Personal Narrative: My Identity In America

I lived as a foreigner in America for 15 years. The day I became an American citizen was one of the easiest, yet hardest days of my life. The process itself was quite simple. My parents had already been naturalized, so all I had to do was take the Oath of Allegiance and sign the Certificate of Naturalization. However, in that short one-hour ceremony, I had relinquished my Indian citizenship, losing something I had from birth, and had pledged myself to “the home of the free and the land of the brave.”

Transitioning to the American life as a ten-year-old child was extremely challenging. I was clueless and did not understand anything. English was painful to learn even though; I realized it must be essential to know it. Philippines was my home moreover, I missed the people, the food, and the places I have visited. School was especially a struggle to me.

On May 01st if everyone lived like me, 3 Earths would be required which means it would take 5.2 global hectares of productive land just to support me. Just looking at the results I expected it to be lower because of the lack of activities. My American footprint is below when it comes to earths, but over when it comes to the global hectares average. The five categories that contributed to my ecological footprint was food, shelter, service, goods, and mobility. Food was the highest contributor with a 1.4 gha and mobility had a 0.8 gha which was the lowest out of all the categories that contributed to my footprint.

The great Marcus Garvey once said that “a people without knowledge of their past history, origin, and culture are trees without roots”. This quotation has always stuck with me because it validates that, as humans, we all have a story to share. No matter where I go or who I meet, thanks to my story, I have the confidence to embrace who I am every single day. I am a first generation student. Both my mother and father were born and raised in Nigeria and came to the United States in 1998.

Hernandez 1 My American Dream Tapestry A child, the most innocent and most brightest creatures of us all. Never having a care in the world but always looking for laughter, hope, and fun. As a kid we have many friends, all of us sharing the same desire, happiness.

What does it mean to be an American today? Or rather, what does being an American entail? Does that pertain to a certain individual’s perspective? Or is Americanism defined through a collective consciousness projected around the world? Over the course of time, Americans have gone through various embodiments of who they are, without loosing the essence of what they represent.

Upon meeting me, not many people know that I am a first generation American. However, they are usually interested in the orgin of my last name. I am in fact Ukranian. Both my parents and my older sister were born in Ukraine. They immigrated to America in 1992 because of religious persecution that they were facing.

I have not been able to participate in athletics nearly as much as I would have liked. I started running track in the spring of my seventh grade year. I performed surprisingly well and decided to participate in cross country the next fall. I spent the summer training and preparing for the season, and it definitely showed. I ran in the varsity race for my first cross country meet ever.

My whole life, I have always been required to be proud of my ethnicity. I am 18 years old now, and I am an American citizen. However, ask me where I am from and I will tell you, “I’m Mexican.” I say that because my family is and I have been taught to do so. It has become a natural habit of mine and others as well.

My Trip to America Some people think that my trip to America was dangerous because I risked my life by travelling around the world illegally and with a fake passport. Others think that it was not worth it because of the expenses. I spent almost 40,000 dollars coming to the United States. I was uncertain if I would ever get the opportunity to accomplish my goals.

“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.