My mother waves from the driveway as we pull away in the moving truck. She is smiling at me, but I know her heart is breaking. My father puts his arm around her and together they say goodbye. The air outside is cold but it is sunny and as we pull away from the house with my life’s possessions and our brand new baby, embarking on our journey, I feel a rush of excitement. Onward! With shiny card in hand we make our way through the country border, the ache of butterflies swimming in my stomach, so nervous. What if we forgot something? A paper not signed? A check not cashed? I can hear every sound, the hum of the truck and the gentle kicking of my daughter in her car seat between us. They ask us to pull over, and I nearly break into tears. I shiver with relief when they simply glance through the nearly empty moving truck and wave us through. We made it, we’re in. A year of waiting, stressing, hurting, longing. Such a simple item. A card, rectangular and smooth. Like a passport, dedicated to one country, I was told that I must have it with me always. Don’t lose it. Never lose it. Nestled in my wallet, all alone and hidden in a pocket. I have no license, I have no money, but there is a small sliver of plastic containing my entire identity. Within its smooth magnetic strip, lie pages of information. My life. Age, sex, origins. Do you want to know who I am? Look at my green card. I am there, with a small snapshot of time when I was green and still dreamed of fairy tales. I always wondered why they called it a green card, when my first one wasn’t even green. It was whitish. Off-white. Pasty and pale. It’s not bad here. I have my husband, my beautiful daughter. We have a son, then another, and another girl. My life is filled with love. B... ... middle of paper ... ... circled the sun. Living, and I have spent the last 15 years scared to try. I have waited, and waited. I slept. Abandoning my sense of self, I laid down and waited. But no more. Give me the torch, and watch me fly for I live a life, but no longer does it define me. From now on I will define it. I will not work to maintain, I will get ahead. I will win. I see my mother. In my dreams she’s waving, but not to say good bye. She is saying hello, for I have broken the shackles that I placed on my wrists when I stopped living for me and I have stepped into the light. I am taking control of my life, I am taking back what I lost and left behind. My life. My future. My goals. My children will learn that life is best lived when it’s lived well. I own my life and I will mold myself into the person who makes me happy. My wallet feels weightless, but in truth I am stronger.
Ruben Martinez was fascinated with the tragedy of three brothers who were killed when the truck carrying them and 23 other undocumented migrants across the Mexico – United States border turned over in a high-speed chase with the U.S. Border Patrol. “Crossing Over: A Mexican Family on the Migrant Trail” is a story about crossing and life in the United States.
I have to introduce you to three individuals, not random individuals, but siblings - two brothers and a sister. They may seem just like any other people, but they have a secret that isn’t easily realized unless you know them. They belong here in the sense that they were born here, but their hearts belong to another land. They are the children of immigrants; the first generation to be born in America. It is a unique experience that to others may seem odd or exotic, but for these three is just as normal as learning to ride a bike.
I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.
Arriving to the United States of America in a plane is an exhilarating experience. On the plane, everyone suffers the same fates: whether it be turbulence, bad food, or long delays. Once arriving at Customs, the real differences pop out when the passengers are separated into two groups: U.S. Citizens and Non-Citizens. Most immigrants dream of the day when they can step into the Citizen line, hand over their American passport and hear the customs officer say, “Welcome home.” To immigrants, being American equates to success, fame, and happiness. In Amy Tan’s “Two Kinds,” it follows the story of an American girl born to a Chinese mother, and their struggles to be successful and fit in. Is that not what most people seek? The pursuit
We all hugged one last time before jumping I could not believe that this would be the last time I would ever see my family. Dominique and I went to the edge of the Freight car and we counted down, “1...2...3!” As we jumped the only thing I could hear was the shot of a rifle and a short cry from Dominique. Once I got up from the frigid snow I looked to my left and saw the dead corpse of my brother Dominique. I broke down crying
When my family and I got in the plane that would take us to the U.S., I was very excited. It was as if I had butterflies in my stomach. I was also nervous because I had heard of people that were turned away when they got to America because the government was not letting as many immigrants into the U.S as they had in the past. Therefore, my whole family was a little anxious. Two things could happen when we arrived at the Washington, D.C., airport. We could either come to the United States to chase after “the American dream”, or we could be turned away which meant that we would have to return to our country of origin.
...fe, but the ending it what ties the rest together. The father and daughter have a ruff relationship. The daughter hasn’t seen where the father lived and they don’t seem as if they are very comfortable in the presence of each other. They don’t have a relationship people strive for. However, we saw the father take responsibility for his family. They we young and he stayed with them. He knew it was his job and he didn’t leave them alone. In the end you could tell it didn’t last. The last line shows that the cold or problems got in. The mom wasn’t in present day story. Telling you something went wrong. It wasn’t truly a happy ending. People use moment to live and we strive to do our best, but problems occur. How can you make your life worth the troubles? Be prepared and make compromises. Life isn’t perfect and you have to prepare or your life will be filled with no one.
hopes of wealth and status, and the other losing a brilliant career as a politician. While the
During the last moments of my mother’s life she was surrounded by loved ones, as she slowly slipped away into the morning with grace and peace.
During my early teenage years, every day after school, I would check the mail and become disappointed when there was no letter from the “Department of Homeland Security.” I came to America with my family at the age of eight, and it took our family almost eight years to become naturalized as U.S. citizens. These years were the most stressful times of my life. Day and night, my thoughts were consumed with uncertainty and fear that our family was not going to survive the path of obtaining citizenship. With my dad having no job, and my mom suffering from a uterine disease, the path to obtaining our citizenship was a “nightmare.” I remember my parents filing out numerous applications, such as “I-485” or “N-400,” writing checks that amounted to almost ten thousand dollars, paying expensive fees, and trying to remember countless facts about the U.S. government for the citizenship test. Indeed, the citizenship process is costly, utterly stressful, unfair, and because it encourages illegal immigrants to maintain their illegal status, America should reform the citizenship process to make legalization more attainable.
Nothing has changed my life more since the realization that I had to make who I was something that I chose, and not something that just happened. Since this revelation nothing seemed the same anymore, as though I could see the world through new eyes. It changed everything from my taste in music, literature, and movies. Things of a dark and pessimistic nature used to hold a strong allure for me, and yet I found much of things I once enjoyed didn't seem to entertain me anymore. I remembered the mental state that I once held and now seeing how I have changed, know that I can never return to the prison I came from.
...f music upon my life, I made the decision to change my future, and realized what I wanted in life, which brings me to where I am today. I stand at the edge of reality, and looking back I see what I left behind, I see order, regulation, a boring life filled with things that I have no desire for. I turn to
When the modern college student says the word "obsession", they often use the term in conversation about a particular object, subject, action, or idea they really like; something they feel like they could not stand to live without. Previous to writing this paper, I might say that my obsession is ice cream or maybe even Audrey Hepburn movies. But while I sit and truly write my thoughts about the meaning of the word "obsession", I am beginning to realize that the idea of being obsessed with something is not as superficial or mundane as the average young adult may mistake it to be.
Finally, we arrived at our destination. I left the car leaving my parents and little brother behind and ran up the steps to my grandma’s house. I just had to be the first one to knock on her door, so I did. She opened the door for me, and I went inside parting with the bitter cold and darkness surrounding me. Inside the house I was immediately encircled with the aromas of her Christmas cooking and baking. A real fresh Christmas tree which was already beautifully adorned with old family ornaments perforated the air with more holiday aromas. I went into the kitchen with my mom, and together we helped my grandma finish preparing the Christmas Eve dinner.
It was on a Friday morning at 4:30 A.M. that happiness and joy filled the hearts of both my parents. I was born on November 29, 1996 at Broward General Hospital in Fort Lauderdale Florida. My parents had five children, and among the five children that they had, I was the third (or middle) child from them. It started off as two boys, then I came along as the first girl, after it was another boy, then finally, another baby girl; so total was three boys and two girls. The way that my parents lived and treated each other was the same as if any other married couple that loved each other so much. They’ve gone through a lot to get to where they are now today, but they made it and along the way had us five children. They have been really strong with each other which made them only have the five of us and no other step children. My mom is a great cook and enjoy cooking for us; this is probably where my passion for culinary comes from. My dad is an amazing tailor, he is very good at making our clothes, and my passion for fashion probably came from him. My dad is also a teacher, one of the best math teacher I know, he is passionate about his job and his family is the center of his universe. I cannot finish this chapter without mentioning my grandmother, I was lucky enough to have ever met. I had spent part of my life time with her, like the rest of the family she is sweet, my grandmother Abelus,