Axora's writings
My writings
1. cover letter
2. WP1 (for no picture)
3. WP2
Cover letter
Dear Dr. Zisa,
When I look back at this semester, it feels like I walked quite a long way—not always straight, sometimes slow, but finally finding a clearer path for writing. My portfolio is like a small map of this journey. It shows how I started as someone who only worried about “grammar and structure” and slowly turned into a writer who thinks about audience, purpose, and how my words actually work. It also shows how I learned that writing is not just academic—it’s part of everyday life, from sending a message to a friend to leaving a comment under a video.
How I Grew as a Writer
At the beginning, my idea of “good writing” was very limited. I thought it meant writing long sentences, using big words, and following rules. But readings like Kerry Dirk’s “Navigating Genres” and Laura Bolin Carroll’s “Backpacks vs. Briefcases” changed my mind. Dirk says that genres are not just forms—they are “tools to help people get things done.” I suddenly realized that writing is always about solving a small problem: how to make readers listen or understand something. Carroll’s idea about rhetorical thinking also made me notice that persuasion is everywhere—we are always trying to make someone think or feel something, whether we are writing an essay or just texting.
In WP 1, I translated an academic article about global mental health into a news‑style story for general readers. At first it sounded too serious, like a school report. When I reread it, I asked myself the same questions from Chapter 2, “Developing a Repertoire of Reading Strategies”: what is my purpose, who is my audience, and how do they read? Then I cut the long paragraphs, added daily examples, and used pictures because, as my teacher said, visual design also “lightens the reading load.” After these changes, it felt more like something a real person would want to read, not only a professor.
In WP 2, things got more complex. I compared how students in China, EMI universities, and UK L1 settings use transitions and metadiscourse. The first version looked like a list of research summaries. Peer comments and your feedback reminded me that writing is a conversation, not a collection of notes. I went back and connected the sources more like people talking—how Ruan’s idea about educational context connects with Casanave’s identity stories, or how Han and Gardner’s corpus study supports or challenges them. This revision made my structure smoother and helped my argument sound more like me.
Revision and Feedback
I learned that revision is not the same as correction. It’s more about thinking again. In WP 1, I used Grammarly to fix small mistakes, but more important was reading aloud and asking, “Would an ordinary reader stop here?” In WP 2, I did a kind of “reverse outlining” to see if each paragraph really answered my question. My peers told me my transitions felt heavy, so I tried shorter sentences and more natural connectors, not always “however” and “therefore.” I learned that sometimes good English is simple English.
You once told me that reflection is also writing. I didn’t understand that before, but now I do. When I stopped to think about why I used one quote or one structure, I was already writing again, just inside my head. Maybe this is what composition really is: thinking‑through‑writing.
Using Tools and Finding Balance
I tried a few tools. Grammarly helped with mechanics, but it can’t tell if my tone fits my readers. AI chatbots gave me ideas when I felt empty, like a friend to talk to, but their logic sometimes felt too straight, without emotion or background. So I used them for brainstorming and rechecking, not for the final voice. Real reflection—asking "why"—still had to come from me.
Strengths, Challenges, and What I Learned
My biggest strength is patience in revision. I don’t write perfect drafts, but I am good at looking back, finding problems, and fixing them step by step. For example, in WP 2 I cut two whole paragraphs of summary because they didn’t serve the argument. That was hard, but it made the essay cleaner.
My weakness is grammar and sometimes losing flow in long essays. But instead of feeling hopeless, I now try strategies from "Chapter 2"—reading aloud, paraphrasing, mapping—to slowly improve. I also practice noticing patterns in my own mistakes, like too many commas or missing articles.
Most important, I learned that writing is not only about school. When I chat with classmates on WeChat about an assignment, that’s writing. When I post a short opinion under a music video, that’s writing too. Writing is everywhere in daily life, and genre knowledge helps me move between them. An academic email, a caption on social media, a lab report—they all need different tones and structures, but the thinking behind them is the same: What am I trying to do here, and for whom?
Future and Cross‑Disciplinary Transfer
In the future, I will study subjects beyond writing—maybe psychology or public health—but I see now that writing connects them all. Like Brooke and Grabill say, writing is “a technology through which writers create and recreate meaning.” This also means writing is a thinking tool for any discipline. When I need to explain data in psychology, I can use strategies I learned here: rhetorical reading to understand sources, “says/does” analysis to see how research writing builds argument, and genre awareness to fit academic style while staying clear.
I also want to transfer reflection to other kinds of learning. In science or math, I can ask similar questions: What is this formula doing? How does this method persuade the reader or viewer? Even teamwork reports or presentations are forms of writing. So I no longer see writing as separated from other knowledge—it’s a bridge between disciplines and between people.
Final Thoughts
This semester taught me that writing is not just a product; it’s a process, a habit, maybe even a lifestyle. Whether it’s an academic essay, a message to a friend, or a comment in a forum, I’m practicing audience awareness and rhetorical thinking every day. I may still make grammar mistakes, but I can think critically, revise honestly, and write with more awareness. And that, for me, is real progress.
Thank you for helping me learn not just to write better but to think differently about what writing means.
Sincerely,
Axora
Works Cited
Brooke, Collin, and Jeffrey T. Grabill. “Writing Is a Technology through Which Writers Create and Recreate Meaning.” Naming What We Know: Threshold Concepts of Writing Studies, edited by Linda Adler‑Kassner and Elizabeth Wardle, Utah State University Press, 2015, pp. 32–34.
Carroll, Laura Bolin. “Backpacks vs. Briefcases: Steps toward Rhetorical Analysis.” Writing Spaces: Readings on Writing, vol. 1, Parlor Press, 2010, pp. 45–59.
Dirk, Kerry. “Navigating Genres.” Writing Spaces: Readings on Writing, vol. 1, Parlor Press, 2010, pp. 249–62.
Chapter 2. “Developing a Repertoire of Reading Strategies.” The Composition Reader, pp. 9–24.
WELCOME
For my writing
WP1
Title
One Program Is Not Enough: Why Mental Health Needs a “System”
A new paper in Cambridge Prisms: Global Mental Health says something clear but often forgotten: there is no single program that can fix mental health problems around the world. Especially in low‑ and middle‑income countries, one small project can help a few people, but it cannot reach everyone. What people need is a system — a connected set of services that work together like parts of a living body.
Why One Fix Doesn’t Work
Mental health problems rarely happen alone. Depression, anxiety, trauma, and poverty often come together. When a program helps only one issue, it leaves out the others. Jordans, the author of the study, points out that focusing on one piece often breaks the chain; people may start treatment but stop halfway because there is no follow‑up or referral system.
And even if a pilot project works well in one village or city, it can still fail when expanded. Staff may be overworked, data weak, and supervision missing. Scaling up without building a system is like trying to make a house taller without adding stronger walls.
Another problem is that most studies only measure changes in single people — how much a person’s symptoms improve. But what if multiple programs could work together and make changes for whole communities? Systems thinking tries to answer that.
What Is “Systems Thinking”?
Think of mental health care as a spider web. Every string connects to another; when one moves, the whole web changes. Systems thinking looks at these links — between clinics, schools, families, and communities — and uses feedback to keep improving. Find the right “leverage point,” and a small change can make a big difference.
How a System Works in Real Life
Here’s what a connected pathway could look like:
Screening in schools or villages → short psychological support in primary care → referral for more serious cases → training and help for caregivers → community action against stigma.
The process continues with tools that sound a bit technical but are actually simple ideas:
Causal loop diagrams map how problems and supports circle around each other.
Process mapping follows a person’s journey through care to find barriers.
Group model building lets teachers, parents, and health workers draw together how the system should work.
Feedback loops track quality — provider skills, attendance, fidelity — and guide improvements over time.
A real example comes from the humanitarian group War Child. Their program forms a pathway for children affected by conflict. It begins with movement‑based play sessions (TeamUp), adds active detection and early therapy (EASE), supports caregivers (BeThere and positive parenting), provides whole‑family counseling (Stronger Together), helps teachers (CORE), and addresses stigma through the community project Seeds. Most importantly, they use real‑time data to retrain staff and improve care.
Why This Approach Fits Low‑Resource Settings
Systems thinking helps countries use what they already have. Rather than spending more money, it focuses on smart connections — the “leverage points.” For instance, fixing referral rules or sharing service information can move several parts of the system at once.
It also promotes integration. Mental health does not stand alone; it links with schools, health clinics, nutrition, and even water or protection programs. Instead of several small projects, a system brings them together.
And because reality changes, systems thinking supports learning while scaling — improving as you grow. A pilot project should not be simply copied; it should evolve with feedback from users and communities.
What This Means for You
You don’t need to be a policymaker to think in systems.
At school or in the community: join or support open talks about mental well‑being. Encourage others to use non‑stigmatizing language.
At clinics: ask clear questions — what care exists, how are referrals made, and are there supports for families or follow‑ups?
As a volunteer or student: share information about services and help advocate for connecting mental health with education or daily life.
What’s Next
Research is beginning to shift from “does one program work?” to “how can several programs work better together?” Jordans suggests that system tools — like feedback maps, dynamic models, and group discussions — can help evaluate not just effectiveness, but sustainability.
In a complex world, no single program is enough. Building mental‑health systems means connecting people, services, and ideas — so that care spreads and grows stronger with every link.
Work cited
Jordans, M. J. D. “Applying systems theory to global mental health.” Cambridge Prisms: Global Mental Health, 12, e2, 2025. doi:10.1017/gmh.2024.147.
For context and data anchors: World Health Organization (WHO) updates on mental health service coverage and global burden.
WP2
Judging Transitions Fairly: Context, Metadiscourse, and Bilingual Writers
In many writing classrooms—especially in EFL and EMI settings—teachers often pay attention to transitions and other metadiscourse markers. When bilingual or L2 students use many transitions such as however, therefore, or on the other hand, they may be told there is “overuse.” When they use few, teachers may say there is “lack of cohesion.” My aim in this essay is to question these simple labels and argue that transition use is always contextual—shaped by school settings, genres, disciplines, and reader expectations.
My research question is: How do different learning environments (EFL, EMI, and L1 English universities) influence bilingual writers’ use of transitions and other metadiscourse? I also ask how teachers can judge such use fairly without assuming universal standards. This discussion draws on Han and Gardner (2021), Ruan (2019), Casanave (1998), García and Colón (1995), and Liang and Li (2025). Together, these studies move from structural analysis to social and cognitive interpretation—showing that the meaning of “overuse” depends on both writer and reader contexts.
1. Moving Beyond Simple “Overuse”: What Han and Gardner Show
Han and Gardner’s matched Chinese–English corpus study challenges the general claim that Chinese students “overuse transitions.” Their contrastive analysis finds that overall frequencies are similar across groups, and that differences appear only in specific genres and sentence positions. However, for instance, occurs more often in some engineering texts or in certain rhetorical moves, but not across all disciplines.
Importantly, Han and Gardner argue that frequency alone cannot define appropriateness. Instead, teachers must examine how transitions serve rhetorical purposes within the local discourse. This point refines my question: if one teacher calls however “excessive,” is that judgment based on real cohesion problems or on personal disciplinary expectations? Their findings reveal transition use as a matter of rhetorical choice rather than mechanical counting, forming the empirical foundation for examining metadiscourse in broader educational contexts.
2. Comparing EFL, EMI, and L1 Settings: Ruan’s Longitudinal View
Ruan (2019) extends the discussion by comparing student essays from Chinese EFL programs, Chinese EMI universities, and UK L1 universities. His large corpus study shows that EFL students use roughly twice as many metadiscourse markers as EMI and L1 peers, while EMI and L1 patterns are closer. He explains that this is not a sign of “error,” but of institutional expectation: EFL environments reward explicit organization and reader guidance, while L1 academic writing values stance and subtle coherence.
Han and Gardner’s micro-level observation aligns with Ruan’s macro-level comparison—both reject simplistic evaluations based only on counts. The two studies together suggest that context shapes not how many transitions appear, but which functions are valued. For teachers, this means that judging “overuse” without considering context may misinterpret how students fulfill local academic norms.
3. Context Is Also Personal: Casanave, García, and Colón
Casanave (1998) adds a human dimension by studying bilingual Japanese scholars navigating English and Japanese academic systems. Her subjects adjust rhetorical style—including transitions—to meet local expectations and negotiate identity. What appears as textual variation is actually a form of cultural and professional translation. This connects to García and Colón’s (1995) findings from bilingual classrooms, where students did not simply “transition” from one language to another but created flexible bilingual forms of expression shaped by teacher response.
These studies shift the discussion from environment to agency. If, as Casanave shows, even experienced scholars modulate transitions according to audience norms, then L2 students’ use of clear or repetitive markers may be a strategic adaptation, not inadequate writing. Similarly, García and Colón’s classrooms illustrate that linguistic choices—including when to code-switch or simplify cohesion—depend on relational dynamics between teachers and learners. Both remind us that judgment of cohesion reflects power and interaction, not just textual form.
4. Reader Processing and Pattern Sensitivity: Insights from Liang and Li
While the previous research focuses on writers and institutions, Liang and Li (2025) bring attention to reading psychology through their work on Chinese character “satiation.” They show that repeated exposure to the same visual pattern causes readers to feel fatigue or loss of meaning. Even though their study is not directly about writing, it offers a useful metaphor for metadiscourse: readers may perceive repetition of transitional forms as mental “satiation.”
Applying this cognitive idea to writing, “overuse” might be less about linguistic error and more about reader processing. If every sentence begins with however or therefore, readers may experience rhythmic fatigue. Thus, variation and distribution—not total count—are crucial. This finding links back to Han and Gardner’s context-sensitive approach and supports my argument that the experience of overuse is partly psychological as well as rhetorical.
5. From Counting to Judging: Toward Fairer Teaching Practice
Across all five sources, a consistent insight appears: effective teaching of cohesion must connect discourse context, social identity, and reader cognition. Rather than marking “too many transitions,” instructors could explain why some patterns feel repetitive to readers or why certain genres prefer implicit coherence. Ruan’s and Casanave’s studies also highlight the educator’s responsibility to recognize disciplinary bias and cultural variation in academic voice.
A fairer approach involves guiding students to balance explicitness with flow—encouraging them to experiment with placement and diversity of markers. Teachers’ feedback might shift from correction (“overuse of however”) to negotiation (“How else could you signal contrast here?”). This practice respects both linguistic diversity and rhetorical awareness.
Conclusion
The studies discussed demonstrate that the meaning of “transition overuse” depends on where, why, and for whom writing occurs. Han and Gardner show that frequency labels oversimplify complexity. Ruan traces contextual development across systems, while Casanave and García with Colón reveal that transition use and language switching express identity as much as coherence. Liang and Li’s cognitive evidence adds that readers’ tolerance for repetition also shapes perception.
Through revisiting my initial question—how different settings influence bilingual writers’ metadiscourse use—I now see that fairness in evaluation means understanding conditions, not counting frequencies. Judging transitions fairly requires awareness of rhetorical diversity, social positioning, and reader response. This insight changes my own view of writing: cohesion is not a fixed rule but a flexible negotiation among systems, minds, and relationships. Recognizing this can help teachers and students alike build communication that is both context-sensitive and intellectually honest.
Works Cited
Casanave, Christine Pearson. “Transitions: The Balancing Act of Bilingual Academics.” Journal of Second Language Writing, vol. 7, no. 2, 1998, pp. 175–203. https://doi.org/10.1016/S1060-3743(98)90012-1 .
García, Eugene E., and Manuel Colón. “Interactive Journals in Bilingual Classrooms: An Analysis of Language ‘Transition.’” Discourse Processes, vol. 19, no. 1, 1995, pp. 39–56. https://doi.org/10.1080/01638539109544904 .
Han, Chao, and Sheena Gardner. “However and Other Transitions in the Han CH‑EN Corpus.” Journal of English for Academic Purposes, vol. 51, 2021, article 100984. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jeap.2021.100984.
Liang, Yingxin, and You Li. “The Impact of Regularity and Consistency on the Satiation Effect of Chinese Characters.” Reading and Writing, vol. 38, no. 8, 2025, pp. 2341–61. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11145-024-10599-4.
Ruan, Zhoulin. “Metadiscourse Use in L2 Student Essay Writing: A Longitudinal Cross‑Contextual Comparison.” Chinese Journal of Applied Linguistics, vol. 42, no. 4, 2019, pp. 466–87. https://doi.org/10.1515/CJAL-2019-0028.
