Personal Narrative: Immigrating To Canada

I am crossing the border to the U.S because my parents think it will give us a new beginning and a better life. I think they’re wrong. Our life in El Salvador was fine: We had a nice house and we were healthy. Here, none of that is true.

My mother is an immigrant. A hardworking, pious woman who moved to a foreign country in order to raise her children and offer them everything she could. After her first three children, my mother grew accustomed to her feeling of loneliness. She was often left alone with three young children, dealing with their constant bickering and nagging. On top of that she had limited communication with others, due to a language barrier, no car and no friends in this new world. She struggled with her decision to stop working and put her schooling on pause. She struggled with injuries from childbearing. She struggled with her marriage, a marriage that took place between two very young lovers blind of reality, and shocked when hit with it. She often engaged

I first moved to Texas and in particular to South Texas on the summer of 2001. Immediately after I got here I enrolled for classes for the Fall Semester at the University of Texas Pan American as an international student. On the morning of September 11, 2001 while I was getting ready for class I watched with horror on television, as many Americans did that day, the terrorist attack that unfolded in New York city, as well as the Pentagon and Pennsylvania. At first, the sheer destruction and the astounding amount of casualties was what I remember vividly, but that event will have a direct effect on me without even knowing it at the moment. You see, when I first came here, I came with a student visa, just like the terrorists that boarded the airplanes that were involved in the terrorist act.

I’m able to resonate with a plethora of things, yet the thing I consider my identity is I’m an adopted, Haitian immigrant.

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

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

I woke up on an especially cool winter morning and looked over to my mother’s side of the bed. She was not there, I knew that, but I secretly wished she was. I swung my legs off the bedside and rushed to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get myself ready for school.

“This country has so much beauty. We were deprived of opportunities and now they’re everywhere. My family can learn. My children can play. I have been granted my humanity.”

Being a first-generation Canadian and when Canada is as diverse as it is, I never got the opportunity to truly connect with my own religion. I realized early on that having that knowledge of diversity provides a competitive advantage in the business environment, as communication and connections are easily built. To accomplish this, I decided to join the International Languages Program in grade 6; however, even with the four years I spent in the program, I never truly built the connection that I had so desired. It was not until grade 12 when I had that opportunity, as David Suzuki Secondary School (D.S.S.S.) introduced its first ever Sikh Student Association (S.S.A.), a collection of numerous Sikhs throughout D.S.S.S.

I cringe at the smell of alcohol floating around the apartment. A cold shiver simmers down my spine as I hear footsteps making their way to my room. 3 loud, hard knocks bang on the door. I open the door waiting for it. Waiting for the rock solid slap that pierces my face everyday leaving bruises and black eyes the size of tennis balls. I wait for the punches that feel like hammers wrecking my body over and over again.I open the door and he slaps me. “Get me my steak you peasant! And don’t forget to my clean my room!” He yells at the top of his lungs. As the dark, warm, blood flows down my washed out face I heat up the leftover steak. I reached to grabbed a plate I accidentally knocked down 2 other plates that fell to the floor and shattered.

As an immigrant, and of the 7 years that I’ve stayed here in Canada, I’ve come to know some of the Canadian identity. I have lots on mind but the things that stand out the most is that Canadians are so patriotic and generous, and diverse.

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.

Coming from a low income family, living in a small town in India, I learned early on about struggling and surviving those struggles. I watched my parents working day and night to provide for electricity, pay for our monthly school fees so my sister and I can have a better education, and for the future they wished upon for their children. To further enhance this vision, my father decided for the family and I to immigrate to the US. Everything was different in the sense that I changed schools, learned a new language, had to make new friends, and learned the different culture. I had to adapt to a whole new world, which was a little difficult at 6 years old However, when I look back now, I just couldn’t believe how far my family and I had come which I have my father to thank for. If it wasn’t for my father, I’ll still be going to school in India without ever knowing that this other half of the world even existed, because of the rough circumstances we were facing in India. The future wouldn’t have been as bright as it now and I feel truly blessed to have come to a new world which contained many great opportunities.

My head leaned against the window as I sleep, abrupt, my whole body gets tossed forward causing my face to hit the seat in front of me then my body jerked back to my seat. I rubbed my head. The lady sitting across from me asked if I’m ok. I smiled back and assured to her that I am fine then looked out the window and came to the realization that we’ve reached the border. The bus driver, Patrick, makes the announcement.

I was putting my Halloween costume on when I heard something moving in my closet. I turn to the closet door half dressed with a curious look on my face. In my mind, it being Halloween, I thought I was just hearing things or my little brother was playing a prank on me. I walk out the door to my room, down the stairs and as I was about to walk out the front door my father caught me, “Where are you going?” he asked “Out, it’s Halloween I’m going to go trick-or-treating” I replied “No you are not you’re grounded”, “What? Why?” “Your grades mister until you can pick them up you can go out and do whatever, until then you are to stay in this house” I clinched my teeth together “Yes sir” I replied “If mom was here she’d let me go” I mumbled “What did you say?” dad asked “I said if mom was here she would let me go” “Well your mom isn’t here, is she?” “Yeah because of you, you left mom it’s your fault she’s not here, you lazy bum, all you ever did was go to the bar and drink every day, the only reason you have a job now is because mom isn’t here to support us.” “Go to your room” “Why because I’m right” “ I said GO TO YOUR ROOM, NOW! AND DON’T COME OUT” I ran up the stairs enter my room and slammed the door behind me. I lay on my bed, tears rolling down my face looking at an old photo of my mom, my dad knocks on the door and enters the room, “Are you ok?” he asks looking at the tears rolling down my cheeks, “You miss her don’t you?” I nodded my head “I do too son I think about her