I am an immigrant well, kind of; I wasn 't born here, but then again I wasn 't raised anywhere else. My parents brought me over when I was a child so they would be the immigrants since they made the decision to come here; I was kind of brought along. The year was 1994, I was 3(three) years old and my family and I had just been offered the opportunity to come to the U.S. my parents took it leaving everything behind. We were one of the lucky ones; our process was clean and simple. My dad worked for a religious organization, the Seventh Day Adventist Union in the Dominican Republic, as a canvasser; he sold books related to health and ministry. I don’t remember anything about those early years, but from that young age my life was impacted by the …show more content…
Sadly, things in Puerto Rico were not as easy as we had hoped they would be, and we were only there for eight months. A serious(series) of unfortunate events led my parent to decide that we needed to go elsewhere to find better opportunities. We came in with $ and left to(for) New Jersey with only $. We had some family friends who had just moved to New Jersey who helped us find a place to live and get around NJ when we arrived. The difference in language was difficult for my parents, but they surrounded themselves with Spanish speakers who would help them understand English. My father canvased with other canvassers who worked for the union that spoke both Spanish and English and my mother began work at(in) a factory so that we could make ends meet. (My first memories are from) The first memories that I have are from NJ, we lived in an attic, it was small but clean. We didn 't have much, but we were happy. I never once went hungry and while both of my parents worked I was taken care of by a daycare. One of the new friends my dad had met canvassing moved to New York, they offered to share the apartment with us since it was more spacious than what we had in NJ, my parents again picked up and
America is a land filled with immigrants coming from different corners of the worlds, all in hopes of finding a better life in the country. However, No one had an easy transition from his or her home country to this foreign land. Not every race thrived the same way—some were luckier than others, while some have faced enormous obstacles in settling down and being part of the American society. Many people have suffered
I remember the first time I came to America; I was 10 years old. Everything was exciting! From getting into an airplane, to viewing magnificent, huge buildings from a bird’s eye view in the plane. It was truly memorable. After staying few days at my mother’s house, my father and I wanted to see what Dallas looks like. But because my mother was working the whole day, it wasn’t convenient for her to show us the area except only on Sundays. Finally, we went out to the nearby mall with my mother. My father and I were astonished after looking at a variety of stores. But after looking at different stores, we were finally tired and hungry, so we went into McDonald’s. Not being familiar with fast food restaurants, we were curious to try American
One day, my parents talked to my brothers and me about moving to United States. The idea upset me, and I started to think about my life in Mexico. Everything I knew—my friends, family, and school for the past twenty years—was going to change. My father left first to find a decent job, an apartment. It was a great idea because when we arrived to the United States, we didn’t have problems.
Being a Hispanic have impacted all my entire life; I lived 15 years of my life in Mexico I love being there because most part of my family live in Nuevo Laredo, I was cursing my last months of 8th grade and one day my mom told me that she was thinking about send me here to the U.S to start learn English; since I’m a U.S citizen and I didn't know the language of my country, I accepted. The most hard prove was live without having my mom at my side, since I live with my aunt now; when the days passed here in the U.S I started to depressed myself because I missed so much my house and all my family, one day in the middle of the night I call my mom crying and I told her that I really want go back to Mexico, but she didn’t take into account my desire my mom just explained me that it will be the best for my future and with the time I will be thankful with her for don’t let me go back. My mom, and my grandmother are the ones who motivates me to be a better student. Actually I’m in dual enrollment and I have taken AP classes; sometimes is hard for me talk, read or write in another language that the one I was accustomed but, every time I fail I get up and persist until I’m able to do what I want.
Where I am from, coming to America is an unachievable dream for most people; however, that dream became attainable to me one summer. When my father told my family and me that we were moving to America, I was very excited and I thought about a lot of things. I thought about all of the opportunities there were in the U.S. and how rich everyone must be. I also thought that everyone in the U.S. lived in big houses, and every school had a swimming pool. Most of what I conceived about America came from watching television, and a month later I would find out how wrong I was.
My family is first generation immigrants from Iraq, life coming to America was very hard. When we first came we did not speak much english. The first thing that made it so hard for us was learning a new language then having to take our citizenship test not to long after. Some of the questions that I studied for I know many native born Americans who would know the answers. This country though gave me an oppurintity that I never had before. My dad was drafted into the gulf war and during that time Sadam Hussian would have anyone killed if they did not. So my family fled to Saudi Arabia after time in the refugee camp we came to America. I feel that my story of life is so different, but I know many of us (immigrants) can relate to parts of my experiences.
United States usually known as the “melting pot” and it is a typical immigrant country. In the past 400 years, United States has become a mixture of more than 100 ethnic groups. Immigrants bring they own dream and come to this land, some of them looking for better life for themselves and some want to make some money to send back home or they want their children to grow up in better condition. Throughout the history there’s few times of large wave of immigration and it is no exaggeration to say that immigrants created United States. For this paper I interview my neighbor and his immigration story is pretty interesting.
Growing up we go though many experiences that change our perspectives on the appreciation of things in our lives. I grew up in an immigrant family. They came from India, working multiple labour jobs at a time while trying to raise a family. When growing up in immigrant family money tends to be a big issue, parents are working multiple minimum wage jobs just to pay the bills. No matter what the issue was with money my parents always tried to keep my brother and I happy. Life was really hard for my parents when they were growing up. Both of them lost their fathers at a very young age, so they lived their whole lives with a single parent. They always told me how hard life is when you only have one parent, and how much they miss their late fathers.
I was raised with just my immediate family around. The only family I had present was my father, my mother, and my older brother. I am the second born child of two European immigrants. I was born in the United States, however my older brother and parents were born in Poland. Two years before I was born, my brother and my parents moved from a small farm town in Poland to Chicago, Illinois. They came to the States with two small suitcases and a couple hundred dollars in their pocket. To start off in an unfamiliar country with little to nothing and with no knowledge of the language, to becoming home owners in a northern suburb is such an accomplishment. The drive and work ethic that my parents have raised me in has shaped me to be who I am. Hearing
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.
I came to the United States seven years ago as a Refugee from Nepal in exploration of freedom, joy, and identity but mainly for a superior education. Living a refugee life was very tough for my family and I. We lived in a house made up of bamboo and plastic without electricity provided. We would use candles for light. It used to be so hot during summer and our roof would leak when it rained. There was not a single day that I remember when we actually could sleep peacefully. My father and mother earned very less to feed us. Even if they were educated, they weren’t allowed to go out of the camp and earn good money. My parents had given up on their life but they were very concerned about me and my sibling’s happiness and most importantly
My heart was pounding as I boarded my flight leaving the Bangkok International Airport. A flight attendant in a grey dress with a red bow draped over her shoulder announced; “Welcome aboard flight AA350 to the United States.” My journey began that day.
My story starts when I came to the United States about three years ago from Colombia. My family and I had to start from scratch, because none of us spoke English at all and arrived with nothing more than our suitcases. As soon as we arrived, we had to live in a crowded house, where my sister, my parents and I
My parents arrived in the United States hoping for a better future not for themselves, but for the baby they carried in their arms. We would often move from relatives ' houses since my parents couldn’t afford renting an apartment themselves. We were fortunate enough to have caring relatives who didn 't mind us living with them since they knew the hardships we were going through. I grew up in a household where only Spanish was spoken given that both my parents didn’t speak any English at all. When I was in kindergarten, my teacher was afraid that I would be behind the rest of my classmates, given that I only spoke Spanish fluently. I was fortunate to receive free tutoring from my kindergarten teacher. We would often read books together until
From Jacmel, Haiti my step- father immigrated to America at the young age of eighteen, my mother followed suit in 1994 pregnant with me. As a