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My American Culture

Decent Essays

I’ve spent many years living in contradictions, hoping to be seen as “enough” in one culture while simultaneously hoping that I was not too much of that culture. I, like many first generation immigrants walk the fine line between two cultures, not truly feeling at home in either place yet striving to be accepted in both worlds. Publicly, I hoped that I was American enough in public to assimilate with my classmates- so much so that for years, I used my middle name when at school. It allowed me to blend in effortlessly in my classes and socially with my peers. No more awkward pauses as teachers stumbled and tripped over my name. No one asking me about the meaning of my name or about my background. My middle name Hannah, served as my cloak of comfort. English flowed through my mouth with ease, and after years of practice, I found the perfect method of twisting my tongue and inflecting my voice to rid me of any signs of a Nigerian accent. I thought I had mastered assimilating into American culture without becoming an American. In my home, I was Tolu. I swallowed my perfect english and reverted back to my imperfect mix of yoruba and english. My time at home was consumed with fulfilling the norms of my culture and accepting the pressure and responsibilities my parents and other nigerians adults around me placed on me. I worked harder to separate my two worlds as if mixing the two cultures and attempting to forge my own path would make me less in both worlds. As I grew up, the

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