An Immigrant: A Story Of My Life

Welcome. A single word on the carpet by the door greets me whenever I come home. There had been times where that one word made my heart beat and cry with joy. But not now, for many things changed through the years. Now when I look at this carpet, I instead question back: ‘Do you really mean that?’

“Mom, will I ever be treated as a regular person? When will I be like the others without people look at me in a strange way and make fun of me, when mom? When?” Those were the questions I did to my mom almost every day after getting home from school. Fourteen years ago that my parents brought me to this country offering a better life with better opportunities than where I was born. I was seven years old when came to the United States, but I still remember the happiness I felt when I first step in this country. Throughout the years, I have realize that not everything is easy and simple as I imagined. My parents worked in the fields because of the lack of a social security and not knowing how to speak English. Many Americans do not know how hard it is the life of an immigrant, they should have a consideration for us and not just blame us for the deviance of the United States.

Humanity is ever so much more complicated than one could have ever imagined. Humans can thrive on change, but ultimately look for something to declare as home. In search of this home people travel long distances and risk everything they have. When an American contemplates the word immigrant, one imagines the countless people from Mexico crossing into our country or the refugees that hope to make this country their home. What eludes most of us, however, is the reality that most people were, at one point, immigrants to this country and that our forefathers came here exactly the same as refugees come today. What is brought to mind when I hear the word immigrant is hope and perseverance. I remember the countless people who have traveled here

It is not uncommon to hear one recount their latest family reunion or trip with their cousins, but being a first generation immigrant, I sacrificed the luxury of taking my relatives for granted for the security of building a life in America. My parents, my brother, and I are the only ones in my family who live in the United States, thus a trip to India to visit my extended family after 4 years was an exciting yet overwhelming experience. Throughout the trip, I felt like a stranger in the country where I was born as so many things were unfamiliar, but there were a few places that reminded me of my childhood.

My family immigration story involves a lot of typical topics and a few hardships which people may not expect. By my generation, we have become accepted as White. However, both of my grandmothers had mixed ancestry.

On a random Thursday morning in the middle of October, I became an orphan. I have always been independent and mature from a young age, but all that changed on a crisp day in November when I learned what it means to grow up. Something typically marked by a Bat Mitzvah or the acquisition of a driver’s license was, for me, marked by the arrest of my single mother.

When I arrived to the United States I faced a challenging situation in my life, I didn’t know English. This challenging as I didn’t know how to communicate with any of my teachers or classmates, and I wasn’t able to do any of my work. Not being able to participate in class upsetted me because in Mexico I was use to doing all my classwork and homework. Therefore, I decided that I was going to do everything in my power to learn English quickly. So, when the my ESL teacher announced to my parents that they were going to have to take to school during the summer, I didn’t mind at all. When I was in summer school I learned a lot of English due to my determination and my hard work. Looking back I wouldn’t do things differently because I know that

I am an immigrant. I look and act like any other student at Reading High School, participating in class and school extracurricular activities. But, I live in constant fear. I am afraid that I may never be who I want to be. I worry that I may not get a job, go to college, or even get a driver's license. But what I worry most about is that my parents will be deported back to Mexico someday and I will lose my family, forever.

Throughout my entire life I have heard the word “immigrant” countless times, inmy childhood, in my middle school days, and especially nowadays with the controversial topic taking over social media. I’ve been labelled with this word or image ever since my birth, and yet I still don’t exactly know how I should feel about that.

I never knew my dad was illegally in the United States until he was arrested by U.S Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Everything happened so fast, and before I knew it my whole life was changing. One day I was having a pizza date with my dad, and a few days later I was in the car on a 3 hour drive to the Tacoma Northwest Detention Center to say goodbye to him as he awaited his deportation to Mexico. My father's deportation has been the hardest thing I have ever had to go through. It has brought on emotional hardships and financial struggles, which, has brought on challenges regarding my education.

I chose my immigrant participant from a personal perspective, yet not knowing much about him. Last year, my first year teaching, I had a little boy in my class that was Latino, very shy and quite. He struggled in reading and writing and after meeting with his parents and ESOL teacher several times, the decision was made to retain him in first grade. His parents, especially dad was hesitant about the decision, and began to tell small glimpses of how his son was very much like him, shy, and scared to reach out because of the language barrier. There was never much elaborated on, but I could tell that dad had possibly been in a similar situation before. This year, I was lucky enough to have this same child in my first grade class again. After receiving

One person can have the power to change a community’s perspective or sharpen it. As a Latina and an immigrant, my family’s experience has taught me about the process of entering the United States and the complications that follow. Still, my comprehension of social issues developed further the day I met my brother’s friend and classmate, who followed my brother home, unannounced, on the bus. I will call him Eric, my brother’s friend and his family are Salvadorian undocumented immigrants who seek political asylum. Eric’s family consists of a younger and an older sibling, and his mother. The only source of income is what his mother, who does not speak English very well, makes. Lately, this is what keeps me up at night. Thoughts of this child and his family consume my mind while I brainstorm ways of helping. At a young age when their biggest concerns

I am an immigrant, originating from Ukraine. I moved here three years ago to take advantage of the “land of the free”. I had heard of the conscription under Russian imperial dictators, such as Tzar Nicolas, and Soviet despots, like Stalin. Fourcing an individual to perform a service, regardless of the cause, seems to be slavery to me. When I found that men in America must register for the draft, in my eyes, “the land of the free” became slightly less free. It is abhorrent that men may be required to enlist in the military, and equally so for women and therefore should not be tied to feredal grants.

Today, I witnessed a young woman with her little daughter dropped multiple hundred bills in the parking lot prior to getting in her car. An associate saw the woman dropped her money and tried to get her attention, but was successful, so he puts the money in his pocket. I instantly approached the woman and briefly told her what I just witnessed. She asked me to go back to the store with her to vouch for her to the store manager. I agreed. Once we informed the store manager and confronted the associate who put the money inside his pocket instead of reporting it to security or his manger. She was able to procure her money back. Then, she told me I was a life saver. The woman explained to me she just got laid and really needed the money to support

He came back to the apartment while I was in the middle of dancing to “Promise” by Ciara in my living room. At first I didn’t even notice because I was so into it, but then I turned and saw him. He looked upset about something- which is probably why he was back so soon- but he was also staring at me in shock and mild interest. He looked away, face turning red, and that’s when I remembered that I was wearing only my black bra and panties with a see through black robe that probably doesn’t even qualify as a robe. But still I stood there, embarrassed, but also a little pleased that he was embarrassed as well. He brushed past me, making his way to his room. I followed after him. “Liam, what’s wrong?” He didn’t answer, just went in his room and