AN UNSENT LETTER

Dear Mr. Tranchina,
I must write to release my painful burden. You do not know that you accidentally put a heavy rock on my heart, which suffocates me. I am like a tailor in a fairy tale: A tailor knew his king to have horse’s ears. The tailor was forced to keep the king secret instead of being dead. The tailor was depressed until he went to a jungle and told the secret to a giant maple tree. Like a tailor, I promised you and Dr. Czech to keep secret about our conference, but I always think that you discriminated against me. More than that, your acts fortuitously perish my pride and my confidence. I am not worthy to live or to talk to my family because I am useless and stupid. My soul is traumatic. I am breathing, but dead inside. I do not want to see or to talk to anyone else at all. I isolate myself from my family and the others who are surrounding me.
I fretted and doubted myself. Comparing your class to other English classes, which I took at SJSU, your class was easy, but I failed it. You were the first mean instructor whom I met. I was so disappointed because you often told us to teach students from our hearts, but you were heartless. I cried while I was driving, eating, and showering. It was a nightmare that haunted while I slept—you pointed at me and shouted, “Your English is not good enough to be a teacher. Give up your path.” I woke up full of guilt because I slandered my professors’ names.
I was proud and deserved my bachelor’s degree in English. My professors gave me vehicles to discover mysterious literature territories and mechanics to write beautiful English poems, interesting stories, and critical literature essays. My professors often said that my second English language was my strength, and poetry was my gift. They encouraged me to keep pursuing my path. I believed in my potential, but you made me doubt myself. I felt mortified because you diminished my English bachelor’s degree, which meant you disqualified my professors.
You pushed me down into the unworthy and guilty sea toward my professors like a bad feeling toward my parents when a Vietnamese called me, “Mất dạy,” “Uneducated,” Vietnamese often say, “Đỗ Mât day” “Uneducated,” to chide young people, who do not behave well. To Vietnamese, the word, “uneducated” is a taunted language, because it insults those who do not seriously teach their children manner. Once, an elderly neighbor of mine yelled at me, “Do mat day,” “Uneducated.” I got mad and told her that she could punish or reprimand me, but she must not blame to my parents. After that, I was always good because I did not want people to criticize my parents’ teaching. Now, I got mad because I made you disgrace my professors’ qualification. I wanted to shout loudly, “Mr. Tranchina, you are wrong and unfair when you alleged that I knew English very little. My professors taught me well. I bet you cannot write beautiful poems and stories as I do.”
I knew you did not like me at the first meeting when students shared with classmates their background and stories. I was shocked when you cut and moved quickly to another student while I was sharing. You never mentioned Vietnam, its people, and culture while you were interested in Roma’s stories. She told us a lot, and you asked her more and more. You often asked Roma about Indian culture and life, but not a word about Vietnam. I was jealous of Roma because India is also an Asian country, but you were only interested in India. In class, you rarely talked to Kathy and I who were Vietnamese students. I seldom raised my hand, but Kathy, who liked to talk in class, did raise her hands, and more than once, I saw you ignored her.
I reread my essay and did not know why it was wrong because you did not tell what I should have written, nor give any feedback. The NU’s instructors seemed lazy to give students’ essays feedback. I wrote the essay regarding my personal experience that related to what I understood about Jefferson’s great quote. I knew that my writing was different from your students’ essays because I was not educated in the United States. Moreover, I was a creative person, so I did not want to write ideas I read on the Internet and books. Therefore, I often wrote and explored my own thought, but still kept on the instructors’ assignments. You did not let students explore their creative writing ability. You only accepted students to write what you wanted. My essay was wrong because you did not provide me clear direction and feedback.
You were not pleased when I was late. It was not my mistake; you should have understood me. You changed our class schedule to 5:00 p.m. instead of 5:30p.m. per the NU’s regular schedule. I had to tutor my students after school, so you knew my effort to come on time, but sometimes I was late because of the traffic.
I was confused and did not know what you meant when you gave me an envelope with my name on it and said nothing. Your act made me confused. I still do not know why you gave me an envelope with no contents.
I was embarrassed when you reprimanded me in front of my friends because I did not let you know the reason for my absences. I was exasperated and speechless. My friends looked at me as if I were a bad student. I did not know where I could hide my face. I wished to become invisible. Why did you treat me like that? You should have kept my face. You could talk to, ask me why, or complain to me in your office. Moreover, seeing my face, you should have understood how seriously sick I was. I tried to go to school while I had the flu because I already missed two classed.
I asked you to turn in my final paper late because I was seriously sick. My family doctor asked if I needed the doctor’s proof, but I thought it was fine. You not only denied my request, but also said that if I did not turn it on time, I would fail. I tried to finish my final examination and knew that it was not good. I emailed you. You knew that, but you used my paper as a proof that I was not able to pursue the teaching credential program and asked Ms. Maria, the advisor, to drop me without discussing it with me.
Mr. Tranchina, I do not know why you were so strict. I think you were prejudice, and doubted my English ability. You are also an American minority. You should help a second English student learn to succeed. I did not want you to treat me different. Never. However, I expected you to be fair.
While writing this letter, my heart is tattered and bleeding because your claws are clinging to my emotion. My teardrops are a current of blood from the heart flowing down.