Personal Narrative: Moving To America

I had never seen such affection and care as I did from my family. After all the goodbyes, we made our way into the airport. I held on tight to my rolling suitcase as I walked to my future and I will never forget the love and support that stood there weeping. After waiting in the airport for over two hours, the plane finally arrived. I was sitting in my airplane seat slowly anticipating to see my mom that I hadn’t seen for six years. I remember the first day that I came to America. Getting out of that airplane exhausted and not being able to walk because I had been sitting in the plane for 24 hours. I was in the Phoenix airport, looking around nervously in a peculiar place filled with strange people. But, the moment I saw my Mom and my family, I was serene once again. Previous to moving to America, I had lived in Ethiopia my whole life. When I was two years old, my grandmother called my mom to utter the dreadful words “I have stage 4 breast cancer.” Like any other daughter, my mom left Ethiopia with my three month old little brother to take care of my ill grandmother. Being

It wasn’t only the language foreign barrier, but it was also having to adjust culturally. My biggest obstacle was feeling like an outcast. In the third grade, several students questioned me for the stereotypical living standards in Africa portrayed by media. They asked me if I lived in a hut, if I starved and, if I had clean drinking water. At the time being only eight years old, I never could fully comprehend why I was the only child that received those types of questions. Later on, I soon realized that it wasn’t because of the way I looked or the way I dressed; it was just because of the preconceived notion that I was born and raised in Africa. Most of the people that I have met assumed that I had an underprivileged life in Ethiopia. The truth is that, I had a big house, a plentiful amount of food and a loving