Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
Experiences in community service
My community service experience
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
More handpicked essays just for you.
Experiences in community service
My community service experience
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Joining organizations at school are a very common subject to be conversed around college, even before college. There will be constant rambles from advisors and other upper-classmen to join clubs and organizations as a first-year student in college. Throughout college, this type of concern is everyone generally informed of. Even through all the important reminders and advices that students receive from others, there are still many students who are refusing to execute the first step toward joining an organization due to lack of motivation, knowledge, or courage. However, VSA, otherwise known as Vietnamese Student Association, is not just any typical organization on campus, it’s a family.
I am Hmong-American student, I am seventeen years old. My hometown is in Wausau Wisconsin in the United States. I attend Wausau West High School and it will be my last year. My relationship with my family is great.
Passionate, open-minded, worldly, hard-working, leadership skills Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story. She points her pale finger at a word and I say, “Legislature.” She pauses, and then repeats the word, “Legislature.”
My father immigrated from Guatemala when he was 19 to support his family back home. My mother, from El Salvador while fleeing the revolutionary war. They have worked hard, exceptionally hard, for me not to pursuit my dreams of joining the Peace Corps. This is a I considered filling out an application to join the Peace Corps straight after college but glad I waited. I have gained experience, but more importantly, I have matured mentally and emotionally and I am capable of understanding what it would require of me to leave my family, home, and career for two years and I am ready.
Growing up as Hmong-American youth, I was raised by a father who joined the military when he was twelve years old. He was forced into the Vietnam war fighting for safety, peace, and a relationship with the United States of America. Through this military influence and discipline at such a young age, my father accepted the military lifestyle. He carried it over from the Vietnam war to my family today. Growing up, my father was always strict on me, especially when it came to my appearances and education.
It was 1976 and the war had just ended people were still picking up the pieces from the war. We meet Ahn mother on a train in Saigon selling illegally so she can support her younger siblings while her brother are in communist re-education camps. Anh father meets and save his mother which began their relationship Anh father was always a leader in the beginning for his younger brothers and sisters and now for his wife and children. With the country in peril and living poverty Anh father decided it would give him and his family a better life if they left Vietnam he also rescued Ahn mother siblings out of the re-education camps giving them more reason to leave. 1.
I’m able to resonate with a plethora of things, yet the thing I consider my identity is I’m an adopted, Haitian immigrant. I was born in Haiti in 1998, in a small village in Thomazeau, I moved to Croix-des- Bouquets right after my birth and I lived there until I was 9 years old. My family's financial situation was adequate. My mom was always able to find a way to make ends meet. This cause our neighbor to be envious of us.
I am an active member in our community. I volunteer every month, at least once a month. One of the organizations that I volunteer at is Spoonful of Hope. This organization dedicated to feeding those who were, and still are feeling the effects of hurricane Sandy. They also give food to those who are hungry and in need of a decent meal in our community.
Fall Hike in October I’m running out of my house, slamming the door behind me and shouting, “I’m free!” at the top of my air-filled pink lungs. I get a few weird looks from the neighbors that are outside and a few from even the one’s inside but they’re used to my usual crazy outbursts. I don’t know if I should be worried by that or not.
Immigration a strong word that defines and that my family express there feelings to. At the age of 3 I was just a little girl running around the house in my dipper playing with my older brother. I do not clearly remember what happen even though I was present I had to ask my mom about it. Both of my parents migrated from Mexico to the United States when they where around 17-19 years old in 1990. My parents met in the United States a year after, my mom got pregnant by my dad and had my older brother by September 1992 and 2 years later I was born.
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.
Life as a Native American sucks. I realized this when I was a little kid. I’ve come to accept that what other people label or describes us as are true. I’m not happy to admit this they are right. My people don’t do anything to prove these people’s claims, or better known as stereotypes, about Native Americans wrong.
Some met in college or married in Vietnam. For the most part, they are all married to other Vietnamese people. One of my aunts married her husband and his cousin married my other aunt, so I have double cousins. It might be even easier to get along with people in the same community because they have the same morals
The year was June 23rd, 1968. It was wet, mucky, and the air was filled with a thick sweat that seemed to never dissipate. We were in the middle of thick, green, tropical jungle in Saigon, Vietnam. Me and my friend Carlton were in a platoon of 6 other men. We were sitting there smoking our cigarettes and telling old stories of the good old days when were back in America.
Growing up at a refugee camp in a very poor country is not what an average child has to go through. In Nepal we did not have much shelter to live by. We were given some bamboos, thatch and some rope to build up our home and once a month they would give us some rice. I grew up without electricity therefore television was very rare to me. I was born at the house made up of bamboo and thatch rather than a proper hospital with some form of professional care.