Personal Narrative: A Sense Of American Culture

I was thirteen when I moved to the United States. July 7, 2007 was the day my brothers and I packed up our belongings and left Haiti. It was a very exciting day because I got the chance to be on an extremely large white and blue airplane for the first time, and most importantly, reunite with my parents, whom I did not know because my father left Haiti when I was three years old, and my mother left a several years later. As a teenager, I had the mindset of living in a fairytale land. I did not think about the possible challenges I might encounter after leaving my homeland. The idea of adjusting to a new culture, learning a new language, and socializing with others that do not have the same tongue as me never ever crossed my mind. Little did

Studying in a foreign country is an interesting experience of an individual lifetime. One tends to learn a number of things relating to ways of life in a foreign land. Social, political and economic values and aspects are usually different from one region to another. Therefore, through studying abroad one is able to learn different issues about another society such as gender and sexuality issues, social class and race/ethnicity issues. Having come from a developing country studying in the U.S.A has been a great experience personally. This paper will attempt to provide a reflection of my personal experience on studying in the U.S by comparing the history of Angola and the U.S.

Growing up in Ghana, I had heard a lot of things about the U.S. This was a country I had always wanted to visit; my prayer was answered when I got the opportunity to travel there. Arriving in a new environment came with many experiences. Adjusting with food, language and the weather was not easy. With the passage of time, however I have been able to0 adjust and fit it. This write-up therefore is to elaborate on my experiences since coming to U.S.

Although I was born in America, I have always felt like an immigrant. Why? Because I was a different race from the majority of the people around me. I live in Garrett County, where the majority of the population is white. My family was the only Chinese family in the county. On top of that factor, I had spent most of my toddler years back in Fujian, China with my grandparents. I came back to America when I was five years old and began Pre-K soon after my arrival. Throughout my years in public school, I have learned that the American identity is achieved by assimilation while retaining some unique characteristics.

Writing is a miracle itself. Believing in miracles can make you a proponent of the second chance in life. Following your dream is life long pursuit of one’s purpose. Sometimes winds of destiny are inflating your sails; sometimes you hit a rough spot in the ocean. The drawbacks are good chance for reflection and readjusting. As a first generation immigrant I had the opportunity to witness myself the land of Opportunities and experience the concept of an American dream first hand. Deciding to come and live in the United States and leaving my whole family behind has been hardiest decision that I have made in my life so far. The doubt that this doubts about that decision has chasing me as a bad dream since the day I have arrived in the United States.

One day I was sitting in English class doing my work. Then a flying whale flew into the wall and destroyed it. It flew over to me and swallowed me whole. It then just flew back to the ocean. While in the whale's stomach I saw some interesting things like a dead person, a needle with steroids in it, a few soccer balls, a rabbit, and a roll of duct tape. After I had been in the whale's stomach for about 3 hours, it started to shake violently. Then something was squeezing the life out of the whale. All of the sudden i was flying through the air along with everything else. I landed on some sort of island.

Walking, walking, and more walking. Today is the day that we begin traveling to Fiume to board a steamship to this place called America. My family doesn't have a lot of money so we can't afford a ride to the port. I only have one pair of shoes and they have many holes in them. We've walked for what seems like an eternity or at least to me. Today is very bittersweet. We're leaving the only place I've ever called home to live in a place we've never seen before. IM not ready to leave. I love Italy but I know it is no longer safe for me, my mom, and my dad. I'm only six years old but I'm old enough to know this could be all a lie. What if America isn't so amazing? What if we done make it? What if we get sent back? So many questions and not

That’s basically all I could understand as I left the immigration center. People all around me were talking in languages I had only studied in textbooks, which barely helped. That was the first time I could really look around and see where I was. The sound of car engines roared in my ears as I walked across the street; people squashed into a small bus while chattering in a garbled language that made no sense. Everywhere I looked I saw chaos, and I couldn’t have been happier.

Living in America has its ups and downs. The different culture and people is what makes America to me. Every day I learn something new while I go to school in America. Personally, as the days go back I carless about humanity and more about myself and how to improve myself. Money has become a major need for me recently and I don’t believe in love anymore. Sometime I just sit and think what kind of person I be like if I keep living in America. I’m happy I can here for school, I don’t think I would know this must about life. And as the days pass by I learn so much more about myself that it makes me question if I ever knew anything to begin with. Unfortunately, I still wonder what life would have been like if I did my college education in Nigeria.

Some people view the outside world as a dangerous place full of disparity and misery, others like to embrace that unknown and try to use it as a catalyst for inner growth. I like to see myself as the latter, the individual who lives for the rush of the unknown. I looked down to see what I could only describe as a dream come true. It was a ticket for a six month tour around Asia that would lead to the complete immersion of native culture and tradition- Vietnamese Pho, the mountain folk of Nepal, the Muay Thai martial arts of Thailand, Chinese Architecture and the beaches of Laos are some of the places that we got to experience first-hand. As a participant I was expected to live with 15 other individuals from around the world that I had never

Anyone who has the desire to live in the Unites States of America knows that it is the greatest nation among all nations. People either have little knowledge of other countries to believe this general notion or have truly seen and been informed of the opportunal prosperity that exists in the spirit of America. The American Dream is the idea that sets the minds of people determined to be part of a great nation because everyone has the equal opportunity to become successful and prosperous, if you work hard enough to achieve it. The American Dream is the reason why so many people come to the United States in search for better economic and liberty opportunities. What causes frustration and discouragement to enter this nation is the fact that the

I feel that America’s greatest gift to my generation would be freedom. Freedom has technically given me life, an education, and has taught me important life lessons. I would not want to live in a country that is not free.

As an international student, it is critical to consider schools which are friendly towards persons who may not share the same culture as the major population of the student body. Having lived and thrived in a culture so different from my own for sometime, I have learned that for the most part, people are a lot welcoming to my culture when I do not try to hide from it but rather, offer my different perceptions and opinions about the questions I am being asked.

On my first day of pre-kindergarten, I entered the classroom slowly placing one foot onto the ground after another gripping onto my Strawberry Shortcake backpack tightly seeking protection. I arrived at the classroom door and noticed something. The children frolicking around the room playing tag were different. The other children had skin the color of snow and chocolate, while mine resembled that of caramel. Of course, I had encountered those of other races or ethnicities, however it was overwhelming and quite sudden for me, for some reason. Perhaps I had expected all the other children to look similar to me. I had not realized at the time that my town had had very few Indians at the time, and had a white and black majority. I had been quite

Assimilating into the American culture is an arduous challenge. English is my second language, I struggled through language barriers. Throughout elementary school, kids developed callous nicknames for me such as “Muslim terrorist” and “Gandhi” because I spoke in an accent and I was the only Punjabi kid in my class. Since all of my bullies were Mexican, I determined that all other Mexican kids would choose to discriminate against me. I decided to avoid interaction with the other students, which made it harder for me to learn English. I would spend most of my time alone sitting on a bench because I was hesitant of what new nicknames the other kids might devise. However, I wasn’t the only troublesome child who was facing bullying on that bench.