Jaden Chazulle 2/23/26

English 110 

Catrina Vininski

Jaden Complex English 

I grew up in uptown Manhattan, a place of sharp contrasts where laughter and danger danced on every corner. My childhood was painted with the simple joys of darting through sun dappled parks, the cool air swirling around me, and the exhilarating shock of icy sprinklers drenching my skin on sweaty summer days. Yet, throughout  these bright moments was a shadow of gang violence. It wasn’t just a backdrop it seeped into my words, shaping how I spoke and teaching me the rhythms and slang of survival. That influence echoed through my life, from the chaos of middle school to the transition of high school and to now working and being part of one of the best wedding venues in New York City.

Attending middle school in Harlem felt like stepping into another world, even though it was just a few subway stops from uptown. The building buzzed with tension, arguments sparking in the hallways, the air thick with the possibility of a fight. When emotions ran high, our Dean, Mr. Johnson, would remind us, “Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” giving us permission to be ourselves, for better or worse. Despite being a strong student, English was my stumbling block. My grammar tangled my tongue and pen, and shame burned hot when teachers called out my mistakes. I remember the sting of misspelling “Soldiers,” Ms. Rodríguez’s voice rising above the classroom, her disappointment echoing in my ears. The embarrassment clung to me, tears slipping down my face, the memory circling in my mind like a haunting melody. Being around minorities around my whole life weather it was in school or around my neighborhood you hear different types of terminology so much where it sticks to you like gum and the bottom of your shoe, it clings to you it becomes your personality, cursing was embited into my DNA it became apart of who I was sometimes i couldnt get a sentence out wuhout cursing it was like a flu that no matter how many times to try to heal it stuck to you.  

High school brought a new chill, one that crept deeper during the pandemic, when screens replaced classrooms, and the words on the page seemed to slip further from my grasp. My English was raw, patched together from the slang and rhythms of uptown Manhattan. I wrote as I spoke: “yo,” “what you jack,” the lowercase “i,” words tumbling out with more attitude than grammar. Teachers sometimes struggled to understand me, my language seen as too rough, too informal, too ‘ghetto.’ But over time, something shifted. Each struggle sharpened my skills, and slowly, I reclaimed my confidence. I started to help others, feeling my mind spark with new energy. For the first time, I didn’t feel disappointment weighing me downI felt alive, and finally, smart enough, I was looked as inspiration and model and a peer mentor so much so I won Senior of the year award this rebuilt my confidence in english I even started to like math over english which was a rarity. 

Graduating ninth in my class out of eighty-five was proof that my voice, no matter how it sounded, didn’t define my intelligence. Yet, as I stepped into the world of work, my ‘hood language clung to me, shaping first impressions. People saw me as ghetto, an outsider, until I learned to code-switch, slipping between formal and informal English depending on where I stood. This skill became both a shield and a burden, shaping every conversation, whether I was at school or on the job. Sometimes, insecurity crept in, making me question my words, especially around others from neighborhoods like mine. Still, I’ve come to see that my language is part of my story a testament to resilience and adaptation in the city’s ever-shifting landscape, It’s okay to keep on learning as learning a language never really stops but dont let others try to rob your own voice from yourself, your own voice is yours and your own langhauge is yours as you understand it embrace and dont hide behind it.