Personal Narrative: My First Immigrant At The Home

Being a daughter of immigrant parents has never been easy here in America. Both my parents worked excessively hard to be financially stable. Unfortunately at the age of ten my life changed. I learned that my parents no longer loved each other. The arguing and fighting my parents had, only damaged me emotionally. I was too young to grasp the idea that my parents were separating which become one of the hardest times for my mom to maintain my siblings and I. Shortly after, I began attending church and fell in love with the idea of getting closer to God. Luckily, my life took an enormous turn the moment I gave my life to Christ. God has opened numerous opportunities for my education. I am proud of all the accomplishments I have achieved in high

Hello reader, I’m about to tell you a story of some of my life. I am not normally one to volunteer details about myself, which I’ll remain somewhat reserved or completely leave some events out of this autobiography. Nonetheless, I believe I can still make my story interesting for the reader. I was born 1979, in Tampa, Florida; which, is also the same day my biological father decided to leave my mother and I. My mother isn’t a native Floridian, but had moved there with her family when she was still an infant, and had spent most of her life growing up in Florida. Needless to say, my father leaving was not an exciting time for my mother and I. Although she was employed Jimmy Cater was president and had taken the nation into

There were three lessons that my immigrant parents ingrained in their first-generation children: Work hard, never give up, and most importantly, give back. Among other life lessons they taught us, these three were the basis for everything. It would be the basis that would and will define me as a person.

“Mom, will I ever be treated as a regular person? When will I be like the others without people look at me in a strange way and make fun of me, when mom? When?” Those were the questions I did to my mom almost every day after getting home from school. Fourteen years ago that my parents brought me to this country offering a better life with better opportunities than where I was born. I was seven years old when came to the United States, but I still remember the happiness I felt when I first step in this country. Throughout the years, I have realize that not everything is easy and simple as I imagined. My parents worked in the fields because of the lack of a social security and not knowing how to speak English. Many Americans do not know how hard it is the life of an immigrant, they should have a consideration for us and not just blame us for the deviance of the United States.

It is not uncommon to hear one recount their latest family reunion or trip with their cousins, but being a first generation immigrant, I sacrificed the luxury of taking my relatives for granted for the security of building a life in America. My parents, my brother, and I are the only ones in my family who live in the United States, thus a trip to India to visit my extended family after 4 years was an exciting yet overwhelming experience. Throughout the trip, I felt like a stranger in the country where I was born as so many things were unfamiliar, but there were a few places that reminded me of my childhood.

I was always a precocious child, yet argumentative and rebellious. I did not want to accomplish anything following a pattern set for me. I wanted to forge my own way. This determination set me at odds with my mother, and has defined our relationship all these years. It has surely led me down my own irregular path in life, and placed me in position to be the family’s black sheep.

I am Martin Gutierrez a retire veteran that was with United States Marine Corps who recently got done doing 10years. I got out from the military on March 10, 2017. I am not going to tell you my whole life story about me because this is not about my life but about me trying to buy a residential apartment in Chicago area around Humboldt park. I have a friend his name is Pedro. He is in charge of the apartment building and want to sell it for $500,000 to me but I don't have great credit score due I have paid off car loan which I had for almost 3 years and decide to pay it off completely to be able to relief some of my debt ratio so I can be able to afford purchase a house at the time. When I have paid off my car note my credit score drop from

I am fortunate enough to be the first generation of two immigrant parents, and while that seems unlucky to most people, it is one of my reasons for wanting to serve. My parents moved here when they were children and did not have the luxury of being US citizens for a long time, but they were able to benefit from a new lifestyle that included having healthcare, a better education, and more opportunities for a better life. Through this they were able to give me the best life possible without having to worry about some of the same struggles they had as a kid in a third world country. As a child of immigrant parents I benefited from the US making my parents citizens and it would be a great honor to be able to give back to my country for everything

I interviewed my uncle who is a 1.5 generation immigrant. He immigrated to the United States at the age of eleven, along with a few of his siblings and parents. To preserve his identity, I will use the pseudonym, Jose. Jose is from a small town called El Cerrito Colorado in Jalisco, Mexico. Learning English for Jose has been an ongoing struggle that he has been continuously working on. His experience moving to the Unites States and living here would be considered selective assimilation because in spite of the burden it has been for him to learn English, he has been able to become successful and gain a great education.

Throughout last generation, immigration has been vital for my family- my mother is an immigrant, and so are my paternal grandparents. Being Mexican immigrants in a land that does not accept you is hard; I’ve seen the struggles firsthand. Like my grandparents, my mother did not have many opportunities once she entered the United States. She came seeking to start a career and make a name for herself, yet ended up being an assistant manager at Wal-Mart. Nonetheless, she has worked hard alongside my father to provide the best for my brother and I. But I know if she was a white American without a Mexican accent,

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.

Although I was born a U.S. citizen my parents saw it right to know my culture. As soon as I was old enough to travel I was swept to Mexico with my missionary and bilingual family. Even though spanish was my first language when I got back to the states I learned english in a couple of months. My parents became pastors soon after in a church that only spoke spanish and was bathed in the Mexican culture. We had men who sang christian “cumbias” on top of a horse and we made tamales as a church fundraisers.

A man’s heart anxiously pounds within his chest, his fists closed, and teeth clenched. Droplets of sweat splash as they seemingly fall from his forehead. He tightens the grip of his baggage as he fixes in on the swift horizon, emerald eyes feverously searching for hope. Full to bursting with tears, he spots his copper lady from a distance. Her torch brilliantly alit in welcoming embrace.

Stepping off the plane in June 2005, I knew I was no longer in Colombia and I had not yet realized my life would change. The first noticeable difference was school; I was motivated to learn, advance, and achieve greatness. I was told I could accomplish anything I dreamed; however, I knew I did not have the resources to procure my dreams. We started from zero, scratch. My own version of the classic immigrant story—moving and hitting the restart button. I was told my socioeconomic situation did not matter. Little did they know, it does.

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.