My Life As An Immigrant

Humanity is ever so much more complicated than one could have ever imagined. Humans can thrive on change, but ultimately look for something to declare as home. In search of this home people travel long distances and risk everything they have. When an American contemplates the word immigrant, one imagines the countless people from Mexico crossing into our country or the refugees that hope to make this country their home. What eludes most of us, however, is the reality that most people were, at one point, immigrants to this country and that our forefathers came here exactly the same as refugees come today. What is brought to mind when I hear the word immigrant is hope and perseverance. I remember the countless people who have traveled here

Discussion post “My life as an Undocumented Immigrant” by Jose Antonio Vargas. Focus on page 225 second and third paragraph.

In the article of “My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant” by Jose Antonio Vargas, he tells his story from the minute he arrived in America. Vargas first arrived in this country by a lie. He was told by his mother to get on and get on a play with his uncle, which he had never met before at the age 12. Over the course of his life, Vargas soon discovered he had come to America as an illegal immigrant. His grandfather Lolo and Lola took him as his own to care and provided the basics in life, to have a better life than in the Philippines. Vargas took it upon his mission to be successful in school and hope that the hard work would pay of and become the American he wanted to be.

The authors of “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” and “My life as an Undocumented Immigrant” both use rhetoric appeal in their letters to society. Jose Antonio Vargas uses it to tell his story of being an unwanted American. Martin Luther King Jr uses it to tell the leader of church to keep fighting for their equality just as the Declaration of Independencies states “all men are created equal”. Vargas and King both had task that they each handled differently and similar.

“American”, such a vague term used by many but understood by few. As time has passed, the country created by our forefathers has changed and prospered. Many events in our country’s history have tested the citizens of America. Through the American Revolution, two World Wars, the Civil Rights Movement, and the terror attacks of September 11th, 2001 one thing has stood the test of time; the citizens of this country. From the beginning of America, the definition of an American has remained. An American is someone with faith in their country and a willingness to persevere through the most trying times.

I was always a precocious child, yet argumentative and rebellious. I did not want to accomplish anything following a pattern set for me. I wanted to forge my own way. This determination set me at odds with my mother, and has defined our relationship all these years. It has surely led me down my own irregular path in life, and placed me in position to be the family’s black sheep.

As I walked into the house, my parents were waiting for me in the living room. I did not know what was happening, but from the look in their eyes, I knew that was something wrong. My mother sat me down to tell me that my father had lost his business. The situation seemed so hectic; yet, the conversation felt like it lasted a lifetime. Finding out this news was detrimental to my family because my father had worked hard in America to build this business. I learned that my father had to give up his business and, as result my family had to start over, and find a new way to make a living.

Growing up as an immigrant I view the world in a much more different light than most people do. Whenever an opportunity presents itself to me I am willing to put in the effort if I know it will better my life. This trait of resourcefulness originates from my family who, over the years have created a life for themselves out of virtually nothing. I moved to America at the young age of two years old with my father. Though he didn’t have much to begin with, my father decided to move to this country in hopes to lead a better life and follow on the path of the American dream. I vividly recall being in the backseat of our car while my father trained me on the importance of remaining perceptive and hardworking in school and abroad, I remember he would

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.

I am Martin Gutierrez a retire veteran that was with United States Marine Corps who recently got done doing 10years. I got out from the military on March 10, 2017. I am not going to tell you my whole life story about me because this is not about my life but about me trying to buy a residential apartment in Chicago area around Humboldt park. I have a friend his name is Pedro. He is in charge of the apartment building and want to sell it for $500,000 to me but I don't have great credit score due I have paid off car loan which I had for almost 3 years and decide to pay it off completely to be able to relief some of my debt ratio so I can be able to afford purchase a house at the time. When I have paid off my car note my credit score drop from

There was a loud bang on the door. I sat up right away along with the other 13 people in my room. A soldier dress in head to toe with his uniform along with a winter jacket. He threw five pieces of bread on the floor and told us to go to work before leaving. The bread only got split upon nine of us; I was one of those nine. I had noticed a young boy did not get a piece so I gave him mine. The boy looked at me with a blank stare and took the bread from my frangile bonny fingers. I stood up, buttoned my shirt and adjusted my shorts. Under that slats of wood I slept on, I hid a scarve that I stole from a dead woman. I pulled it out and tucked it in my shirt so no one would notice. As I stepped out the door frame I felt a chilling breeze up my

I was following the heartbreaking news of Immigration crisis in Europe and watching that how these desperate people struggling to save their lives and find a better life in nearby countries, that the photo of my parents and I in a hand curved frame right next to my computer caught my attention and reminded me of my own journey as a refugee.

“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.

Growing up the child of an immigrant has given me a unique perspective on life that a majority of kids my age will never have. In my home, I am surrounded by the Ethiopian culture and language, but when I step across the threshold, I am greeted by a culture foreign to my own. I was challenged with learning two more languages than most kids, Amharic and Tigrinya, which classified me as a student who needed ESL (English Second Language) classes. My mom always said, “Ewedeshalo yenekonjo”, meaning I love you, my beautiful. I was immersed in two different communities, and had the impression of living in two different countries. I was faced with the difficulty of not knowing where I fit in since I am one of a few kids who have this reality. Balancing

New York City is renowned for its diverse cultural makeup, exemplified by the various ethnic neighborhoods scattered within its interior. As a result, it has consistently been deemed America’s immigrant capital. Similarly, I grew up in a country with over 50 different ethnicities, each with a unique culture and set of customs. I attended a Muslim elementary school and a majority Christian high school, all while growing up in a Hindu neighborhood. Between friends and family I celebrated Christmas, Eid and Diwali. I took my experiences from navigating different Arab, Indian and African cultures and used them to further broaden my horizons while living in the U.S. By traveling and living various parts of the world, I have developed life skills