Personal Narrative: Understanding Of America

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.

Stepping out of my first plane ride, I experience an epiphany of new culture, which seems to me as a whole new world. Buzzing around my ears are conversations in an unfamiliar language that intrigues me. It then struck me that after twenty hours of a seemingly perpetual plane ride that I finally arrived in The United States of America, a country full of new opportunities. It was this moment that I realized how diverse and big this world is. This is the story of my new life in America.

I didn’t believe in aliens until I was abducted by them. I was put in some kind of contraption and I’m not sure what happened exactly, but it’s clear that I’m not where I was. Everything in 2016 is different, I don’t know if I’m in a different state or not but people are dressing differently and acting differently, and the cars, the cars are all different! I’ve been here for quite some time now and have noticed a lot of differences from where I lived in Oceanside, California in 1940. I’ve been transported to the year 2016 and there are so many things that have changed and evolved and among them are political, economic, social, and cultural changes.

America is not safe - not because of international terrorism or ISIS, although ISIS as a force exists. America is not safe - not because of crime committed by the foreign and domestic Hispanic communities, although Hispanic crime as a force exists. America is not safe - not because of white on

In class we watched a video over a very opinionated male who explained the reason why America is not great. I have a lot of respect for this man and I think that he brought up some extremely valid points that I have never thought about. What I mainly want to touch on is the fact that he accused my generation of being apathetic. He basic says that we could care less and are lazy good for nothings. The best response I can think of is, look at who raised us. Now, I am not saying that it is entirely our parents fault or their parents fault for the reason why teenagers do not care about school, grades, or the world. I am just saying that it is unfair to put the entire blame on my generation saying that we are the reason why the America is not great. He makes it seem that as soon as my

Moving to the United States is a huge step for an immigrant. As an international student, I have been passing through this event that most Brazilian desire to. However, it is hard to adapt with the new culture and lifestyle, knowing that I have my own values. The “Two Ways to Belong in America” illustrates two views of getting used with this new culture, in which I identified myself with one of these ways: my nationality cannot be change with a simple paper called green card. Thus, starting a new life in a foreign country is tough because I have to find a way to readjust to this new culture, not ignoring

The very first conversation I had with the one closest to me was an argument. I will never forget it. We were talking about our goals and ambitions in life. When I told him what I wanted to do, I just got the average “Good for you! That’s so great!” response. When he told me that after graduation he was shipping out to Army basic training to become an Airborne Combat Engineer, I didn't give the same response back.

Growing up in America, I have always been surrounded by many cultures and different ethnic groups. Many of those cultures differ from my own traditionally. For the first half of my life, I was raised in detroit, a predominantly black city - I had always assumed. My family eventually moved out of Detroit and we moved to Inkster. Inkster was a much smaller city, but it was also a predominantly black city. In 2011, my family moved from Inkster, Michigan to Canton, Michigan. Although the two cities are less than a half hour apart - the cultural and ethnic groups are extremely diverse. While attending my freshman year of high school in Canton I realized, I was a minority there. More than half of the student body, more than half of the community

Growing up in America, the majority of people are never worried about where their next meal is coming from or how it was prepared. I have personally been spoiled throughout my life always having an abundant supply of food along with a mother that cooked every meal for me. I dreaded waking up at 5am every morning to head off to the chicken house and pick up, at times, hundreds of dead chickens. Taking Food Science 1000 this semester, I now have a wealth of knowledge about food and food science. I now have a greater appreciation for farmers worldwide as their hard work provides billions of families with food. It has shown me that even small family operations, like my family's, still make a huge impact on the world. Before this class I never really

It’s been 2 years, 35 days and 22 minutes, and I’m still peeking through the dismal, damped window to just have a look at my family. Though years have passed but I still see my mother stepping out of the door every morning with the hope that her daughter Selina Dimp, would arrive. If only she knew that our separation would result to her survival, the urge and temptation to step in my house, smell the aroma of my ever favorite lasagna, tease little Jason and be in the arms of my mother has grown extremely more. No matter how many years have passed but the plague is still out there on our streets, infecting every person I love , my own brother and my entire Nation. As always, the newsboard flashes “The Republic of America war against the Democratic of America is still in progress” , the same old news by the government but for the first time it shows something that gives me a leap of faith for a second. The

I have been born and brought up in America, therefore, I identify with the American culture. The American culture borrows heavily from different cultures across the globe. The neighborhood I was brought up in was instrumental in the definition of and formation of my culture and the norms that I surrounded myself with and came to identify with. My parents taught me the value of education, as in American culture education is one of the most highly valuable attributed. I have also taken up Christianity as a religion to identify with as I have learned from the people in my surroundings.

“Take this, and start learning english” is what my sister whilst giving me a book with pictures and english words. My family had recently decided to bring me to Florida. They thought it would be better to go to America knowing some english, rather than none. I never did study the book; learning english as a foreigner without any previous knowledge was a little difficult, for an seven year old.

When I was three months old, my parents requested my uncle to deliver me to my grandparents in China; my uncle was the stork and I was the baby. Although I was born in the states, my childhood was far from a typical Chinese-American girl. Instead of an alarm clock, I had a rooster. My grandfather drove me to preschool every day on a motorcycle, and after school I would come home to my grandmother planting seedlings in the endless field of rice paddies across from our house. On the weekends I would run through the Majong house to the snack shop where I would be nit picky about all the candies to decide which one was worthy of my five cents. I had completely assimilated into this culture, this childhood. Until the day that my dad stepped foot

My first letter from my pen-pal came in the fall of 2000. It was terse, which I had assumed to be a product of the culture there. My pen-pal introduced herself as June, and said she was excited to learn about what America was like. My reply was understandably pretentious, as I sought to impress my brand new foreign friend with boasts about the food, the sports, the invariably superior American culture. June and I exchanged letters back and forth well into the winter. My letters were wordy and overdone; her’s displayed a taciturn personality that I struggled to understand.