Personal Narrative Essay: From Immigration To America

January 11, 2013, I wake up to yelling, prayers, and crying. I walked into the kitchen where all the noises were coming from and I found my mother on the floor crying, talking on the phone with my godmother. My father was there by her side, trying hard not to cry while supporting his wife. I didn’t know what was happening, this was the first time I’ve seen my mom so vulnerable and broken. My parents didn’t tell me anything other than my grandmother was in critical condition at the hospital, but with god's help she would overcome this hard time. My mom hung up the phone and went to “La Grande” a Mexican store to buy a card to call my uncle in Cuba, to see how my grandmother was doing. My godmother has two daughters who work at the hospital

I spent the first half of my life on an island 210 square meters in area in the middle of the Pacific and the last half travelling the world and much of the United States. 1st generation immigrants from the Philippines raised me and it was from them that I learned the definition of hard work and true perseverance. Guam, the forgotten territory of the US, is a melting pot of various Asian influences with a distinct Spanish heritage and a culture that has shaped me to my very core. After growing up with so much exposure to different groups of people, I am a firm believer that diversity and respect for other cultures is integral in being an effective and competent healthcare worker. My opportunity to be president of my church’s “Christian family

Coming to America as Immigrants and having nothing to your name can be a very intimidating situation. Many people face this obstacle and my parents are a clear example of it. I grew up watching my parents work and making sure they had no debt to their name. I remember being a young child and mom taking me to work because she didn't have a babysitter. My parents always provided me with the best and even spoiled me, sometimes when you don't work for your objects you forget to say thank you. . My parents sacrifice will not be forgotten and me succeeding in life will be their reward.

When I reached America, I started to remember my childhood. I was the youngest of 4 children. I had a sister and two brothers. We were all crammed into a small hut. We all slept on one blanket on the floors made of cow poop. The roof was not very good either. It was made of palm leaves and when it rained, water dripped into the hut. Our house was only lit by a candle light. My mother always fed the other children who were just like me. They were poor and hungry. She is the most generous person I have ever met. My father has always motivated me to be the best. I was the best in the college I attended. I was the first in the rankings and everyone praised me. I thought that the Americans were better educated and smarter than me. I was not very confident

I used to have this grudges in my heart when everything go hard that would made me wanted to blame my parent. But I can’t because I was not raise to think that way. When I come to America, I was eleven years old and no one asked me if I wanted to come it just happen in a second. I was in a cold place with extended family that I never met before and that one person who raise me and made me feel secure was still back in the country. I had to lived months without her and next thing you know I adapted and convince myself they are doing this because the wanted the best for me. It been ten years since I have not seen Haiti. I miss the smell, the people, the ongoing language, the natural food and the atmosphere. This trip is very important because

Immigration a strong word that defines and that my family express there feelings to. At the age of 3 I was just a little girl running around the house in my dipper playing with my older brother. I do not clearly remember what happen even though I was present I had to ask my mom about it. Both of my parents migrated from Mexico to the United States when they where around 17-19 years old in 1990. My parents met in the United States a year after, my mom got pregnant by my dad and had my older brother by September 1992 and 2 years later I was born. I heard the story behind my parents struggle on how they got to where we are now but one thing that stood out the most to me was when I was 3 years old and my mom told me my dad had gone to immigration jail in Mexico.

I can remember it like it was yesterday. My parents left me when I was fifteen years old to go to America. I thought to myself for one year, they left me here to starve, live, and die alone in eastern Europe. When I was sixteen years old I got ready to move to America and start a new life. I thought to myself I wonder if my parents are dead or alive. They really didn't mean anything to me anymore anyways.

One, two, three, four, five, there's too much too count. As we drove through the street of what is called the state of California, I looked out the window and I was amazed at how many cars there were. I sat back down properly in my seat and felt the leather on the seat like it was a new spectacle. I've ridden in a car once before back my home country but never one that was this nice. I looked over to my mom as she flashes a smile but I can feel that she is nervous about something. After a while, we reached our destination and the taxi driver helped us load our luggage off the taxi. My dad helped me with my luggage and was about to walk into the house when the taxi man called him back and spoke in an irritated voice like he was asking for something. My mom nudged his arm and pointed at his wallet. My dad noticed and smiled awkwardly as he dug his wallet out from his pocket and paid the taxi man. The taxi man snatched the money, spitted on the side walk and he mumbled from what I could hear, "Stupid immigrants.” I didn't know what it meant but I could tell he spoke in an angry tone.

When I first received your letter I was a tad disordered to be completely frank, I had understood things were going fairly smoothly, I comprehend the distance is challenging for me to suitably govern thou. Yet is it really necessary for you to not state these grievances in person? Do you seek me as unreasonable gent, is that why you didn’t do this all face to face? I consider myself to be one of the fairer rulers; back to the matter at hand- If you wish to leave I will not stop you. You all think you could govern superior then I? I’ll let you go ahead and attempt.

Growing up Ignorant Getting a good education in Bridgeport is not an easy thing to do. From the very start, teachers have low expectations of us. They look at us like we’re slow and simple minded; they talk to us as if we can’t comprehend; they hover over us as if we need the extra attention. My question is why? Why are we treated as if we’re all dense before we even get to show our potential?

When I first came to American, I lived in a homestay. Parents in a host family are very nice to me. Every day they will give me a rich breakfast with ice drink, but we usually drink a cup of hot water in the morning in China. Chinese people think that drinking a cup of hot water in the morning can prevent stomachache. Therefore, I asked my home parents to give me a cup of hot water, and they were shocked by my request. Then, They poured a glass of ice water from the refrigerator, and put the ice water into the microwave and heating for two minutes. I was surprised to see them doing these several things, and I asked them “why not use a kettle?”,and they answer me they never drink hot water. They are used to drinking ice drinks, even if they

Similar to many people in my community, my parents are both immigrants. They are hard working people whose sole purpose was to at least have the opportunity for prosperity and success - the american dream. Like many dreams, it was not promised to become true. Arriving to a foreign land gave them a great disadvantage which came along with many hardships Although they were faced with these challenges upon arrival, they were able to overcome many obstacles they encountered. Despite their lack of academic experience, they managed to make ends meet.

Life gets tough at times and it did for me as well. I remember I was 10 when we decided to move to America. We moved in with my Uncle and we were extremely grateful to him for giving us space in his house to stay. My parents stayed in one room while me and my siblings stayed in another room. Since my uncle lived alone, he didn 't have enough mattresses for all of us so my siblings and I would use comforters to sleep on. Despite everything, I still like Michigan as it is beautiful and peaceful. Moreover, the weather was great, I experienced the feeling of snow for the first time. I remember I would try to pick up one flake to get a closer look at it and it would melt every time, but I never learned. Even though I was trying to enjoy these experiences,

For many immigrants, experiences vary between seeing the greatness in America, while also seeing its side that is hidden for many. Coming to America states, “in southeastern China, people always said that America was very good, like some kind of wonderland…But then I came to my apartment. I was shocked. In China, my parents were bosses at a company that made bricks. We had a big house; it was very comfortable. Here, there were four of us squeezing into two small rooms.” Immigrants have many assumptions about what is here in America. People imagine that the grass is greener on the other

Life in the United States for my father and I had been unkind. We lived in a really beaten up trailer home in Northeast Portland. We had no money and were on the verge of becoming homeless. Too poor to buy food from the grocery store, we survived on partially spoiled food from local food banks and the extra food I would snatch from school. Our trailer, with poor 1970’s insulation and paper thin aluminum tin exterior, was practically a refrigerator during winter. We had no heating, nor electricity, so much of my time I spent at school, which kept me warm and fed Monday through Friday. It had been this way for years. My dad was unemployed, had health issues, and no formal education. My mother wasn’t around, and most of my family either lived in El Salvador or Bolivia. We were virtually alone in the United States. On a few occasions, conditions for us had been so severe that we abandoned our lives in the United States altogether and moved to different countries all over Latin America. Taking us as far as Bolivia and Perú, to closer countries like México, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Belize.