Personal Narrative: An Immigrant

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?’

As a part of an immigrant family, there is no doubt that, as the oldest, I had to help my parents with English translation. Even though I have been in this role for years, it was not until recently that I realized the significance of my responsibilities.

My story would have never begun if my parents had not made a huge decision in my life, almost 15 years ago. When they decided to move our family across the border, my future would be become unknown. The fate I had been destined to have was completely altered, now, I had the opportunity to change my life for the better, to strive for something bigger. My parents pushed me to be the best I could be, and to work as hard as possible to get what I wanted. As the daughter of two Mexican immigrants I grew up in a very cultural household, and being surrounded by Spanish at all times. The only negative being I had to learn English on my own, and which led to me having some difficulty when I first started school. Yet, growing up in a Spanish speaking

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 am a first-generation immigrant, a DACA recipient, a DREAMer. I was brought into the United States as a child and since then have struggled to become a part of our society. Growing up, there was just enough for my family. The extra we had came at the cost of not being around the parents much and with the thought that they might not come back after work in the back of our minds. No matter how busy my parents were to provide for my brothers and I, they always made sure the little time they had was focus on us, our studies, and to raise us to be good citizens of the world.

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

With the settlement of first immagrants to America, this has been the phrase in which they preach. I seemed to those from an outside perspective of America, that this was the place to be. This was no exception for my grandfather. His valuable lessons of dedication, persistence and passion have shaped me into the person that I have become.

A few years ago, I was with my family, walking the streets in New York, on our way to buy dinner. My mom had given me and each of my brothers ten dollars to spend on money. As we were walking, I noticed a man. He was sleeping on the side of a wall, a torn blanket covered his chest. His hair looked ungroomed

Imagine going to a new country, knowing nobody, not even the language. How would you feel? What would you do? My family and I were in this situation thirteen years ago. It was difficult to completely start our lives over and build our family again piece by piece. Recently, people have deemed immigrants as ‘drug mules’ or ‘evil rapists’ and more and more frequently I see on the news the hate unleashed towards them. They are the ‘other’ and it is easy to say these things about people you don’t know. It is easy to generalize a group when you only know the crimes of one person. This country that was built on the hard work of immigrants has begun to hate them. As humans, we want to protect our family and those we love, even it it means saying horrible

Being an immigrant is not easy, specially when you have to adapt to another environment. Learning english was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. Every time someone spoke to me english, l began to get frustrated. Sometimes I used google translator to do the assignments and projects that they give me, and sometimes my classmate would translate for me the english sentence my teacher spoke, And it would help my english get better.

Being an immigrant is a mind numbing experience. I didn't know a speck of english and I barely understood my teacher. I had to adjust to the whole new culture. But at age 6 that was easy. I quickly figured out that in here we didn’t have to pray every monday. I didn’t have to put on a uniform everyday. I can easily get free food from the cafeteria when my mother signed me up for the free lunch program. In America I didn’t have to smell the canal and street trash anymore. In just 3 weeks my whole life changed. I got used to it for about 2 years, then I had to go back. Back to the gang-filled, starving, broken house that I was born in.

This is a very interesting story. I am glad that she got to experience how the real life for most of us is, and how sometimes we only work to pay rent and bills. I myself can relate to that with my family. We came here in 2006, and my as an immigrant my mom had to work in whatever she could find, just to be able to pay rent and give me food. This is the reason why I go to school, to better myself, and to be able to get a job that I enjoy doing, and that it will give me a good paycheck. Honestly I feel bad for many people because, it is very hard to live in this country while getting paid minimum wage, but this is why we have to sacrifice ourselves and go to school to become someone.

Throughout last generation, immigration has been vital for my family- my mother is an immigrant, and so are my paternal grandparents. Being Mexican immigrants in a land that does not accept you is hard; I’ve seen the struggles firsthand. Like my grandparents, my mother did not have many opportunities once she entered the United States. She came seeking to start a career and make a name for herself, yet ended up being an assistant manager at Wal-Mart. Nonetheless, she has worked hard alongside my father to provide the best for my brother and I. But I know if she was a white American without a Mexican accent,

On one sunny day, I was helping my mom doing chores when she pulled me over to talk to me about something important. I was confused why my mom would want to me about something important, but I listened to what she said and followed her. What she told me was what her life was like back in Vietnam. She did not have much of an education. Instead, she stayed home with her mom to sell Vietnamese yogurt every day for a living. Since I was born in America, I never thought of life was like for others in developing countries like Vietnam. Hearing from my mom's experience, it stuck with me. I learned the importance of being grateful for what I have since they are a lot of people who do not have what we have in America and it made me want to help those who are in need. I was also inspired to do whatever I

We started off with a bang. We started with me thinking of what to do how to do it and what were my ideas. Then, a little later we actually started it and not gonna lie, it was scary. I didn’t know that much about my family, yeah i've heard stories but they're stories. Later on we went home i didn’t tell my family anything just unsuspiciously getting all the information and I learned a lot yes. I learned about my names and why they're my names, I learned about my dad getting lost a lot, I learned about my mom moving here to america when she was 14 and how her life was before she moved and why she moved. I learned about my uncle going to jail for crossing the border illegally which is kinda funny. All those I learned but i couldn’t find anything