Personal Narrative: I Almost Collapse On My Chinese

As a proud second generation Vietnamese American, I proudly associate myself with my Catholic Vietnamese community. Like all members in my group, we are indoctrinated with the typical immigrant values of perseverance, freedom, and respect for others and our cultural identity. The church that binds us together, Our Lady of Lavang, is the center where most of the Catholic Vietnamese Community gathers all over West Michigan. Since the 1st grade, I went through the Church's school program every Sunday to learn about Christian moral values, Vietnamese traditions, and language. These lessons has heavily influenced my outlook on life, enabling me to use faith to build confidence with myself, maintain integrity, and to love and respect every individual.

I’m Vietnamese, but I cannot speak the language. Both of my grandparents are immigrants who came to Vietnam after the war. My dad was born in Vietnam and my mother was born in Louisiana. All of them speaks fluent Vietnamese, but only my mother speaks English. Growing up, it became harder and harder for me to communicate with my family in a sense that they did not know what I was saying and vice versa. Granted, I went to a Vietnamese school when I was younger but later dropped out once my family became busy with life.

the side of the ice rink, my skates losing control. Now my head felt heavy and the reflection of

I was born and raised in Texas where everything is Texas sized and everyone says y'all. I am an Asian American whose parents both came from Vietnam at a young age. I was soon to be molded and developed by them and my community to where I became culturally diverse. I was moved along schools which helped me build character. I also have developed into a very athletic and intelligent person due to all my friends and family helping me to reach this state.

When I was four years old I fell off the bleachers and hurt myself poorly. This was a very critical condition in which hurt me in several ways. But not only I wasn’t being watched and I got told to run down the bleachers. This was just a start to everything when my head hit the cold hard ground at the softball park.

Further, when he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. Last year, running on ice, slipped felt and snapped my tibia. Slipping on ice, is the most uncool thing that can happen. My leg broke so easily, because I just had a growth spurt. More, it happen after I jumped over a puddle, when I landed my right leg bend and snapped.

When I was two years old I got a scar on my eye. I hit my eye off a corner of a table. I remember that I jumped off my mom's bed and ran into the living room. I finally ran right into the table. Now my mom tells me when she saw me there was a huge puddle of blood on the floor. I had to get a lot of stitches, and it will go down as THE worst day of my life.

On Monday the seventeenth I was attempting to cut out the sheet metal required for the deck of the rack and I cut into my finger with the plasma cutter. This was a rookie mistake and has taught me a lesson do not cut metal with your hand on the straight edge. I came out with some pretty severe burns. I am slowly recovering

I’ve heard this question countless times, and I used to dismiss it easily with lighthearted laughter. As I matured, however, I found it increasingly difficult to procure an appropriate reply. This inquiry was intended as an offhanded curiosity, but -- to me -- it meant so much more. For years, I debated the correct response to this question; for a while, I was unsure of my ethnicity.

That day I decided to take my dog Buster out for a walk down the street and back. Buster never really liked me, not just me mainly kids. The older he got the more he would tolerate me. He also loves chasing squirrels. I was almost back to my house, and I thought that went pretty well. Then Buster saw a squirrel. He then ran after it, dragging me with him. I got back home with a few giant scratches and scrapes on the whole left side of my torso. That was the first major injury I got in my

I was running so low on energy and it was hard for me to think straight. I slipped down snow covered icy patches, and pushed my legs in and out of the deep snow.

This most recent visit we had, my mother decided to take fall pictures after our visit, and one of them involved me climbing a tree so I and my sister could be in a tree for a great picture. The picture was great as seen below, but where things really fall part is when I was getting down and the metal recycling bin gave way from beneath me, I fell face down into the bottom of the bin and split my chin. I was not knocked out, but was in fact stunned lying on the ground. My

When i was 8 years old me and my grandpa were fighting with brooms. We were fighting like you see in the movies with swords. The brooms were broken on the ends so the plastic was not there anyway. Long story short i ended up being cut by the tip of the broom. The broom was rusted on the end too so it made it even worse. I ended up cutting about an inch long gash in my finger. That gash is still scarred into my finger and will most likely be there my entire life.

After finishing all her classes on the very first day of her college year, Janet feels overwhelmed and exhausted. During the last class of the day, her stomach growled loudly. I am so hungry, she thought. She wants to go out to eat. However, she does not know the new area well enough to know the best spots to grab a bite to eat. As Janet walks back to her dorm, she is surprised by a familiar face. Jason, an old high school classmate greets her in delight. Jason tells Janet that he is craving Pho, a Vietnamese noodle soup. In search of a places that sells Pho, they walk down King street, the hub of Charleston where most stores and restaurants are concentrated at. Suddenly, Jason pointed at CO. He cheerily boasts about the dished he had when

In kindergarten I decided that I was going to run to the playground to start a game that would be the highlight of the day. I ran up the stairs and onto the bridge but, suddenly my legs had decided to give out on me and I landed with my hands on the bridge with my thumb stuck in one of the small holes on the bridge. I didn’t think my finger was stuck so as a normal child would do I stood up really fast and accidently ripped my thumb out of the bridge. It immediately snapped and my thumb started to swell and turn a variety of deep blues, purples, and blacks. This turned into a horrible mother and daughter 4-hour trip to the ER waiting in pain, trying to seek out what had