Personal Narrative: My Life In The United States

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The finish line loomed ever closer with each stride I took. Ba-dum.. Ba-dum.. Ba-dum. I could feel my heart beating wildly against my chest; the world seemed to slow down, and the tune of an Akan hymn from church service the night before echoed in my mind.

For the first time, I understood what individuals meant when they claimed to fall into themselves.

Suddenly, a memory from four years ago flashed briefly in my mind. It was one of me peering down through the windows of an airplane looking over the city of New York, 6000 feet above the ground. The aerial view of New York 's starlit city was so different from the pitch black city of Accra. I was almost in America, just like I was almost at the finishing line. A few seconds later, time resumed its natural rhythm. I finished the race and placed second.
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Hailing from a modest family, I knew that the opportunity to receive an education in the United States was more than a dream come true. As an immigrant, however, adjusting to life in the United States was far more difficult than I envisioned. I had an accent. I dressed differently than most people. But, I knew from competing in track and field events as a child that I would, at a point in time, face real life hurdles. In the train of my thought, sermons from my homeland church reverberated in my mind: "Perseverance and faith are all you require. Without faith, nothing is impossible. Persevere. Persevere. Persevere." At this time, I was patently convinced that I had insurmountable standing blocks in my path. I was determined to bridge the cultural differences between myself and
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