A four year ago, I moved from Ethiopia to United State. When I was little I always wanted to go school in the U.S., so, we moved the summer before my freshman year in high school. I was enjoying summer, I visited my sibling in Washington and spend half of my summer in their house, I loved it. School started in August that year and I was excited. After a week of school, I realized what people saw when I talked.
I had traveled a long distance from Ethiopia in order to be with my parents who had been here for four years, hoping America would help my future. Anxiety started taking over. I was on my way for my first day of school in America. I was scared, nervous words can’t describe how I was feeling. I didn’t know anybody.
On November 6th, I encountered a cultural disconnect with a friend. My friend is a white, female, and the same age as me. This disconnect happened on the Berkeley campus when we were walking to our next class. We were both walking and talking about what we have been up to that past week. I told her that I was swamped with midterms and projects coming up so I was “studying and dying all week.” She chuckled at my statement and she said she had two midterms coming up too and has not begun to study. I asked her why she did not start studying yet. I assumed she was too consumed with her part-time job or preoccupied with other important obligations, but she simply replied, “I didn’t feel like it.”
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.
The aroma of home-cook Vietnamese food and the constant shift between English and Vietnamese was my life was at home. My parents would frequently share their stories of their upbringings and struggles and how life here is very different. At home I did what I was told and tried not to complain It was not because I wanted to be a good child ,but I wanted to ease the troubles in my parents life. Many things that I ask for I hear is “no” I become very frustrated at times that I do not have what my friends have.
My family came here for a better life like most immigrants. I didn’t know what culture was, even though my mother mentioned it sometimes. I didn’t know what race was, what America was, life and pretty much just how life works. I’ve been in America for almost fourteen years, switched schools eleven times and can’t count the amount of time I’ve moved apartment homes. I have even been religious, private, public, and charter schools.
I'm from the Dominican Republic and I have 4 years living in the United States. When I came to the united states I was 13 years old, it was not easy for my brother and me to start a new life in another country without our mother. Learning another language was the hardest things I have ever done in my life. Being an immigrant it's not easy, I’m in a country that is not mine, so I had started from the beginning. And the beginning will be difficult.
The American Identity is more than just being a citizen in America. What makes the American Identity is the diversity that exists in America. America is a melting pot, which consists of many ethnic groups, religions, and ideas. It isn’t the appearance that makes you American, it is your mind and the way one acts make one American. I am a kid who is part Korean, French, and Chinese. My mom is Korean and Chinese, and my dad is French and Chinese. I do celebrate Lunar New Year with some of my relatives on my mother’s side, but my dad doesn’t celebrate any French holidays. To be qualified as an American, one must be unique in their own way, and love freedom.
My parents were both undocumented immigrants from small villages in Mexico, and the experiences that are fundamental to me are those from my childhood, which I experienced from the perspective of a child of undocumented immigrants. I remember the fear that I felt whenever I saw strangers, because I strongly believed that each time a stranger was near my parents would somehow be sent away. I longed to communicate, but it felt as though I was burdened with a greater awareness of who I was and what situation I was born into. I feared that once I spoke, I would be labeled an outsider. My first language was Spanish, and I vividly recall running to my neighbors and having a conversation only speaking gibberish in the hopes of communicating my thoughts
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
Several individuals from different ethnicities, races, and citizenships, compose a society. The United Sates allow us to have a close interaction with numerous individuals from diverse backgrounds. In my own case I have been able to interact with many incredible individuals from all over the world who come from extremely different backgrounds. I am a proud Mexican who cherishes respect towards diversity. Coming from a very suffered country I am able to understand not only what does it means to feel proud to be a Latino, but also I can feel acquainted with the pain and struggle that our community has to face every day.
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
America You are at your boyfriends house playing video games when the power goes out and lighting strikes, lighting up the dark shy. You jump and throw down your controller. You don 't do well during storms, you begin to shake and tears threaten to escape your eyes. ' 'Y/n, babe, it 's okay. Come here. ' '
It was only two days before I was on my way to America . And I was so excited about it too, I just could not wait . Well the day had finally come and was so excited that I had even stayed up all last night just thinking about it . When we got to the boats I had got on then I remembered that I left my stove on but I did not care because I knew that would not need to go there again for anything . When I got settled, I met a couple of people when it was time to go to bed, I found a nice little place in the corner and then fell asleep. The next day when I woke up I breathe through my nose and all you could smell was salt it had burned my foretells when I started to breath through my nose .Well I had finally made it to Ellis island the very first sight I