Welcome

Welcome to my English ePortfolio. This website showcases my work from this course and reflects my growth as a reader, writer, and scholar throughout the semester.

About the Author

My name is Yehia Abouelnasr, and I am a 16-year-old college student studying computer science. I enjoy playing and creating video games, as well as experimenting with computer hardware and technology. I often like to take apart and test different computer parts to better understand how they work. I immigrated from Egypt 7 years ago, and my experiences have both shaped my interests in technology and motivated me to keep learning and building.

Creative Element #1: Building Computers

The Intersection of Hardware and Identity

Building a computer

This image represents one of my greatest passions: building and understanding technology from the ground up. Just as I carefully select each component, test compatibility, and assemble a functioning system, I've learned to approach writing and English with the same methodical curiosity. Each piece must connect.

Outside the Classroom

My interests include programming, mathematics, and exploring how systems work. These interests shaped how I initially approached reading and writing, often prioritizing efficiency over reflection. I read to extract information, to derive formulas, to frame problems, not to sit with ambiguity or consider multiple perspectives.

As an immigrant, I carry with me the experiences of navigating between two worlds balancing the cultural expectations of my heritage with the demands of my new environment. This duality has shaped my identity in profound ways, teaching me resilience, adaptability, and the importance of perspective. Language has always been a marker of difference for me, something that revealed my background before people even got to know me.

Creative Element #2: The Futuristic City

On the road ahead

Futuristic cityscape

This image has a retro, neon style that connects to my interest in technology and game design. The road leading toward the horizon represents how I am working toward my goals step by step. As a computer science student, I am always moving forward, learning new skills, and improving over time. The mix of old and modern visuals reflects how I combine creativity with technical thinking in my work.

My Work

Best Essay:

The Dark Passenger: Vigilantism and the Morality of Dexter

What makes someone good or evil? For most people, morality seems pretty clear, until a character like Dexter Morgan shows how justice and murder can coincide in one man. The Showtime television series, Dexter, follows Dexter Morgan, a forensic blood spatter analyst for the Miami Metro Police Department who lives a double life as a vigilante serial killer. Haunted by his childhood trauma and guided by his father’s “code” to only target other killers who slipped through the cracks. This framework turned Dexter into a character of both justice and corruption, as he confronts the audience to answer uncomfortable questions about right and wrong. Through Dexter Morgan’s trauma-shaped double life as both a sympathetic killer and a vigilante, the series critiques the flaws of the American legal system by exploring the vague line between a hero and villain, and revealing how society’s belief of morality can severely rig the justice system. From the beginning of the show, Dexter’s complex code is revealed. In the first couple minutes of the Pilot episode, he targets Mike Donovan, a man who murdered choir boys [young children from his church] and forcibly drags him into his organized kill room. Dexter orders Donovan to look at the crime scene, and when Donovan hesitates, Dexter is frustrated and threatens him to look. As Donovan breaks down, crying and begging for forgiveness, Dexter contracts his own standards by stating that he could “never ever” harm children. He then tranquilizes Donovan, wraps him up in plastic, takes blood samples, and begins the killing process, all while narrating the man’s horrifying fate as he works (Dexter, Abouelnasr 2 Season 1, episode 1, 00:01:17 – 00:06:17). This scene reveals the main tension of the series. Dexter is both terrifying and principled, he operates according to a code. His claim about never harming children invokes empathy, showing that even as a serial killer, he has standards and a sense of morality. This restraint additionally reflects his childhood trauma, as he witnessed his mother’s murder, which could explain his sympathy for innocent children. Combining thorough planning, selective violence, and his sympathy for children all show that Dexter is a complex character, which engages the audience in questions about justice and the benefits of vigilantism. In the season 4 finale, Dexter Morgan returns home after confronting the Trinity Killer, Arthur Mitchell, expecting to return with his family. He calls his wife, Rita, and hears a voicemail explaining that she has returned from the airport; she also mentions to Dexter to look at the moon tonight, since he deserves it. When Dexter returns home, he hears a ringing phone and a familiar baby cry in the distance. Rushing upstairs, he finds his infant son, Harrison, crying in a pool of his mother’s blood, with Rita lying motionless nearby in a bathtub of blood. Dexter picks up Harrison and whispers, “Born in blood, both of us”, while realizing the devastating consequences of his secret life (Dexter, Season 4, episode 12, 00:47:12 – 00:50:20). Rita’s death is a critical scene that illustrates the limits of Dexter’s vigilante justice and the failure of the legal system to prevent actual harm. Despite Dexter's careful moral code and efforts to control his environment, Dexter is powerless to stop a murder at his own home, which demonstrates the volatile consequences of living a double life. This scene additionally humanizes Dexter, showing his deep grief and guilt as he blames himself for this catastrophe. Besides, the murder shows the limits of Dexter’s actions and the problem with justice. Dexter, who enforces his own strict code cannot fully ensure safety or fairness. Furthermore, the murder mirrors Dexter’s childhood trauma, as he also witnessed his mother’s murder and was in a pool of his mothers blood, reinforcing how early Abouelnasr 3 experiences can shape one's empathy, fear and moral reasoning. For the audience, the shock and tragedy of Rita’s death makes them question if justice can ever truly be achieved. In the Season 1 finale, Brian Moser, the Ice Truck Killer, lures Dexter to the garage where he held Dexter’s sister, Deborah Morgan, hostage. Brian tries to persuade Dexter that the only way to be free is to kill her, pressing him to abandon his code. Dexter refuses, and Brian resentfully states, “You can’t be a hero and a killer. It doesn’t work that way!” (Dexter, episode 1, episode 12, 00:35:15–00:37:50). This contrast between Dexter’s code and Brian’s arbitrary, senseless violence. While Brian kills solely for amusement, Dexter tries to maintain tight boundaries, refusing to harm innocent people. Brian’s statement additionally emphasizes a main problem of the series. Dexter exists as both a killer and a protector, which complicates the classic hero and villain dichotomy. This moment also reflects Dexter’s childhood trauma, since his experience watching his mother’s murder played a huge role in his empathy and drives his selective standards. For the audience, this confrontation makes them question Dexter's ethics, since a person who commits heinous sins is inadequate for the “hero” title. In season 7 episode 4, after killing Ray Speltzer, Dexter stands before his collection of blood slides, his trophies, representing every life he has taken by the code. He touches them one last time before saying, “Everyone has to move on,” and places the box on Speltzer’s body, and turns on the incinerator. As the fire burns, he whispers “Goodbye friends” (Dexter, Season 7, episode 4, 00:49:30–00:50:20). This scene is a great symbol of Dexter’s internal conflict with morality and his identity. The burning slides display him as trying to escape from his obsessive urges and need for control. Yet the fondness in which he addresses the slides demonstrates his emotional attachment to his sins and his inability to let go of this “dark passenger”. The incinerator is often a symbol of cleansing and recommencement, but instead it reflects Dexter’s effort to erase his guilt. This scene additionally emphasizes that Dexter’s verdict on justice is fundamentally flawed, since morality built on violence, Abouelnasr 4 especially murder can never bring true equality or redemption. For the audience, this scene questions whether moral order can ever emerge from violence, implying that Dexter’s concept of justice was inherently flawed. In Dexter: Resurrection, Dexter finally confronts the truth about his “Dark Passenger”, this inner voice he has blamed for all his urges. On Prater’s boat, he finally declares “ I used to wish that I could be different, normal. A life without my Dark Passenger. But who am I kidding? This is who I am, What I am. I’m Dexter Morgan. I’m exactly who I need to be, exactly who you want me to be” (Dexter: Resurrection, Season 1, Episode 10, 00:44:45–00:45:16). By addressing the audience, Dexter acknowledges that his violent urges were never actually separated from himself. The Dark Passenger, which he previously used as a coping mechanism for his childhood trauma, was an intrinsic part of his identity. Dexter breaking the fourth wall forces the viewers to confront the reality behind his code. His vigilantism was always his choice rather than an uncontrollable, addictive obsession. Symbolically speaking, it breaks the duality he has kept for many years, emphasizing the tension between hero and villain. Additionally, this moment exposes the fundamental flaw in Dexter’s verdict on justice. His code, while organized and selective, cannot ever truly hide the ethical compromises in taking lives. For the audience, this fourth wall confession intensifies the moral ambiguity of all of Dexter’s actions, since it implies that confession was a form of rationalized violence rather than true justice. Some viewers might argue that Dexter Morgan functions as a hero because he thoroughly targets only those who have committed heinous crimes, he follows a moral code made by his father. By selectively killing only other killers, Dexter appears principled, methodical, and maybe even a defender of the innocent, giving the impression that his actions are solely for justice rather than personal satisfaction. For example, his careful preparation, analysis, and ritual procedure to murder his victims indicates control and thought, which Abouelnasr 5 some might see as a sign of virtue rather than vice. However, this is flawed, as the series repeatedly implies that even an ethical killer cannot prevent catastrophes. The devastating consequences of his double life, such as Rita’s death and the disorder of those close to Dexter, all reveal the instability and dangers of vigilantism. Furthermore, Dexter’s rationalizations, like blaming the “Dark Passenger” show that the moral codes can become excusatory. For the audience, these contradictions can reject the notion of a “heroic murderer”, emphasizing that vigilantism, even with rules, cannot achieve true justice. Dexter Morgan’s story challenges the audience to reconsider their belief of morality, justice and identity. Through his vigilantism, childhood trauma, and selective standards to a code, the series constantly blurs the line between hero and villain. In the pilot episode, Dexter refuses to harm children to declare his standards, while also being scrupulous in his killings, which shows the complexity of his character and the flaw of the justice system. The tragedies he faces, most notably Rita’s death, expose the boundaries of his vigilantism and reflect the trauma that has formed his empathy and selective standards. His interactions with characters like the Ice Truck Killer also brings the conflict between controlled violence and chaos. Dexter’s realization of the Dark Passenger as an intrinsic part of himself reveals that his framework has always been a coping mechanism. All in all, these aspects demonstrate that attempts to try to enforce justice unmethodically are unstable and can cause collateral damage. By presenting Dexter as someone who is both sympathetic and horrifying, the series forces viewers to question the assumptions behind justice, morality, and societal belief about ethics. Dexter’s Story is an important reminder that morality is complex, and that well intentioned actions can have devastating consequences.

Discussion Post #1: Film analysis

Dexter (2006 - 2013) is a Television series about Dexter Morgan, a Miami forensic blood splatter analyst who in secret, is also a vigilante serial killer. In the season 4 finale (episode 12), Dexter returns home after killing Arthur Mitchell (The Trinity Killer), only to find out his wife, Rita, murdered in the bathtub, his infant son crying in a puddle of blood. This scene is one of the most shocking and depressing moments in the show. Video of the scene Links to an external site. Details I noticed: The camera begins by showing Dexter entering the house, relieved after killing Arthur, oblivious to what has happened. The sound of the baby crying intensifying as Dexter comes, this attracts the audience into his discovery. The baby on the floor, sitting in a pool of his mothers blood, this exactly mirrors Dexter childhood trauma when he also was sitting in a pool of his mothers blood. Rita's body is shown white and transparent, but contrasts with the bright red blood, which makes the imagery violent and haunting. Rita's body is displayed static, while the baby is fluttering and crying. This Juxtaposes life and death in one shot. Dexter's face which shifts from confusion to horror when he comes to the bathroom, this rare true emotion from Dexter is quite rare as he is depicted as an apathetic character. The music goes quiet after the calamity, leaving the baby crying which heightens the emotional weight. Possible Meanings from the details: 1. The bathtub scene reflects Dexter's childhood trauma, which could suggest that the cycle of trauma is inevitable and inescapable. 2. The silence after this reveal could symbolize how even Dexter (who usually has inner monologues), is left speechless, his control over his world is gone. 3. The juxtaposition between Rita's lifelessness and the baby's cries emphasizes Dexter's failure to keep his family safe. This forces Dexter to reevaluate his decision of his double life.

This visual analysis helped me recognize that even in everyday shows, literature continues to linger beneath the surface in subtle ways, shaping themes, storytelling techniques, and character development in ways that often go unnoticed but still influence how audiences interpret and connect with what they are watching.

Discussion Post #2:Sigh Gone

Yehia Abouelnasr (Summarizer) In the opening Chapters of Sigh Gone, Phuc Tran reminisces his early childhood as a Vietnamese refugee growing up in Carlisle Pennsylvania. His family struggles to adapt to a new life in a new country while maintaining their Vietnamese culture. Phuc faces the struggles of poverty, language barriers, and cultural discrepancies, which make him feel lost between 2 worlds. At home, his family's traditional values shape his life (mostly). His father is strict and physically disciplines him when he misbehaves, and his mother expects him to follow the cultural rules and help with household responsibilities. Phuc also experiences shame and guilt, like when he steals trading cards to fit in with his peers, demonstrating how his environment forces him to navigate survival, morality, and cultural expectations concurrently. At school, Phuc struggles to fit in and faces racism, bullying and teasing from his classmates because of his origin. Learning English was difficult, and he feels isolated and different from the other children. Despite all these challenges, he has small wins that provide him small boosts of confidence and belonging, like winning his thanksgiving essay contest. These experiences show the beginning to Phuc's journey to finding himself and simultaneously navigating his families expectations. The early chapters illustrate the families broad struggles that many immigrants face. His parents face financial hardship, work long hours, and trying to grapple between English and Vietnamese. Which adds additional tension to the househould. The family tries to preserve their Vietnamese traditions but the pressure to take in American culture creates more stress and misunderstandings. Through these early years, Phuc builds detachment and awareness of his dual identity, which often makes him feel too Vietnamese at school and too American at home. The narrative focuses on his day to day experiences, including his moments of fear, embarassment, and his small victories, which all together paints a picture of a refugee family. All in all, the early chapters set up the major events and themes Phuc's early life, showing his family, culture and poverty, and societal pressure shaping his childhood.

Reflection: Reader, Writer, Scholar

For most of my life, the English language has always been the class where I felt the most out of place. Growing up as an immigrant, I learned early that language was something you were judged by, something that could reveal how “different” you truly are before people even get to know you. At the same time, I gravitated towards the STEM subjects where problems had exact defined rules, no language blocks, where answers could be solved rather than interpreted, and where I never felt like I was missing something like a “social grammar” everyone else magically spoke fluently. Due to that, English and specific writing often felt like trying to enter a house built for voices far louder and more confident than mine. No matter how many times I knocked, the door never seemed to open the same for me, as if the language itself recognized its guests and I was never quite one of the people greeted with the utmost respect. But this semester has completely altered this assumption in ways I didn’t expect. As English has never felt like a natural home for me, shaped by my immigrant background, my relationship with the language, and my tendency towards STEM, I have begun to understand writing as more than a subject I struggled through. I am beginning to see writing as a space where the house of English no longer watches me from behind its windows, where I am no longer stranded on the porch, but finally confident enough to greet the language at its doorway with a firm, assured handshake. As a reader, I entered this class by efficiency rather than reflection. In STEM, reading has always been functional and exact. I read to extract information, to derive a formula, or to frame the problems. Literature however asked for something else completely. It asks me to sit with uncertainty and interpretation, to read between the lines and to consider different perspectives, and identity rather than just logic. At first, this felt very frustrating. As I often sought a single correct answer, only to find out that meaning in text was layered, subjective, and composite. Reading memoirs like Sigh, Gone made me recognize that understanding a text was not just understanding the book, but actually closely scrutinizing multiple meanings the author may have intended. Over this semester, I became more comfortable engaging with this ambiguity that I didn't feel before, and to consider the author’s background to further understand narratives beyond my own tunneled perspective. This shift has changed the way I see reading itself. Instead of viewing it as instructions, or absolute, I began to understand reading as a conversation, one that requires patience, motivation and multiple perspectives. As a writer, my relationship with English has always been shaped by hesitancy rather than confidence . Writing had felt sluggish, and vulnerable, especially when compared to STEM subjects where accuracy is clear and distinct. Yet in English, every sentence felt permanent, almost as if it revealed my fluency in the subject, or my personal background. Due to this, I approached writing more defensively and I focused more on avoiding errors instead of developing ideas. This class pushed me to move past that and to emphasize tone and clarity rather than perfection. By drafting and revising my essays, I began to see writing as a process rather than a final performance. Writing had no longer felt like something I had to endure through, but something unique I could create. This shift helped me gain more confidence in my voice even when it's still unfamiliar. I am beginning to trust that my perspective has meaningful value and that clarity could come through effort rather than instinct. As a scholar, this class has helped me understand that learning is not just about absorbing information, it's about putting myself within larger conversations and trying to add real meaningful insights. I viewed academia as something that only the “confident people” can pursue in, but as I slowly dabbled more in it, my mindset has completely changed. Engaging with the memoir, or the discussion posts and the academic writing that has been done this semester has shown me that academia is not reserved for those who speak the loudest or most fluently, but those who are willing to make the effort, find evidence, and write to your best abilities even if you know its not the best. Even when I was unsure of my voice, I learned that careful reasoning and engagement mattered more than perfect fluency and polishing. This shift helped me understand academia as a practice rather than a performance, one that prioritizes persistence, and the willingness to think even when you're unconfident. Looking back, my growth this semester has not come from suddenly becoming fluent or fearless in English, but from learning how to remain present even when you're uncomfortable. As a reader, I learned to slow down and sit with ambiguity rather than seek for a single correct answer. As a writer, I began to move past the hesitation and trust that clarity could be built through effort, revision and intention. As a scholar I learned that participation matters way more than polish, and the ideas that are truly meaningful come from engagement, not perfection. English may have had its differences with me, but it's no longer dissimilar. The house I once stood outside now feels familiar, not because it changed, but because I learned to enter it with manners. What once felt like an unwelcoming space has now become one I can enter with confidence, ready to contribute and learn within it.

As a reader, I entered this class with habits shaped by efficiency rather than reflection. In STEM, reading has always been functional and exact. I read to extract information, to derive a formula, or to frame the problems. Literature, however, demands something unfamiliar. It asks me to sit with uncertainty and interpretation, to read between the lines and to consider different perspectives, and identity rather than just logic. At first, this felt very frustrating. As I often sought a single correct answer, only to find out that meaning in text was layered, subjective, and composite. Reading memoirs like Sigh, Gone made me recognize that understanding a text was not just understanding the book, but actually closely scrutinizing multiple meanings the author may have intended. Over this semester, I became more comfortable engaging with this ambiguity that I didn't feel before, and to consider the author's background to further understand narratives beyond my own tunneled perspective. This shift has changed the way I see reading itself. Instead of viewing it as instructions, or absolute, I began to understand reading as a conversation, one that requires patience, motivation and multiple perspectives.

As a writer, my relationship with English has always been shaped by hesitation rather than confidence. Writing had felt sluggish, and vulnerable, especially when compared to STEM subjects where accuracy is clear and distinct. Yet in English, every sentence felt permanent, almost as if it revealed my fluency, or background. Due to this, I approached writing more defensively and I focused more on avoiding errors instead of developing ideas. This class pushed me to move past that and to emphasize tone and clarity rather than perfection. By drafting and revising my essays, I began to see writing as a process rather than a final performance. Writing had no longer felt like something I had to endure through, but something unique I could create. This shift helped me gain more confidence in my voice even when it's still unfamiliar. I am beginning to trust that my perspective has meaningful value and that clarity could come through effort rather than instinct.

As a scholar, this class has helped me understand that learning is not just about absorbing information, it's about putting myself within larger conversations and trying to add real meaningful insights. I viewed academia as something that only the "confident people" can pursue, but as I dabbled in it, my mindset has changed. Engaging with the memoir, discussion posts and the academic writing that has been done this semester has shown me that academia is not reserved for those who speak the loudest or most fluently, but those who are willing to make the effort, find evidence, and write to your best abilities even if you know its not the best. Even when I was unsure of my voice, I learned that careful reasoning and engagement mattered more than perfect fluency and polishing. This shift helped me understand academia as a practice rather than a performance, one that prioritizes persistence, and the willingness to think even when you're unconfident.

Looking back, my growth this semester has not come from suddenly becoming fluent or fearless in English, but from learning how to remain present even when you're uncomfortable. As a reader, I learned to slow down and sit with ambiguity rather than seek for a single correct answer. As a writer, I began to move past the hesitation and trust that clarity could be built through effort, revision and intention. As a scholar I learned that participation matters way more than polish, and the ideas that are truly meaningful come from engagement, not perfection. English may have had its differences with me, but it's no longer dissimilar. The house I once stood outside now feels familiar, not because it changed, but because I learned to enter it with manners. What once felt like an unwelcoming space has now become one I can enter with confidence, ready to contribute and learn within it.