Personal Narrative: My First Immigration To Canada

I remember my first day in Canada like it was yesterday. The day I thought my dad had been hit by a car and my mom almost having a heart attack. It all started when we first got to the hotel, in Ontario, Mississauga. My father thought it would be a great idea to explore the area and buy some groceries. My mom, two brothers and I were exhausted due to a fourteen-hour flight from Dubai to Toronto so we decided to stay and take a nap. I woke up at 7 pm to silence. I thought my dad had come back and took a nap, but when I went to wake up parents, it was only my mother. At that point, I started freaking out, it’s been 4 hours since my father left. I woke up my mother and told her my dad hadn’t come back yet. My mother tried to call my father, but his phone was off. She then went to the security of the building and talked to him. The security guard asked my mother

My parents decided to move to Canada because they wanted a better life for her future family. They knew that life would be easier and have more in store for them in Canada. Before they left Hungary my mom was a teacher and my dad imported shoes from Italy.

The Irish, like many immigrants, immigrated to Canada in hopes of finding a better life to live for themselves and their families. The first wave of Irish immigrants arrived in Newfoundland, Canada in the early 17th century. (Toner, Peter., & Leitch, Gillian, 2016). After that, the now Irish Canadians in Newfoundland, Canada found work as fishermen, but were still living in poverty like conditions they had hoped to escape from Ireland. (Toner, Peter., & Leitch, Gillian, 2016). By the 19th century, Canada saw a substantive increase in immigrants, especially Irish immigrants. This was mainly due to the fact that; poor economic conditions had hit Ireland. (Toner, Peter., & Leitch, Gillian, 2016). As well as, the growing population, the Great Famine,

When my family and I moved from Canada to United States 6 years ago, it was very hard for me and I had to meet and make a new group of friends. I was born in Canada, and I lived in Ottawa all my life until my family and relocated to Atlanta in 2011. At the time of the move, I was eleven years old and I had just finished Grade 5. I remember when my mom told me that we were moving to Atlanta, Georgia I didn’t know where that city was because I only knew the cities in Canada and not in Georgia. I was very sad and excited to move to a new city. I knew I would lose my friends in Canada but I also knew I would get to meet and make some new ones when I get to Atlanta.

The most first people came to live in Canada were the Inuit and First Nation Peoples. The 1st Europeans to achieve the nation were likely the Vikings and it is trusted that Norse traveler Leif Eriksson drove them to the bank of Labrador or Nova Scotia in 1000 C.E.

It’s been almost five years since my family has moved to Canada, and I have never felt left out before. I never thought I ever would, but ever since I started attending school in Canada I had the fear that no one would like me.

Un inmigrante siempre será un inmigrante.” (West Side Story) Once an immigrant, always an immigrant. Sixteen years ago my parents made an unthinkable decision. Leaving behind their jobs, families, and everything they knew to pursue life in an unfamiliar country; the American Dream. So, one fateful morning my mother said her goodbyes boarded a plane with me in her arms at barely a year old. My dad had arrived earlier, flying from Argentina to New York on his own. I was too young to fully comprehend the struggle it was to assimilate in a country where they did not speak the language. Once I got older, I heard stories of their experiences and began to understand first-hand what it meant to be an immigrant in America.

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,

On one sunny day, I was helping my mom doing chores when she pulled me over to talk to me about something important. I was confused why my mom would want to me about something important, but I listened to what she said and followed her. What she told me was what her life was like back in Vietnam. She did not have much of an education. Instead, she stayed home with her mom to sell Vietnamese yogurt every day for a living. Since I was born in America, I never thought of life was like for others in developing countries like Vietnam. Hearing from my mom's experience, it stuck with me. I learned the importance of being grateful for what I have since they are a lot of people who do not have what we have in America and it made me want to help those who are in need. I was also inspired to do whatever I

I remember when I first moved to America. I remember how scared I was to move to a whole new country and didn’t know a soul within 400 miles of me. Everything was brand new and I was basically a newborn child in this world at the age of 4. I remember how we met, we bonded over the sport of soccer. I remember how we became the best of friends, and how we would carpool to Pre-K together. Then, she had a game for her church. I remember it was freezing because it was early January. She scored a goal right before half time, and then was taken off for the rest of the game. I remember seeing her panting on the bench, then I saw her lie down the bench. I figured she was tired, but then I saw her convulsing on the bench. I didn’t even realize what

I am Patt Ryan, an eighteen year old farmer who came to america with a life saving of $3.56. I came with my brother Matt Ryan, a seventeen year old farmer with the life savings of $1.35. We came to America because we wanted to find a better way of life. We also came to find religious freedom. We knew that we would be able to find this in America. My brother and I could not wait to see what America had in store for us. My brother Matt and I sailed to America on the very full Alexina boat. It was a poorly built, crowded boat filled with diseases and short of food. As a result, many of us Irish immigrants got a disease and many others died before we even got to America. My brother and I were one of the lucky ones to stay fairly healthy. Others

Human rights are in place for a reason, because all persons regardless of their age, gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, ability, class, appearance and social location deserve to, and ought to, be treated with fairness and in an equitable manner. My responsibility as a Canadian citizen and professional is to uphold and promote all human rights regardless of my social location and assumptive world view. I feel as a humanitarian it is also my responsibility to educate and create awareness of issues surrounding basic human rights, especially those related to gender identity and expression. Through education of gender identity and gender expression, clients and members of the public are made aware of the oppression and discrimination that

A refreshing cool breeze blew in from the screen door, it was followed by the aroma of freshly baked cookies. As I got closer and closer to the oven I could practically taste the dough in my mouth, this was the work of my mom. As I took my first bite of the delicious cookie I hear thumping big feet shaking through the house followed by a somewhat loud jolly whistling. Dad was clearly happy to be able to have the luxury of enjoying some delicious cookies.

A few weeks ago I was sitting in my old dusty chair watching the news. I was just thinking about the day’s work ahead of me, and wondering if my body will make it through the day. I heard a car door slam. I imagined that it was my wife pulling in, but that would be impossible. I wondered who it could be. I do not get many visitors this time of year, not in the off-season. Could it be the fella that was on the news? They said a girl was murdered in Iowa and the suspect got away, and may be on his way to Canada. Then a loud knock on the door filled the empty room. I got out of my chair slowly, like a pregnant woman would, and made my way to the door. I could hear a creak with every step I took, and only God knows if it came from the floor, or these knobby knees.

As I walked to the parking lot where my mom had arrived to pick me up from school, my sister ran out of the car, ran towards me and yelled excitedly, “We’re going to Canada!” Having grown up in Kuwait for my whole life of 15 years, I could hardly believe my sister’s words. Going to Canada! I had only been out of the country twice, each time just to vacation and visit family in the Philippines where both my parents are from. I had always imagined what life would be like outside of Kuwait, and now it was finally going to be real. My 15-year old self was devastated - We were leaving the only home I had known for 15 years. It did not take long for my sisters’ excitement to die when we realized that we would be leaving our friends and everything we’ve ever known and not returning for a long time. Life in Kuwait for 15 years was comfortable and we were more than financially stable. Moving to Canada without a job offer in place meant that we would have to start from the beginning all over again. Goodbyes were hard but my parents encouraged us to see the joys of moving to a place where we could start over and become accepted citizens of a country. Arriving in Canada, I experienced the biggest culture shock of my life. Vancouver, BC was cold, wet, and loud. I had thought adjusting would be relatively easy; I spoke English with a slight accent but I was very shy that it confused some of the other kids to think I couldn’t speak English. I did not understand the culture, which took a