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History of hispanic immigration to the united states
Family migration essay
Family migration stories
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My grandparents were born in Mexico. My whole family was born in Mexico They were poor they didn't have money and they lived in a small house. They were not happy. They had 10 kids 2 of them died when they were 12 years old.. My grandparents’ jobs were being a farmer they had to hunt animals for dinner. Their language is spanish. My grandparent’s are stills alive that is good news. My parents are from Mexico. My parents are wealthy people. They were poor in Mexico that is why they came to the United States to raise a family. My childhood was great. My parents told me when I was a little kid that I was I never did bad stuff and didn't cry, didn’t like candy,I didn’t run around the store, I always clean up after myself. I didn't …show more content…
The journey of my parents. It was not fun cross the border but I don't know how they cross the border. I went to Mexico for two weeks. I don't know how my parents survive in America. But they found friends to survive in America. First my parents move to Chicago then move to South Carolina. My parents were living in a apartments. My parents’ were poor then found a job. Than I came alive in 2002. My parents were not poor when I came
There are about 7 billion people in the world; each one of us is different in our own way. Everyone has had different life experiences, some good and some bad. This world is full of cultures that aren’t the same. Being Mexican-American has made me who I am today because I come from a different culture. I know both of my languages, English and Spanish. Also it has built my character.
We moved for different reasons, one was a better education. In the United States the schools offer a lot of opportunities, such us different degrees, financial aid, scholarships, and more. I think that is a great opportunity for my brothers and me study here because, we are going to receive an excellent education. In Mexico we don’t have these opportunities; if students want to be in an exemplary school, they have to pay a lot of money. Another reason that we moved was that my parents found better jobs. In the United States the economy is better than Mexico, so they thought that maybe this change could benefit us.
As my father and I finally fit the statue of the little Virgin Mary in the back of the car, it was time to get on the road. I could already taste the guavas from my great grandfather’s ranch. Feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. The smell of my aunt’s cooking. Hearing the excitement of my great grandmother’s voice. I wanted to be there already, be in the beautiful country of Mexico. My thoughts wandered as we left my house. How much welcome, love, and the sadness of leaving was going to happen. It was too soon to find out.
This was back in November 2007, in India. I was 12 years old. I was enjoying my normal life. But I didn’t know that my life will change surprisingly. One day I came home from the school and my parents made decision of moving to the United States. I was totally amazed at that moment. My parents wanted move so that me and my sister can have a better life, education, and opportunity.
I was born and raised in Vietnam, so I naturally observed my culture from my family and my previous schools. I learned most of my culture by watching and coping the ways my family do things. My family and my friends all spoke Vietnamese, so I eventually knew how to speak and understand deeply about my language as I grew up. At home, my mom cooked many Vietnamese foods, and she also taught me to cook Vietnamese food. So I became accustom Vietnamese food. I also learned that grandparents and parents in my culture are taken care of until they die. At school, I learned to address people formally and greet higher-ranking people first. In Vietnamese culture, ranking and status are not related to wealth, so they are concerned with age and education.
What is culture? Culture is the idea of what is wrong or right, the concept of what is acceptable within our society. Culture serves us as a guide, taking us to the "right way" and helping us to make sense of things that surrounds us. There are many different cultures around the world. A lot of them are similar in specific ways and others are just completely different, this difference explains why we think that people from different backgrounds are "weird".
It was time for us to leave and board the plane to America. I was very excited to get to America, I was also anxious to see my Dad who I haven’t seen in months. The flight was long, I can remember in the air was my first time feeling turbulence, whoa let me tell you it was a scary one it felt like the plane was about to crash. I was anxious for the plane to land. When we arrived we exited out the plane and head out to the train inside the airport in order to go to U.S. customs and border protection, to get our documents sorted out, so that we could enter the country.
Identity-“Ones personal qualities.”Identiy is something only he or she can fully define. My uncle says I am affectionate,cheerful, and calm. My grandmother sees me as slim, pretty and sweet. My dad described me as perky, cheerful and happy, my mom says beautiful, gentle, and self-conscious. These adjectives describe me accurately, yet they are only abstract versions of me. Adjectives cannot begin to describe me and I aknowlege these descriptions for what they are, a condensed translation from my outward self to the world. It is impossible for anyone to understand me completely because nobody has experienced the things I have. My mother has never cherished a raggedy doll named Katie and my father never spent hours upon hours making collages and scrap books for his future children. My uncle never hid in the back of a pick-up-truck and traveled four hours to New York and my grandmother has never walked hours in the rain looking for the Queen of England. My identity is something only I can define.
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
Being the only immigrant child opens the door to a lot of name calling in your family. I have always thought of myself as an American. So it annoyed me a little bit when my my sister or brother called me an immigrant. But it’s ironic because aren't I actually an immigrant myself? The one who came to America from Sri Lanka at nine months old with no papers. Went through extra security in airports because I wasn't yet a citizen. Always had to not only remember my social security but my green card as well . So why do I get frustrated when people label me as an immigrant, when the true matter is that I literally am one. Throughout my life these thoughts continuously go through my head and is still a working progress in which I am trying to figure out what I want to be, and what I’m actually am.
It was just a normal day. I was living at home with only me, John, and my mom. My dad had died trying to protect the village from a wild animal from the forest. My mom wanted me to go to the market and get some food. So I did. As I made it to the market I could see all of the things being traded. I went to were the food was being traded and traded some stuff for some food. As returned home I noticed a couple of strange voices I didn’t notice. I walked into the house. It got dead silent. Then all last I heard were gunshots until everything went black.
All human beings, no matter the age, experience feelings of helplessness. There are times in our lives where we are forced through changes against our will, and we are forced to accept circumstances. In these situations, we have to look inward to fully understand our reactions. We can gain new insights if we are willing to take a second look at the ideas and thoughts that come to us in the form of dreams. For children, when there are changes in their parents’ lives, the children are forced to change with them, whether they are ready to or not.
As time went by, I started to build my own life and go to a university and to work as well. I didn’t have any method transportation, throughout a certain time I began to struggle to arrive to my locations. My father began to see that I
I was born in the State of Nayarit, Mexico, in a little town by the name of Coamiles where my father met my mother. My father’s family had moved to Mexico from Yuma, Arizona where my father was born. Six sons later he brought the family from Mexico to California in 1970. I am the fourth to the eldest and was eight years old at the time with all six of us being approximately two years apart in age. You can say that like Santiago who traveled to Egypt searching for his treasure and personal legend, our father brought all of us to find our treasure here in the United States. Perhaps he also intended for us to realize our personal legend as well. Had we followed our father’s vision of our future, our personal legend would have been to attend college and improve the family with every generation to come. My father was one of those parents that always encouraged his sons to achie...
This journey taught me so much that I wouldn’t have ever imagined. I grew from this experience mentally and I saw my parents becoming closer and regaining that bond they held with one another. This event taught me to be more appreciative with all the little things I have and made me realize that life isn’t going to go the way you want it to; you have to fight for the path to lead you in the right direction. I was brought closer to both my parents and my brothers. This event started new beginnings for this family, a new start to get things right because when I found out I would be moving to San Diego, I never would have realized the struggles I went through; especially when I was a silent voice in the decision.