Imagine traveling on open water in a small boat crammed with as many refugees as possible. A cloud of worry constantly looming over their heads while fending off pirates who robbed and raped them. No matter how hard you may try, it is something that is impossible to imagine. Countless people come to America for a better life; this was also the case for my parents. After the Vietnam War, the ruined landscape left them with a choice: either stay in the destroyed country, or start a new life elsewhere. Undeniably, their only choice was to come to America. When my parents were teenagers, they fled their home country with nothing but their names, ultimately allowing me to have an opportunity to apply for college and establish a foundation for success.
Although my family has not spent much time in America, it was strange how quickly I became familiarized with American culture. Since my parents traveled to America after the Vietnam War in the 1980’s, my siblings and I are the first American-born generation. When my parents spoke Vietnamese to me for the first time, the only thought that was running through my mind was, “How helpless can I be?” For the
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At first, I felt like I did not have anyone with whom I could share this new-found pride. Only a small percentage of first-generation Vietnamese people attended my school. Eventually, I turned towards my church to learn more about my culture and language. Initially, I feigned having an interest in the community. However, after becoming more involved in my community, not only have I established a connection between my culture and me, but I also found many like-minded teenagers who are in the same situation as me. The importance of having friends who were in the same dilemma as me reinforced the feeling that I was not alone; I was not the only person who did not consider themselves a “true”