However, when I decided to go to an international high school to study in an IB (International Baccalaureate) program, both reading and writing became a struggle for me as I had to read and write completely in English, which was my second language. Six subjects and three additional courses awaited me, and the idea of learning them well in a whole new educational system and in a second language scared me. I still remember how dreadful and helpless I felt when I spent hours staring at the 500-page economics text book written in a tiny front size; I panicked that I might never be able to conquer this subject. I felt disoriented confronting these enormous challenges. These insecurities followed me everywhere as a burden on my shoulders, and they soon turned into depression the moment I received the grade for my first written assignment for English, which was much lower than I expected. I kept asking myself "how did you end up like this? Where did that proud writer go? Why can't you receive a higher grade after you had put everything you knew into your writing assignment?"
I could not accept the fact that writing, a source of joy and a light in my life, had turned into something I was failing at. After writing had become such an indispensable component of my life since I was a kid, how could I witness a part of me breaking down and tearing my future apart? The sound of a pen rubbing against paper and of fingers tapping the keys of a keyboard was no longer beautiful or magical to me. It became a scream, a painful scream which reminded me of how I ended up in this situation in which I could not write and did not even want to write anymore.