English Is Nowhere Near My First Language Essay

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Writing can be seen as many things and in many ways, but I like to look at writing as it follows; writing is like trying to go home during rush hour on the free way. You start off, and you want to go fast, but you encounter slow traffic, dead traffic, and even some one-off time, fluid traffic. Once you are off the freeway, you encounter the casual red light and might even need to do U-turns along the way. However, we all know that no matter how long it takes, you arrive home sometime not too long away.
While I don 't want this essay to turn into an autobiography, I think it is important to say that English is nowhere near my first language. I was born in Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico, and moved to the United States when I was roughly 5. Moving back and forth throughout my life has led me to have somewhat of a culture shock, and there is one moment I can never forget and always come back to when writing. During my first days living in the country, my teacher asked me to stay behind for lunch to work on my English skills. Knowing next to nothing of English, I sat down and began having a lecture on English writing. She would ask me to write a "comma", with my limited English, my direct translation of that would be "draw a bed"(cama is bed in Spanish). I vividly remember seeing my teacher 's face get redder every time I would draw a bed next to the words, I even thought it was unusual for her to request that. It escalated to the point where she just yelled; "Stop Daniel,…

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