When I was only a year old, I moved to the United States as a refugee from Bosnia and Herzegovina. Although, I don’t remember the journey leaving the troubled country, I do remember having to learn to adapt to life here in the US. Being that my main source of knowledge came from my parents, it made it really difficult to adapt, seeing that they also didn’t speak the language and weren’t familiar with how things worked in the new country we were in. In my pre-school years, I was mostly surrounded by other Bosnians that had also fled the country, so I was unaware about what “normal” American life was. When I finally went to school, I realized how different my life had been compared to that of my peers. Not only was the language barrier hard to …show more content…
Even now that Bosnia is starting to become more up-to-date with the rest of the world, life there is drastically different from life in a country like the US. Moving to a new country involves encountering the different customs, traditions and societal standards that it contains. My parents weren’t familiar with how life was in America; they just knew that it would be a better place to raise my sister and I. I spent the beginning of my childhood very confused. Not understanding certain references and being generally unaware about what was considered normal and what wasn’t, made me feel lesser than my peers. In my mind, they were smarter and overall better than me because they were gifted with more knowledge growing up, that I was never exposed to. Being raised in a Muslim household also didn’t help ease my anxiety whenever any holiday came up. Any time there was a holiday, I would pretend that I knew what it was and that I practiced it. Surrounded by such a judgmental society made me feel like the only option I had was to pretend. Now that i’m older, i’m finally comfortable enough to share more about my family background because rather than trying desperately to fit in, I have accepted the differences that help shape who I
I remember the first time I came to America; I was 10 years old. Everything was exciting! From getting into an airplane, to viewing magnificent, huge buildings from a bird’s eye view in the plane. It was truly memorable. After staying few days at my mother’s house, my father and I wanted to see what Dallas looks like. But because my mother was working the whole day, it wasn’t convenient for her to show us the area except only on Sundays. Finally, we went out to the nearby mall with my mother. My father and I were astonished after looking at a variety of stores. But after looking at different stores, we were finally tired and hungry, so we went into McDonald’s. Not being familiar with fast food restaurants, we were curious to try American
Moving to a foreign country can be very challenging and can make one experience difficult times. Frustration because of the language barrier, adjusting to a whole new system, and being involved in a different environment are all play a part to fell at home.
At the age of two my parents made the long and devastating journey to bring me and my siblings to the United States from Mexico. Wanting a brighter future for us, my parents fought tooth and nail to give us the world they didn’t grow up having. Ever since stepping foot on the U.S soil, going back seemed impossible. The effects of this life-changing move, couldn’t mask the unforeseen disadvantages. Lacking exposure to Mexico’s colorful culture, little to no bonding time with my family from abroad, and the struggle of trying to blend into an environment that was so different, soon began to interfere with my overall identity. Realizing this, my wonderful parents prepared a transformative trip back to my homeland, and back to the past, facing
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 make this statement based off of a rather small sample size: myself (my 8th grade science teacher would scold me for this). Nonetheless, middle school was truly difficult. I don't say this because of rigorous courses, or frustratingly strict bathroom rules, but rather because I spoke close to no English for a large part of it.
As migrant and English language learner the transition of living and studying in México to El Paso, is not an easy for any age student. I immigrated to El Paso when I was in my last year of high school and wanting to pursue a career at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. My father decided for the family and we were moved to a school in El Paso. In the high school I attended for about three months, I was placed on tenth grade and in regular classes. I just had one hour daily of English as a second language instruction. The system back in the 1980’s on ESL classes was not as they are in schools now. They made me feel like I did not had other option but to droop school, which eventually I did when I realized that I was going to be placed in the special education department. My self-esteem went down the hill and I was not willing to comply with what the school wanted. Especially if I was coming from almost finishing high school with an average of 9 of a 10 grade scale, I felt that it was not fair for me to be place in the special education department just because I had limited English proficiency. Fifteen years after I had drooped school, I returned to school and learn English at El Paso Community College, and now I am pursuing my master degree as instructional specialist in bilingual education. Coming from another country with different, or similar, family values affect the students’ learning and the way that other look at those students, especially in schools.
For more than 300 years, immigrants from every corner of the globe have settled in America, creating the most diverse and heterogeneous nation on Earth. Though immigrants have given much to the country, their process of changing from their homeland to the new land has never been easy. To immigrate does not only mean to come and live in a country after leaving your own country, but it also means to deal with many new and unfamiliar situations, social backgrounds, cultures, and mainly with the acquisition and master of a new language. This often causes mixed emotions, frustration, awkward feelings, and other conflicts. In Richard Rodriguez’s essay “Aria: Memoir of a Bilingual Childhood”, the author describes the social, cultural and linguistic difficulties encountered in America as he attempts to assimilate to the American culture. Richard Rodriguez by committing himself to speaking English, he lost his cultural ties, family background and ethnic heritage.
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 ancestors moved from Canada to America, they started living in the northern areas and worked very hard to earn food. When I was small the life was very good, all the kids of the community used to play and enjoy the time, but as I started growing up I realized that life is not just about playing around. Most of the people in my community do not know the actual meaning of life and they have spent their whole life inside a specific area and with limited knowledge. I started to find opportunities to study and learn more things that no one knows. In my quest for knowledge and curiosity to know the unknown I learned many things.
“No, I don’t want to go!” I cried. I just got the news that my big brother and I were going back to California. When I was around 4 years old, my family and I moved to California from the Philippines. But after four years living in America, my mother sent my big brother and I back to the Philippines. We lived in the Philippines for at least 3 years since we left California.
It was a Sunday morning when I woke up by the morning shiver and with the sweet smell of tea filling the room. I woke up with a yawn but still laying down because I was too lazy to get up. I stood up quickly almost losing my balance when why mom yelled my name. “Come down stairs I have good news for you” said mom. I went down stairs I saw my parents drinking green hot tea and watching news on the television. I walk toward the table distracted by the chaos of different loud noises like the news, my brothers watching cartoon, and my sister whining. I greeted my parents, as I passed them I heard someone saying “can’t wait to move” excitedly.” After finishing my delicious breakfast I ask my mom, where are we moving? “We are moving to America” with
Coming to the United States at the age of thirteen felt like falling into a roaring stream without any swimming skills. Dog paddling, panting, and swallowing gallons of water on the way, I learned to keep myself afloat and gradually gained experience. Cultural adaptation was not a choice--it was a survival need. Along with comic strips and smiles at supermarkets, my mind absorbed such elements of American culture as equal opportunity and self-confidence. The existence of programs such as English as a Second Language at my junior high school persuaded me that these concepts were implemented in daily life. I was thrilled that someone had toiled to ensure that foreigners like myself had the same access to education as the other students. Thus convinced of the tangibility of American beliefs, I began to deem them universal.
I feel guilty of leaving you for a bit but it is not a coincidence that the post is under this section. Anyhow, a month of travelling and few technical difficulties later, here I am. I spent a month in Bulgaria, the country I was born in. Before I share in greater details my Bulgarian adventures, I decided to share some thoughts I had while I was there. As an immigrant who came to Canada at the age of 20, I had to overcome many challenges and all of us who left their counties have plenty of colourful stories in that matter.
My family and I moved to United States in 1998 from Albania. My parents believed that I and my sister would get a better education here and also it would be useful and interesting to learn another language and its culture. Considering I didn’t speak a word of English I was very scared about starting high school. I was scared about fitting in with the other kids, I was scared about not being able to understand them, and not sure how my culture would impact the way how I looked at things.
Everything seems like it’s falling out of place, it’s going too fast, and my mind is out of control. I think these thoughts as I lay on my new bed, in my new room, in this new house, in this new city, wondering how I got to this place. “My life was fine,” I say to myself, “I didn’t want to go.” Thinking back I wonder how my father felt as he came home to the house in Stockton, knowing his wife and kids left to San Diego to live a new life. Every time that thought comes to my mind, it feels as if I’m carrying a ten ton boulder around my heart; weighing me down with guilt. The thought is blocked out as I close my eyes, picturing my old room; I see the light brown walls again and the vacation pictures of the Florida and camping trip stapled to them. I can see the photo of me on the ice rink with my friends and the desk that I built with my own hands. I see my bed; it still has my checkered blue and green blanket on it! Across from the room stands my bulky gray television with its back facing the black curtain covered closet. My emotions run deep, sadness rages through my body with a wave of regret. As I open my eyes I see this new place in San Diego, one large black covered bed and a small wooden nightstand that sits next to a similar closet like in my old room. When I was told we would be moving to San Diego, I was silenced from the decision.