We Were All New Once: A Back-to-School Letter on Belonging, Bravery, and Kindness

I arrived in America as a high school sophomore, 15 years old, awkward, and foreign in every conceivable way. My English was fragile at best. In Romania, I had studied French and German, with only a little private tutoring in English. My nickname, “Nora,” was easy enough, but my full name tangled tongues. The first roll call in any class was a moment I braced for, the mispronunciations sometimes so far off I didn’t realize the teacher was calling me.

My clothes came from Goodwill. My cultural references were a jumble, Jane Austen beside Star Wars, Mark Twain alongside Metallica, Michael Jackson, and schoolbooks bent to serve communist propaganda, but none of the TV shows or slang my classmates here knew by heart.

I still remember the day in Chemistry class when I ran out of scrap paper. Speaking up was terrifying. I raised my hand anyway: “May I have another… shit of paper?” My voice landed wrong on that short “ee.” There was a collective inhale, then muffled laughter. My cheeks burned. The teacher, mercifully, smiled and said, “Yes, you may have another sheeet of paper, Nora.” I laughed too, but for the rest of the period, the heat didn’t leave my face. I was now that kid.

The truth is, I wasn’t just new to the school, I was new to everything. The yellow school bus and its unwritten rules. Pep rallies and cafeteria food. Bells ringing between classes. The pledge to the flag. American TV and pop songs. Navigating without a circle of friends. Being without my little sister. Living with my father and stepmother after years apart. My foreignness showed in every step.

And yet, I was lucky. I had bridges: math, athletic ability, curiosity, adaptability. Math was my first language here. Numbers didn’t mock my accent. At first, I ruined the grading curve, which drew a few glares. But then classmates began asking for help. Helping them opened the door to friendship. They, in turn, helped me learn English, understand cultural references, and decode the maze of American high school.

I found kinship in unexpected places: the girl from a Ghanaian family who found New Jersey almost as strange as I did; the new neighbor with curly blond hair who sat with me on the bus so I wouldn’t be alone; the track teammates who explained the coach’s instructions when I missed them; the kids in German class who checked my translations. I joined clubs I’d never had back home, Astronomy, Science Olympiad, Amnesty International, Newspaper, spaces where shared interests outweighed differences.

Looking back, I realize how much I hid, behind my long hair, behind books in the library, behind the armor of being an excellent student. But curiosity kept pulling me forward. It told me, Go to that meeting. Try that sport. Say yes. Every bus ride was an adventure. Every hallway, a chance to understand my new world.

And always, I remember the kindness. Small gestures from students who sat beside me, teachers who believed in me, peers who explained without judgment. They made my foreignness feel less like a flaw and more like a story in progress.

Some of my tutoring students went back to school this week, some to new schools, new teachers, new classmates. I see in them the same nerves I once carried. Here’s what I want you to know:

Stay in the eye of the storm. A new school can feel like chaos, the bells, crowds, unfamiliar faces. You don’t have to control it all. Just find your center and take the next small step.

Let curiosity be louder than fear. Ask questions. Curiosity turns strangers into friends and makes the unknown familiar.

Focus on progress, not perfection. You’ll make mistakes. You’ll get lost. You’ll be awkward. That’s not failure, it’s growth in disguise.

Look for the kind ones. Not the “coolest” ones, the kind ones. They will make you feel seen. They will help you find your footing.

Use your strengths as bridges. Whether it’s math, art, music, running, or fixing things, let your skills open the door to connection.

We were all new once, to a school, a job, a neighborhood, a country. We were all awkward once. Some of us still are. Kindness matters. I will never forget the classmates and teachers who welcomed me, who helped me find my footing, who saw me as more than my accent. Their smallest gestures reverberate still. 

And if you, reading this, are one of those students starting fresh, you are not alone. This is just the beginning. Stay present. Stay brave. And let kindness, yours and others,’ lead you forward.