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Hispanic culture
Compare and contrast mexico and usa culture
USA culture and Mexican culture similarity
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As my father and I finally fit the statue of the little Virgin Mary in the back of the car, it was time to get on the road. I could already taste the guavas from my great grandfather’s ranch. Feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. The smell of my aunt’s cooking. Hearing the excitement of my great grandmother’s voice. I wanted to be there already, be in the beautiful country of Mexico. My thoughts wandered as we left my house. How much welcome, love, and the sadness of leaving was going to happen. It was too soon to find out. While going through the state of Oklahoma it was not so bad, however, going through Texas was going to take forever. Taking an airplane was going to cost too much money so instead we traveled in a car. I look out of the car window and watched the sun go down, I began to fall asleep. I open my eyes and see bright lights. It was the border of Mexico. I look around seeing a great amount of cars and buses full of people who are eagerly wanting to be with their families in Mexico. After waiting in a …show more content…
I rushed out of the bedroom confused. I began to realize what was going on. I ran to where I last saw her and she was not there. Never before I felt my heart sank. My eyes filled with tears. I dropped to my knees and felt the cold white tile she last swept and mopped for my family. I look up and around seeing picture frames of of her kids, grandchildren, and great grandchildren smiling. I turn my head to the right and see the that little statue of the Virgin Mary, the last gift we gave her. I began to cry and walked to my mother hugging her. My father walked dreadfully inside the house. He had rushed my great grandmother to the hospital but time has not on his side. She had a bad heart and was not taking her medication. Later that morning, many people I have never seen before came by to pray. I wandered why this had to happen to her. So much grief and sadness came upon
Eight men and my mother wanted to work in the U.S., so they had to travel by bus 100 miles from southern Mexico. But the next 200 miles they had to walk through the desert in order to cross into the U.S. illegally. It was late July. Temperatures reached 110 degrees in the shade of southern Mexico, and several notches higher in the desert sun. While the bus traveled through the dirt road, my mother stood frozen in the old musty seat. Her throat constricted. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to ret...
I was born in Guatemala in a city called, called Guatemala City. Life in Guatemala is hard which is why my parents brought me into the United States when I was eight months old. Some of the things that makes life in Guatemala hard is the violence. However, Guatemala has plenty of hard working men, women, and children who usually get forced to begin working as soon as they are able to walk. However, unlike many other countries, Guatemala has a huge crime rate. I care about the innocent hard working people that live in Guatemala and receive letters, threatening to be killed if they do not pay a certain amount of money at a certain amount of time.
I roll my r’s with pride and that pride carries me through my journey of being a first generation Mexican-American. I was born and raised in the town of Salinas, also referred to as the “salad bowl”. Beaming in culture, Salinas also possesses a dark side due to gang violence soliciting each young member of my town. Immigrating to the United States, my parents’ initial priority was to find a job rather than an education in order to survive and keep me away from the darker Salinas. To make sure of this, my parents always encouraged me to try my best in school and make it my main focus. At a young age I began to notice disadvantages I had including the lack of resources at school. Realizing we only had 5 books for about 30 students, I felt unmotivated
I am an chinese and mexican american. You might think those are the best mixes of race you can get but you are truly wrong? Growing up in a small farm town in the outskirts of San Diego I truly wish I was white like the rest of the kids at my school. For the hardships I have faced with race discrimination I am truly ashamed of being the color and human genetics I have.
In my 18 years of life everyone has known me as the girl with the unique and hard to pronounce name, however there is more to me than just having a weird name. Like everyone , I have goals. My main goal is to become a neonatal nurse, someone who works with infants born with different health status. My archetype is a martyr, which represents my future goal in a way that nurses and martyrs sacrifice their time to help others in need. Now that I have informed you about my career goal I will talk about how I became to be the person I am today.
My heart beeted louder and faster the further away we got from Santa Maria. Silence was the only noise that came. Besides the van's engine and graveling ground. In the mirror I saw Roberto. A blank expression. I was hoping to seek comfort from, but instead all little hope I had left just evaporated. Trying to keep my eyes from leaking, not letting the immigration officer see me cry i face toward the window. Fields and fields full of illegal people picking and working. I will never see papa, mama, torito, trampita, ruben and rorra again.
I was born into a home, to parents who fostered a deep appreciation for culture, not just my own but all cultures. They taught me that every people and ethnicity contributes something beautiful to the human experience through their music, wisdom, humor, food, architecture, knowledge, and humanity. Perhaps their love of all cultures made me appreciate my own so profoundly. I am of Mexican-American heritage, and I carry with me the values of a proud, gentle, hard-working, passionate people.
It was the middle of the night when my mother got a phone call. The car ride was silent, my father had a blank stare and my mother was silently crying. I had no idea where we were headed but I knew this empty feeling in my stomach would not go away. Walking through the long bright hallways, passing through an endless amount of doors, we had finally arrived. As we
I am Mexican-American. It took me years to finally be able to say that with a sincere feeling of pride. Both of my parents were born in Mexico and moved here before they had a chance to attend college, so my entire life I’ve been exposed to both Mexican culture and American culture. Instead of seeing my multi-cultured world as unique and special, I saw it as a sort of disadvantage, but as time went on and I became more educated on the successes of Mexican-Americans, I had a newfound understanding and appreciation of the culture which consequentially influenced my future aspirations.
Going back to Mexico after ten years is a little crazy but it was worth the ride. I will always recognize Mexico as my home but America as a special place in my heart.
I was born in Chicago and lived with my parents for a while. When I was six years old my parents got divorced, I never saw my father after that. After that, we moved to Arkansas. Soon after that my mother got deported to Mexico. we had to move to Mexico now. It was tough because I only spoke English at the time. Me and sister of only four years of age were separated from our mom for over a year because they would not let my mom out of the immigration facility. That was the most painful year of my life. This made me very sad and. I still remember the day I saw my mom for the very first time after all that time. She looked so different than I had remembered her. I would live in Mexico for the next six years. When I entered middle school, I was
My parents have always referred me to as a Mexican-American, simply because I was born in the US. The proper term to refer my kind is "Chicanos". I recall speaking with a teacher in middle school telling him that I was Mexican-American and would often tell me I was wrong because neither one of my parents is an actual American. I have been called Latina as well but have always been used to being called a Mexican-American. I have utilized my diverse life and perspectives and have contributed to my local community. My ability to speak two languages helps a great amount of people. I am translating nearly everyday whether it is to assist my mother, or to help translate at my jobs. At my recent job, I found myself working at a department near mine,
As the steps echoed off the metal walls in the brightly lit cabin of the airplane, the curiosity of a six year old was peeked. After a long 5,428 km journey across the North Atlantic Ocean from Cape Verde to Boston, Massachusetts, the plane had finally landed and the passengers were heading out towards their new destination, and I was one of them. Unbeknownst to me, however, my very first step on American soil was the start of an unyielding battle against the odds. My first steps off the plane had made my family and I immigrants, and
My Mexican culture will forever define who I am and what I do. Culture influences the majority of peoples lives. It can be represented and impactful in a number of ways. Each culture is unique to each individual, which means there are no two cultures that are exactly the same. Culture has a very different meaning for everyone. My culture is represented in food, language, and traditions.
It was Friday night, I took a shower, and one of my aunts came into the bathroom and told me that my dad was sick but he was going to be ok. She told me that so I did not worry. I finished taking a bath, and I immediately went to my daddy’s house to see what was going on. My dad was throwing-up blood, and he could not breath very well. One of my aunts cried and prayed at the same time. I felt worried because she only does that when something bad is going to happen. More people were trying to help my dad until the doctor came. Everybody cried, and I was confused because I thought it was just a stomachache. I asked one of my older brothers if my dad was going to be ok, but he did not answer my question and push me away. My body shock to see him dying, and I took his hand and told him not to give up. The only thing that I heard from him was, “Daughters go to auntie...