Personal Narrative: My Move To America

I heard my mom talking to my dad. He tells her, “voy a ir para el norte(US) con un coyote(a person who brings people to the US illegally) que cobra barato,” I see her hugging him really tight. My dad comes to my sister and I and tells us that he will be back later, to not worry because he’s just going to see how “el norte” is, then might take us there later. My sister, my mom, and I understood why he wanted to go to The United States, he wants a better life for us.

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.

My mind takes me back to a time when I woke up to the aroma of food from street vendors through the homes that sit in a tightly compacted neighborhood. I remember growing up as a young boy in an area referred to as “La Laguna” in Mexico. This city was dry in rainfall levels and hope, my family were in the pursuit of an improved standard of living when they decided they wanted to move to the United States. Temporary living on the border made it tempting to go across a bridge and never come back. I saw America as elysium and Mexico as fool’s paradise, where the violence was rare and financial stability was so common.

Our conversation seemed to have no direction and eventually Sufi propped up on his elbow and asked me a question in English, albeit broken, that will never leave me: "In America do you do as the Americans do, or do you stick with your culture? " At the moment I did not attribute any importance to the question and waved it away, I was more surprised that another person was able to speak in English. That night as the three of us were sitting on a bed doubling as Sufi 's bed, dining table, ironing table and worktable eating American style burgers, sipping a traditional Indian mango drink and watching the USA play Belgium in the FIFA world cup my mind wandered to the question Sufi had asked me earlier on in the day, something that my mind kept inexplicably returning back to, annoyed I pushed it out of my

Transitioning to the American life as a ten-year-old child was extremely challenging. I was clueless and did not understand anything. English was painful to learn even though; I realized it must be essential to know it. Philippines was my home moreover, I missed the people, the food, and the places I have visited. School was especially a struggle to me.

Our family’s ability to adjust was going to be put to test. We faced the biggest challenge in our lives when we moved to the USA. It was very hard to leave our childhood life in Mexico, those years were priceless. We still carried in our minds those special memories of child naughtiness. We did not have toys to play with; instead we had animals to feed and to take care, those chickens, ducks, caws, sheep were very demanding.

A few weeks later, as my mother was driving to the store, three men held her at gunpoint for her purse and the keys to her car. The next day, my parents announced we were moving to the States. Although I was born in El Paso, Texas, I had only visited the U.S. for vacations or the occasional shopping trips. I did not speak or understand much English, other than “yes,” “no,” and “thank you.”

I have already told you the story of when my grandmother passed away, but I haven’t told you about her decision to live in this country. My mother at the time was very young, only one and a half, when my grandmother decided come to journey across the border into America. My grandfather had a working visa, and used it to go to America for months at a time, leaving his family of eleven behind. His jobs mostly consisted of picking cotton, and picking many different fruits and vegetables. Although it was very hard work for my grandfather, it was a lot more money than working anywhere in mexico.

I remember the day when I landed in Charlottesville the place that I thought of as home. It was 17 August 2015. At first, this place felt so cozy and comfortable that I didn’t feel like leaving this place forever. The people were so welcoming; it was a treat to have chosen a college, which provides you a homely feel. If I remember it correctly, it was a warm Wednesday afternoon when I contemplated, is home the right place for me to grow?

Never in my thoughts did I perceive my life as different or bicultural. It was not until the second decade of my life that I had realized what it meant to be a first generation American and how that has influenced the person I am today. Growing up I excelled in many sports, joined every spelling bee, and took every opportunity I could find. I was even an all American Girl Scout for 7 years. I excelled in school and always found myself to be abnormally over ambitious.

Being a U.S. Citizen, I have taken the luxuries of life here for granted. Clean water, food, shelter, and free education are a few of the advantages I obtained. It has been a pleasure to have these opportunities, and I did not realize that there are people in this world who do not obtain these essential necessities in life. After I complete my education, I not only intend to give back to my local community, but I also want to serve those dying from poverty in my home country.

I want every material thing in the world. I want new games, new clothes, a new phone, and a new car, and a whole bunch of additional things. Most of the time my parents are able to get me everything I demand, but I just want more and more. I'm not satisfied with what I already have; I basically just take everything for granted, and I realized this after I took one trip and experienced one bizarre event. At first before my trip, I was constantly begging for items with costly logos.

“You did it wrong, you aren't even trying, you're going to have to restart.” my mom said to me as I was redoing my math for the third time that day. “If you don't get the basics down tonight, you’ll have to do this tomorrow also.” My mom went to America because of the American dream and more opportunity She arrived in America at Oregon during 1991 after leaving Vietnam.

“Mis hijas, hoy fue su ultimo dia de escuela. Esta noche nos tomaremos un avión hacia Los Estados Unidos.” boasted my mom as she heatedly threw some of our best clothes into a suitcase. It was a day like any other until I arrived home from school and my mom welcomed my sisters and I with the news that we were going to take a flight to the United States of America in a few hours. Even as I write about it, I once again feel the chills that raced through my body that day.

On Thursday October 1, 1998 in a small village called Bhunerheri, located in Punjab India, I was born. Sadly, I had to leave India because my parent brought me to America when I was only two years old. They had planned to bring me to America when I was still in the womb. My own dad wasn’t even in India when I was born, he was here in America. We came to live in Lodi, California , where I went to school and got a good education and made many new friends.