As I left the plane onto a whole new landscape, an environment so foreign and odd scented, it turned my stomach upside down making me feel homesick when I know that I will be sustaining my life here for the next six weeks of my life in the summer of 2013. I know I probably should be excited to go and visit my mother’s homeland in Vietnam before she immigrated to the United States, but this was not what I have anticipated when I left the nice and clean airport to a land full of pollution and filth. The streets were covered with people’s litter all over the place, and the place itself seem chaotic with a bunch of people rushing to where they need to go. Traffic was crazy since there were no strict traffic laws meaning people can speed and bustle all over the place. What was more frightening was that people cross the road at anytime during the chaotic traffic. The city was unbelievably warm as well; it was late in the evening and the thermometer on my phone read it was 87 degrees Fahrenheit as I sweltered to put my luggage into the car and also with my anxious family around me trying to hug me and kiss me.
After a long car ride, I finally arrived at my grandparent’s house and there were so excited to show my sister and me around the house and the neighborhood despite it being midnight already. It was a nice sized home compared to the houses around it but it did not meet up to my expectations. I was so used to the comfortable bed with air-conditioning, but this house does not have air-conditioning nor is there a proper bed. Instead, there was a cushion type of mat that I laid on to sleep. As I was trying to sleep, I knew that this was going to be a long six weeks of my life. I will miss the unique gadgets back in my home, my comfor...
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...ted States my home even though I might not be living as an ideal American family there. Even though I live in a small house barely passing by in the American society, I know that I am more well off than most other people who don’t know when their next meal is, and who do not know if they are able to feed their kids and survive for tomorrow. As I was at the airport ready to depart, with everyone crying including myself, I saw an older man sitting by himself in old ragged clothing similar to the woman I have seen in the city. At this moment, I was reminded of that fact that I am thankful for what I have and will try to understand that not everyone does not have the opportunity to live life like I do in the United States. I strive to do my best to do well in the United States, and hopefully, I can help my family and others who are struggling with poverty in the future.
My mind started to wonder though each room of the house, the kitchen where mom used to spend every waking hour in. The music room where dad maintained the instrument so carefully like one day people would come and play them, but that day never came, the house was always painfully empty. The house never quite lived to be the house my parents wanted, dust bunnies always danced across the floor, shelves were always slightly crooked even when you fixed them. My parents were from high class families that always had some party to host. Their children were disappointments, for we
“The house is settling,” my Italian carer would say as the lights dimmed and glowed in her ghostly presence… but this wasn’t all the house did. I slept in my room. Well, not really slept. Sleep was never something I did much of, especially early on. My worries at seven pm far outweighed my need for sleep. Awake. Forever awake. My father had left me. My mother…
I walked around unsteadily all day like a lost baby, far away from its pack. Surrounded by unfamiliar territory and uncomfortable weather, I tried to search for any signs of similarities with my previous country. I roamed around from place to place and moved along with the day, wanting to just get away and go back home. This was my first day in the United States of America.
I can hear the hum of taxi cabs whizzing past me as I stand on the corner of the busy downtown street. New York City! I still can't believe that I'm here or that I'm staying here. Aunt Allison was so sweet to let me live in her place whilst she travels around south America. I step out onto the road when the traffic light changed from green to red.
The American dream is a goal many hope to live. This desire dream of many individuals includes a hardship, and dedication. The United States represents freedom to many immigrants who fought for a better way of life. America has been a nation of immigrants, starting with its original inhabitants, who left their homelands for a chance to start a new life. According to an article by Gilder Lehrman Institute, over the past 400 years immigrants have escaped to America for many reasons. In the article some reasons for their escapes from their homes was due to war; others for the freedom to practice the religion of their choice. Freedom is the key in America, and the pursuit of happiness, which many fought to be part of. Many immigrants take long journeys for the economic opportunities. Even after thousands of years of immigration history America is still the land of the free, and the country where many can accomplish their American Dream.
Well, after many, many grueling hours, we finally arrive home! The trip is over and it was amazing. I cant’ believe how fun it was. I unpack my stuff from the inner surface of the van. I walk up my stone sidewalk and to my wooden front door. I wait for my parents to open it, and then I walk home and smell the familiar sent of my house. I get settled in. I get out of my clothes into new ones. I settle down, and I shortly go to sleep. The trip is over, and it was great.
In 1975, my mother’s parents had gone to America to try to find a stable job so they could later bring their children, to live a happier life since most of Mexico believed that America was where you
My mother was the first person to come to America in my family. She came from Ethiopia. My grandfather wanted my mom to have more opportunity so he sent my mom when she was a freshmen in high school. My mom was 14 when she went. My mom was scared because she had no idea and her being 14 and going somewhere she doesn’t know and leaving her family was very hard for her. My mom traveled as a unaccompanied minor on a plane. My mom was in America just for her school and her parents wanted for to stay forever but visit. She went alone but her parents did eventually see her 20 years later. She had to overcome a lot of stuff dealing with immigration. She had to find a relative willing to let them be there guardian and she had to get her green card.
...resence of my parents upstairs, despite the brain scrambling heat of the sauna, I suddenly felt homesick, and realized I yearned to be in my basement. The pitted feeling in my stomach grew stronger as I realized it is not the basement of my childhood that I miss, it is the basement of my fraternity house where Kegs littered the floors like toys and pledges were hazed like the violent was games my youth. I found another cycle came to a close, and I found myself separated from what I had once known. The basement used to be my sanctuary, the place I could dream in. Standing just outside a basement no longer mine while still profusely sweating from the sauna, a crisp late August breeze gently cooled my body. I deeply inhaled the last moments of summer knowing full well that fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition were no longer of any concern to me.
As I look back on my childhood a great number of memories hide in my mind; sleepovers with friends, hanging upside down on the monkey bars, eating ice cream are but a few. The one memory that doesn't hide is of the postcard perfect house that I love and adore. From the hearty cattails and rose brown apple trees to the grilled cheese, this place reminds me of my childhood fun but also the love that my whole family shared. The red brick house and its surroundings will keep my memories forever.
The air is really fresh, and the wind is comfortable. Grandma usually opened the window during the daytime; I still remembered that feeling when the sunshine came in house and scatter. I walking among those numerous grand trees and admire colored leaves on the trees and on the ground. I miss that feeling of calmness and stability of the world around. I wish I could return the reality of those feelings once more. Memories in mind and never forget about happiness of staying in my grandmother’s house. Grandparent’s time-honored gift to their grandchildren is their unconditional love, unfettered by schedules, routines or commitments. They reinforced their grandchildren’s sense of security and self-value.
Have you ever been influenced by some important person that helped you be the person that you are today? I have been. The people that have had influence on me are the most important humans beings, my family. But before I begin talking about my family, I want to describe to you the place that we spend most of the time together which also means something important to me and my family. This place is called the family room. This room is small but cozy. It is painted in white and has three windows decorated with beautiful curtains. By the windows you can appreciate a nice view of some beautiful trees and a nice pool. On the walls there are some family photos like the ones that show where my brothers and I were born, my graduation photo, some family members photos like my grandparents, and some paintings made by one of my brothers. Also inside this room there is a nice home theater that includes a nice stereo and TV, and a new compact computer. But this is not all, this room has some very comfortable furniture and I can say that they are comfortable because I use them to watch TV, a movie, or just sit and rest. Also the furniture is used by my brothers to sit and play nitendo, to study, or play with the computer. But from all this furniture there is one chair that is the most cozy chair that I have ever sat upon and that is my father's chair. So this is our room, which is very important to us and has a lot of special things, but the most special part of this room is when it brings my family together.
Unfortunately, my native country has numerous amounts of problems that lead my family to look for better opportunities in the Unites States. As a child, my parents taught me to fear and always be alert while walking in the streets. This was due to the crime and violence we were surrounded by. My parents are both Cuban, but moved to Costa Rica with my two older brothers before I was born. I grew up in a city called San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica. Although this was one of the safest placed to live, the fear of getting robbed inside our own home would not let us sleep in peace.
It was a maddening rush, that crisp fall morning, but we were finally ready to go. I was supposed to be at State College at 10:00 for the tour, and it was already eight. My parents hurriedly loaded their luggage into the van as I rushed around the house gathering last minute necessities. I dashed downstairs to my room and gathered my coat and my duffel bag, and glanced at my dresser making sure I was leaving nothing behind and all the rush seemed to disappear. I stood there as if in a trance just remembering all the stories behind the objects and clutter accumulated on it. I began to think back to all the good times I have had with my family and friends each moment represented by a different and somewhat odd object.
As I depart from the kitchen, I walk into the living room. There is a terrifying ugly brown couch with a crocheted throw draped over it. Two more Lazy-Boy chairs sit by it. On the opposite side of the room from me is a stone fireplace with shelves built on either side of it. These shelves are filled with books on every topic one can think of. Subjects range from the Civil War to cooking and mechanics. Above the fireplace rests an old, dependable clock. As it strikes the hour with its dings and dongs, I know I am where I belong. I am home.