Personal Narrative: My First Generation Immigrant

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

I am from a country with beautiful landscapes that has turned into a warzone country.

Being born in the large west African nation of Nigeria, I was aware of the economic, social, and health hardships faced by many people in my country. This reality did not escape my life and the hardships my family and I faced while in Nigeria had a profound impact in the person I am today. Fortunately for us we were able to win the Visa Lottery and immigrate to America where my passion for learning and science began.

When I arrived at the parents’ house, the children were not present. The mother, father and parental grandmother were the only three in the home at the time. The house appeared to be clean. When I entered the home, the mother stated that the children were about to pull up with the aunt. I waited in the living room for the children to arrive. The mother went into the kitchen to cook some breakfast. A couple minutes later, the aunt arrived with the children. The mother had answered the door, and helped the aunt with the youngest baby. The children were happy to see the mother answer the door. The mother gave hugs to the two youngest daughters. The mother took the baby out the car seat and held him as she sat on the couch. The two daughters were

There were so many different possibilities to expect. She didn’t know whether to be excited or scared. One thing was for sure; she was definitely anxious. And the taxi driver dropping her off at the house of the kids she was babysitting for the summer was driving dangerously fast, which did nothing to ease her ever-growing nerves.

She is same, yet she is different. I don’t know how, it seems magical. She is borned in Sergeant of Law family, a lower class in the nobles. She loves to read books, she rarely smiles, always quiet and calm. It seems like no one can draw her attention. I always find myself focusing on her, I wish to know her better.

Hiding behind the stairs, I heard my mom say, “I think our time here is coming to an end.” Overhearing my parents’ statement startled me. Despite being unaware of the plot of this conversation, I hypothesized that some significant change was going to occur in my family’s life. Later, I entered my mom’s room to ask more questions. Unable to digest the most unanticipated and shocking answer in my life, a surge of questions streamed through my head: Why did we migrate from the US to India initially? Now, why are we moving back to the US? Why are they making arbitrary choices right before I start high school? All these questions swamped my mind.

Thomas waved on another immigrant, his clothes already clinging to his skin in the sweltering mid-July heat. This Thursday seemed to be busier than days prior, but perhaps, he thought, he was simply hot and tired. He had been stuck in the same seat for several hours, asking each individual questions and moving them along into the proper queues. His interpreter, a young woman by the name of Louise, had been sitting alongside him tirelessly translating the words of the foreigners into English. She was quite intelligent for a woman of her age, and stuck out among the other interpreters as well. Most only knew one language other than English, but she knew three: Russian, Polish, and Italian. She learned from her father, who was a professor at

I was born in Irapuato Guanajuato Mexico on August 1. I lived in Mexico until I was four years old. At the age of five I received my residency and came to live in America. When I got here I lived in Atlanta Georgia and started school at Kanoheda Elementary School. I attended Kanoheda from kindergarten to second grade. While I was at Kanoheda I had an ESOL class where they taught me the English language and helped me with grammar skills. After second grade I never attended another ESOL class and was able to become fluent in English. When I was going to start third grade I moved to Summerville South Carolina. I was at Oakbrook Elementary for one year and then transferred to Knigtsville in the fourth grade. After I finished fifth grade I went

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

On April 2, 2017, I interviewed my mother Tracy To, who is 53 years old. She experienced the harsh events of being involved in a communist war in Cambodia by the Khmer Rouge. Luckily she was able to escape the control of Pol Pot and the mass genocide that followed shortly. In 1974, she was one of the 158,000 of Cambodians who sought refuge in the United States and become an immigrant in California. During this time period, the Vietnam war also ended and the United States faced an influx of millions of Southeast Asians looking for a better life. My mother and her siblings were the lucky ones that escaped the inhumane treatment in their home country of Cambodia.

I have never been fond of the question, “Where are you from?” It often led me into a paradox of confusing answers that nearly always led to more questions. However, I have always been fond of the reason why I avoid answering that question. Through the years, I never truly grew my “roots” in a place, but it did not disadvantage me. Instead, I believe it enabled me to become a person who appreciates and understands the significance of diversity.

My American journey began with my mother and father who lived in India and Singapore respectively. Upon looking at suitors for her arranged marriage, my mother knew my father was “the one”. A well educated man who was the top student in Singapore, my father showed promise, dedication, and drive. “On a bright and beautiful day surrounded by friends and family”, they got married on May 17th, 2000 and emigrated to America (Raghuram). I was born shortly after on August 2nd, 2001 in Norwalk, Connecticut. Their purpose in moving was “to find better opportunities for education and jobs and to provide [me] with the best life possible” for which I am ever-indebted (Bala).

Mukherjee would like to ask those parents who express rage or despair to some aspects of and towards the Indian culture this, “What is it we have lost if our children are acculturating into the culture in which we are living? Is it so terrible that our children are discovering or are inventing homelands for themselves?” Mukherjee notices and acknowledges that the American culture is beginning to change her but she claims that “it will not end until she can show that she along with the hundreds of thousands of immigrants just like her, are minute by minute transforming and changing America just by simply voting and becoming US citizens.” To Mukherjee this is change is considered as a two-way process that affects both the individual and the nation cultural identity.

Living life in the distinguished land of opportunity and dreams: America, is an incredible blessing that I owe to my immigrant parents. Despite being so distant from my parent’s motherland in Punjab, India, the notorious caste system and sexist demeanor has never seemed to truly leave any of us, following me like a crept up shadow. Nearly 8000 miles separates me from the beloved land of my original descent and yet all of the characteristics my parents attempted to leave behind once again have binded to us through others. More specifically, I speak of the crude devout Indians that have migrated to America and still behave the same misogynistic ways. This clash between traditional Indian society norms and the modern American idea caused me, at