Personal Narrative: Myself As A Vietnamese-American

Imagine traveling on open water in a small boat crammed with refugees. A cloud of worry constantly looms over their heads while fending off pirates who robbed and raped them.

No matter how hard one may try, it is something that is impossible to imagine. Countless people come to America for a better life; this was also the case for my parents. After the Vietnam War, the ruined landscape left them with a choice: either stay in the destroyed country or start a new life elsewhere. Undeniably, their only choice was to come to America. As teenagers, my parents fled their home country with nothing but their names, ultimately allowing me to have an opportunity to apply for college and establish a foundation for success.

Although my family has not spent much time in America, it was strange how quickly I became familiarized with American

However, I could not label myself as a “true” Vietnamese-American because of my lack of knowledge about the culture. All my life, I grew up as an American and quickly realized that I had no knowledge of the Vietnamese history, culture, or language. After hearing my parents’ challenging ordeal, I now realize that I come from a culture of strength and tenacity. At first, I felt like I did not have anyone with whom I could share this new-found pride. Only a small percentage of first-generation Vietnamese people attended my school. Eventually, I turned towards my church to learn more about my culture and language.

Initially, I feigned having an interest in the community. However, after becoming more involved in my community, not only have I established a connection between my culture and me, but I also found many like-minded teenagers who are in the same situation as me. The importance of having friends who were in the same dilemma as me reinforced the feeling that I was not alone; I was not the only person who did not consider themselves a “true”