After countless hours of uncomfortable naps and tasteless meals between flights, we finally arrived at the unfamiliar land of America. Leaving all our dear friends and families behind, I was told that we came here in hope of a better future, my future specifically. I was never really socially active and at the time, English was a whole new concept that I have yet to understand. The inability to communicate with other makes it even harder for me to express myself and it mold my personality to become more antisocial than I ever was. There’s always this uneasy feeling that linger when someone talk to me and I cannot give them a response and it’s even harder to say something because I was afraid of making a mistake and make a fool out of myself. …show more content…
I remember the first time I walked into the classroom, it was unlike any classroom that used to know. Everything was unorganized, kids were out of their seats, silly posters and drawings cover most of the walls, and books, pencils, and markers were all over the place. The teacher didn’t seem to be bothered by all the ruckus happening in that room. She was a large woman who seem to be in her 40s with short white hair and unusually pale skin. She asked for my name, and so I introduced myself. Anything else that she said beyond that is but a blur to me. As she introduce me to the class, I couldn’t help but to look confused and stay silent. My eyes wander around the room and I watch as the others murmur and chatter among themselves. Immediately, I realize that I was out of place. Something about me was different from the others. It wasn’t because of the color of my skin, nor my ethical background; the class itself was very well diverse. It was something on a deeper level, a connection that they all but myself have in common. The ability to translate emotions into words that can be shared and to be understands by others. It was the language that they …show more content…
It was much larger than I had imagined, there were swing sets, slides, monkey bars, and numerous other odd structures that I’ve never seen before. I found myself a spot against the wall where sunlight can’t reach and decided to sit there until it is time to go back. It wasn’t long before someone approaches me. It was one of the boys in my class, he was thin with blond hair and a tad taller than I am. “Hey, what’s your name?” he asked. Although I understood the question, I still gave him the usual response. “Sorry, I don’t speak English.” I don’t think that I’ve ever talked to him again afterward. I think it was my tone that drove him away, I recall saying that in a way that I want to be left alone instead of a friendly apology for not being able to understand him. Looking back, I regret not introducing myself. He was one of the only few that ever approached me during that time and had I introduced myself properly even it is just my name, there’s a good chance we could have become friends. During my next few minutes of solitary, I made up conversations and scenarios in which I’m talking with someone and see how far I can get with my limited proficiency in English. I thought about how I can use hand gestures or facial expressions to convey my thoughts without having to use words. It wasn’t long before I decide to drop the idea because of how ridiculous I imagine it would
The first and second year after moving from China to the United States, I was afraid to talk to strangers because my English was not very well. I had to depend on my husband for dealing with my personal business, such as making a doctor’s appointment, calling to the bank, or questioning to DMV officers. Douglass says, “being a slave for life began to bear heavily upon my heart” (62). For myself, being a dependent and helpless adult is a shame. Moreover, I lacked of extra money to go to school to improve my English. Thus, I stayed home all the time to avoid embarrassment of talking to strangers. After a while, I realized that improving English speaking skills are the essential to gain my self-confidence. So, I spent time to read various articles on the internet and watched English dialogues’ videos on YouTube. As a non-English speaking immigrant living in the U.S., I inevitably encountered a series of difficulties to integrate myself into a new
As I boarded the plane to move to the United States, the beginning of September 2005, I couldn’t help but think about all that I left behind; My family, my friends, my school, my clothes, and all of the awesome cultural food. Then again, I looked forward to this new life, a new beginning. I imagined it being like life in the movies, where everything seemed easy and life was just beautiful. After all, I was going to the States; the place where most people only dreamt of. I felt very blessed to have this opportunity because I knew that it wasn’t given to everyone. Coming to America marked my coming of age because I left behind my old life, I started life afresh, and I became a much grateful person.
When I first came to this country, I wasn’t thinking about the language, how to learn it, use it, write, how I’m going to speak with people who are next to you and you want to talk to them. My first experience was in Veterans School, it was my first year in school here in United States, and I was in eight grades. The first day of school you were suppose to go with your parent, especially if you were new in the school, like me. What happened was that I didn’t bring my dad whit me, a woman was asking me a lot of questions and I was completely loss, I didn’t have any idea of what she was telling me and I was scare. One funny thing, I started cry because I fell like frustrate, I didn’t know no one from there. Someone seat next to me, and ask me in Spanish what was wrong and I just say in my mind thanks God for send me this person, then I answered her that I didn’t know Engl...
I was strolling down the hallway, trying to figure out where my class would be, when I bumped into a girl. “Oh goodness! I am so sorry. I wasn 't looking," she said and bent down to grab my file and books even before I could. I sighed and replied, “No, it 's fine." I wiped the sweat, which I had accumulated from walking all over the school, off my forehead. She stood up and handed me my books. I realized she was also a freshman by her orange colored uniform. She flipped her hair and said while grinning," Let me introduce myself. I 'm Natasha. I 'm from Canada so I don 't really know much about this town. How about you?" Even though I had never met her before, I could tell she seemed nice so I introduced myself. I had to make a judgment to decide whether to befriend the girl or not. Little did I know this stranger was
I clearly remember my first day in an American school— a little thirteen-year-old boy, who was shy to speak and tried to avoid any questions. Some of my classmates understood that English was my third language and tried to support and encourage me. However, others
The beginning of the development of my education started in Kindergarten. The surrounding was new to me and I felt out of place by having various cultures around me. At the beginning of class, my teacher Ms. Pinto asked me for my name. I didn’t comprehend what she was asking me, therefore I didn’t respond. When she asked other children for their names, one of the english speakers said “Juan”- a traditional name for a Mexican then I understood that she had tried to ask me for my name. While the teacher was explaining what we were going to do in class, I wanted to ask her a question. I did not know the language she was speaking and she did not know mine, therefore I felt as if I couldn’t communicate. I found out that the class contained students from two races which included a smaller amount of American’s and mostly Hispanic. Whenever the teacher asked for answers on the material; only the English speaker children would be able to answer and I was ashamed that even if I wanted to answer I couldn't. The spanish speaking children didn’t seem to mind that we were academically behind, except for me. When the teacher would ask any of the sp...
I looked around, the room had exposed pipes on the ceiling and the entire room smelled faintly of Clorox wipes. Around me girls and boys talked and caught up. The majority of them had apparently gone to Kindergarten together. While I was the new kid, the outsider. Seats were scarce. I looked for a familiar face, for some reason. I settled next to a girl with fiery red-orange hair. “Hi, I’m Halley.” She introduced herself. Her smile was the fake kind, seen in school pictures everywhere. I smiled and responded, “Hi, I’m Lorna. I just moved here from Texas.” Her smile became increasingly forced, “Um, cool.” She turned her body away from me. Ok, I though, sorry I offended you, I guess. In my head, I was sneering and thinking rude thoughts to no end. In class, however, I upheld my morals. I was silent for the rest of the
Leaving your home and integrating into a foreign country can be terrifying and it is even more terrifying when you don’t know the language. As a ten year old, I had difficulty interacting with other people, whether it be my peers or my teachers. I knew from then that I had to work as hard as I could in order to succeed. With the help of my sister who was also struggling in the same way as I was, I slowly familiarized myself with the english language and soon found myself reading books, writing literature, and even winning multiple spelling bees. This experience truly has defined me as it has taught me how much perseverance and effort can make a person.
I remember my first day at the bus stop, when this very handsome guy approached me and said “Good morning, you must be new…What’s Up?” At that momement I kept looking up thinking…”Gosh I don’t really see anything up there…what is he referring to?” His name was Michael and he kept repeating the phrase “What’s up” thinking maybe I didn’t hear him. All I remember is turning red in my face and using the same phrase I had told myself many times that I was never going to use… “I don’t speak English.” When we moved here I told myself I was going to try my best however I wasn’t going to be like another one of those foreigners you see in the movies that move to a different country and make no attempt to learn the language. I also told my self that I was going to repeat every word that I heard in my brain and then later using the dictionary to find out what that word meant.
I received a voice mail today from Sean McKnight stating he has a meeting setup with Ken Barber and some other individuals on the executive board of Illinois Joining Forces (IJF). I felt it was my duty to inform the group about some important facts that Mr. McKnight is very good at hiding. I met Mr. McKnight during my time at NIU. I just served my time as the NIU Veterans Club president and decided it was time to let someone else take the helm. Matthew Galloway the current Veterans Club president introduced the club to Sean McKnight at a veterans club meeting. Sean came in and presented himself as a seasoned veteran’s advocate who has many connections throughout the state of Illinois and Washington D.C. He promoted his organization that he was starting Warriors Guarding Warriors as a revolutionary concept that has not been thought of as for yet throughout the veteran community. Finally, he offered his services to any veterans having trouble with VA benefits or the medical process. At the time we did not know that he was not officially certified to help veterans, and nor did he actually know the proper process or paper work needed to help our fellow veterans. Sean offered to be the Veterans Clubs mentor. The club held a vote and
Moving from a highly diverse community to a less diverse community has to be the weirdest yet interesting culture shock I ever had to deal with. As a young child, I did not know about the outside world. I thought everyone rides the bus or the metro, graffiti on the wall is normal and traffic wouldn’t matter as much since everything I needed was within walking distance sometimes. There were shocking things I learned once I moved to Nebraska.
“Tout de suite Entrez!” She says, looking at the alley entrance, watching the dead soldiers, and then pointing at him to go in.
We arrived at the FLL meet at around 7:00 AM. Filled with excitement, we quickly filed off of the bus. We got set up at the gold pit, and waited for our time to head towards the first event, the team building session. Then, it was time, and we quickly walked towards the band hall, where the event was located. As soon as we went in, two things became obvious. First, we had to build something out of marshmallows and uncooked pasta. Second, we were going to be quizzed on our team. I think we did well on both, and we walked out, confident that we did well on the first event.
“Why don’t you use your locker? You’re going to have back problems before you even graduate”. These are words that are repeated to me daily, almost like clockwork. I carry my twenty-pound backpack, full of papers upon papers from my AP classes. The middle pouch of my backpack houses my book in which I get lost to distract me from my unrelenting stress. The top pouch holds several erasers, foreshadowing the mistakes I will make - and extra lead, to combat and mend these mistakes. Thick, wordy textbooks full of knowledge that has yet to become engraved in my brain, dig the straps of my backpack into my shoulders. This feeling, ironically enough, gives me relief - my potential and future success reside in my folders and on the pages of my notebooks.
During my freshman year of college, I had met one of my best friends, who go by name Jill. (She lives in New Jersey and while I live in Pennsylvania) I found it to be strange that sometimes, it feels like we have grown up with one another but in reality we have only one another for four years and I couldn’t be more thankful. I can remember when we met at school as if it was yesterday.