Memoir: A Personal Story Of An Immigrant

I grew up in a loving and somewhat sheltered environment. My parents made my adoption seem like a grand fairytale, and they were my happy ending. To them, adoption made me more special than the average kid, causing me to never think twice about my beginnings. I was the miracle child who brought joy to everyone I met. As a child, people would

The purpose for writing this narrative is to demonstrate the things that influenced me in the past to become the person who I am today. Adapting to a new culture and struggling in academics is not something I only experienced. There are many immigrant students that give up school because they can not adapt the academic challenges or the differences in the school culture. My story can be inspiring to many young immigrant students to strive for success. I went to diverse high school where immigrants are a significant portion of the student body. One of my 10th grade friend had dropped out of school simply because the subjects were too challenging for him and his perception of being a student and an immigrant. He used to think immigrant students

In 1992, a woman gave birth to my sister and I. Due to unknown reasons, at some point during the first year, she left her twins at the doorsteps of a local police station. My sister and I were eventually placed in an orphanage in Addis Ababa, where we would then go on to be adopted and brought to the US. We grew up in a loving home with loving parents, and all of our needs met. Our childhood was ideal in many ways and I grew feeling up very blessed. Our adopted mother loved us so deeply, and our father was always a provider, stable, loving father.

When Sam and I got to the orphanage we were scared because this was a new part of our live we haven't experienced before. But we knew we were going to be in good hands now that we aren’t going to live on the streets again. Sam and I were in the orphanage for a couple of months until my mom and dad now came in. My parents had pictures of us in their wallets because they knew we were the ones for them. My dad came into the orphanage and asked if he could speak to the people in charge of adoption. When my dad talked to the lady who was in charge of adoption said that Sam and I were already on hold for adoption. The lady didn't know that they were the real parents who were there for our adoption. A couple of weeks later my parents came back and said, “ I think you are mistaken. We are the parents who are going to be adopting Rita and Samuel.” Then my dad pulled out the pictures of Sam and I and showed that they were the parents. The lady felt bad that she didn't believe them the 1st time. But before my parents could adopt us they had to spend time with us and get to know then and we get to know them. The cool thing was we had a Russian translator who translated what my parents said to me in

Coming to the United States from Taiwan at the age of 3 was a long and difficult process. At times I would wonder when and if I was ever going to be adopted or assigned to a family. I recall that I used to scream, cry, and throw tantrums as I grew up. Adjusting from a small crowded orphanage to a big comfortable home with my new permanent family was easy. However, becoming accustomed to a new language and culture without peers next to me who understood

When I was eighteen months old, I was blessed to be adopted from India by a family in California, the Allans. They were a family of four at the time in Ventura with two boys, ages of three and four years old. It took almost a

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?’

With the settlement of first immagrants to America, this has been the phrase in which they preach. I seemed to those from an outside perspective of America, that this was the place to be. This was no exception for my grandfather. His valuable lessons of dedication, persistence and passion have shaped me into the person that I have become.

A few years ago, I was with my family, walking the streets in New York, on our way to buy dinner. My mom had given me and each of my brothers ten dollars to spend on money. As we were walking, I noticed a man. He was sleeping on the side of a wall, a torn blanket covered his chest. His hair looked ungroomed

I’m juror number eleven I immigrated from Europe to the US I work as a watchmaker.I believe in the justice system in America and will see that it gets carried out fairly and properly. I’m quite, polite, honest, educated, and I’m observant to all the facts, I will take everything into consideration before making a decision on a verdict.As I said before Im quiet and poliet I keep to myself untill I am asked to speak or when details need to be remembered and I treat everyone one with respect. At first I believed that the defendant was guilty but as we deliberated I came to see that there was a reasonable doubt that the defendant was innocent.

One person can have the power to change a community’s perspective or sharpen it. As a Latina and an immigrant, my family’s experience has taught me about the process of entering the United States and the complications that follow. Still, my comprehension of social issues developed further the day I met my brother’s friend and classmate, who followed my brother home, unannounced, on the bus. I will call him Eric, my brother’s friend and his family are Salvadorian undocumented immigrants who seek political asylum. Eric’s family consists of a younger and an older sibling, and his mother. The only source of income is what his mother, who does not speak English very well, makes. Lately, this is what keeps me up at night. Thoughts of this child and his family consume my mind while I brainstorm ways of helping. At a young age when their biggest concerns

No one get’s to choose what environment in which they were raised. I grew up in a very difficult environment that has affected me in various ways. Although it has left some very scaring memories, it has made me who I am today.

Imagine going to a new country, knowing nobody, not even the language. How would you feel? What would you do? My family and I were in this situation thirteen years ago. It was difficult to completely start our lives over and build our family again piece by piece. Recently, people have deemed immigrants as ‘drug mules’ or ‘evil rapists’ and more and more frequently I see on the news the hate unleashed towards them. They are the ‘other’ and it is easy to say these things about people you don’t know. It is easy to generalize a group when you only know the crimes of one person. This country that was built on the hard work of immigrants has begun to hate them. As humans, we want to protect our family and those we love, even it it means saying horrible

Being an immigrant is not easy, specially when you have to adapt to another environment. Learning english was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. Every time someone spoke to me english, l began to get frustrated. Sometimes I used google translator to do the assignments and projects that they give me, and sometimes my classmate would translate for me the english sentence my teacher spoke, And it would help my english get better.

At the young age of 10, my native born Filipino mother was adopted by her aunt in Canada and shipped across the world to a place unknown to her. The reason behind this adoption came for two reasons: the first being poverty and the second being favoritism. While my mother wasn 't unloved, she certainly wasn 't the favorite among her siblings. This, along with her family 's deepening poverty, was the catalyst for a life changing event. Scared and inexperienced with any culture other than her own, she looked for answers and comfort before leaving. I can distinctly remember her telling me the story for the first time; her father bringing her to the airport, holding her while she cried and begged to stay, and slipping a small