Personal Narrative: My Cultural Assumption Of My Neighborhood Community

During my junior year of high school, I had the opportunity to volunteer at the Arthritis walk in Philadelphia. Volunteering at the event allowed me to gain deeper intellectual engagement and also influenced my future career. At the event, I had the opportunity to meet several people who suffered with Arthritis. When observing the many effects that Arthritis had on people it widened my eyes to the lack of healthcare in society. By the end of the day a lightbulb went off in my head and I knew for sure that I wanted a career in medicine. I was certain that a career in health services was for me because each person with arthritis warmed my heart and my mind began wondering about endless ways to better their situation. Since I was a young girl I was sensitive, caring, and always trying to find a way to help someone out of a bad situation. There are

I came to America from Vietnam when I was just three years old. I spent a majority of my life with my grandma, who has always taught me the importance of helping others. She always told me to have; you must give, and if you have nothing to give, you can always give your time. This phase has been a huge guide in my life, and it has truly shaped me into who I am. At a young age, I always felt that my purpose in life was to help people. After attending many doctor visits with my grandma for her health check-ups, I was confident my future occupation would be in the medical field. During these frequent doctor visits, I had the chance to watch the interactions and cooperation among different healthcare professionals in different settings. Being in this inspiring environment, I hoped one day I could mirror them and make a difference in people’s lives and the community. Although I have always wanted to help those in need, I was uncertain of what specific career role would allow me to fulfill my passion for helping others.

When I think about my cultural identity I find myself resorting to the word “normal”. I grew up in a town where everyone looked the same, everyone worshiped the same God, and everyone was in the same economic class. It’s interesting to really break down my individual cultural pieces to find that actually there are so many differences that I was simply too naïve to see. The culture that one grows up can be so different from one household the next, that there really isn’t a “normal” culture out there.

Throughout my life, I have struggled with accepting my cultural identity. My parents were born and raised in India, but I was born here, in the United States, and hence, born an American citizen.

New York is a state where there are big lights and lots of people and busy streets. I live in Brooklyn, New York and I was born here and I have lived here all my life. Personally, where I live I can walk to go get groceries that I need and everything is in walking distance. I take the public subway or the bus to get to school and there are many public schools here in Brooklyn, New York. There are delis and corner stores almost around every block. Here in Brooklyn, it is very noisy and busy. I am so used to the noise that I can sleep soundly even with all the noise that surrounds my house. Personally, I think that if I were not born here or was not a New Yorker, I would plan to move here when I get older.

What is culture? Culture is the idea of what is wrong or right, the concept of what is acceptable within our society. Culture serves us as a guide, taking us to the "right way" and helping us to make sense of things that surrounds us. There are many different cultures around the world. A lot of them are similar in specific ways and others are just completely different, this difference explains why we think that people from different backgrounds are "weird".

Ever since I can remember I have always wanted to be in scrubs, the idea of working in the hospital has always been something I wanted to do. I looked up and admired physicians as everyday heroes who worked hard to rescue those in need. Growing up I volunteered in hospitals during the summers and spent every Tuesday and Thursday night during the school year at Moses Cone Hospital taking part in their Medical Explorers program, a program designed to expose one to all the different careers available in the hospital. I was on the fast track of working towards my dream until the realities of living as an undocumented immigrant became very real. After I walked across the stage in 2005, this dream became a distant memory. Fast forward 10 years later

I witnessed my cousins boyfriend corpse lying on my neighbors lawn. It was a humid summer night around 3:30 when I peeked through my window and saw my devastated cousin sobbing uncontrollably on my decaying porch. Being from East chicago, Indiana has transformed me into the person I am today.

A product of Hamilton Park, the only planned African American residential community in Dallas, I grew up in a two-parent household. My mother died when I was 13 and I became a pregnant at the age of 16, a reality of many youth in today’s urban communities. In 1988 I found myself struggling - a single parent with a house note, new car, no education or promotable skill set and on disability for two years. The economic strain propelled me to consider college. I took one class, passed with an A, and knew this was what I needed to do. After going to school off and on for the next ten years, acquiring only 45 college credit hours, and passed over for several promotions – I enrolled at Dallas Baptist University in August 1999. As a full-time

There’s few similarities in everyone’s side of the story, incidentally, that is this taking place in the “ghetto” area of Cloverdale. It all began with Keisha, Jordyn, along with myself were walking. We were visiting our friends that happened to live in the area as well as those who lived close. Our friend, Kennedy, and we had just finished a conversation. Then we headed to another friend’s house when we realized it had gotten too dark, ultimately, that’s when perspectives changed.

On 06/19/17, a t12:00pm, I Deputy Warden N. Christian was dispatched to 3251 Miriam Drive South on an injury-possible dangerous or vicious dog. I arrived at the location and was advised by The Columbus Division of Police (CPD) that the victim is being transported to Mount Carmel West Hospital (793 W State St) for her injuries and dog owner resides at the above location. I exited my vehicle and approached the dog owner. I spoke to dog owner Alex Kriglowitz and his wife. I asked Mr. Kriglowitz what transpired. He explained he was mowing his lawn and opened the side fence to mow the side yard. His dog was in the backyard. Mr. Kriglowitz completed mowing and forgot to close the gate. Mr. Kriglowtiz went inside the house and the next thing

Additionally, volunteering in medically underserved hospitals, working with organizations that specifically aim to help the most “at-risk” individuals, and now tutoring “at-risk” youth at my former high school sheds different light on the topic ultimately giving me a multidimensional perspective. In my opinion, with this understanding comes great

When I was a Junior in Methuen High School, I was enrolled in community service program in which I have to go to hospitals or nursing homes and take the old patients to other room, bathroom, or to their cars during the time they get discharged. During that time period I noticed that there were many old patients who didn’t had any family members who came to either visit them or take them home. The only people who were helping them were either volunteers like me or the nurses. So when it was time to decide that what career I am going to pursue, I decided to be a nurse and give the old people a family experience with my required duties and responsibilities.

The blaring noise of the wind through the streets mixed with the severe weather alerts on our cellphones. Through my window, I could make out silhouettes of trees blowing uncontrollably through the rain. This was not something that I was expecting during the holiday season. On the night of December 26, 2015, our family went into a safe room inside of our house and braced ourselves for the tornado that was tearing through my hometown.

After my first year at Skyline College, I ventured out to find ways I can volunteer in my community, in hopes to find interest in a field I would like to study one day. When I first started volunteering at Mills Peninsula Hospital, I thought it would be like those medical drama shows such as House, or Grey's Anatomy. Where I would meet the real life versions of Dr. House and Meredith Grey and get to be shadowed by them and learn the ins and outs of hospital and the secrets of medicine. However, when I first stepped into Mills Peninsula, I knew meeting Dr. House and Meredith Grey were very unlikely. Right when I entered the hospital I see the rushes of turquoise colored scrubs passing by me, hearing the clanks of the walking sticks from the elderly, and often times the squeaks from the wheels of the wheelchair. Yet, through these passing moments, there was always that lingering of emotions evoked in the air; moments passing between a mother and her newborn baby, the anxious faces of families pacing back and forth, and the