First Generation Immigrant: Personal Narrative Analysis

When my mother immigrated to America from Mexico, she had only her family and hope. Hope for a better life; in the US, she was offered the world, and she snatched it within seconds. Unbeknownst to her, their promises were as empty as her pockets. They stole from her, they ruined her, and they tried to build a wall not only between her country and theirs but between her and her family.

I come from an immigrant family and I have had the privilege to be exposed to different social, cultural and economic realities all my life as I constantly navigated across cultures. Aside from family origin in Ecuador, I was born in Virginia and lived in the Caribbean (Puerto Rico) for six years. The biggest influences on the way I see life comes from my immigrant parents. I have learned to perceive their differences and appreciate their interactions with me.

Welcome. A single word on the carpet by the door greets me whenever I come home. There had been times where that one word made my heart beat and cry with joy. But not now, for many things changed through the years. Now when I look at this carpet, I instead question back: ‘Do you really mean that?’

Being a daughter of immigrant parents has never been easy here in America. Both my parents worked excessively hard to be financially stable. Unfortunately at the age of ten my life changed. I learned that my parents no longer loved each other. The arguing and fighting my parents had, only damaged me emotionally. I was too young to grasp the idea that my parents were separating which become one of the hardest times for my mom to maintain my siblings and I. Shortly after, I began attending church and fell in love with the idea of getting closer to God. Luckily, my life took an enormous turn the moment I gave my life to Christ. God has opened numerous opportunities for my education. I am proud of all the accomplishments I have achieved in high

It was summer of 2010. My parents were still married and we went up to Wichita Falls, Wichita to go see my brother Chris who was in the Military on base working. We stayed there for a week. I still remember the car ride up there. We rented a van, we had tvs in the rented van, my sister Rylee, my other brother Garrett (he was in the military too), my mom Traci, and my dad Doug, and my brothers military bag it was like a person. I still remember I had to sit in the back with that bad it was so big. Garrett put the seatbelt around the bag like it was a person. The car trip was so long but it was all worth it in the end. It was in the middle of the week and we were out on the beach. My brother Chris and his pregnant wife Ashley had a boat the water

There were three lessons that my immigrant parents ingrained in their first-generation children: Work hard, never give up, and most importantly, give back. Among other life lessons they taught us, these three were the basis for everything. It would be the basis that would and will define me as a person.

“Mom, will I ever be treated as a regular person? When will I be like the others without people look at me in a strange way and make fun of me, when mom? When?” Those were the questions I did to my mom almost every day after getting home from school. Fourteen years ago that my parents brought me to this country offering a better life with better opportunities than where I was born. I was seven years old when came to the United States, but I still remember the happiness I felt when I first step in this country. Throughout the years, I have realize that not everything is easy and simple as I imagined. My parents worked in the fields because of the lack of a social security and not knowing how to speak English. Many Americans do not know how hard it is the life of an immigrant, they should have a consideration for us and not just blame us for the deviance of the United States.

It is challenging being the oldest child in every family. What is even harder, is being the first child of immigrant parents. From the obstacles I faced, I was able to become independent. My parents left El Salvador to go to America for a better life. When they left their country my mother was pregnant with her first child which was me. After I was born and I began to grow, the only language I spoke and heard was Spanish. Since both my parent spoke little English and spoke mostly Spanish I thought it was only natural for me to follow them.

It is not uncommon to hear one recount their latest family reunion or trip with their cousins, but being a first generation immigrant, I sacrificed the luxury of taking my relatives for granted for the security of building a life in America. My parents, my brother, and I are the only ones in my family who live in the United States, thus a trip to India to visit my extended family after 4 years was an exciting yet overwhelming experience. Throughout the trip, I felt like a stranger in the country where I was born as so many things were unfamiliar, but there were a few places that reminded me of my childhood.

Throughout my entire life I have heard the word “immigrant” countless times, inmy childhood, in my middle school days, and especially nowadays with the controversial topic taking over social media. I’ve been labelled with this word or image ever since my birth, and yet I still don’t exactly know how I should feel about that.

I am from a country with beautiful landscapes that has turned into a warzone country.

I always kept in my mind how my father worked day and night for little pay to provide for my family. Seeing both of my parents struggling as two young immigrants trying to provide a home for two kids was the fuel that kept me pushing forward. I am the oldest, so naturally responsibility was placed on my shoulders. I had to take care of my younger brother, while my parents worked. I also served as a translator for my mother who spoke very little English. My parents barely received education in high school, so I helped my mom and dad with most of the paperwork. I remember writing letters for immigration, employers, lawyers, and to the court for several family members.

To do that, we have to first understand where many undocumented individuals are coming from. “A lot of us are able to be here because of our parents,” Stoicescu-Ghica said. “I come from a single-parent household, my mom worked like crazy for me to able to get this far to go school.

As undocumented immigrants, my family and I have faced much adversity. My parents and I immigrated to the United States when I was eight months old. When I was nine, my parents informed me I was undocumented. They explained to me that we had crossed the border illegally, and would get deported if the government found us. They also explained to me that being undocumented meant I would not have the same opportunities, but it wasn’t an excuse to not try. To the contrary, it meant I had to work twice as hard to achieve my goals. We thought my grades would be my pass to scholarships. We prayed every night but, I knew that I couldn’t just pray about it, I had to act.

As the descendant of an immigrant father and his father before him, I’ve witnessed firsthand the means and consequences of trying to enter this country and become a citizen. The