My uncle’s house
When I first arrived in the United States My family stayed with my uncle here in California. His house welcome us to stay here for several months while my parents look for our own. It has only been two years since I migrated, and the first months and days I do not really wanted to stay any longer, but my relatives (uncle and aunt) encouraged me to become a stronger person and explore new things so that I would not feel being homesick. Adding to that, those first days were my favorite, though I am still adjusting. It was quite an experience since I did not really know his family until just now, it felt strange, but I somehow managed to get to know them, hangout with them, and shared memories with them.
I felt like a fish being transferred to a bigger tank, and being shocked by the new things that are new to me. At the first days staying on my uncle’s house, I would say it was strange because it’s design is so different than our house in the Philippines. It consisted of four rooms, one for my two young cousins, one for my uncle and his wife, one for their grandma, and an extra room. For me I would consider this house big, since my house before only have two rooms. Everything felt so new like I haven’t seen before
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All of them, I would say loved cooking, you’ll see every cooking materials in their kitchen organized in the cabinets above. But if I would compare their cooking skills, I liked how grandma (my cousin’s grandma), cooked soups, porks, rice etc. Grandma is such a sweet nice person, she is in charge of taking care of my cousins, and she loves talking to my mom; we sometimes go out with her whenever we eat out in a restaurant or shopping. On the other side, my uncle and auntie were both nurses, both were busy but managed to bring us, around Sunnyvale to explore the markets, malls, churches, and
I’d never been in a house like this. It had rooms off of rooms, and in each of them were deep sofas and chairs, woven carpet over polished hard-wood floors, tasteful paintings on the walls. She asked if I was hungry, and she opened the fridge and it was stuffed with food-cold cuts and cheeses, fresh
close friends, and a stable job. Life was very easy and interesting for me. But living here,
Growing up, in a Mexican-American home, one of the first things that my siblings and I learned from home and social gatherings was that family is crucial. At family reunions, we would catch up with cousins that we did not get a chance to see in several months sometimes years. Most of my cousins are around my age, which made family reunions even better. Now, that most of us in the extended family have graduated high school, some began to go get a higher education, and
When we arrived, we felt weird because, we knew that everything was going to be new. For example, when we saw our new apartment, we liked a lot, but I was thinking that nothing was going to be the same. Afterward, we felt calm because the neighborhood was really nice. One of the thinks that we especially like is that the mall and a lot of restaurants are near from the apartments, so when we want to go shopping or eat something we can go out and have a good time. Another thing that we like a lot is that we can do meeting or parties in the apartment’s park; we can invite people and have fun. Now, we feel more comfortable living here, and enjoy everything in the United States.
As I grew older, between the transition of a child to a teenager, I learned more about my family, its culture and background, and even some back story about how they came to the United States to the first place. Back at home, my parents are certainly not home for long and everyday we weren't
I stayed in Texas for two years until one day I came home from school to find my mom packing up all of our belongings into our big red Toyota truck. She said “Pack up all your stuff, we’re leaving to stay with Jennifer and Jordan”--Mom’s best friend and my childhood friend-- “so we’re driving to Mississippi”. I stared at her for about two minutes as she hustled to pack her clothes into her suitcases but, I went to my room, went through my closet and started packing too. We finished the whole house in a matter of hours, we picked up my little brother from daycare and said goodbye to
When I left Mexico to come to the United States at the age of 10, I left my familia behind and continue the journey to the "American Dream." I never forgot the memories that I had cherished throughout my childhood years.
Lastly, after I officially got adopted. I was use to this family and thought of them as my parents. I obviously missed my real mom and sometimes still do, my new parents were awesome and we went on a lot of vacations. We went to Disney world, Sea world, Washington dc and more. I enjoyed most of the trips and would enjoy Dc more now than then. When we started to get use to this home we ended up moving to Minnesota from Missouri. This was a very big weather change, which affected me a lot at first, but I adapted fast. I have now lived in Minnesota for the majority of my life and really enjoy it.
I never would have imagined feeling like an outsider in my own home. Unfortunately I wouldn’t even go as far as considering my current home as “my home.” I live in a house with eight people and two dogs and for some, that might not even be slightly overwhelming, but for me it is. I try to keep my heart open about the situation, but I always end up feeling like I don’t belong. Given the circumstances of my situation, I would say life definitely turned out better than what I initially expected, but I was left feeling like a “stranger in a village” having to live with a family that is nothing like my own.
Being raised in a small town lower classed city called Cleveland Texas, my goal was to make it out of the rural area. The blue house is what I called my childhood home, even though most of the blue paint was chipped off and you mostly seen wood with a few areas of chipped blue paint. Before, getting to the house you had to go about a half mile down a red dirt clay road before getting to what looked like a small blue shake. Living in the home was a total of ten people, which included myself, mother, father, three siblings and three older cousins that stayed with us at the time. There were three small bedroom that did not include any type of closet, a full sized bed, and two dressers with a small TV with the fat back attached to it. It also had
Everyone has their own, personal place to have alone time and clear their heads. For me, that place is my bedroom in my apartment. My room is the one place where I feel most nostalgic and comfortable; its’ a comfort that can’t be replaced. My bedroom is my favorite room in my apartment because I always have my privacy there, and I feel like it shows my personal style, which I love.
“Home is where love resides, memories are created, friends always belong, and laughter never ends (Robot check).” A place becomes a home for me when I am around all the things that I enjoy and love. For example, when I am around everyone that I love, I enjoy a peaceful environment and the beautiful landscapes around me. The interpretation of home for me is not a physical thing that I see or that I can remember or even certain thoughts that I can relate, but it is a sensation that overcomes me when I envision being in the comfort of my own home. However, I know that this is a feeling that is calming to my soul and it quietly reassures me that I genuinely belong in a place where I can be free from people constantly judging me.
I can definitely relate to Mamasita’s experience to my mother’s experience when she arrived in America, New York to be exact. My mom missed her home in Colombia very much. She would try to do or listen to everything that she though wouldn’t make her feel so homesick but the realized just as well, that it made her feel even more homesick. My mom isolated herself from the world and didn’t meet anybody for the first 4 months. My mom began thinking to herself during these four months, “How can you meet other people and make a new home a familiar environment for yourself if you never give it a chance and leave the house?”
When reminiscing about my childhood a home is hard to recall. It seemed common for others to have a place called home. Moving from house to house was not the problem, but the empty feeling. Home to me was my grandparent’s house. I spent nearly all of my childhood there. My grandparents bought the one story house with two bedrooms in the early seventies. From the spacious bedroom, to the kitchen with endless possibilities and the way I spent my time this house defined my character.
As I approach the island on which my dream house awaits, I catch a quick