Personal Narrative: Moving To The Dominican Republic

I was born in Colombia, South America and lived there until I turned seven. Before I moved to the states, I attended a public school and was on the competitive swim team for my school. I earned many awards the year and a half I swam for my school. I took pride in competing with girls three to four years older than me. I also remember how different things were there than they are here in the states.

I’m Black Dominican with two past long terms relationship in my life both white guys ,I just love white males, so in I always like interracial couples even though I did date someone same dark skin color as me during my dating times , which I considered a nice looking tall guy , well-educated and financially stable, we go out a few times trying to get to know each other further, however the relationship didn’t move forward basically because it was more of curiosity on my behave than anything else in reality I just wanted to at least try someone outside of my ethic group but I knew I didn’t like dark skin man as partner but it’s different when it comes to relationship I don’t have any problem friendly wise but I can’t cross

Over the summer about two weeks after school ended, my friends and I were hiking. My friend told us to rest on the rocks on our way to a cave. While we were resting on the rock we had a rattle and dint know what it was until it was near my friends foot. The rattlesnake was near my friends foot and when it rattle we looked around and saw the snake and we ran before it bit any of us. My friend ran so fast down the hill and ran for long time even though we were long gone from the snake.

This autobiographical essay will define my experience as a Dominican immigrant living in New York City. Being an American citizen with a Dominican background are extremely relevant to the process of political socialization. My family background is founded on the principles of democratic values, which taught to me by my mother and father. In New York City, I found a “melting pot” of different immigrants that allowed me to feel more accepted as a Dominican living in the United States. More so, these aspects of the socialization process provided a foundation for my belief in democratic values throughout my life.

There were rice plants on my left and farm animals on my right. I grew up in New York City, so you can imagine the millions of questions that were running through my head. I’d never been to the countryside of the Dominican Republic before, but when I finally did, I couldn’t be more ecstatic, despite the scorching Caribbean sun burning down on my brown skin. I hadn’t visited the Dominican Republic since I was four years old. All I had was vague memories of my grandmother’s boisterous laugh and the chickens in the backyard I loved chasing after.

As I stood up, I lost all sense of balance and tumbled down to the stone cold cement. I was back on my feet after another attempt and all I could see was bodies skewered everywhere. I saw the police telling each other to check the security footage. Just after stepping out of a nightmare, two police officers began to shoot at me. I just took off.

I got my speaker from my room, then took off running back outside with my speaker and my knife in my hand. Without watching where I was going I tripped on my pumpkin and fell on Adam with my knife going right into his stomach. I was so scared and in shock, I had no clue what had happened. I got up and saw the knife in Adam and I screamed for my mom. She came running very fast to see what had happened.

The first eight years of my life, I spent in India where I was born. Growing up I was constantly reminded by my parents that I needed to make them proud by getting a good job and living a good lifestyle. They told me this because they did not want to see me live a hard life like they did. When I was nine years old, I moved from India to the United States of America. The reason why I moved to America was not because I was living a bad life in India, it was so that I could have a better education and more opportunities in life.

I used to have this grudges in my heart when everything go hard that would made me wanted to blame my parent. But I can’t because I was not raise to think that way. When I come to America, I was eleven years old and no one asked me if I wanted to come it just happen in a second. I was in a cold place with extended family that I never met before and that one person who raise me and made me feel secure was still back in the country. I had to lived months without her and next thing you know I adapted and convince myself they are doing this because the wanted the best for me.

I’m able to resonate with a plethora of things, yet the thing I consider my identity is I’m an adopted, Haitian immigrant.      I was born in Haiti in 1998, in a small village in Thomazeau, I moved to Croix-des- Bouquets right after my birth and I lived there until I was 9 years old. My family's financial situation was adequate. My mom was always able to find a way to make ends meet. This cause our neighbor to be envious of us.

I identify as a Latina. I have always considered myself as a Latina, but throughout time, I believe that I have assimilated more into a white individual because of the privilege that I hold and because I have lived in the US most of my life. I have received mostly negative messages from those who are not from my ethnicity. My peers and I were told we wouldn’t graduate high school and be laborers for the rest of our lives. With the current politics, I believe that this still holds true where some people still hold stereotypes and give oppressing messages to Latinos.

I had always heard my parents talk about the country where they were raised, Venezuela. I had wondered what it was like there since I had never been. All of my family lived there and I had never seen them. One day near Christmas break my mom asked me “David, would you like to see your family this Christmas?” As I looked up at her in excitement the thought of being able to see everybody went across my mind.

Once upon a time when I was 8 years old. It was a pitch-black night with bone-chilling winds. I went to an horrifying Haunted House In Los Angeles California where the people say it’s the most paranormal haunted house in the city. Right when I went in, there where people gripping my arm and glaring at me and all of a sudden, boom someone grabbed my legs and a disturbing mortals with the most nerve racking costume crawled on me. I went screaming out and crying with a terrified look on my face.

My breath trembled, I knew I needed to hide. I got up and ran. I ran as fast as I could. I heard someone holler, that only encouraged me to run faster. Suddenly, a hand grabbed my arm out of nowhere.

All of a sudden, I heard a huge bang and then a scream from a woman. My nerves jumped up a little bit, and I started to have some second thoughts about going in. However, it was too late, and we were already in. The worker showed my dad, my brother, and I, a long, narrow hallway we were supposed to follow.