Personal Narrative: Childhood Immigration

Jesus took my hand and walked with me across the rainbow over my grandmother’s yard and into the arms of my parents waiting at the end. This was a dream I had when I was six years old the night before I left Brasil for the first time. My parents had been in America for two years and they had finally called for my brother and I to join them. According to my mom, I was incredibly concerned with the fact that I didn’t speak the language, but little did I know that learning the language would be the least of my worries as an immigrant child entering America. After a twenty one hour flight I finally landed in America and was welcomed by two weeping strangers that turned out to be my parents. During my first week in my new home I would fight with

In elementary school I was still just a little kid and though sometimes the culture from school clashed with the one at home, things went smoothly for the most part. The problem arose as I got older and began to understand my situation more. As I grew older I became more involved and began to take care of my own immigration issues such as applying for Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals so that I could obtain a work permit and social security number. When I entered high school as a freshman I had the same fears as any other freshman entering a new, larger school. However, I also had fears unique to myself and other immigrant students such as questions of whether my status would allow me to get a license, a car, or even attend college after high school? Not to mention travelling internationally was completely out of the question. I was confined within American borders while my friends travelled to Ireland, Africa, and Costa Rica on trips that I could only dream of attending. This was my reality as an immigrant student, my possibilities were limited compared with those of my friends and I had no idea how long they would be limited

Here I am in a country that’s not my own, but still receiving a fantastic education that I would’ve never gotten back in my own country. However, socially being an immigrant can be stressful and awkward. It’s wonderful being able to share some of your culture with someone new. That is if you’re talking with someone that is completely comfortable with immigrants. In conversations with someone that’s not as used to speaking with immigrants things can get uncomfortable. By no means do I fit the stereotypical Brasilian look, so when people talk to me and suddenly find out that I’m not American then the questions start, “Wait you’re not American? Wow! But you don’t even have an accent! So do you speak brasilian at home?” The one thing that is on the tip of everyone’s tongue though regards your status. Some people try to be sneaky and ask, “Have you been back since you left?” Before I got a chance to visit Brasil this past summer I would always have to answer no. Of course the follow up question was always, “Why haven’t you gone back?” It always stumped me because on the one hand I wanted to just blurt the truth, but the easier way out was the answer I always gave, “It’s just too