My Immigrant Father

Being a child of immigrant parents is not easy. You are constantly living in the fear that one day you’ll wake up and you parents won’t be there with you anymore. Specially now that we have a new president, things are getting more challenging. But don’t get me wrong, I live a happy life. I am proud to call myself a Latina.

Dad, I know that you are not here on earth with us any more but, your spirit is still with us. I want to write something down that really hurt me over the years. This is very hard for me to do but, am going to do it. I don 't understand why you never protected me when Jimmy, had force himself on me. This happen when we all Lived in Kirtland.

As a child of a Vietnamese immigrant , the stories and the past memories that are brought up by my mother, gives me an understanding of how hard it is to leave your mother country and how sometimes you must do what’s best for yourself. There are times when i think to myself and wonder how it would have been like if my mother had not immigrated to the states, I probably would not be here today, or if i was that i would not have been born and raised in the United States. Being a child of an immigrant is not difficult, it does not put me in a disadvantage either , but it instead spreads the message of how it is okay to be different and how it is okay to take risks that will benefit you in the following years. All these messages and lessons have

I was born in the capital of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. My family was native to the land having lived there for decades, but we were soon refugees due to famine and war between ethnic groups who had laid claim to the land we inherited from our ancestors. In leaving, my mother left behind her family, knowing that she may never see them again, so that we; her children, could have a better chance at life. She understood that we were susceptible to becoming victims of war, that it was impossible to foster a home during war. Ultimately, with the war progressing, we moved to the shacks of Nairobi, Kenya in an effort to seek asylum.

I come from an authentic Hispanic family, who is traditional in plenty distinct aspects. We treasure all the memories that have occurred to all of us and we laugh about the embarrassing moments we all had. We hold traditional customs and we accept new traditions as well. All of us are over protective of each and every family member, meaning that if anyone in the family has a problem we will not stop until it is fixed. To every family member, family is always first.

Sunshine And Rain The bell rang in the late afternoon, I slowly packed my books, pencils and postcards from my eight years friends from primary school to middle school. Cowarded hallways, where usually were full of laughter, were the loneliest places at the time. I walked out of school with my heavily heart that towarded to my home, hard to forget. It was too hard to say goodbye.

I am writing a letter to you because I am thankful that you have given me land. Also that since I am a farmer/fisherman I wouldn’t be able to afford the land. I don’t think that it is fare that I have to give 10% of my prophet to you I am one of the lower parts of the social class in japan so I don’t make as much money as you think. Imagine the economy if we let foreigners in, they will try to over through our religion and possibly over through you.

About four years ago I arrived at Logan airport, Boston Massachusetts. Once the plane landed I felt excited to explore a new country that looked beautiful from the planes window, but I was also confused because everything was different from home and I had no idea where to go. Although I thought that was the hard part, there was way more obstacles coming my way such as language and culture among others which I had to learn fast. Being in a foreign country and without its main language can be pretty though.

When I was younger, I remember asking my mum to say words such as “water” and “car” for me because she would pronounce these words as “worta” and “ca.” It was almost like a game for me; it was so interesting to me that my mum spoke differently than all the other adults. Although my mum would ask me to hop in the ca, or ask me if I wanted a glass of worta, for a long time, I never wondered why she spoke like this. When I was older, I finally asked my mum why she spoke this way. The answer was she was born and raised in Australia.

Documentary Premiere - You are cordially invited! Venezuelan Director Berenice Saez will premiere her first feature documentary "Immigrant Stories" on Saturday April 22, 2017 at the Cole Art Center in Nacogdoches. The function will start at 07:00pm, runtime is 40minutes and there will be a session of Q&A afterwards.

How to write a memoir it’s your story so write the way u speak .the author is talking about how it was being him as a little boy. The boy expressed his way of speaking also the way of being himself. In his story he talks about what he wants to talk about. He shares his child hood memories and turns it in to a story in.

I hunched over my desk, eyes scrutinizing the thorough biology notes, when our house phone rang. Immediately, a machine asked “Would you like to accept Carlos Carrillo’s phone call from the Lancaster County Prison?”. Wide-eyed, I recognized my father’s name, accepted the call and handed the phone to my sister. Already panicked at having the prison call our home, she hung up with a face displaying utter perturbation. “What happened?

It is almost two in the morning, and we still have not been able to see her. Five days have passed by, and the presence of my mother was non-existent. School is out for the weekend; time to have fun and mess around and the sight of her brings a smile to our faces. The days fly by fast, and she goes missing once again.

In my younger and more tender years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. He ingrained in me the saying, “What you do not ask for you do not get.” He has repeated this statement repeatedly but we’ve always been unusually distant in the sense that he and I understood that I would have to be captain of the ship that is my life. As a young boy I was naturally reserved and did not like taking risks. Throughout my childhood I tried to integrate my Dad’s aphorism into my life.