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Reflection on writing personal narrative
Reflection on writing personal narrative
Reflection on writing personal narrative
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I came to Canada a year ago. As a new emigrant I faced many challenges, that has changed my life. When I arrived with my family in Canada, my parents had a small deposit that just supported us, as a family, for a few months. After that, my parents could not find job due to lack of English proficiency. Canada’s government help us with a small amount of money that helped us to live.
Upon meeting me, not many people know that I am a first generation American. However, they are usually interested in the orgin of my last name. I am in fact Ukranian. Both my parents and my older sister were born in Ukraine. They immigrated to America in 1992 because of religious persecution that they were facing.
Becoming a us citizen of us from the time that I was in high school, I though in getting the citizenship through my mom,but I noticed that she was really scared of applying, so I didn 't bother her and chose to wait the require time to apply by myself after two years of waiting, I stared the process and the fist step was filling the application in Internet, second was taking the on us office and last was taking an oath, after all this steps finally I got my citizenship. When I stared applying with the us citizen office, I was eighteen years old and I was really scared and nervous of the process, But that dint stop me from starting the application. So I decided to fill the application on line with all my information and paying all the fees with my moms credit card, after that I had wait for one month and a half and while that I felt that the waiting time was taking for ever, but when I got the letter it makes me feel better knowing that they received my information and
Coming to America with my parents when I was about 11 years old was a new adventure for me. There were a lot of changes that needed to be made and experiencing new things. I would have to make some adjustment and getting used to the American culture and learning the language they speak. My parents had made a big sacrifice coming to America. Living their home country just so my siblings and I could get a better education and better life.
As I heard my grandparent’s conversation I came to realize what was going on. It was time to be with my mom. I felt excited but at the same time scared, It feels like it was just yesterday. Two days later I found myself packing. I packed everything that’s when I came to realize what was truly happening.
Coming To America Moving from my village in Nairobi, Kenya seemed like a very distant and unimaginable situation which I gave no thought to at that moment in time. However, that soon changed when the news of our departure to a new country came to our doorsteps. My family and relatives were happy for us and as they gave their farewells but I felt longing to stay and not leave a place where I called home for so many years.
My identity was created when my parents wrote my name on my birth certificate in 1998. Not knowing anything, my parents decided to walk away from the Hmong tradition of giving their descendant a Hmong name and wanted to become more Americanized for the better of my future. They came to the conclusion of calling me Billy, which have no affiliation with being Hmong at all, being the first in the family to walk down this path. Being borned in the United States as the youngest child in my family and being, with my four older siblings, the first generation of Hmong-American, allows me to have a different life than I would in Laos. Since my childhood, my culture is influenced by the experiences and opportunities that had shaped me as the person
The first eight years of my life, I spent in India where I was born. Growing up I was constantly reminded by my parents that I needed to make them proud by getting a good job and living a good lifestyle. They told me this because they did not want to see me live a hard life like they did. When I was nine years old, I moved from India to the United States of America. The reason why I moved to America was not because I was living a bad life in India, it was so that I could have a better education and more opportunities in life.
I am not like the typical college student. I migrated to the United States at the age of 12 with my family. Moving to the US at this age was quite challenging; however, it was nothing compared to the challenges I faced growing up in a third world country- India. I remember it vividly; the company that my father worked for shutting down, thus taking away my family’s only source of income.
There are plenty of times in our lives when we all feel alienated and your teenage years are the prime for that. There’s plenty of instances I can recall being female and an immigrant, mostly earlier in life, but one specific time stuck out. It wasn’t a single event, but rather an experience. My experience of going to elementary school after I moved to America was definitely one of the first times when I felt separated from the larger group. I moved to Michigan from Pakistan in the June of 2005, when I was eight years old.
First generation immigrants sacrifice their adulthood in search of a better life for their family and for future generations to come. My father came from Peru to support his family. He was the first person in his family to come to America. He works in road construction from morning until night so that my family is supported. The desire to repay both of my parents is the belief that guides my life.
As a teenager moving to a new country with a different culture, different language, and being thousands of miles away from everyone I grew up with was not an easy change, however, that was precisely what I did in January of 2013 when I came to the United States with my father. My whole world changed since, and shaped my way of thinking. From learning English, adjusting to a new culture, experiencing my first snow and finding my way in my new country, my life has been an exciting adventure. My parents brought me to America almost 5 years ago to have a better life, and to get a better education.
My immigrant experience started one year ago, during my senior year in high school with my parents we decided that I will go abroad for college. I looked at lots of universities from different countries China, England, United States and Canada. I had a preference for Canada specially Montreal because of the French language we share, on top of that my uncle was living there. However, I did not apply because my father was against that idea, he did not like the weather and convince me to choose United States. I did not have any idea where to go in the United States, I used to spend hours on my laptop looking for universities.
While every other thirteen year old my age had new shoes; I had to take care of mine since mid summer up until late winter. I remember I was a forthcoming freshman when I underwent an unfortunate immigration odyssey. I was not too young yet not too old to cope with the situation--however, social pressures did creep up on my shoulders. This unfortunate event did not only reflect itself on my footwear--it also shattered the pink colored glasses I saw life through. The day my stepfather left impulsively to the impoverished ranch in Durango, Mexico that he grew up in, the odyssey formed.
Life in America has forced me to become a leader in my family since I am our most member. I had to put my emotions aside to be strong for my family. I found a house to rent, and applied for government subsidies for my family. After getting my family settled, I next focused my
