Personal Narrative: I Am A Native American Indians

Tensions started setting in. That dreaded long walk from the parking lot to school felt different this time. From now on I would be leaving my hard hat and work boots at home, and walking past the construction site rather than to it. It was my first nerve-racking day as a student at the University of Regina.

Growing up on a reservation many challenges are thrown at you. Everyday people struggle whether it is with substance abuse, financial problems, or even staying in school. I have difficulties myself living on a reservation where poverty is a big issue. One big issue I had to overcome was trying to continue my education when things were not looking so well for me. I dropped out of high school when I was sixteen years old to help raise my younger siblings due certain circumstances. I shortly found myself going down the wrong path in life. I was searching for something that was not there but I knew in my heart, I was searching for myself. Later, I seen an advertisement on the TV. It was of a program called, 'Montana Youth Challenge' it is a program

As a first generation Indian-American, I am no stranger to being a part of a distinct community while observing two unique cultures. Traveling to India exposed me to a dynamic population with rich diversity comprising of numerous languages and differing religions. Though these individuals may have had differing customs from their neighbors, there were similar ambitions to conquer grinding poverty. This poverty can be clearly noticed by seeing citizens sleeping on floors of a railway station, or the lack of air conditioning in searing hot weather. The frailty and mortality of the human condition was starkly visible in India. As a fellow human, I was humbled not only by the lack of privilege and opportunity of many citizens, but also by their

As an American born and raised, I have surprisingly, never given much thought on how my race impacts my life and the people around me. It seems as if society today is obsessed with knowing what we are racially and where we come from, rather than our character and how we think or how we carry ourselves culturally.

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.

It was summer of 2010. My parents were still married and we went up to Wichita Falls, Wichita to go see my brother Chris who was in the Military on base working. We stayed there for a week. I still remember the car ride up there. We rented a van, we had tvs in the rented van, my sister Rylee, my other brother Garrett (he was in the military too), my mom Traci, and my dad Doug, and my brothers military bag it was like a person. I still remember I had to sit in the back with that bad it was so big. Garrett put the seatbelt around the bag like it was a person. The car trip was so long but it was all worth it in the end. It was in the middle of the week and we were out on the beach. My brother Chris and his pregnant wife Ashley had a boat the water

My grandmother Lynne Murphy is who I chose to interview for my heritage project. This summer at a family birthday party I was speaking short phrases in Spanish while joking around with my dad. My grandmother, sitting beside us, joined in the conversation and starting speaking fluent Spanish. I had no idea she could speak Spanish, so I asked her, “How can you speak Spanish?” Before answering my question she laughed. She went on to tell me that she lived in South America for many years as a teenager. I didn’t have the chance to learn anymore about her childhood until this project was assigned. When I learned we were to focus on a family member’s experience growing up, I immediately thought about my grandmother and the interesting life she seemed

John White came back a month later, but nobody was there. He walked around and noticed that the word Croatoan was carved into a wooden post. John recognized the name and realized that it was the name of the island south of Roanoke, home of the native american tribe of the same name. John had no idea where they went and was very confused on why they left. He kept walking around, but nothing was gone just the Roanoke

My name is Mathara (Marie), and I am a Cherokee Indian. My story it begins in the spring. The leaves are on the trees. I am playing with my friends when the white men ride up to our home. I became very frightened when my mother called in earnest for me to come and gather some of my belongings. I was confused. My mother told me as the men rode off that we must leave these lands and move to new lands. I felt so many emotions from angry to sad because I loved my home and did not want to leave. There was nothing my mother, father, or I could do. How could this be happening, one minute I was happily playing with my friends and now I was being driven from my home.

I am a breathtaking, stunning, and outstanding student. I am these things because I know that even before reading this essay, the first thing you read was my name. Most of the faculties that are reading this essay are probably thinking, “oh, it’s another Asian student whose name I’m not sure how to pronounce,” or “that sandwich for lunch was good, I should’ve taken another bite before I came here.” Before anything else, I am Hmong. It’s a subculture that is quite spread throughout Southeast Asia. I was born in Thailand and immigrated to the United States in October 2004. There are seven members in my father’s household. Having a Confucian ideology binded within me, I almost always put my family’s needs before my own. I would tell myself that if something does not benefit me, then I don’t need it. Then on, I hated going shopping like normal girls because I don’t want to burden my family with financial problems. If, however, I needed something, my mom would have already bought them for me. When my older sister entered her senior year in high school, I decided to do all the chores I could in the house. It was demanding and exhausting, but because I decided to do most of the chores, my sister finally had more time to herself and was

I chose my immigrant participant from a personal perspective, yet not knowing much about him. Last year, my first year teaching, I had a little boy in my class that was Latino, very shy and quite. He struggled in reading and writing and after meeting with his parents and ESOL teacher several times, the decision was made to retain him in first grade. His parents, especially dad was hesitant about the decision, and began to tell small glimpses of how his son was very much like him, shy, and scared to reach out because of the language barrier. There was never much elaborated on, but I could tell that dad had possibly been in a similar situation before. This year, I was lucky enough to have this same child in my first grade class again. After receiving

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.

I am Waynoka, and I am from the Cheyenne Tribe. Waynoka in my language means sweet water. Just like the water that runs through the rivers that surround and cross through the Plains, my home. Cheyenne means the “relatives of the Cree” but we call ourselves the “Tsitsistas” which means the people. My tribe lives in the plains of Northern America, we lived in the states now known as Montana and Wyoming, but we just called it home. My family was like all the others in the Cheyenne tribe, me being one of two children, living in earthen lodges, the women farming, the men hunting. I was like all the other girls, idolising Roman Nose and his righteous victories against our enemies, learning my roles in our community that I will later have to fulfil,

Where I’m From I am from Guatemala city born in a hospital near a bus station I’m from being given up for a better education I’m from orphanages to hospitals being diagnosed with viral meningitis I'm from being pretty scared when i first got bronchitis I’m from Staten island to Hazlet and all the friends i’ve made I’m from oranges to mangos Making lemonade I’m from pancakes and bacon sitting on a tray I’m from Kmart to Walmart browsing beats by dre I’m from crazy laboratories to science fairs and baking soda volcanos I’m from Call of Duty to Undertale and self sustaining tornados I’m from puns to riddles and making people cringe I’m from Engineer to Mechanic Fixing my door hinge

The white men seemed to appear out of no where. Like the Gods sent them here from the heavens, maybe as a test or a gift for our loyalty. The day they arrived started off normal, as the chief i always walk the village first thing in the morning and then walk to the beach by myself before anyone else awakens. When I got to the beach I saw what seemed to be a giant canoe with great white sails atop of it. Soon it got closer then stopped and smaller canoes were sent from the giant one. My fear grew as they got closer and soon after I ran back to the village to warn the others. We hid as the white men came ashore they rummaged our village before they left. I truly hope they do not return tomorrow.