First draft of LLN
When I left Uzbekistan for New York City at the age of 12, learning English was one of the steep mountains I had to climb. I started out in middle school but as I started high school, COVID made that climb even steeper. During months of online classes I didn’t have a chance to improve my English. My camera stayed off, microphone muted, and I completed worksheets that were too easy to cheat. By the time school finally got back to normal, I could understand a lot of English by watching all of my favorite American shows and movies, but I was not confident enough to put words together out loud.
Freshman year began just as schools were recovering from virtual classes back to normal. In high school no one spoke Uzbek or Russians like the classmates I used to have in middle school. The silence I kept during online school was now catching up with me. Because of that I was too shy to talk with people and participate in class thinking that I’d embarrass myself in front of others who were way more confident in their ability to speak English.
My first report card showed failing grades in ELA and US history, which were the only classes that required a lot of speaking. In math I could get away by calling out numbers or writing on the board. Seeing those grades demotivated me in doing any work because I was not even used to getting low grades when before I came to New York I was one of the high performing students in Tashkent. I came to a point where I pleaded with my parents to take me back to Uzbekistan. But my dad refused telling me that there will be challenges in life and nothing comes easy. I understood that there was no way to get out of this situation except for my studying harder.
Little by little I decided to push myself. I began to take more time reading aloud, practicing pronunciation even when it felt awkward. I joined clubs and started interacting with classmates. Instead of relying on a translator and short answers I decided to answer as much as I can on my own. By the next marking period my grades went up from borderline failing to the 80s. One morning in English class we had just finished reading a short story when the teacher asked us to share our thoughts. My pulse sped up. I whispered to myself, rehearsing what to say before words came out of my mouth. Around me, students shuffled their papers looking for answers. For a moment I almost sank back into silence. But I did not want all those days of practice to go to waste. I lifted my hand. “Answer Jamil,” the teacher said. My voice trembled and hesitated a bit but I kept going until I shared all of my thoughts. I saw everyone looking, nodding, and listening. “That is a great point,” the teacher said and smiled. A rush of relief and pride flooded through me. This is when I started to feel like my voice belonged in the room.
That simple moment didn’t solve every problem, but showed me something important. I was waiting for a perfect moment, a moment when I spoke perfectly. But to perfect something there needs to be a trial. Progress comes from trying when you get wrong. Since that day I have spoken more in my classes, during group works, and in casual talks with classmates. Even when my accent gets heavier or stutter or search for the right words, I do not let that stop me from speaking.
Looking back at this experience, it shows me seeing myself as an outsider before claiming space in my new environment. My experience mirrors what many immigrants may face. Their silence can stem from a fear of making mistakes but progress comes from practice. Language is not mastered by waiting for perfection. It grows through awkward but countless attempts.
Final draft of LLN
When I left Uzbekistan for New York City at the age of twelve, learning English was one of the steep mountains I had to climb. I started out in middle school, but as I began high school, COVID made that climb even steeper. During the months of online classes, I didn’t have a chance to improve my English. My camera stayed off, my microphone was muted, and I completed worksheets that were too easy to cheat. By the time school finally returned to normal, I could understand a lot of English by watching my favorite American shows and movies, but I still was not confident speaking.
In high school, no one spoke Uzbek or Russian like the classmates I used to have in middle school. After months of being silent behind a screen, I did not realize how much online silence affected me. Because of that, I was too shy to talk with people and participate in class.
My first report card showed failing grades in ELA and US history that required more speaking. In math, I could get away by calling out numbers or writing on the board. Seeing those grades demotivated me because I was not used to low grades. Before coming to New York, I was one of the high-performing students in Tashkent. My family received a green card when I was twelve, and we decided to move to the US, where I started seventh grade. My dad wanted better opportunities, but adjusting to a new language, school system, and environment felt overwhelming. I even begged to go back to Uzbekistan. But my dad refused, telling me that there would be challenges in life and nothing comes easily. He made a concrete decision about moving here, and it is not easy to change his mind. He gave up a comfortable life to work as a driver to make sure my siblings and I had chances he never did. The only way forward was to study harder and push myself.
I began to take more time reading aloud and practicing pronunciation of words. While there were times it felt awkward and I stopped mid-sentences out of frustration. The more I practiced, the more comfortable I became with English. At school, I forced myself to interact with others. I asked for help, discussed assignments, or made small talks. I began volunteering to read aloud during lessons, even when I was not fully confident. Instead of relying on a translator and short answers, I decided to answer as much as I could on my own. By the next marking period, my grades went up from borderline failing to the 80s.
One morning in English class, we had just finished reading a short story when the teacher asked us to share our thoughts.
My pulse sped up. I whispered my answer to myself, rehearsing what to say before words came out of my mouth as students around me shuffled their papers. For a moment, I almost sank back into silence. But I did not want the practice to go to waste. I lifted my hand. “Answer, Jamil,” the teacher said. My voice trembled and hesitated, but I kept going until I shared all of my thoughts. I saw everyone looking, nodding, and listening. “That is a great point,” the teacher said, and smiled. A rush of relief and pride flooded through me. I finally felt like my voice belonged.
That simple moment didn’t solve every problem, but it showed me something important. I was waiting for a perfect moment, a moment when I spoke perfectly. But perfection requires trial and error. While teachers try not to cold call on shy students to avoid making them anxious, for me, it was exactly what I needed. Being called on pushed me out of my silence and helped me realize that confidence comes from action, not preparation. Public speaking forced me to think quickly and express my thoughts on the spot. Since that day, I have spoken more in class and group work. Even when my accent gets heavier, or I stutter or search for the right words, it never stops me from speaking.
Looking back I see how I learned to claim space in a new environment. What I went through is something many immigrants can relate to. Their silence can stem from a fear of making mistakes, but progress comes from practice. Language is not mastered by waiting for perfection. It grows through awkward but countless attempts.
