Personal Narrative: I Am A Born Citizen Of Canada

Rights are legal, social, or ethical principles of freedom or entitlement. Rights are the fundamental normative rules about what is allowed of people or owed to people, according to legal systems, social convention, or ethical theory.

I was excited to talk to Ajaz, my best friend from the age of four to thirteen again. We’d had an inconsistent friendship (though we’d never fallen out) over those nine years: from spending every class and break together for our first couple of school year together, to barely speaking to each other later in primary school. Prior my family and I moving to Canada, however, we were as close as we had been aged four. Ajaz was already sat at our pre-arranged meeting point – a small park that neighboured our primary school – when I arrived our pre-arranged meeting point. We walked through the neighbourhood, passing the house in which I grew up. The conversation was predictably awkward, nevertheless, I expected the conversation to loosen up after

I remember my first day in Canada like it was yesterday. The day I thought my dad had been hit by a car and my mom almost having a heart attack. It all started when we first got to the hotel, in Ontario, Mississauga. My father thought it would be a great idea to explore the area and buy some groceries. My mom, two brothers and I were exhausted due to a fourteen-hour flight from Dubai to Toronto so we decided to stay and take a nap. I woke up at 7 pm to silence. I thought my dad had come back and took a nap, but when I went to wake up parents, it was only my mother. At that point, I started freaking out, it’s been 4 hours since my father left. I woke up my mother and told her my dad hadn’t come back yet. My mother tried to call my father, but his phone was off. She then went to the security of the building and talked to him. The security guard asked my mother

Becoming a Canadian citizen could be a vast change for refugees or just immigrants as well. It could be a positive change or a negative change or, it could effect them in both ways. For people that may have been escaping from a country that is intervening in war or on the brink of war, it may be a very positive change because they aren't on their feet all the time and aren't concerned wether a bomb is going to be dropped or if soldiers will burst through their doors at any given moment. For evacuees becoming a Canadian citizen might mean insuring their safety especially for those whom have kids. It’s exactly like a paradox for them that in one part of the world it could be this safe and in another its completely the contrary. Becoming a citizen of a peace keeping country instead of a country in war could impact your collective identity very much. Your collective identity as a Canadian citizen means you would be known for things different of what you would've been known for before.

Un inmigrante siempre será un inmigrante.” (West Side Story) Once an immigrant, always an immigrant. Sixteen years ago my parents made an unthinkable decision. Leaving behind their jobs, families, and everything they knew to pursue life in an unfamiliar country; the American Dream. So, one fateful morning my mother said her goodbyes boarded a plane with me in her arms at barely a year old. My dad had arrived earlier, flying from Argentina to New York on his own. I was too young to fully comprehend the struggle it was to assimilate in a country where they did not speak the language. Once I got older, I heard stories of their experiences and began to understand first-hand what it meant to be an immigrant in America.

I am Patt Ryan, an eighteen year old farmer who came to america with a life saving of $3.56. I came with my brother Matt Ryan, a seventeen year old farmer with the life savings of $1.35. We came to America because we wanted to find a better way of life. We also came to find religious freedom. We knew that we would be able to find this in America. My brother and I could not wait to see what America had in store for us. My brother Matt and I sailed to America on the very full Alexina boat. It was a poorly built, crowded boat filled with diseases and short of food. As a result, many of us Irish immigrants got a disease and many others died before we even got to America. My brother and I were one of the lucky ones to stay fairly healthy. Others

When I first moved to Canada, I became a victim of this threat known as bullying. In grade 4, in 2008, I had first come to Canada, from India. I didn’t know how to speak English, and so, people used this as an excuse to pick on me. One kid whole bullied me a lot was Ravi. He used to make fun of me because I couldn’t talk to others and told other that I was anti-social. Also, he would take any good lunch I had, he would make fun of me when playing games, and even spread false rumours. I first kept my bullying problems hidden from my parents, but gradually, as things got worse, I told them. They talked to our teacher, Mr. Douglas. Mr. Douglas talked to Ravi, and he stopped bullying me. Even though he isn’t the friendliest person today, he doesn’t

A refreshing cool breeze blew in from the screen door, it was followed by the aroma of freshly baked cookies. As I got closer and closer to the oven I could practically taste the dough in my mouth, this was the work of my mom. As I took my first bite of the delicious cookie I hear thumping big feet shaking through the house followed by a somewhat loud jolly whistling. Dad was clearly happy to be able to have the luxury of enjoying some delicious cookies.

I wasn’t born in the U.S. like most of the people of my age were. I was born in Mexico, Autlan Jalisco, to be exact and was brought to the U.S. when I was only nine months old. As I was growing up I got to the age of ten where babies and kids who were younger than me started to grab my attention. The way they interact with people and how they act in general made me realize I had a passion for taking care of younger people than me and just having the opportunity to help them out in like feeding them or changing diapers made me happy. Apparently it didn’t appeal the eyes of my father he would always yell at me infront of people or after we left someone house who had kids he would say, “I don’t want you holding the kids of other people or taking

I came to Canada when I was nine years old. I’m an 18-year-old high school student who lives with three other family members: my father, my mother, and my 3-year-old brother. My parents came to Canada in hopes to give me a better life and they haven’t let me down once. I was born in a country where people are supposed to be Muslim or else they’d face the cruel discrimination that were openly shown. I was born in Iran, obviously I want to freely live in my own country; however, because my religion was Baha’i, I had to leave my country. Hundreds of people are being tortured or imprisoned, and tens of thousands lost jobs, access to education, and other rights--all solely because of their religious belief. The only thing that we ever wanted was

It was my husband Kris’ idea and not at all surprising. He was definitely the more adventurous one out of the two of us. Growing up, I tried desperately to please my parents while Kris had a much easier life. He was the only son between his two sisters and had an aptitude for picking up skills quickly while still maintaining his cool, calm personality. While I was stressed everyday trying to figure out each calculus question, he flew by physics without a hitch. Kris wanted to see the world and find out what was out there while I was happy and content with my stable job.

a right is an entitlement to act or to have others act in a certain way.

My family and I immigrated to Canada when I was seven years old. Because my parents’ degrees from China were not recognized, we constantly struggled financially. Growing up, while other kids around me enjoyed presents and holidays, I cooked and cleaned, mended clothing, and helped out at the small gift business that my father ran without pay five days a week. We could not afford to hire additional workers, so the two of us handled everything from administrative work to hard labour. I spent many holidays and weekends working on schoolwork in the small stall that we rented at a corner of the mall, one eye opened for potential customers. At school, my poor socioeconomic status made me a target for mockery and insults. I was often excluded by

Who is an American? The most immediate answer given is “anyone who is a citizen of the United States.” However, this statement is false for many reasons. Not every citizen in this country is classified as an American. To be American in this country is to be white. That is the default. All other races have a qualifier of some sort: African-Americans, Asian-Americans, Arab-Americans, or Latino-Americans. Those words placed in front of American are important; they signify that these people are not ‘just’ Americans. They are something else too. An other, they are to be scorned and mocked because they are not “true Americans.” True Americans are, of course, white able-bodied citizens of the United States. Arab-Americans have had to deal with this,

“When I'm in Canada I feel this is what the world should be like”. The reason this is true is because everybody is so friendly. In the summer I saved all my money up just so I can go to Canada. On the first week of June I mowed my back yard every two days and slowly but surely. By the time July comes around I was elated to find out that I have saved a total of 10,000 dollars.