It is indeed true that the finer things in life are free, but what most people fall short to notice is that the greater things in life, however, come with an enormous amount of sacrifice, hardship, persistence, hard work, and determination. Everybody takes advantage of the finer things, after all, they are free and easy! Not everyone, however, takes advantage the greatest things life has to offer. I do not blame them, in all simplicity, It is extremely easy to be indolent. Why put elbow grease in one, when the other is easy? I will tell you why. This is a story of hard work, sacrifice, devastation, confidence, hopelessness, perseverance, and determination. My name is Maria de Los Angeles Delaz, and this is my story.
I was a regular teenaged girl, most people who know me have said I have lived a very sheltered life, that I was living in a lavish glass bubble were the world was great and dandy. My family was perfect, Mom and Dad were childhood sweethearts back in Cuba. They lived next door to each another, they went to school together, they married, had me and moved to Madrid, Spain; where my Mother’s family were waiting for us with arms wide open. Four years later my sister Aida arrived, and two years after, my little brother Alfredo came into the world. We came to California with the great “American Dream” in mind. Higher education for us, stability in the work field, and freedom. Both of my parents worked from home, and when high school came around for me, I was pulled out of LAUSD and started home studying. We were a very tight kneaded family. Everyone knew what the other was doing, we ate all three meals together, watched the same shows, and even had a family night, where monopoly was a family must have. Everything was sup...
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...ing what her heart told her was right for her. A Maria that was living life to it’s fullest. A Maria that would soon help people and be proud to let everyone know Western Washington University helped her obtain her happiness, helped her fulfill her lifelong dream.
Why Western? Some people may answer because of the gorgeous campus and it’s amazing surroundings. Others may say, because it’s close border to Canada and the ethnicity variation between USA and Canada would be something I would love to experience. What is my answer? Because I know that Western Washington University is the key to my success. I know that Western Washington will help me grow to my full potential, I know that I will achieve my dream of becoming a doctor and I want Western to be the one I thank. I have been a diamond in the rough for too long, Western will polish me. It is my time to shine.
Everyone can pant a pretty picture of how wonderful their life may be. In fact, doing so may come with a consequences. Reading these three short stories “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson, “Shooting an Elephant” by George Orwell and a short biography by Malcolm X called “My First Conk”, set off many different emotions. I felt as these author’s wanted to me to feel in such way. I believe there is a life lesion in every life story someone has to share, no matter how small or big.
In 2012, I moved to San Francisco nervous but excited. I knew that as an immigrant in a new and strange place, I would face many obstacles, but those obstacles were no match for what my parents endured being away from me for so many years in order to work and ensure I had a better life than they did. When I moved in with my parents in San Francisco, I appreciated catching up on lost time. However, I also often found myself upset when my parents recounted their day and how hard they worked. It hurts me to see the pain and exhaustion in their eyes when they came home after working two full-time jobs. I felt compelled to lighten
I had no place to call home. My mom had not come to visit me one time, and I had only received a hand full of letters from her. She told me in those letters that she was sick, and I couldn’t live with her (She died of cancer a little over a year after my release). My twenty-three-year-old brother was a drug addict, so I didn’t want to live with him. With no place to live, I would end up in a state halfway house or some other type of group home. For someone who was about to turn sixteen, this was a lot to deal with. The last two hours of my bus ride, which were supposed to be the happiest part of the trip, turned into the worst. The tension in my heart was almost unbearable now. It felt like someone had reached into my chest and was clinching my heart in an angry fist. My eyes teared up from the
I chose West Virginia University to go to college because I utterly love that school. My cousin, Nicole, attended WVU and received her chemist degree there. I do not only want to go to WVU because she went there, but because it’s close to home. I want to go to a college where I do not have to drive five or six hours to go home and see my family. Family is yet another motive why I want to go to WVU. My family is one of the biggest football and basketball fans ever. Every time there is a Mountaineer football or basketball game on television, you bet my family is watching it, even if they are losing.
The culture, by which I had been brought up, made me not fit in into the society in San Diego. I could not redeem myself here because all who knew me already had a perception of me. I already had a perception of myself too, and I felt all I needed was a change in environment. I felt I did not have an identity here; I was simply the person that other people perceived me to be on the outside. Deep inside me, however, I felt I was a different person, an outgoing, social and fun loving person, but all this had been bottled up by the life I had been brought up into and the experiences I had along the way. I needed to have friends; I needed to redeem myself and to do this I needed to interact with people from different places other than those that I had already been used to. I also needed to feel a sense of independence that I had never felt in my entire life. My mother still believed we were little children, and she treated us as so. She still insisted that we go shopping with her, and this would be embarrassing since boys my age would go out by on their own and wouldn’t have their mothers buying for them
I had not been able to play sport every afternoon like I always had in the past. I had to go school four days a week and then went to work three days on the weekend. I did not have time to hang out with my friends like I used to do. I was so tired and exhausted every weekend after work. I had to sacrifice my social life in order to afford college. I tried everything I could to be able to stay in America and attended college here. My parent was so proud of me. I was able to live on my own; every once in a while, my parent sent me little extra money, so I could buy something I liked. It has been a year since I started working full time; here I am, entering my sophomore year in college. Everything worked out well for me; I made good grade in college and was able to feed
Going back forty-five years is not an easy task to complete because I can’t remember some of the finer details of my childhood. I know I was born on a hot August afternoon in Birth Year at Place Of Birth in City ands State. My mother was just twenty-two at the time and was already the mother of two, I was her third child. My father was twenty-one and already a workaholic, I know because my mother would constantly remind me not to be like that. My mother and father were good parents and they tried to give us the best upbringing they could. My father was the kind of person that believed he should provide and protect his family, and he did a very good job of doing that.
To begin with, my life five years ago was very swell. I was fourteen years old and in the eighth grade. I hadn’t got a job yet, I didn’t have very many friends, I was very shy and antisocial and was always on the computer. I was getting excited about my Washington D.C. trip with my school but I was also very nervous about having to share a room and a bed. I was even more nervous because I knew what shorty was going to follow; which was me going over to the high school to become a freshman. I was only so nervous because it was going to be a new place, a new school and a bunch of new faces around me. Then again I was very happy in life because I had set goals but I am also very happy in life now.
Hi, I’m Nathalia Thompson. I am a workaholic who lives in Calabasas, California on her own. Why you say? Well my mother and sister live back in Spain, where the president is keeping Spain’s citizens hostage, so that gives me no way to see them or for them to come and visit me. But anyways, it had only been about a month since I moved here to America and surprisingly, I know most of the English language, I’d been taking some English courses anyways. It was hard for me to adapt to my environment and all of these changes but somehow I did, I had been used to being around my mother and my younger sister my entire life and now I was on my own. It sounded a little scary to think about but I
Now it never really bothered me much because I never felt as though I did not fit in anywhere. so when we moved to Boise, Idaho I thought it was the same. We moved to Boise at the end of my sixth grade year. My older sister with her 5 kids lived in Boise and we were going to stay with them. Now I haven’t seen my sister since I was a seven. When we arrived at the airport she was crying, tears flowed like water falls as she embraced my mom and my brother. The first things she said when she looks at me was “Oh”. I was quite confused, because obviously I wasn’t seven anymore. At age thirteen I was a late bloomer. Although I had gain
It was a Sunday morning when I woke up by the morning shiver and with the sweet smell of tea filling the room. I woke up with a yawn but still laying down because I was too lazy to get up. I stood up quickly almost losing my balance when why mom yelled my name. “Come down stairs I have good news for you” said mom. I went down stairs I saw my parents drinking green hot tea and watching news on the television. I walk toward the table distracted by the chaos of different loud noises like the news, my brothers watching cartoon, and my sister whining. I greeted my parents, as I passed them I heard someone saying “can’t wait to move” excitedly.” After finishing my delicious breakfast I ask my mom, where are we moving? “We are moving to America” with
My story started the day I step foot in the United State, October 4, 1994. I was lost in an unfamiliar world. My only academic guidance was my father who was a Certified Nursing Assistant. My new family was also composed of my stepmother, my 16-year-old brother, my 10 years old, and my 4 years old sisters. I spoke very little English, and my body was experiencing a culture chock for the first time of my existence. Finally, I was given a counselor while
It is my memory of first year in the United States. Back then, I was a between 16 and 17 years old girl who would be called, ‘fob,’ which means ‘fresh off the boat.’ I was quite shy, not fluent in English, exotic looking and nervous but excited at the same time. Coming to the U.S. all by myself, leaving behind familiar culture, friends and family was quite challenging at such a young age, but I was all ready to endure hardship and obstacles of language barrier, cultural difference and loneliness. However, the trouble that pushed me into the well of suffering that I could not see the bottom came from the most unexpected source. It was my host family; they were white with a middle-class background, living in a rural area. They seemed like nice and friendly people at first. They brought me and my roommate to various events and places where I can learn American culture, helped me learn English, taught us the basic manner accepted in the U.S. and even celebrated my birthday. Nevertheless, they had a contradicting side as well. The family had eccentrically strict house rules which gave us heavy house chore, and eventually it led them to treat my roommate and me like housekeepers in the
My whole childhood I raised myself, surviving on the Social Security benefits I got from my father’s being deceased. The school supplies and materials I needed all came from monies I received from the government. I can’t even remember the last time my mother bought me something with her own money. Without gas money, she wouldn’t take me to school half the time, so I often walked at least an hour every day to get there and back. My mother often sent me to live with my grandma for weeks at a time while she partied. She would come home for a day, grab a bag full of clothes, and leave, with no word about when, if ever, she was coming back. I remember crying and shouting, “If you love me, you’ll stay.” I always got a hand shoving me back and a door slammed in my face.
My story starts when I came to the United States about three years ago from Colombia. My family and I had to start from scratch, because none of us spoke English at all and arrived with nothing more than our suitcases. As soon as we arrived, we had to live in a crowded house, where my sister, my parents and I