Importance Of Childhood Memories

I think of my life and memories as an ocean: serene and still or rough and rigid. But in the end it’s always beautiful and breath-taking. Some of my memories warm me up from the inside. But they also tear me apart. Unfortunately, the memories that teared me apart are the best I can remember. My childhood memories, when I look back at them, are filled with resentment and bitterness. The first few memories, I was spent with strangers. Strangers my parents paid to be our care-givers. Some of this strangers were kind and compassionate, some were troubled and negligent. My dad received so much help due to the circumstances in his country. I remember an instance when my community gave us a helping-hand. They helped us fix our trailer and built a

My two oldest sisters would eventually leave because they became constant targets of verbal humiliation. Somewhere along the way, my parents sought for help. Things became less tense and less aggravating. Still, this obstacle caused me to realize resentment would push me down. I decided to focus all my energy in relearning the things I lost in Honduras. By fourth grade year, I was voted the most improved and the hardest-worker. My teachers saw my potential and they saw all the energy I put into learning English. The encouragement from my teachers made me interested in literature, culture, and language. I became a bookworm. My nose would always be stuck in a book. It was difficult for my sisters and I to adapt; especially because I was reserved. Fast-forward to middle school. I had so much confidence walking in. I started making friends. Unfortunately, the bullying starter. I was afraid to talk. Students will make remarks on my accentuated English, and would mock it. And the irony? It was from my Spanish-speaking peers. Not only was I self-conscious, but I became isolated. This isolation continued throughout middle school. I focused on doing everything to

Nine years after arriving to the United States, I am still learning how to express myself. It was a rigorous process, but I feel like I succeeded. My English may not be perfect, but it is now my first language. Everyone has to know where they came from to know where they want to go. As any regular teenager, I have my doubts. It’s like a tornado rummaging my head when I think about my future and my goals. I know what my parents expect from me, I know what my community expects, and I know what the world expects from me: They expect I become a well-off, responsible adult that contributes to society. Every day since my second arrival to this country, I’ve been reminded that my purpose was to have a more productive lifestyle and to have the education many in my country ache to have. At times, I feel like if I don’t have a set goal, I will end up being a failure. There’s a voice inside my head saying: “you’ll never reach it”. Every time I feel this way, something sparks in me. And that’s when I decide to work the hardest. For me, my career choice is something that I’ve always dreamt of: traveling the world and learn about what makes our world so