When I was about the age of 8, I was living in Nepal, My family was a middle class family, which would be considered poor in America because 1 buck here is 100 buck there. Even though we weren’t the richest we weren’t the poorest either, life was pretty good as far as I knew. Until my parents told me that we were moving to America and that it was the best thing for us to do. My head started rushing with many questions. How about my friends? What kind of people are going to be there? Where will we live? I didn’t know whether to feel excited or sad, my emotions were very mixed.
I asked my parents why? Why are we and why would move to America? They told me that this place was not good for me and my siblings and we deserved better, and by that they meant that the education in Nepal was horrible and if we moved it would be the best for us plus we would get to see the other half of my family. I was
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I was anxious to see what this new place was, It was sooo different from where I used to live.
After that, we came straight to Colorado, It was blazing hot, this place had an “airport” smell. My relatives welcomes us with warm rice with curry. Their house looked very different from where I used to live. life was tough the first year, I didn’t know anything or anyone, I didn’t even know a hint of English. I was suppose to be in 3rd grade but they placed me in 4th grade which meant that they expected me to know more. In fourth grade, I didn’t learn much but in 5th grade I had this teacher named Mrs.Gomez and she pushed me so much into doing a better job. She helped me out a lot and supported me because she had a similar story as mine. She would always say “ Roma, talk to your friends in English not Nepali,” and that actually helped because I got the hang of just communicating in