Personal Narrative: Moving Into The United States

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.

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.

In 2009, the U.S. Census gathered that there were over thirty-three million second-generation immigrants living in America. America is a melting pot, and in this melting pot, it isn’t uncommon for these children, myself included, to lose sight of what our lives could be–and the struggles that our parents faced to ensure that we have more opportunities than they had. As I write this essay, I’m stressing over the things any other American high school sophomore faces– grades, social drama and statuses, and my follower count on Twitter and Instagram. These “problems,” if even that, are minute to what others our age face around the world. Young adults in Sudan are starving, and young adults in Syria live in the middle of a war zone. As far away They raised two kids: my 19-year-old brother, who is currently a freshman at the University of Georgia, and myself. Thanks to their hard work, I’m able to worry about the things I do. Never have I worried about not having food on my plate, about being denied my education, or being forced to leave everything I know and abandon my dreams. It’s easy to forget what my parents have done for me, for the opportunities and doors they have opened for me. There’s no way to understand your life–the privileges you hold–without understanding the past. You must be thankful for all the things your loved ones have done for you, and I’m sure that I am. I can’t imagine my life if I were in my parents’ shoes, if I faced the struggles and hardships they did, and I know I wouldn’t have the courage to be as decisive as they were and are. Their perseverance and determination make me content with my life now, knowing that it could be much worse. Their experiences motivate me to capitalize on what they gave me–to become something. I want to be sure that my parents know I’m thankful and know that I will work hard to become what they didn’t have the opportunity to. 11th Grade Columbus High School Anjali Patel 5th

About 20 years ago my parents came to the United States from Mexico in order to give their children a better life. As I near the end of my high school career I realize now that what they wanted for my siblings and I was a fresh start from poverty and the opportunity to a higher education.

1) I could make a long list of what I accomplished in my life such as winning Most Valuable Player award, but there is one thing that I prize the most and made these accomplishments possible: Moving to America.

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.

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

My life took an interesting turn when my mother told me I would be moving to a different country, fear took over my body because that meant I would have to start from zero. On January 1st, 2011 my mom gave me the exciting news that her fiancée, now husband, had started the process to bring her to the United States so she could become a permanent resident, live with him, form a family and start a brand new life. I remember her face blighting up to every time she spoke a word but that smile faded once she told me I could not come with at that time because of the expense of the process. I understood why she could not bring me with. We had economic and emotional issues going on. She promised that as soon as she obtained her green card (permanent residency) she would start the legal process for me. I could then visit the United States and become a permanent resident.

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.

More than twelve million immigrants will make their first stop in America at Ellis Island Immigration station in the years ahead between 1892 and 1954, at least that's what we read. Who knew a small island in the New York Harbor would become my life saver ?

Growing up in an immigrant household in America, was difficult. I didn’t live, I learned to adapt. I learned to adapt to the fact that I did not look like any of my peers, so I changed. Adapted to the fact that my hair texture would never be like any of my peers, so I changed. Adapted to the fact that I was not as financially well off as my peers, so I changed. Adapted to the fact that unlike other people who have families of four, I had a family of seven and numerous amounts of close relatives. That my parents, although lived in America for quite sometimes grew up in Nigeria, so English was not their first language so I adapted and changed myself in order to fit into societal standards. I learned to understand and interpret my parents’ native Igbo dialect but left that part of myself at home so that people will view me as the perfect American citizen.

This was also known as multilingual. One of these languages was the country they originally came from. Most of them were French but some of them were Spanish and British. Another one was the Native Americans language. Tribes had different languages. For example the Algic tribe, a tribe up north by Canada, spoke Ojibwa. The third language was English of course. They needed to learn French to communicate with other trappers. They needed to learn the Native American’s language to trade and get help or help the Indians. If they went to a fort they needed to learn to speak English (Bothe).

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

To be honest it was hard to move from Mexico, where a lot of loved persons including my mom stayed, to this country where the language spoken is different.