Personal Narrative: My Cultural Background

“Don’t let the Arab play dodgeball with us. He might try killing us.” As I looked around exasperatedly for the origin of this voice, I was greeted with a barrage of laughter. I did not have the cultural or linguistic qualifications to be deemed Arabic. Nor could my long, spindly arms cause harm. Yet, slowly, and in unison, each of my new sixth-grade classmates turned to stare at me. “Hey Arab, wipe that target off your forehead,” someone called out. I quickly realized my verbal assailant had mistakenly connected my tilak chandlo, a distinct Hindu forehead marking, with his own misinformed understanding of “Arab-ness.” My first lunch period ended with a bloody nose and a seat in the principal’s office. From that point forward, my future in middle school and high school appeared rather grim. The prospect of re-educating my peers seemed daunting and unmanageable.

My Early cultural influences from when I was a kid was always say thank when you receive something, have good table manners when we are eating dinner, no elbows on the table because that disrespectful, don’t talk back when you been called on, respect your elders, eat whatever being served to you because that food isn’t cheap, whenever grandpa and grandma are here they get the front seats and so on. My Ideological influences would be school and be getting an education is important because schooling can lead you to great things in life, it can lead you to get a nice job that pays well, a nice home for your family, nice material things that you would enjoy. Education has a lot to offer, especially helps kids who are on the low; it helps them get

Adapting to a whole new culture can be difficult and have a huge impact on someone's life; that is exactly what I learned to do at a young age. Growing up, I only knew how to speak Spanish and what my parents taught me about the Mexican culture. English was not taught to me until I began elementary, but even then I did not grasp the language quickly. At a young age, I realized my life was not going to be so easy because of this language and culture barrier.

Who am I? Where do I belong? I was raised and born in Palm Springs, California. I'm German, Irish, Jewish, the rest I'm not sure. In California it was normal being white. I didn't feel like an outsider. I felt normal. But when I moved to Hawaii I didn't feel normal. I didn't know people would judge you for being white or as they say it, a "Haulie" . But I think I let that word get the best of me because it's only a word that describes a white person. That's what I am. But the only thing that gets to me is, why do they say it? Why do they have to remind me that I'm white? I been with myself for along time, I think I know I'm white.

The independent cultural experience that I chose to participate in was going to dine at the Taj Palace, in Yakima, Washington. This place is very authentic. When you walk in the restaurant, it felt very traditional because they had Indian music playing, and it was well decorated. I felt very interested in doing this experience because I have an Uncle related by marriage who is from India, and I do not know very much about this culture. Although I don’t know very much about it, I am very curious and interested in learning about it. India is a place that has always intrigued me, and has been on a list of places that I would love to travel to. Learning very surface level facts about India in school has sparked

My ethnicity is Hispanic and white. My mother was raised in a big Irish family while my father was raised with proud Mexican traditions. Growing up with parents coming from completely different cultures was definitely interesting maybe even confusing at times. However, it has made me appreciate two completely different cultures that represent me

“Focus on your education, it’s going to be the only thing you are going to have in the long run” Its the first thing my mom tells me every time I start complaining about school. I have grown up in a bicultural lifestyle where I have managed both of worlds.I grew up in a typical mexican household, where we are not allowed to go anywhere without our parents, were we have thousands of second, third, and fourth cousins. My parents were born and raised in a rural area in mexico. My dad stopped going to school when he was in elementary school, because he had to help my grandpa with the harvest and with feeding and taking care of the animals. My mom stop going to school when she was in middle school, because her parents couldn't pay for her education

My family heritage starts back when the greek gods had just been made. Prometheus was creating humans and their attributes now he didn’t get it first try. He made like 5 then he made my great ancestor on his 6th try, his 7th was the best one he used, now everything was right with my ancestors but one thing. He pushed my ancestor to the side and didn’t use them. Later the Celtic gods found them and used them in there big group. Now since they had sat there so long they changed to live longer but faced bad late blooming and late life cycle attributes. So they put in my ancestor on earth and he was named Piner Jamieson, why Jamieson you might ask, well Pine is a tree and Celts loved their plants and nature. But Jamieson is a Scottish word for overtaking government, but as

Experiencing a new culture is usually life changing. I first started going to Tijuana, Mexico three years ago because my dad was deported. The only places I had ever been to were here in California. When going to a new place I never thought there would be a drastic change in the environment, or people. It’s amazing how a border can separate two worlds and make them so different.

It is the one thing many cannot help themselves to refrain from asking. It is a question that I have received so many times in my lifetime, but never quite had a precise answer. I was born in Libya, but my family was forced into exile for political reasons soon after to Jordan. I grew up to the same questions of where I am from and what brought me here, while I was still figuring it out myself. The concept of “home” came up a lot, and while everyone else was sure of theirs, I was amid two.

I am marked by two disparate cultures. Although being of mixed heritage from Spain and Turkey is an unwavering truth, living in the United States at a physical distance from these countries gives me the privilege to freely curate who I am. I shape my sense of self with the values I retain—and reject—from these cultures. To me, Spain represents a union of cultures bound together by a passion for art and an inclination to think visually. I see Turkey as the scientific, freethinking mind, as it has been a Muslim country with a secular democracy. My sense of identity relies on the self-constructed balance between dichotomies. My layered heritage draws me to lace meaning into their work, such as Ramiro Gomez, Tibor Kalman, Bill Viola, and Glenn

My family's experience and cultural history have presented me with multiple challenges in pursuing my educational goals. My parents suffered many hardships, they worked long shifts at night in terrible job conditions just because they didn’t have the education to get a better job. Those obstacles forged my characters and taught my family to embrace challenges, and not try to dodge it or complain about it. By observing the struggles of my parents, I learned the role of education in success at early age. Having parents who were not college educated and had little idea of how American schools worked was hard at times. I was presented with challenges in accomplishing my school obligations such homework and planning out to increase my education

I have gone to Catholic school since kindergarten. Needless to say, my cultural experience is fairly limited; mostly, I interact with white people. So when I got to high school, it was mostly curiosity that made me sign up to take Mandarin Chinese as a language.

“Whoa…” muttered my friend, as she looked at the bright neon-pink soup before her. Šaltibarščiai, a traditional Lithuanian beet soup and one of the country's most recognizable dishes, is unique, to say the least. My friend continued to stare at the soup in awe, contemplating whether or not to discover its innermost flavors. I nervously watched her, believing that her pending approval was representative of a cultural acceptance for myself. Being pre-adolescent, I wanted nothing more than to fit in with my peers. Little did I know, my Lithuanian and American cultures would not only coexist, but would commingle by combining qualities from each line of heritage.

My life is a difficult case that most surgeons turn away because they foresee a terminal ending. Though I am the patient, I have decided to take the scalpel into my own hands because I cannot accept defeat.