Personal Narrative: I Am A Migrant Worker

Despite the Mexican culture that I’ve grown into, this country has been considered my home since I was only a year and a half old. Just like my parents, I am an illegal immigrant. I don’t remember living life without being surrounded by the American influence. Despite any length of time I have spent living and learning in the United States, or the active impact the American Dream has had on my life, according to Donald Trump, I am a threat to this country.

It all started on one sunny day on the month of July, I was done with my service to protect my country the United States of America. Man it was nice to experience the smell of freedom once again. Due to my deployments in many countries I never had the opportunity to step forth in the land of the free, my home, it felt nostalgic to experience it all again. During my time in the military I was twenty-one and was first a designated marksman or Scout Sniper in the Marine Corp for a year or two, then I decided to join a special operations team and joined the 75th Ranger Regiment and continued my role as a sniper. Then finally through months of hard work and combat deployments my skills as a sniper was finally recognized. I was hand selected to

Fresh white snow falling from the sky, hitting my face as i walk through the bumpy road losing my mind. As walking through the road i look up to the sky and a bright light shines through my eyes. All of sudden i come back to reality,the flash of light was the street light while i was walking towards our red truck covered with snow. At the same time i'm walking and waving goodbye to my relatives from the small party they just had for their little daughter. Of course my parents taking long saying their goodbyes waiting by the door of the house. Suddenly, i hear my older sister, Yizel.

I arrived to their house around noon and thought I had everything under control. I later realized that I didn't. I thought they would just watch t.v. the whole time but unfortunately that didn't happen. As soon as their mothers left they were digging into anything and everything they could get their hands on. I got up to clean up one mess to run somewhere else and clean up a new mess for about 30 minutes back and forth. After driving me crazy they soon got hungry, so I made them mac and cheese because everyone loves mac and cheese, right? Nope! None of the kids liked my cooking so I had to prepare an entire new meal, which added to the pile of dishes I had to wash. After they were satisfied with the second meal they went outside to play, while

I remember when we studied the Great Depression in middle school, I remember it was just a few months after I moved to the United States. I don’t like art that much, I see a photograph and just think “hey that is nice” then move on, but “The Migrant Mother” was one that impacted me for the reason that my family and I were related to them. We left our home in the look for a better life with barely anything on us.

I really enjoyed reading your post. Like you, I also have experience working with immigrants, and would like to continue doing so. Having said that, the second paragraph of your post made me feel a bit apprehensive. Reading the quote, I was reminded of the responsibility to keep my own beliefs and values in check, but also that it is the social workers’ responsibility to be aware and mindful of the clients’ as well – which weighs heavily on me.

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

We moved from Mexico to the U.S. when I was six. Moving to a new country meant starting from scratch. We slept in hotels for the first couple of weeks until mom was able to find a job. Being an immigrant who didn’t speak English made it extremely hard to find a job. She was hired to pick up strawberries for $7.50 an hour. With this wage, we weren’t able to afford a home, so we rented a room. The room was small so my brother, mom, and I shared a bed.

As a Mexican-American, I am constantly petrified that one day I will awake, and my parents will be nowhere to be found. I could hear the police sirens outside my home, as unknown men were hammering down the front room, seeking to seize my parents. However, what these men of authority did not comprehend was that my parents were not convicts; their only wrongdoing was entering this country in the search for a better life. They didn’t understand these people who they called illegal aliens, only intended to provide me, their son, with all the basic needs they themselves wish to provide to their families. A common nightmare that still to this day flows within my mind waiting to reappear and strike.

As an immigrant learning about the lives of those who have different experiences from me has always been important to me. One way that I have tried to open myself to learn about others is the course that I have taken in school. When it comes to my major in addition to focusing on public policy I also took various course regarding American Government and race (Race and American Political Development, Slavery and American Politics etc.). Overall throughout my academic career I have taken various courses that deal with the topic of race, gender, human sexuality, the conflict in the middle east and human rights overall.

My mom call me to the kitchen. I rushed down stairs as if I was a cheetah trying to catch my prey. I kissed my mom on the cheek ten times and said thank you, thank you, thank you. I ran outside. I layed on the grass thinking what would happen the next day, but my thoughts went away

I am planning to apply fornonimmigration US visa. I am a croatiac citizen, holding an croatia passšprt but I am living and working in Republic of Ireland since 1072014. I am working as a hospotal doctor, and the reason why I am applaying for visa is to attend the conference ( American College of Rheumatology) in Wshington in 11/2016. I am not shure shoudl I put my croatian or irish adress an telephone an my appkication form. Are there any chances to hava an interwiew in Dublin, or do I need to come to Zagreb. Thank you for your help.

The sun was shining through the sheer, transparent curtains in our condo room. I could hear a quiet murmur coming from the porch, knowing people had been up since six, drinking coffee and chatting. I got up and carefully folded the blanket I had been sleeping with. I walked into the kitchen. My aunt and my mom were sitting at the island, which took up the majority of the spacious kitchen. They each had a loaf of bread and were making turkey and ham sandwiches. I said hello and grabbed one of the pancakes in the middle of the island and tore a piece off and walked to my room. I knew were going out on the lake and grabbed a swim suit.

It was the third grade, a year I don’t remember all that well. expect for bits of a series of events that has stunted my ability to strongly connect with people. I had a friend, let’s call him Anglo for the sake of his privacy. He and I would sit on a slab of concert at marked the as the border of school playground, and an expanse of black top where the buses were parked when not in use.  We talked more than anything, food, and Pokémon where the main topic of discussion, along with verbal retellings of the last movie we watched.

I think that is an awesome change! Congratulations on making that decision. I definitely think that more has to be done (especially for women) given the current refugee crisis' state.