I ever had in the class with her. The idea I had of how simple English was got to be clearly broken, and I ended up being significantly more open to new thoughts and styles or composing. In the event that I had not been moved into Advanced Placement English that year, I may have never gotten over myself, and would have never advanced the extent that I have.

So, in the end, yes, I did get my first ‘D’ in an English class. However, out of that single grade, I could make myself a better person, writer and a far better English student. It also helped me know an amazing English teacher and learn so much from her. Despite what others may think of my writing and reading, I am proud of myself for coming so far. This being not the end to my learning process as now I have realized that learning is a never-ending process and one keeps learning at every phase of life. I now look forward to new situations, in term of reading and writing, that can help me discover myself better. Also, another lesson from that “D” grade was to keep my ego aside when it comes to learning and never be overconfident with your knowledge and work. That’s what happened back then and I am glad it did. This is a very significant event in my life that advanced my reading and writing career and helped me become who I am today. It was Mrs. John and my mother’s efforts which motivated me in becoming an excellent writer and reader. I also learned that there is no shame in asking for help from your professor or from your friends, or going to the writing center.

In the end, hard work always pays off!