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.
from the time that I was in high school, I though in getting the citizenship through my mom,but I noticed that she was really scared of applying, so I didn 't bother her and chose to wait the require time to apply by myself after two years of waiting, I stared the process and the fist step was filling the application in Internet, second was taking the on us office and last was taking an oath, after all this steps finally I got my citizenship.
As I heard my grandparent’s conversation I came to realize what was going on. It was time to be with my mom. I felt excited but at the same time scared, It feels like it was just yesterday. Two days later I found myself packing. I packed everything that’s when I came to realize what was truly happening. I was moving to a different country, leaving behind my culture, my language, my family and friends. Finally, the day had come, as I kissed my parents goodbye I stared long and hard at my house begging for just one more day. Tears kept running down my cheeks as we drove further and further away.
The first eight years of my life, I spent in India where I was born. Growing up I was constantly reminded by my parents that I needed to make them proud by getting a good job and living a good lifestyle. They told me this because they did not want to see me live a hard life like they did. When I was nine years old, I moved from India to the United States of America. The reason why I moved to America was not because I was living a bad life in India, it was so that I could have a better education and more opportunities in life. When I came to America, I had to go through much struggle. First and the most important was that I did not know how to speak English. Apart from this I was very shy, so I didn’t communicate with people frequently.
obstacle that I have ever faced, especially with the fact that there was a time where I didn’t
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
After class I got out of the classroom with my friends and I had forgotten that my parents were waiting in front of the classroom
I am an immigrant. The word that Donald Trump hates. The set of people that receives many blames for crimes or mischief. But after all, thats me. I am like any other person who gets blamed, I am an immigrant.
I want to start my story before I was even born. My dad came to the United States but my mom was still in the Philippines. Then when I was born in the Philippines, my mom took care of me for five years while my dad was working a minimum wage job in the U.S., trying to earn enough money to send both my mom and I to the United States so we could all have a better life, one where we could prosper more due to the opportunities that the U.S. provides. I grew up going to a public school from kindergarten to 5th grade where I met people of different races. When I was in school being in ESL (English as a Second Language) exposed me to even more people of color such as Mexicans, Middle Eastern people, Turkish people, Latinos, and other Asian people.
Coming to America with my parents when I was about 11 years old was a new adventure for me. There were a lot of changes that needed to be made and experiencing new things. I would have to make some adjustment and getting used to the American culture and learning the language they speak. My parents had made a big sacrifice coming to America. Living their home country just so my siblings and I could get a better education and better life. As we all know, life in America is not that easy when you are newbies. As an 11 years old kid, I wouldn't know what to do or how to help my parents when they are going through a tough time. All I do was go to school, come home, and do some reading. Besides, school wasn't that easy for me because I didn't know English and I couldn't communicate with the people around me nor the teachers. I was the only kid who looks different in my class and has no ideas what the teacher is talking about. It was uncomfortable for me to be around my classmates, but everyone in the class seems to be nice to me because I was the new kid. They didn’t have problems with me and I didn’t have problems with them. As time goes on, I began to feel
As a child of immigrant parents, my formative years in elementary and middle school were shaped by two important factors: the environment in which I lived and my background. My parents worked hard to settle into a new life in a foreign country to provide better opportunities for our family. This meant that we had to be flexible about where we lived due to relocating for jobs, and fluid about our ideas of culture. I recall the daunting nature of moving to a new city, twice, as a child. The prospect of leaving everything that was familiar to me and forming new friendships in an unfamiliar environment was a challenge. Through each of these moves however, I met people from differing backgrounds and learned to cross cultural barriers. I became accustomed to
I was raised under a belt held by my father. To this day I can still recall the days I witnessed my father 's abuse to my family physically and emotionally. My family was tightly gripped by my father; which resulted to my sisters and I fearing him as we grew up. As a child, I was the one who got hit the most. Some say it was because I was the most stubborn, however; all I could remember was exploring, living, and laughing. I did not know what was right from wrong.
As a teenager moving to a new country with a different culture, different language, and being thousands of miles away from everyone I grew up with was not an easy change, however, that was precisely what I did in January of 2013 when I came to the United States with my father. My whole world changed since, and shaped my way of thinking. From learning English, adjusting to a new culture, experiencing my first snow and finding my way in my new country, my life has been an exciting adventure.
Its 1914 and I just got the news that we were finally going to America! We have been waiting for several years trying to save up money and figure everything out. Going to America is almost every ones dream here in Europe. Just like Oscar Hammerston said, “ You gotta have a dream. If you don't have a dream, how are you going to make a dream come true.” Most wanted to go to America to escape poverty, famine, or to get religious freedom. We will be leaving tomorrow. I will go to America with my mom and sister, my dad is already over there. We will have to walk about 60 miles to get to the boat and then the boat ride over to America will be a long and grueling journey. My mom hollered at me to start packing. She told me I could only bring two
I have experienced being under many labels. With all of these labels the excruciating painful times were harder when I was just finding out that I was adopted wondering “do my birth parents even love me”, “who is my real parent”, and “why didn’t she want me”. When I was in elementary school I was labeled with a speech disability. School became a big issue in my life. I was so hurt when I had to present in front of the class. Students would make fun of me but what left a laceration on my heart, mind, and soul was when my teachers would say “you will never make it” and “you are retarded”. Teachers would exclude me from activities because they thought I wasn’t smart enough. Have you ever been lost and hurt at the same time?