Essay On Personal Narrative: My Life As An Immigrant

I was born in Hidalgo, Texas, just five minutes across the Mexican border to my

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

What I am most proud of, is the fact that I am a hardworking immigrant. In today’s divided society, immigrants are stereotyped as “non-contributing to society” or “largely uneducated”. This ignorant stereotype is a constant reminder of how hard I should work.

“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.

On a random Thursday morning in the middle of October, I became an orphan. I have always been independent and mature from a young age, but all that changed on a crisp day in November when I learned what it means to grow up. Something typically marked by a Bat Mitzvah or the acquisition of a driver’s license was, for me, marked by the arrest of my single mother.

I interviewed a beautiful and courageous woman, of African descent. Born and raised in Monrovia, Liberia on May 20, 1969. In addition, she has one biological brother and three step siblings. Currently she resides in Loganville, Georgia, where she lives with her two children. By the same token, she and her husband been married for twenty-one years to her loving high school sweetheart husband. Due to unfortunate circumstances, she lost her husband in the line of duty. Causing her to become a widow, continuing to survive life without her husband. When I conducted this interview, had one topic in mind that I wanted to learn more about her life as an immigrant and how did influence her life.

My father left my mother as a young immigrant, he left me at a young age, I only had my mother and my little sister. I couldn’t imagine the world without them, so when I discovered I could potentially lose my mother, I almost fell apart.

A few years ago, I was with my family, walking the streets in New York, on our way to buy dinner. My mom had given me and each of my brothers ten dollars to spend on money. As we were walking, I noticed a man. He was sleeping on the side of a wall, a torn blanket covered his chest. His hair looked ungroomed

I am proud to say that I am Mexican/American because I have more opportunities when looking for a job for knowing how to speak both English and Spanish. Knowing that my parents both came from Mexico makes me a proud daughter because of all the hard work and dedication they put to get me to where I am today. Although it wasn’t easy for my parents to cross the border, I look up to them for bringing me into this world full of opportunities. My dad risked his life walking through the desert in order to cross the border to enter the United States all because he wanted give his kids a better future. My father wanted my siblings and I to be able to have a good education because he didn’t want us to go through the difficult moments he went through

As the child of Mexican immigrants, I am always encouraged to work to the best of my ability because of the sacrifices and struggles my family went through to get where we are today. Too young to remember, I am constantly reminded of the difficulties my family experienced as they attempted to rebuild their lives in a new country with nothing but their clothes on their backs and the few cash they had in their pockets. The place we called home was a shabby, old apartment in a neighborhood where the crime rate seemed as if it doubled in a matter of seconds. At a point in our lives my family begged for pennies to afford medicine from gas stations, and even the dollar store when we fell ill. It was never that we were out of money, but we were just financially unstable. We had a roof over our heads, food on our table, clothes, and even a family car, but my father’s income was not always enough to support the life of a growing family and on top of that, enough to invest in my family’s future.

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.

On 06/20/17, at 3:08pm, I Deputy Warden N. Christian was dispatched to 2645 Travis Road on a dog being held, no known owner. I arrived at the location and met with complainant. Complainant is a leasing agent for the above listed property. Complainant had the dog in the back of an abandoned apartment (fence in patio). The complainant took me to the location the dog was being held, I impounded the dog and placed a white terrier mix in my vehicle. The terrier had no identifying tags to indicate ownership. I transported the dog to Franklin County Animal Shelter (FCACC). Dog owner John Allen Jr redeemed the dog on 06/21/17. Mr. Allen did not show proof of dog license or vaccinate for his dog name Mabelline. I issued Mr. Allen violations

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