Personal Narrative: My First Day On The United States

I remember the day I first came to America. I was in the LAX airport, looking around the totally strange place which was full of strangers. All I could hear was the strangers' buzzing. I was upset about leaving all of people I knew and loved behind me to follow my father, mother and, sister here where we could find better "educational opportunities". I had grown up being around people who used the same language as me and had black hair and brown eyes. I spent my entire childhood in Buwtal Nepal until 2010. On April 27th 2010, I departed from Tribhuvan International Airport with my lovely parents and sister. My uncle was receiving us at the Airport. I still remember landing in New York around 8 o’ clock in the morning and that fresh smell in the air with the start of a whole new life.

Studying in a foreign country is an interesting experience of an individual lifetime. One tends to learn a number of things relating to ways of life in a foreign land. Social, political and economic values and aspects are usually different from one region to another. Therefore, through studying abroad one is able to learn different issues about another society such as gender and sexuality issues, social class and race/ethnicity issues. Having come from a developing country studying in the U.S.A has been a great experience personally. This paper will attempt to provide a reflection of my personal experience on studying in the U.S by comparing the history of Angola and the U.S.

Growing up in Ghana, I had heard a lot of things about the U.S. This was a country I had always wanted to visit; my prayer was answered when I got the opportunity to travel there. Arriving in a new environment came with many experiences. Adjusting with food, language and the weather was not easy. With the passage of time, however I have been able to0 adjust and fit it. This write-up therefore is to elaborate on my experiences since coming to U.S.

My story is about the first day in America. My dad told us that we are going to America after 1 week, I was so happy . When we got on the airplane it was as packed as a stadium full of football fans. .So we get there and, it was as cold as Antarctica we did not know that it would be that cold. We came on November, 2014. It’s was very cold when we came. In Yeman it’s very hot, we usually don’t stay at the house. In here we have to stay in the house we go outside when my dad is here, most the time he work .

I recall the day I first came to United States of America. I was in New York airport, looking everywhere and felt like I was in a totally strange place, which was complete with strangers. All I could understand was people’s ' buzzing. At that time, I digested that I was finally in America, then my heart started to beat fast. Until December the 9th, 2015 I had never been that far away from my country, Rwanda. For ages, I grew up up being surrounded by people who used the same dialect or language as me. Overhead all, language barrier was the major concern. First a few days, I was like a breathing sculpture who could not hold a conversation for 1 min in English. It wasn’t just for my poor English but also because I didn’t have the confidence I

Being new in U.S gave the opportunity to start a new life with new, and hopefully, better opportunities. But it also implies to start from zero, from the bottom have nothing. Sleeping on the floor without television, without a cellphone and trying to find a good taste to the food from here made me feel like a prisoner in a nice jail.

When I first came to Boulder, I lived in the dorm of our university, and I have this roommate who comes from Britain. She was really mean to me all the time and didn’t respect me at all, while I’ve tried my best to be as nice as I could. Since we shared one bedroom and of course the bathroom, she always went home really late in midnight and sometimes even brought her friends directly into the bedroom and woke me up from sleeping.

I wake up really fast, jumping out of bed, getting to shower, showering faster than I could, dressing up immediately, I start to eat breakfast and finishing really fast.

When I first came to United State I was afraid to talk, I was scared that people will judge my accent and my word choice.I wasn’t enough to speak until the second year of middle school. After I realized that I needed to step out from my zone, the first step that I chose overcome was to speak with my teachers. I tried to ask questions, told them the story of the book that I read to practice my speaking skill and it helped me a lot. But even though I got comfortable with my speaking, I still could not make friends because I could not understand the conversation that my classmate had, I don’t understand what is popular in this place and what is not. I tried to search it but It didn’t help because It is not appealing to me and have no idea how

I do not really know if I returned home. The Stuttgart I came back to felt like a completely different city than the one I left. The streets are bare and the mood is reminiscent of the trenches between the bombardments and the attacks. Stuttgart was muted by the aftermath of the war. The Christmas markets that are customarily teeming with waves of people are now akin to No Man’s Land. The slight amount of citizens I do see look empty and hollow as if they just had their souls reaped by the Grim Reaper himself. None of what I thought made Stuttgart the bustling city that I loved existed. Everything was painted in the colors of war. Personally, I wished that I had not returned at all. The news that my sister Kristin had brought up on my return was devastating. My mother and my sister had died in an industrial disaster at the very factory I was working at prior to the war. The very people I had fought so hard to return to. Instead I return

It was cold November afternoon when I dragged myself out of the plane and took my first step on the American soil. Moving to America was my greatest adventure and my biggest fear. Having never traveled to a foreign country before I was intrigued about the culture, religion and style of living, It was an exciting experience for me, yet at the same time, I was terrified. I was curious to learn about the culture and the country itself which I heard in abundance on television. What will it be like? Will I be able to fit in the American lifestyle? Will I be able to make friends? The questions were unanswered until I had to experience it on my own.

Nobody likes moving at least I know I don't. We we're living in India and I was in fifth grade when we moved. We moved into our house in India when I was one year old. Was going great I had a lot of friends. My best friend was my neighbor every day after school we would go to a park in our colony.

Life in the United States for us had been unkind. My father and I lived in a really beaten up trailer home in NE Portland. We had no money and were on the verge of being homeless. Too poor to buy food from the grocery store, we survived on nearly spoiled food from local food banks and the extra food I’d bring from school. Our trailer, with poor 1970’s insulation and paper thin aluminum tin exterior was an icebox that accumulated all that winter could give. We had no heating, nor electricity, so much of my of time, I spent at my high school, which kept me warm and fed me Monday through Friday. Conditions had been so severe that few times we just abandoned our lives the United States altogether lived in different countries such as Bolivia,

When we moved to america we didn't know where to start or where to go. It took us a while to settle in our little town. But after a while we were just doing what we normally did, until this man named michael gladwell. He asked us stuff like “What do you eat on a normal basis”, or “How often do you exercise. We answered honestly.

“Me... Fahima Chowdhury. . . hmmm... I … speak…hmm… little English.” I recall these first few words I said on my first day of school here while I walk up to the stage to receive the award of “most improved and exceptionally achieved student.” It was a moment of accomplishment for me. My legs and hands were shaking, my voice was trembling, and my heart was dribbling like a basketball as I tried to walk to the stage at a steady speed. When I finally reached there, my teacher gave me a wide smile and handed me the certificate and said, “Good job, you deserve this more than anyone else.” After hearing her comment, my heart was beating faster, my respiratory system searched for fresh air to breath in, and my eyes looked for a place to hide because I couldn’t believe in what was happening. I never thought I would receive such honor after being doubted by many people about my abilities to do well in school. Finally, I gathered some courage and said, “Thank you.” I rushed down the stairs and got to my seat within few seconds. I was breathing unevenly,