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
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.
Jose Antonio Vargas, a Pulitzer Prize winning author, shares his life-long journey as an undocumented immigrant in his text, “My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant.” As the title suggests, Vargas attempts to convey to his audience, who likely never has and never will experience anything similar to what he has, what it is like to live as an immigrant in the United States of America. Skillfully, Vargas details the perfect number of personal stories to reach the emotional side of his audience, which is anyone who is not an immigrant. Through the use of his personal accounts Vargas is able to effectively communicate that immigrants are humans too while simultaneously proving his credibility, as he has experience and a vast amount of knowledge
Hello reader, I’m about to tell you a story of some of my life. I am not normally one to volunteer details about myself, which I’ll remain somewhat reserved or completely leave some events out of this autobiography. Nonetheless, I believe I can still make my story interesting for the reader. I was born 1979, in Tampa, Florida; which, is also the same day my biological father decided to leave my mother and I. My mother isn’t a native Floridian, but had moved there with her family when she was still an infant, and had spent most of her life growing up in Florida. Needless to say, my father leaving was not an exciting time for my mother and I. Although she was employed Jimmy Cater was president and had taken the nation into
“Outlaw: My Life In America As An Undocumented Immigrant” by Jose Antonio Vargas from the New York Times, is a narrative essay that focuses on telling a story of past events. Vargas proposes that since he grew up in America that this is considered his home. Vargas believed he would be granted citizenship if he worked harder and achieved more. His motivation of sharing his childhood journey would be the relief of him coming forward about his legal status to those who were not aware and to those who he truly cares about but could not risk sharing his story with. Vargas tone and stance attracts people who are or have already been through the same path and for those that come to America to live the “American Dream” like Vargas intended to. Vargas concludes he is trapped in duplicity and being dishonest about his legal status is destroying his character. Even though, Vargas convinces me about his difficult journey as an undocumented immigrant, his belief that coming forward with the truth of his legal status will allow him to regain his values or the trust of those who he has already lied to is unconvincing because after all those years it has become a part of his selfhood.
“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.
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.
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?’
I am who I am today because of my parents, first my dad worked so hard in order to be able to pay to get our papers and be able to legally come into the country. The immigration process took more than 10 years. We were only able to see my dad once a year because he was here working and saving up to bring the family together. In July of 1998 just 3 months before I was born my sister Elena passed away before being able to come into the country, she waited for so long to reunite with my dad and it didn't happen she left before her dream came into reality. When my family was finally able to reunite we made the most of it we enjoyed every second with each other. When I entered school I was known for the Mexican girl who didn't know English however
It was the 11th, the day that we arrived. My dad and my sister had already made it, and it was really late. My flight landed, and so had 16 others. We off of the flight, and headed straight for immigration. Last time we came, immigration took 5 minutes, but this time, it took 45! After the long immigration process, we went to the baggage belt, where we couldn’t find our bags. While we were walking to go and file a complaint, we found one of our bags off of the baggage belt. Others took our bags off of the belt, so we went around the belt to find the bags. After we found the bags, we headed out of the airport. It was 4 am, and as soon as we got home, we went to sleep. We got up at about nine and got ready to go to my aunt and uncle’s 25th anniversary
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 am an immigrant. I look and act like any other student at Reading High School, participating in class and school extracurricular activities. But, I live in constant fear. I am afraid that I may never be who I want to be. I worry that I may not get a job, go to college, or even get a driver's license. But what I worry most about is that my parents will be deported back to Mexico someday and I will lose my family, forever.
It was summer of 2010. My parents were still married and we went up to Wichita Falls, Wichita to go see my brother Chris who was in the Military on base working. We stayed there for a week. I still remember the car ride up there. We rented a van, we had tvs in the rented van, my sister Rylee, my other brother Garrett (he was in the military too), my mom Traci, and my dad Doug, and my brothers military bag it was like a person. I still remember I had to sit in the back with that bad it was so big. Garrett put the seatbelt around the bag like it was a person. The car trip was so long but it was all worth it in the end. It was in the middle of the week and we were out on the beach. My brother Chris and his pregnant wife Ashley had a boat the water
I never knew my dad was illegally in the United States until he was arrested by U.S Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Everything happened so fast, and before I knew it my whole life was changing. One day I was having a pizza date with my dad, and a few days later I was in the car on a 3 hour drive to the Tacoma Northwest Detention Center to say goodbye to him as he awaited his deportation to Mexico. My father's deportation has been the hardest thing I have ever had to go through. It has brought on emotional hardships and financial struggles, which, has brought on challenges regarding my education.
I chose my immigrant participant from a personal perspective, yet not knowing much about him. Last year, my first year teaching, I had a little boy in my class that was Latino, very shy and quite. He struggled in reading and writing and after meeting with his parents and ESOL teacher several times, the decision was made to retain him in first grade. His parents, especially dad was hesitant about the decision, and began to tell small glimpses of how his son was very much like him, shy, and scared to reach out because of the language barrier. There was never much elaborated on, but I could tell that dad had possibly been in a similar situation before. This year, I was lucky enough to have this same child in my first grade class again. After receiving