Being An American-Personal Narrative

I felt that I could relate myself to the pilgrim she saw in her vision. I came to this country for the freedom of worship, to appreciate diversity, and to have opportunities to utilize my talents without being discriminated.

I faced the sky and tried to cover the sun’s bright afternoon glare with my hands. The “All-American” B17’s were flying above us. 30,000 feet in the air and joining another formation, the 97th. Total of 40 B17’s backed by 50 spitfires. The whole day has been filled with commotion, it’s as if the ground echoed and bounced around the sounds of war. My ears rang painfully against my head, it’s almost like I still hadn’t gotten used the roaring sounds yet. I ignored the ache, and went back to the task at hand. We were told to dig, dig, and dig, and start creating the “walls”. When we got to the fields of France, the fields were already covered, allowing the Germans to create a stable defense. The battle of hedgerows ended when we blew the hedgerows

The very first conversation I had with the one closest to me was an argument. I will never forget it. We were talking about our goals and ambitions in life. When I told him what I wanted to do, I just got the average “Good for you! That’s so great!” response. When he told me that after graduation he was shipping out to Army basic training to become an Airborne Combat Engineer, I didn't give the same response back.

Studying in a foreign country is an interesting experience of an individual lifetime. One tends to learn a number of things relating to ways of life in a foreign land. Social, political and economic values and aspects are usually different from one region to another. Therefore, through studying abroad one is able to learn different issues about another society such as gender and sexuality issues, social class and race/ethnicity issues. Having come from a developing country studying in the U.S.A has been a great experience personally. This paper will attempt to provide a reflection of my personal experience on studying in the U.S by comparing the history of Angola and the U.S.

i live in central oregon. I'm fifteen years old, and go to high school at Ridgeview high school.I live in a three bedroom sized duplex. My mom gets decent pay, but we struggle towards the end of the month. My life and my family reminds me of what every average family is like in America nowadays. It’s beginning to become our culture. actually i take that back my family actually isn't very average and far from the normal American family. i say that because i have parents that have had very rough lives. Me, my two older brothers, and little sister have also had quite rough life's not going into details or anything like that. My parents

I am a product of the motherland. I was born in Monrovia, Liberia on the twelfth of January 1994. For a good portion of my life, the combination of violence and poverty help shape my perception of society. Thirteen years of civil war introduce me to the brutal nature of humans, and how one can neglect the power of humanity. Growing up in Africa expose me to the struggle while instilling in me the power to outcome whatever is threw in my direction. The educational system of Liberia is and was damage during my youth, we were instructed to learn topics that did not suit our interest. Majority of what we learn was given down from American curriculum. I grew up thinking America was a heaven of earth. I learned more about White Folks then I did about Dr. King or Rose Park. In all honesty, I was more familiar with Dr. King’s birthday than the history left by one of the greatest leaders to grace this planet. Liberia and its government have an obsession with American culture. Since we were colonized by America, it’s acceptable for us to look upon America as a source of comfort. What I never understood was, why wasn't our teachers focus on educating us on

I listened as they called President Obama a Muslim (as if it were a bad thing). I listened as they called him a monkey and his wife is not a woman. I listened as they said he wasn't born here. I watched as they blocked every single path to progress that they could. I saw the pictures of him as Hitler. I listened as they openly said that they will oppose him at every turn. I watched as they did just that. I listened and I watched and I paid attention. Now, I'm being called upon to be tolerant. To move forward. To "Get over it." To accept this.

The last day of summer vacation, I said goodbye to my mother and my cute three-year-old little sister, then left for the capital of china––Beijing. At that time, when I left my hometown, a small quiet beautiful city lied in the south of China, I did not feel very sad or any sense of reluctance to part from my mother. (But after living in US for just two weeks, I miss her very much.) And I didn’t feel very excited, either. It’s maybe a little strange, but it was true. My Father took me to Beijing Capital International Airport and waited until I have to board. I kept looking back at him when I went to the boarding gate, seeing him waving hands to me all the time.

Like many less-informed Saudis, after high school I adopted an already existing paranoia of studying. In 2007, studying in America was kind of a no-no (since) after the events of 9/11. I was exposed to the American culture because of many factors. Therefore, I was unusual in that I had an immediate goal, as many young people around my age (without any) had no such constructive aim. Saudis in 2007, did not want to go abroad, so I was one of few people. It’s only become a (recent) trend recently to study abroad. I had no plan nor a back-up plan as to what I should do on my return (“what after return”,). Perhaps we Saudis never thought about tomorrow (religiously thinking), for a Muslim is never advised to bother to think about tomorrow (like) as (it) is written also in the Bible (the book of Christians). My

I sit for another minute or so before I head downstairs. As I walk down the staircase, I trace my hands along the cherry wood railings. The stairs, of course, are hardwood. I look out the window before heading in to see if my dad is home yet, even though I know he won’t be.

America is one of the most amazing continents in the world particularly because my country –Colombia- is located there. As assumptions are accepted as part of the initial approach in the course, I am going to assume that when someone from the Northern part of the continent –not Canadians- talks about America, it refers to the United States of America (USA). In this case, USA is indeed as wonderful as the people’s pride for their country. In fact, you can feel an air of patriotism wherever you walk and see the national flag with the stars and stripes floating freely in the wind. Even though, USA’s democracy is far from being perfect, it is one of the few countries that still offer the right to develop and express oneself

I’ve worked hard my whole life. That is not an understatement to the personal experiences I have in The United States. Right now myself I only have five hundred dollars saved up in my savings account. My parents don’t have the fund to pay my freshmen year of college or the matter of fact a semester of college. The five hundred dollars I have saved up won’t be enough to even cover the textbooks, my dad is the one that’s providing the whole family recently my mom had to quit her job because we got a new member in our family. Anything that I earned is helpful towards my tuition, because college is a huge expense and frankly I don’t have that money. I’m working a part-time job that is paying me minimum wage and only get nine hours each week. As

I was born in Cali, Colombia. In a country of few opportunities, my single mother struggled to feed the two of us. From my early months to my early childhood, my mother would take me with her to any job she could find. The money she earned was scarcely enough to pay rent for a wooden shack with dirt floors. We did not have enough money to buy food every day, so on poorer days, my mother would take my hand and walk with me over to our neighbor’s house. There, she would offer to do any housekeeping services just so she could provide me with something as rudimentary as a bowl of soup.

My life has been one gigantic moving party from one region to another. I was originally born and raised in the mosquito-infested city of Chittagong, Bangladesh in the thana of Halishahar. I was a very curious child, to say the least. By my fourth birthday, I had three near encounters with death from drinking kerosene, to eating soap, and almost drowning. Due to my little indevours my mom thought it was best if we lived with my father in the United States for my safety and the safety of my younger brother. The day after my fourth birthday we left our homeland.

As I reach the end of the forest trail, laughter and music becomes louder; it is a town. Filled with hope, I begin thinking maybe I will see people I once knew. Skipping down the trail a little faster, I approach a heavy wall that separates the forest and the town. Only a few people notice a new presence at first as I pull a gate open and step through. Giggles burst from a