Death Of El Salvador-Personal Narrative-Me

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I come from a world where hope is a luxury and struggle is a birthright. My home country, El Salvador, saturated my young mind with images of extreme poverty, violence, and the bleak absence of any meaningful future for my generation. My earliest memories are replete with gunshots, gang fights, and police persecutions. The sight of dead bodies strewn about the streets was commonplace. The authorities charged with protecting children like me looked away in deference to their role as puppets in a government abounding in corruption. One day my mom accompanied me to school on the bus. Shortly after we boarded, a group of gang members wielding guns poured onto the bus. Seconds later, one of the men seized my neck and howled, "Give me all your money or I will kill this kid," His grip squeezed out my last breath as I struggled to hold tightly onto my mother's hand. Her eyes brimmed with tears, as we both faced my imminent death. The men swarmed the helpless crowd and snatched what little money was offered. I will always remember my mother handing over her wallet, which I knew was empty. That exchange embodies the irony of life in my home country: people with nothing …show more content…

Watching me suffer with prolonged hunger, while maintaining my gratitude for the simple things in life, spawned in my parents a deep motivation to move on. Despite having nothing to eat, I felt thankful and was always happy to attend school, reveling in the peaceful moments of my childhood. Recognizing this unique quality, my parents promised that they would one day take me to a place where hard work could lead to a better future. In a world where our demise seemed inevitable, my parents managed to realize this dream by emigrating to the United States just before I tuned eight years old. Although they left me behind with my grandmother, they promised to find a way for me join them in the

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