My Autobiography Of An Immigrant

As a child I would always see my parents work hard for every dollar they made. When I reached my teenage years I realized that it was because they were immigrants to this country and took whatever job opportunity they could find. I also came to realize that I was an immigrant, and that life was tougher for not having the proper documentation. This year I fell into the biggest hole of my life. I learned that I was not going to get financial aid because of my legal status and my mother was also diagnosed with a tumer last month.

According to Section 217 of the New York Worker’s Compensation Act of 1910, employers were required by law to compensate their employees if a personal injury were to result from their occupation. However, this law only applied to specific types of dangerous labor, including “demolition, blasting, tunneling, electrical construction, and railroad operation.” In 1910, making shirtwaists was not considered a dangerous activity, so victims’ families of the fire could not expect to receive any compensation from the accident. The Charity Organization Society of the City of New York Red Cross Emergency Relief Committee published a report, showing a detailed account of everyone they gave aid to.

Being a child of immigrant parents is not easy. You are constantly living in the fear that one day you’ll wake up and you parents won’t be there with you anymore. Specially now that we have a new president, things are getting more challenging. But don’t get me wrong, I live a happy life. I am proud to call myself a Latina.

I woke up on an especially cool winter morning and looked over to my mother’s side of the bed. She was not there, I knew that, but I secretly wished she was. I swung my legs off the bedside and rushed to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get myself ready for school. This was a typical morning for me.

Growing up in an immigrant household in America, was difficult. I didn’t live, I learned to adapt. I learned to adapt to the fact that I did not look like any of my peers, so I changed. Adapted to the fact that my hair texture would never be like any of my peers, so I changed. Adapted to the fact that I was not as financially well off as my peers, so I changed.

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.

Day 2 Immigrant. That word gives me a label here. I am crossing the border to the U.S because my parents think it will give us a new beginning and a better life. I think they’re wrong. Our life in El Salvador was fine: We had a nice house and we were healthy.

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.

Ten years ago, I immigrated to the United States and ever since I have been an undocumented immigrant. Due to my legal status in the United States, I felt like I was restricted from certain situations and possessions and would never be able to succeed. I was not living the normal life of a seven-year-old. Instead, I had to learn to cope and adapt to a whole new culture. Even though the drastic change at such a young age was a challenge, it has shaped who I am today.

My most rewarding accomplishment consists of my ability to overcome the fear and weakness that was conceived upon my arrival to the United States from Mexico, in addition to a newly evolved character which allowed me to achieve academic, professional, and personal success. Nearly seven years ago, my mother and I immigrated from a harsh economic climate in Mexico that was plagued with unemployment. Additionally, our family faced bankruptcy. While holding onto our faith, we left our hometown with only what we could carry and bought two one-way bus tickets. With nothing more than fear, two bags, and $50 in each of our pockets, we set out for what would be the most challenging journey of our lives.

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.

The Back of a Nonexistent Line In the film Documented and The New York Times article “My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant,” Jose Antonio Vargas describes his experience as an undocumented immigrant in the United States and provides a passionate argument for creating a pathway to citizenship for others like Vargas, who are undocumented as well. Although both the film and article give the viewers and readers an insight into Vargas’ difficult journey, a particular scene in the film sends an unspoken message about the United States as a whole. In Documented, the scene in which Jose Antonio Vargas attends a Mitt Romney campaign rally is detrimental to the immigration debate because it demonstrates the need for Americans to be educated about undocumented

Coming from a low income family, living in a small town in India, I learned early on about struggling and surviving those struggles. I watched my parents working day and night to provide for electricity, pay for our monthly school fees so my sister and I can have a better education, and for the future they wished upon for their children. To further enhance this vision, my father decided for the family and I to immigrate to the US. Everything was different in the sense that I changed schools, learned a new language, had to make new friends, and learned the different culture. I had to adapt to a whole new world, which was a little difficult at 6 years old

In this paper I have preferred to discuss the novel The Immigrant written by Manju Kapur a distinguished and an internationally acclaimed writer of the post-nineties era. She was born in Amritsar in 1948. She currently lives in Delhi, India. She is the one who is absolutely progressive and very just in her feministic approach almost all in her novels like Difficult Daughters, A Married Woman, Home, The Immigrant and Custody. She has secured her prominent presence for what she writes about women, their emancipation, and their role in society, most of all their individuality and sense of self actualization.

My mom was all I had for the first 14 years of my life until she died. Losing my mom sent my emotions on an unforgettable journey. I sat there looking at my mother’s lifeless body in shock. I was speechless. I felt like someone had just pulled the plug on me.