My Family: Hmong In The US

Living in the United States wasn’t any easier for my dad. Having no parents meant he had no permanent home. He lived with his sponsors that helped him come to the United States. My dad knew very little english and was enrolled into high school. There he and many Hmongs were discriminated by other students. After graduating High School my dad received his first job where he worked for minimum wage. Even though having a job my dad still had no permanent home. He moved in with his uncles that treated them poorly. My dad had to sleep in an attic that had a broken window in the harsh Minnesota winter. That night it was twenty below zero and my dad had three thick blankets on still struggling to stay warm. After thirty long years our family has came a long ways. Today we are fulfilling the American dream in the natural state of Arkansas.

I am Hmong and comes from a family of nine. My parents are refugees from Laos who came to the United States to escape communism after the Vietnam War. I was born in Oroville, California in the year 1994 and moved to Milwaukee, Wisconsin in 1997. My parents moved here in hope to find a good job to provide for the family as well as a better education for their children. As I got older, I realized that how important it is to help out one another. I am where I’m at because of the support I received from my family and my community. This is the reason why I tried my best to be a part of my community when I was in high school and while I am in college. In high school I took the opportunity to be involved with my school by joining school organizations.

In the summer of 2007 I served a Hmong child who had pain and limited movement in his left arm.. The emergency room physician ordered an x-ray. While performing the X-ray, I talked to him in Hmong. He answered my questions and told me the whole fiasco that led up to his injury. He had fallen off his bike while attempting to jump a home made ramp and landed wrong. He threw his left arm to attempt to break his fall, however, his body landed on top of it causing a snapping/popping noise to occur. He told me his story, all the while looking down towards the ground with little eye contact. He guarded his injured limb closely, preventing me from positioning or moving it to accommodate the X-ray specifications. Instead, he insisted on

Before moving to Saint Paul, Minnesota, two and a half years ago, I lived in Storm Lake, a small rural town located in northwest Iowa. There was no big Hmong population there, only a few family friends. I was very hesitant to share my culture at school because I did not know how to explain the elaborate traditions and its purposes. For example, sacrificing animals to ancestors is an outdated practice and not understood by many people. Traditions like this only exist in historical textbooks. I was scared of being judged and looked on as weird. I did not know the purpose of dressing up in traditional clothing for new years, or what was the purpose of celebrating Hmong new year. I envied other cultures, for they had a history that was widely known and written down in text. I had no appreciation for my culture.

I am a breathtaking, stunning, and outstanding student. I am these things because I know that even before reading this essay, the first thing you read was my name. Most of the faculties that are reading this essay are probably thinking, “oh, it’s another Asian student whose name I’m not sure how to pronounce,” or “that sandwich for lunch was good, I should’ve taken another bite before I came here.” Before anything else, I am Hmong. It’s a subculture that is quite spread throughout Southeast Asia. I was born in Thailand and immigrated to the United States in October 2004. There are seven members in my father’s household. Having a Confucian ideology binded within me, I almost always put my family’s needs before my own. I would tell myself that if something does not benefit me, then I don’t need it. Then on, I hated going shopping like normal girls because I don’t want to burden my family with financial problems. If, however, I needed something, my mom would have already bought them for me. When my older sister entered her senior year in high school, I decided to do all the chores I could in the house. It was demanding and exhausting, but because I decided to do most of the chores, my sister finally had more time to herself and was

Growing up in a Hispanic household has taught me many things. I have learned to see things as an optimistic person, and that it doesn’t matter where you come from as long as you work hard for what you want anything is possible. My family has always implemented the values of life that lead me to perceive what it was about to throw at me.

The year of 2014 late summer I came to America with dreams and hopes, expecting the better for me and my family. I have family that had came before me; however they weren't that respectful for someone that had been living in Mexico their whole life. I used to get put down by the way I looked, talked or how I acted. I recall that they would talk in english about me , and make fun of me , so I wouldn’t understand what they were saying. I have cousins that don't even appreciate all the sacrifices that one as a parent has to make , so they are able to give a better life for their kids. On the good side of the story I would always keep in mind how I came here? thanks to who?and why?. So I realize that I fitted in the Hispanic community by attending to Hispanic events, playing soccer, and cooking hispanic food.

I was born and raised in Chicago, but am a daughter of immigrants. My father chased his dream and is the proud owner and operator of an Indian restaurant, while my mother sacrificed her dream career and disregards her educational degree to work as a bank teller to help raise me my brother and me. Though my parents are happy, I wonder how things would turn out if they were raised here. All our conflicts and differences in opinions and values are because I was raised here. Growing up in the Oswego school district, a majority white population, I often was told who I was and who I wasn’t and withheld from who I wanted to be. I ran away from my roots. The bullying and harassment I faced, led to the numerous insecurities I hold. No matter what happened

Generations upon generations of people have been thriving in Spanish speaking countries. Cuba is no different, through traditional clothing and special holidays they always are in tune with the past. With flamboyant traditional attire, that rivals the suns bright color and Spring flowers, coupled with fun to watch free flowing up beat music like Guaguancó or Pachanga, the Cuban culture is very exciting. In order to start to describe my family ties with Cuba, I will use an analogy: With every spin of a vibrant dress it seems as if the hands of time slowly turn back time. As the clock goes back so does my family history. In the early 1920's my great grandmother and her family made the trip from Spain to Cuba. Ever since then my family has had bearings

This paper discusses the dynamic issues involving the diversity of multicultural families in regards to race, ethnicity, socioeconomic, gender and sexual orientation. This paper will also highlight same or different minority or cultural backgrounds, identity and biases involving multicultural families. How multicultural families incorporate their beliefs, cultures and values into a family unit as well as the transformation of acculturation. Challenges involving racial identity, ethnicity; where do people with different cultures fit in and make it work; the population of multicultural families has risen and continue to do so. Socioeconomic status in multicultural families

I was raised in a loving household with two outstanding parents and although we are not wealthy in any means I was extremely happy. I had the privilege of getting a deep knowledge of my culture and having a strong bond with local Eritreans in Santa Rosa. In my culture we accept everyone as our own and treat than as such so although I never got to have a close bond with my immediate family back in Eritrea I was fortunate enough to gain one with my local Eritrean community that was forged not through blood but through love. I picked up this “family not through blood but love” ideology from a young age and it truly had a big impact on the person I am today. It allowed me to not only become an accepting and welcoming person to those I meet but also allowed me to gain a deeper appreciation to new cultures and traditions I get the privilege of experiencing in the diverse school

Filipino family and American Family are both celebrating holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries in similar and somewhat different aspects. Filipino family are celebrating Christmas by visiting church not as same as American Family. During the Christmas season in the Philippines "Misa de Gallo" or night mass, is a novena of dawn masses starting from December 16-24, a tradition for Filipinos. Filipinos believe in the superstitious belief that if you completed Misa De Gallo which is 9 consecutive nights of masses, 1 wish would be granted. Significantly different from the masses that held here in US. In contrast to US families some families wouldn’t

I came to school in U.S. because I personally think American education gives students more variety of opportunities. In America, we all get to chose our own schedule what we want to take for next year, but we cannot in Korea. All Korean students take the same class course even its level is too easy or too hard for them.

For such a long time (probably from the beginning of the mankind), interacting with kids has been the biggest challenge for any parent out there. Things have become just worse these days thanks to technology. Kids now days tend to know a lot more about tech than the parents do. For instance, they know exactly how to ignore their parents and do whatever they want.

My parents did not come to San Diego with a lot of money, they only had ten million dong when they came, which to me sounded like a lot but my mom laughed and told me it was a thousand dollars in the U.S. For my parents, this meant they would go homeless in two months if one of them did not find any sort of work. For the first month, it was very difficult for them to find a job because they did not know how to find one. My mother would tell me how my father was a very strong man and yet no one would hire him because he would not know what to say during the interview. My mother would tell me how there were many nights she would fall asleep crying because she would think back to Vietnam when she was with her family and friends, where she did not feel limited or restricted by anything but money, and how now that she was here in San Diego, it was not only money but also her opportunity to socialize and communicate with many of the people around her. Even with my father by her side, she felt helpless and excluded from the community, like she no longer had a voice. Fortunately, near the end of the first month, one of the Vietnamese neighbors actually noticed my parents and greeted them. This man had a family and welcomed my parents greatly. He even helped my father find a job and get access to government services such as rent assistance, Medi-Cal and Food Stamps. Many immigrants share the same experiences my parents