Personal Narrative: Growing Up As An Immigrant

I interviewed a beautiful and courageous woman, of African descent. Born and raised in Monrovia, Liberia on May 20, 1969. In addition, she has one biological brother and three step siblings. Currently she resides in Loganville, Georgia, where she lives with her two children. By the same token, she and her husband been married for twenty-one years to her loving high school sweetheart husband. Due to unfortunate circumstances, she lost her husband in the line of duty. Causing her to become a widow, continuing to survive life without her husband. When I conducted this interview, had one topic in mind that I wanted to learn more about her life as an immigrant and how did influence her life.

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

There were three lessons that my immigrant parents ingrained in their first-generation children: Work hard, never give up, and most importantly, give back. Among other life lessons they taught us, these three were the basis for everything. It would be the basis that would and will define me as a person.

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.

On a random Thursday morning in the middle of October, I became an orphan. I have always been independent and mature from a young age, but all that changed on a crisp day in November when I learned what it means to grow up. Something typically marked by a Bat Mitzvah or the acquisition of a driver’s license was, for me, marked by the arrest of my single mother.

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.

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

A year and a half ago I moved from Venezuela to the US with my family; since then I have tried my best to make this sacrifice worth it and make my family proud. Leaving everything that you own behind and moving somewhere new with only a couple of luggage with you is extremely difficult economically, which is why my family is currently experiencing financial difficulties that make it more difficult for me to be able to afford the costs of a good college education. I currently work 3 jobs cleaning houses to help my family, however, it is still not enough to afford a college education. Being an immigrant is a part of my identity and it has shaped my character into what I believe is a hard-working student and person. At West Marshall high school

“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.

My poor and uneducated mother immigrated to the United States in two thousand one and brought me along at the age of four where she knew I would have a viable opportunity of becoming something more than what our poverty stricken, gang ridden country could offer. My father in a cruel gesture named me Leo without my mother's approval, for he figured a hypocoristic name would allow me, a future illiterate, to at least write my own name. A decade later after experiencing variations of homelessness, hunger, medical conditions, and gunshots outside of our home, my mother remarried, and gave birth to my brother who has been a blessing in disguise. After my mother's short-lived marriage we struggled financially once again; however this time we were

It is challenging being the oldest child in every family. What is even harder, is being the first child of immigrant parents. From the obstacles I faced, I was able to become independent. My parents left El Salvador to go to America for a better life. When they left their country my mother was pregnant with her first child which was me. After I was born and I began to grow, the only language I spoke and heard was Spanish. Since both my parent spoke little English and spoke mostly Spanish I thought it was only natural for me to follow them.

It was hard to adapt to the system. I was, and still am an outcast. The language was the hardest thing to learn as a child. It was hard because as a little girl I couldn’t ask my parents, the only people I trusted, for help. They were clueless about the language also. Because of the great language barrier, my full potential wasn’t shown and I was held back. At the same time, my parent’s matrimony wasn’t going so well and they separated. Soon after the separation, my older sister and I moved with our mom away from the west coast. It was just us now. Times were rough. My mom was always working. Her three jobs didn’t permit her to bond much with us. Back in that time I didn’t understand the circumstances, but today I am extremely grateful for her and her determination to never give up and her only reason was me and my sister. Moving to away from the west coast benefitted me a lot. There were less hispanics so I had no option but to learn English. After I mastered English, it would bring me great pleasure to see my name in the honorary roll. I loved the look my mom gave me when I received recognitions from my schools. It was a look of proudness. Our different skin color, language, and culture were motives enough for American people to make us outcasts. I would get so angry when kids would make racist comments about me and my country. I have learnt that some people aren’t educated to know that people are people no matter the culture, the differences. They weren’t taught to respect. I’m forgiving to those who made me feel less because of my

Let me just start off by saying that while stigma about immigrants may lead people to believe that they all have the same story or entered a country the same way, this is not true, we all have our own stories just like everyone else. People do not realize that if people are willing to leave behind everything they’ve ever known in the hope of finding a better life, they are essentially walking the path of the American Dream, the same path the founders of this Nation walked (Sailed, irrelevant to my point). Relations between people of different “races” seem to be fickle, at one point people may get along and then suddenly things change for seemingly no reason. Some may attribute this to life being change, yet there are no moral positives to

My Grandma called my mom the same time she told me because my mom didn’t know. Finally, after all the things we did and to top it off, my Grandma said we are going to a Cardinals game. I had never been to a Cardinals game. I was so excited because they were doing good and they

It was a regular day at Prairie Ridge Elementary school. I was sitting, mind-numbingly, in my fourth-grade class, waiting for the school day to end so I could go home and accomplish whatever. All of a sudden, out of the blue, my teacher, answered the