Growing up, talking never came easy to me. While others could express their thoughts without hesitation, I always found myself looking for the right words but never finding them. Instead, I turned to my pencil. With every stroke on paper, I could write what I struggled to say out loud, whether it was in a drawing or a few simple lines of text. The pencil became my voice when speaking felt impossible.
When I was a kid, I used to make my mom mad. Sometimes, she would cry. Of course, I never meant for that to happen, but it just did. Seeing my mother’s tears fall has always made me feel awful as a son, and in some cases, scared because I wouldn’t know how she’d react if I spoke to her at that time. When that happened, I used crayons to draw her an illustration to apologize for my behavior. When I was done, I’d leave the paper on top of her bed before going to sleep. By the next morning, we’d talk about it and give each other a hug.
As I grew up, I realized that I couldn’t just make drawings to ask for forgiveness or express a thought I had. So I started to investigate and later discovered new words that became useful in my native language, Spanish. I could combine my drawing skills with writing to develop a new way of communicating my feelings to others.
When I had my first girlfriend—the only one I've been with so far—in seventh grade, from the first day I asked her out, I couldn’t express my emotions clearly. Maybe it was because I'd never been in a relationship before, maybe it was the strange feeling of awkwardness that drove me to remain silent for a long week after asking her out. Even though we were in the same classroom, I couldn’t say a simple “Hello” or “How are you?” Instead, I relied on love letters to express my emotions and thoughts.
For almost every month, I would write her a letter saying I wasn’t good at expressing and communicating my emotions in person. I reminded her how lucky I was for her giving me a chance. We continued like that for over two years until we broke up. Love letters every month and signs of affection became a normal thing for us and, as our relationship grew, I got used to being around her and doing actions that demonstrated my affection for her.
When we got to our one-year anniversary, I planned to give her a nice craft I made and a necklace I bought for her, but fear held me back. I had the same thought all day long, “Look for the perfect time, look for the perfect time,” but the perfect time never came. My mind and fear were holding me back. As I was leaving school to go home—discouraged and disappointed in myself—I saw her standing across the street, raising her hand and calling my name.
There was a moment of silence between us before she pulled a big craft out of her bag and gave it to me; “Happy one year, my globito (a nickname between us),” she said. At that moment, I found the courage I was looking for and gave her the gifts I had prepared. We were both surprised since we thought the other had forgotten our “special day.” The words she said to me right afterward have been stuck in my mind ever since then: “I know you don’t like to express your feelings through speaking, but I’m glad I always get to receive your letters. Still, I would like you to start talking face to face with me, think of me as another friend and don’t be ashamed. I love you.”
I believe those dearly important words shifted the way I communicated and behaved. I wanted to be the person that she wanted me to be—someone who could express their feelings and thoughts without fear.
Going all the way up to ninth grade, I forgot how to communicate emotions through just pencil and paper. I reached a point where I was confident when talking to other people, making new friends, establishing conversations, presenting in front of many people, etc. However, I only gained that confidence through talking in my native Spanish.
When I arrived in the United States back in April 2021, all the efforts I made to communicate better went directly to the trash. I had to speak a new language which I’d never spoken before: English. Before coming to the U.S., I thought that learning a new language would give me a new and easier way to communicate. At the end of the day, that wasn’t the case.
Like many people, I was optimistic. There’s a saying my mom used to tell me when I was a child: “El que sigue, la consigue,” the basic meaning being “The one who perseveres, succeeds.” I thought that if I put in all my time and dedication, I could quickly grasp the language. This confidence was born from my previous experiences with my native language, as well as the number of apps that exist for learning a new language. Despite my efforts during the first four months, speaking a new language was complicated, more so than I imagined. I couldn’t even express basic thoughts or say simple phrases.
In September 2021, I started my new journey in a charter school in Newark, New Jersey. As I entered my first class, my English professor, Mr. Anderson, told me to introduce myself to the class. However, with the few words I knew at that time, I could only say: “I call Andre and I from Peru.” After that brief introduction, I noticed the little giggles and whispers among my classmates. I didn’t make a good impression. The rest of the classes followed like my first class—giggles and whispering.
At the end of that day, my last class was global history, in which, luckily, I met a friend, Walter S. He is an American citizen born and raised here with Ecuadorian roots; he also spoke a little Spanish. He helped me at the beginning when I struggled to talk in English. We mostly communicated through Google Translate. He only somewhat understood what I said to him in Spanish due to differences in dialects.
That day, I set myself the goal of learning English—whatever it takes—so I could encounter that confidence again when speaking and make my parents proud. First, I started doing homework using Google Lens to translate everything into Spanish. Then, I’d write down all the words I didn’t know and their pronunciations so I could use those words in conversation.
In the text, “What is Authenticity” by Theo Van Leeuwen, Leeuwen writes that “technologies aimed at the faithful (authentic) reproduction of an original, they soon became involved in the production of meaning themselves. This raises both the question of accuracy of representation (e.g. loudness levels of different sounds) and the question of the authenticity of added emotional values (e.g. reverb effects)” (Leuuwen 2001, 395). Leeuwen argues that, while technology can facilitate communication, it often lacks some type of emotional “authenticity.”
I heavily relied on technologies like Google Translate and Google Lens to help me express my thoughts. Translation apps, felt mechanical—as if the emotions behind my words were lost in the process. However, writing or using my pencil always felt more genuine—as if the words written were speaking for me. I realized that, while technology can make it easy to communicate, it sometimes distances you from what’s real and personal.
I was highly encouraged by teachers to participate in class. Class participation has always been an important factor in grading. I, first, started by returning to the pencil and paper. When it was time to participate during class, I’d ask someone if they could read the paper where I had written my answer. However, this only lasted for a month as I didn’t want to annoy my peers.
One or two months later, I began participating in geometry class. Math has been my favorite and strongest subject since I was a kid. Thus, I thought I could start practicing my English in that class too. When the teacher asked someone to go to the board and solve a problem, I always volunteered, but then, the teacher would always ask us to justify our answer. The first time I participated, I solved the problem on the board and wrote the justification next to it. The teacher analyzed my answer and justification and, by the end of class, I received a huge compliment from the teacher; I solved the problem perfectly and my justification was “understandable.” Ms. Griffin was the very first teacher that complimented me. This boosted my confidence and I started to participate more in her class.
By the end of tenth grade, I ended up with A’s and A+’s in all my subjects, signifying great progress in my journey to learning English. By eleventh grade, it went about the same; I took 2 APs and, by the last year of high school, had the opportunity to take two more APs (I was supposed to take four APs, but couldn’t due to unavailability in those classes).
Looking back on everything, I realize my pencil wasn’t just a tool—it was my lifeline. From the apologies written in crayon I left on my mom’s bed, to the love letters that spoke the words I couldn’t express, my pencil was always there to help me connect when my voice fell short. Now, I’m more comfortable speaking, but deep down, I know my real voice started with those quiet, careful strokes on paper. It’s funny now that I think about it—no matter how much I grow—that pencil will always remind me of the person I was, I am, and how far I’ve come throughout these years.