In the United States of America, there is no official language, yet if any American were asked, they would answer English. This is the language immigrants are told they need to learn to strive and be successful. Being the child of two immigrants, I grew up speaking their native language, Urdu, not knowing much English. Today no one would guess that English is my second language because of how much I worked on my accent and improving my English.

I grew up with my grandmother who didn’t speak English at all but spoke many other languages including Farsi, Hindi, Arabic and Urdu. These were the main languages I learned from her, yet the one she lacked was English. Thankfully I had two older sisters; I learned started learning English younger than they did because they would start speaking this different, alien-like language to me at the age of five. I picked up a few words here and there, yet I was more fluent speaking Urdu so I never tried to keep up speaking English until I was forced to. As I started school, everyone spoke English, and no one Urdu, so I had to learn this new language which involved me going to ESL classes. My parents saw my difficulty with English, as well as my older sister's, and we tried to converse in English around the house, yet we always strayed and went back to speaking in Urdu subconsciously.

I was always shy as a child, and entering a school was hard for me. To converse just made everything harder; making new friends was always difficult—especially since I was never confident enough to approach new people. I would barely talk and never volunteer to read aloud because I knew I would stumble on words I didn’t know, and the last thing I needed was to embarrass myself. However, I always looked forward to my math and science classes because I understood the material and always did well in them. When it was time for English, my mood would take a drastic turn and I would start counting down the minutes until we were done, because no matter how hard I tried, I always had trouble with my grammar, spelling, or reading.

One day in first grade, my teacher assigned us to write a short composition and we had to read it aloud to the class; it was my first big assignment that I had to present in front of my class. The week of, I remember trying to fix my accent so I could get it “perfect” and being so self-conscious of this small Pakistani accent I had. I would stay after class and show my teacher the composition I had written to make sure my grammar and spelling were correct, as well as the way I read the big words aloud. My first-grade teacher, Mrs. Piansky, was the most supportive person who helped me overcome my fear of talking to an audience; she always told me that my intelligence wasn’t measured by how I read or pronounce words. The night before my presentation, I gathered my family in the living room and made them listen to me as I read my short story; struggling to get the perfect American accent, I got through my story with positive feedback from my parents and sisters.

I remember the day of, being nervous, having sweaty palms and just wanting to stay home from school so I wouldn’t have to present. My teacher was a caring old lady, and she allowed me to volunteer and go first. I never volunteered for anything, but I just wanted to get over this nerve-wracking experience. I thought if I went first I could get over it quickly, and I was a little excited as well because I felt as though my reading skills had improved. I was walking up to the front of the classroom, which always had a potent smell of SoftSoap, and I was sweating, clenching my fists, because I had never been this nervous before. I read my story aloud and went back to my seat not really knowing how I had done; I don’t remember reading the story but more of reading the words aloud. I figured I did a decent job because people did clap for me. I was just relieved to be done with the assignment, and even though I was scared, I was also glad because it helped me practice speaking to an audience. From that day forward I continuously volunteered, eager to read my writing or books aloud because I knew the more I practiced, the more beneficial it would be to me. By fifth grade, my Pakistani accent was completely gone and I was less conscious of approaching new people and became more confident.

This one vivid memory will always stay with me because it was the turning point in my life when I became aware that I had to stop being scared and living in the shadows just because my English wasn’t perfect. If I hadn’t changed my mentality, I wouldn’t have improved my English as much as I was able to. There are many moments when I see other people on the street, in the classroom, or even on the train struggling with their English, but I know the hardships they go through because of this “disadvantage."