Personal Narrative: The Day I Left My Home

I remember what the weather was like the day I left my birthplace Mexico City. It was the second week of October 2003. It was a grey cold day, and the determined clouds drifted quickly muffling the sun's beams. A heaviness filled the day reflecting the sadness and fear, which overpowered not only myself, but my mother. I was four years old and my memory of this day continues to reside vivid and clear. I recall detail by detail exactly as it occurred, treasuring the faces of the family members I left behind. A sense of uncertainty filled our home that day, although I was a young girl I quickly picked up on what was occurring. I knew that something drastic was going to happen, but my families' attempt to keep me marginalized in order to shield me from the vast change only installed a profound fear within me. This day marked the start of

Although, it was a brunt experience, which at the time left me feeling extremely discomforting, I now have the ability to reflect, and ratify the immense sacrifice this primarily implemented for my mother. Blinded by my emotions and childish reasoning I was incapable of realizing that this was a gift for my siblings and me. She ripped us away from a place that had nothing to offer us, no opportunities, no hope for something better; she made a difficult decision that has now rendered a fruitful outcome. I remember a few nights prior to this impacting experience, family and friends came in and out of my grandparents' home. They constantly mentioned the phrase "El Norte," this was all anyone could talk about, little did I know the importance behind this phrase and what it would invoke. They would constantly ask me "Are you excited? Are you scared?" These two questions surfaced repeatedly. I was unable to answer them; I simply