Personal Narrative: Moving To American Culture

“We’re staying at a hotel this week, girls.” As I heard the words sorely coming out of my father, I was hit with the reality of where I lived and the situation the city faced. Six men had been shot countless times across the street from my house. A bloody and holey reminder was left, and up to the residents to clean up. The city was Juarez, Mexico; at some point, the most unsafe city in the world. A few weeks later, as my mother was driving to the store, three men held her at gunpoint for her purse and the keys to her car. The next day, my parents announced we were moving to the States.
Although I was born in El Paso, Texas, I had only visited the U.S. for vacations or the occasional shopping trips. I did not speak or understand much English, other than “yes,” “no,” and “thank you.” Legally, I was “American,” but culturally, I was not at all. In Mexico, American culture is all the hype. We listened to American music, watched American movies, talked about American events, and wanted to be like the Americans, yet we had no real clue what it was really like. As an eleven-year-old, I did not realize that, not only was I moving to a different

I felt overwhelmed, frustrated, lonely, and odd. The Americans had an almost exaggerated niceness. They occupied themselves with an enormous amount of tasks and responsibilities, and everything was planned and scheduled to the minute. Everything moved fast, and things were made to be the as convenient as possible, which was the mainly evident with the majorly processed food. School was very easy, and students we’re almost begged to take advantage of the help available. I learned that, if people don’t understand why you do something differently, they will perceive it as something negative. I was sadly also struck with the awful ideas people have about foreign people and culture, and definitely came across people who found me to be less than because I was not