My Experience In My Life

As I grow older and live new experiences, I realize how my childhood and God led me to the circumstance I am now, which is my last semester of nursing school. I come to appreciate my mother’s hard work to get me through school as well as through life. Growing up in a low-income family in Los Angeles, California with a dad who was a full-time alcoholic and drug addict, was not a good circumstance to grow up. My mother did not speak English or had a job and believed that a married woman is to fully depend on her husband. There were times when my 2 siblings and I had nothing to eat since my dad barely came home with money after spending it all on alcohol and drugs. Due to this living situation and the fact that I was the oldest child, I felt the strong responsibility to drop out of school once I was old enough to work. Education was not an option in my future. Since we didn’t have much money, my mom signed my siblings and me to free afterschool programs at my local Catholic church, so we could learn more about our religion and the importance of God in our lives. I remember my excitement to wake up early Sunday mornings to get ready for mass, even though it took 2 bus routes to get to church. I learned from nuns and priests the importance of caring for others as if they were my own family because everyone deserves the same type of care. Caring was something I learned through religion, and not something I was born knowing. As a way to start fresh, my dad decided to move us to

My name is Alexis Lopez Sevilla. I am 19 years old. I was born in the State of Jalisco, Mexico where I spent fourteen years of my life living there. I am the second oldest and only son of four siblings. Currently, I am living in Long Beach, California, and I am attending Long Beach City College. When I was fourteen years old, my family and I arrived in this country. Coming to the United Sates has been the most challenging experience I have had so far, especially because I did not want to move away from a place that I loved so much, that was my hometown. Therefore, the first obstacle that I experienced on this journey was not being able to accept the fact that my future was going to be established in a place that I knew so little about.

It was the 2000s. I had been without a job for at least a couple of weeks and was finding it extremely hard to carry out my life in my village in Veracruz, Mexico. I used to own a farm but when the temperature began to rise and the soil was less fertile, I had to put an end to it because I was unable to plant or harvest any crops. In the past, this had been my main source of income but as the time went by, I could not sustain this lifestyle anymore. Furthermore, I couldn’t supply my family of 4 with the items they needed to be alive. After having a long talk with my wife, Emilia, I decided to begin to consider many different options. We searched all of the village and even in nearby towns trying to find a place that would hire me. We didn’t find anything but did see a flyer on a pole that was interesting. It said, “Go to America. You’ll get hired for sure.” Me and my wife were overjoyed when we saw this. We immediately began to plan our move up North.

“Still there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have travelled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I’ve slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.”

Opening my eyes slowly, I could see millions of cracks cascading my windshield. Trying to move, as the pain began jolting through my body. A surprised voice, grabbing my attention as I became conscious. He was telling me to stay still, as the sound of the saw ate away at my door. I realized then that I was in a terrible car accident and somehow, I survived. This was the moment that changed my life, the moment that Jesus took the wheel. Hours prior to that, I sat alone; sadden, angry and dumbfounded. How could a man I’ve loved for 17 years, love someone else? Thoughts flooded my mind, as I tried drowning my pain with every bottle that hit my lips. Tears flowing down my face, as I slowly began to slip away. Wanting to forget every lie and hoping to erase all the years I sat blinded. The feeling of every breath escaping me, as the couch felt like the only comfort I had.

Chicago, Illinois is where a baby boy was born in 2001 at a mischievous and uncomfortable place. His parents named Mayra and Natividad arrived as undocumented people. When the young baby boy was born, his parents said this to each other, “This young man right here will become one of the greatest person God has sent us. He will help us to achieve many wonders and gifts for us.” That inspiration gave life to the little one and was a blessing to him to live life. Once he grew enough to enter Kindergarten, this triggered a conflict between reading and talking. It was a struggle during the times that his parents put him in reading tutorials and speech. After many practices, he then later began talking English and reading it fluently. What he wanted, was a better life for his parents; a life that he could see his parents smile everyday. A life where there isn’t any conflict between them; a life with at least some peace. That short kid was me; now I’m have enough experience to express my feelings to everybody, but to begin with, when I began growing in age I started to see life as a cruel world especially when it came towards my parents lives and experiences.

It’s hard to imagine what your life will be like, where it’ll take you, or what the future holds for you. If you told 13-year-old me that I was going to be on the path of 8 more years of schooling after high school, working towards a medical degree, I probably would have laughed and repeated the line that I have said so many times: “I’ll never become a doctor...that’s so gross”. At that age, my dream was to become a pastry-chef in a patisserie somewhere in the south of France, living life peacefully. I thought that I could never follow in my parents’ footsteps, sacrificing the best years of my life for the all-consuming difficulty and intensity of the pre-med track. And it is very intense. If you ever come across a pre-med student, they’re likely stumbling over the clutter of their biology textbooks and boundless research papers, frantically searching for the cure for some disease that no one can actually pronounce, all the while cramming for the MCAT that’s in 912 days because they have not yet memorized every bone in the human body. I’d like to dissociate myself from that stereotype. While most aspiring pre-med students were worrying about medical school acceptance rates, I was dreading my dad’s weekly case-study reading that he absolutely had to have my opinion on. Not to mention the countless visits I made to my mother’s work Christmas parties, where the nurses were constantly dressed in their scrubs, and I mean constantly, and the food unmistakably came straight from

What started as just a feeling, metastasized through my whole being with such an effect, that for the next few years, it was the only thing that was central to my reality. Often when we become overwhelmed with the expectations of others, we tend to think of them as our own; this causes us to become manipulative of ourselves, thus leading us onto potentially harmful and destructive paths. For the next few years this had become the essence of my reality. By the time I’d finished grade 9 I’d become a victim of sporadic depression and a compulsive

It was the last weekend of my summer vacation before entering senior year. All my life I have been spending my summer vacations in my beach house on Contadora Island, a small paradise off the coast of Panama. Everything on the island is joy and serenity. It had almost become a tradition for all the island residents to go spend the last weekend there. I had a very close friend who also had a house in Contadora. He was the most caring and gentle person I have ever met. I would regard him as an example of how people should treat others. He was always so considerate and friendly with everyone, no matter what. These were qualities that I did not see in myself at the time. Whenever I had the opportunity, I would criticize someone for not being or looking a certain way. Or I would not treat people with the corresponded respect they deserved. These were all things that Walter would try to change in me, with his caring and humble personality, but my arrogance would keep persisting. When it came to the formation of his professional self in academics, he always strived for more. He was the most ambitious, while I was a conformist with mediocre results. Coming back to this particular weekend, Walter had opted to spend it camping at a reservoir with another group of friends. The weekend on the island was very fun, even though he had not come. I woke up early on Sunday, it was February 28, 2016. Little did I know that this day would mark the rest of my days. I woke up early to enjoy my

I had only left the United States once before in my life. It was a small trip to London with my mother to visit a distant relative. It was a quick trip, maybe 3 or 4 days and I could hardly remember it because it was 12 years ago. I didn’t have much motivation to leave home again except for university. Until I got a call. On Wednesday, April 24th at exactly 3:37 pm I got a call from my aunt Kaasni. This was no ordinary phone call, as we normally had pre-organized phone calls every other Sunday evening and she hardly talked to me when I had school work. That was the deal with my parents after my father left – I could speak to my aunt who he lived with every other Sunday and on certain holidays. I picked up the phone and my father, drunk and hazy spoke. “Sasha my dear ba-ba-baby how are you,” he slurred “you know what, I think you should come spend some time with me, here in Calcutta, get a different taste of what life is like for your old man.” It took a moment for me to process what he had said – he wanted me to see him, after 15 years, he wanted me in his life again. Then I heard my auntie on the phone “Sasha? I am so sorry, your father drank a little too much. We are on holiday here and I hope he hasn’t disturbed you,” she said. “Oh no Auntie Kay, its fine,” I replied, still deep in thought. The line went silent for a moment as I heard her shush my intoxicated father while she held her palm to the phone. She picked up once again and continued apologizing until I

My personal life has had many twists and turns that have shaped my life and my view on language as an individual. My life began growing up in a mixed family household: my mother being born in Jordan and moving to the United States when she was young, and my father who has lived in the United States. Growing up in a mixed household I only spoke English and I rarely heard any Arabic in my life. I would only know hear Arabic when I did something wrong or when we were spending time with my mother’s side of the family. While I was very influenced by Arabic culture I was not submerged in the culture so I did not understand all the complexities of Arabic culture in the US. If I grew up in a household where Arabic was spoken regularly (maybe not

When I look at how different our lives were five months ago so many things run through my mind, “What could we have done differently?” “What could I have done differently?” The week of finals before the end of my junior year I wondered if bad things really do happen to good people, or if good people do bad things that put them into bad places.

The summer after freshman year, I went on a journey that completely changed my life forever and opened a whole new door to my life. My four weeks in Grenada, Nicaragua, put me in situations that not many freshmen get to experience at home. During this experience, I was able to do lots of community service, visit students at their school, play games with kids, and of course, study Spanish.

My first semester as a college student is coming to an end. I remember moving in, scared of making friends and starting a new adventure. I remember wandering around like a lost sheep attempting to find the classrooms I would spend the next few months in. All this seems like it happened forever ago, but in reality, it was just three short months ago. Mid-semester, I recall beginning to countdown the weeks left. And now here I am. I made it.

“I’m proud of you.” These are the words that keep me going. When I was left here, hint the sarcasm, I felt like I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready to grow up and face the world so quick when I still had so much to learn about myself. I was so enclosed with my family that the next couple days growing up wasn’t an option and I had to be careful. With all this Independence as an individual and not hide behind my family. By the time it came for the weekend I felt better about myself like I can do this and it gets easier. I had this new view on college because of the new friends that I met. When I’m around them I forget about missing home and my family. They are my second family who supports each other and don’t want to see them beating themselves up. We meet up and do thing on and off campus, study as a group and eat together. Without them I would just be in my dorm all the time. Being here by myself I have more freedom than I did at home. I wasn’t being watched over like a hawk 24/7.