Several individuals from different ethnicities, races, and citizenships, compose a society. The United Sates allow us to have a close interaction with numerous individuals from diverse backgrounds. In my own case I have been able to interact with many incredible individuals from all over the world who come from extremely different backgrounds. I am a proud Mexican who cherishes respect towards diversity. Coming from a very suffered country I am able to understand not only what does it means to feel proud to be a Latino, but also I can feel acquainted with the pain and struggle that our community has to face every day.
The American Identity is more than just being a citizen in America. What makes the American Identity is the diversity that exists in America. America is a melting pot, which consists of many ethnic groups, religions, and ideas. It isn’t the appearance that makes you American, it is your mind and the way one acts make one American. I am a kid who is part Korean, French, and Chinese.
The new American hero (Just a quick look) Can you see the handsome young man sitting by my side, driving through the forest, behind the wheel of his decadent truck? Yes. I would trust him with my life (sip of vodka).
The American experience is not unfamiliar to me, I have been visiting America since I was a child and as a child I always wanted to move to America. My first visit here I fell in love with the culture specifically the freedom of expression. However the opportunity did not emerge for me to move to America legitimately and as promising young child, I did not want to damage my future by moving to a country illegally where I could not live to my full potential. I stayed in Jamaica and I completed my University education as a registered nurse and had become comfortable with my life in Jamaica. I started working the spring of 2013 and upon receival of my first paycheck, I was reminded that this is not the place I wanted to be.
In my opinion being American means not only living here, but following the law and respecting your elders, but it also means doing the traditions and and my family that is going to one of my family member 's house for Easter this year we went to my cousin Melissa’s and that is an Easter I will never forget. I always dress up for Easter or at least the first part. This Easter it was my cousin Owens first Easter back from Hawaii and after I got there the first thing we went to do was go see how many sports balls we could, we could catch he won because he has a bigger wing span than me after we did that, we went and had an Easter egg hunt and even though I didn’t get a lot of eggs we had a good time and I know my cousins Neave and Amy and the
Its 1914 and I just got the news that we were finally going to America! We have been waiting for several years trying to save up money and figure everything out. Going to America is almost every ones dream here in Europe. Just like Oscar Hammerston said, “ You gotta have a dream.
My identity has always felt inextricably linked to what Miami is. A city that is teeming with immigrants, a city with dreams stacked and slopped atop each other, and a city that is living proof of the failed American dream. I say so because of my early observation that generation after generation of immigrants often seemed to stay trapped in dead end jobs; I saw this within my own family – within my grandmother, my aunts and uncles, and even my cousins. Here it was even within my own family tree the deep implicit message that there was no way out of our socioeconomic level. When I made it into an Ivy League college, it was a message that was slowly re-enforced by the fact that my demographic was the most represented in the custodial staff rather than within my own classmates.
I used to have this grudges in my heart when everything go hard that would made me wanted to blame my parent. But I can’t because I was not raise to think that way. When I come to America, I was eleven years old and no one asked me if I wanted to come it just happen in a second. I was in a cold place with extended family that I never met before and that one person who raise me and made me feel secure was still back in the country. I had to lived months without her and next thing you know I adapted and convince myself they are doing this because the wanted the best for me.
Anxiety, it’s the feeling that came over me when I arrived at the airport to come to America. I was born in Brasil, it was my home. So boy was I shocked when I heard that we were moving to the United States, and I was only six years old. My parents thought we would have a better life here in America because, with all the “opportunities” it offered, it was the place to be. My father flew over one month before I was scheduled to; he planned on getting everything situated by finding a job and a place for us to live.
“What was it like?” I asked, scrambling to keep up with my aunt. She paused, her tall thin frame standing in the doorway. Dishes lay scattered around us. Dinner had ended hours ago, and everybody was upstairs..
January 11, 2013, I wake up to yelling, prayers, and crying. I walked into the kitchen where all the noises were coming from and I found my mother on the floor crying, talking on the phone with my godmother. My father was there by her side, trying hard not to cry while supporting his wife. I didn’t know what was happening, this was the first time I’ve seen my mom so vulnerable and broken. My parents didn’t tell me anything other than my grandmother was in critical condition at the hospital, but with god's help she would overcome this hard time.
I moved to America when I was nine years old. Even though I did not know any alphabet, I gradually got used to the new environment. Soon, I got pleased about being able to live in America. I especially liked the atmosphere there. For example, when I went to a store, I noticed that everyone was so friendly to others.
Growing up in the United States from a very young age made me stray away from my Indian heritage, so in 2008, my parents saw the need to send my siblings and me to India in order to replenish the Indian culture in us. Initially, I had no idea as to how long we were going to live in India for, but by the third year, all I wanted was to come back to New York. Everything in India was just so different, convoluted and fruitless; just because I was American, I was treated differently–both negatively and positively. Peo I didn’t like India because of how corrupt it was.
Since the ripe age of twelve years old, I have been attending one of the best kept secrets of the Shenandoah Valley; Camp Strawderman. The ideals Strawderman implements are to make girls so happy they will share their happiness with others, to create friendships that shall last through life, and to bring out the hidden possibilities that lie within each girl. Helping girls to find themselves is a big aspect of both my time as a camper and as a counselor in training, called “T.A.”. I grew a deep love for helping other girls who had stumbled upon Strawderman to gain as much as they could out of their stay. As an older girl, all you can hope for is that you have made someone else’s stay just as wonderful as yours your first year at camp.
Not in a million years would I have thought I would ever move from my neighborhood in India to another house, let alone another country. If you would have come up to me and said I was moving, I probably would've just laughed at you, blinded by my obliviousness. But sure enough, one day, and I did not see this coming, my mother told me we were moving to the USA. Just out of the blue, no warning, just bam! Luckily for me, I was near a sofa when I heard this news, so I fell down on the sofa, not the ground.
