Personal Narrative: Coming From A Mexican Immigrant Family

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?’

Being a daughter of immigrant parents has never been easy here in America. Both my parents worked excessively hard to be financially stable. Unfortunately at the age of ten my life changed. I learned that my parents no longer loved each other. The arguing and fighting my parents had, only damaged me emotionally. I was too young to grasp the idea that my parents were separating which become one of the hardest times for my mom to maintain my siblings and I. Shortly after, I began attending church and fell in love with the idea of getting closer to God. Luckily, my life took an enormous turn the moment I gave my life to Christ. God has opened numerous opportunities for my education. I am proud of all the accomplishments I have achieved in high

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

My parents always wanted to give their children the life they never had. I am Mexican-American, both of my parents immigrated from Mexico to the U.S. before I was born. I have numerous relatives, including my older sister, who do not have the same opportunities I have to achieve success because they are undocumented. For them, college was only a dream that could never be attained. Being the first U.S. citizen out of my entire family affected the way I thought about life. It was expected that I would attend college because I was the only one who had access to all the resources granted to American citizens. Although, I agreed with my family, the pressure to succeed and be a role model to my younger siblings was overwhelming.

I have never experienced racism. However, I am not oblivious to those who have experienced racial confrontations. I have heard nasty comments such as “spic” and “wetback” and any other derogatory term that is out there used against my people. I have not always accepted or been proud of my family’s background. expand 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.

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

My background is interesting. My twin sister and I were raised by parental grandmother until she passed away due to lung cancer when I was 11 years of age. My grandmother had 15 children and raised 2 more. My diverse experiences in life begin here. My Mother was Caucasian and my father was Hispanic, both born and raised in Texas. Both of my families were similar but very different. They were similar in that they were of low economic status, but very different because of their beliefs and their culture. My Hispanic family believed and still believes that God is number one in life (prayed before every meal) and that you respect everyone regardless of how they may treat you. My Hispanic family believed in helping one another when given the opportunity.

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.

One person can have the power to change a community’s perspective or sharpen it. As a Latina and an immigrant, my family’s experience has taught me about the process of entering the United States and the complications that follow. Still, my comprehension of social issues developed further the day I met my brother’s friend and classmate, who followed my brother home, unannounced, on the bus. I will call him Eric, my brother’s friend and his family are Salvadorian undocumented immigrants who seek political asylum. Eric’s family consists of a younger and an older sibling, and his mother. The only source of income is what his mother, who does not speak English very well, makes. Lately, this is what keeps me up at night. Thoughts of this child and his family consume my mind while I brainstorm ways of helping. At a young age when their biggest concerns

I am an immigrant, originating from Ukraine. I moved here three years ago to take advantage of the “land of the free”. I had heard of the conscription under Russian imperial dictators, such as Tzar Nicolas, and Soviet despots, like Stalin. Fourcing an individual to perform a service, regardless of the cause, seems to be slavery to me. When I found that men in America must register for the draft, in my eyes, “the land of the free” became slightly less free. It is abhorrent that men may be required to enlist in the military, and equally so for women and therefore should not be tied to feredal grants.

Who am I? Who am I is what I tend to ask myself often, more than I probably should. That question floats around in my head from day to day waiting to be answered. Well to answer my question, I’m my roots. My Mexican roots have shaped me into the person I am today any many ways. Such as, the food I love to eat, the languages I speak, the music I enjoy listening to, the places I enjoy going to, all of my traditions, how I dress, and my name. All of those factors tie into who I am, Alejandra. I have Mexican blood running through my veins, which I’m very proud of. I have my parents to thank for who I am.

Growing up as a child of two born-and-raised Mexican parents has had a vital, positive impact on my life; it has shaped me into the young, ambitious man I am today. Shortly after I was born, I moved to Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas, Mexico, the birthplace of both of my parents and the most of my relatives. I resided in Mexico for seven years; I grew up in a charming town where it was a custom to take a stroll every Saturday evening in Plaza Hidalgo with an elote [Mexican street-food corn on the cob] in your hand.  In 2004, I moved back to the United States to the city I was born in. I have successfully managed to combine both my Mexican and American traditions into one beautiful and unique lifestyle. With the mindset of hoping to make my community proud,

Even though I may be identified as a typical Mexican American, I'm not average. I have always been the kid who stands out from the rest. Besides having a thick Spanish accent, I don't look like the common Mexican, my skin color is significantly darker than the rest. I have been and still, am perceived as Asian and Middle Eastern. Even though I explain to many that I'm Mexican many don't believe me, specifically, strangers. This misconception of my ethnicity causes me to be different from others, not just because of my appearance but the experiences I possess of it as a result. Having been treated as other ethnicities that face severe discrimination has allowed me to learn and understand the problems they face on a daily basis. Thankfully I have not faced a dangerous encounter but I have experienced some

I am the daughter of Mexican immigrants. I am the daughter of two individuals who left a small town in the center of Mexico in search of a better life. I am the daughter of two Mexicans who crossed the Mexico-U.S. border, like millions of immigrants, in search of the highly acclaimed “American Dream.” I am a first generation