Personal Narrative: My Experience Of Moving To Canada

Those who don’t live or have ever been may think that Canada is a country that is not diverse maybe even monocultural, that Canada is flat full of only farmland and rural towns, that we live lives fueled by hockey and that is all that Canada is. In reality every Canadian knows it is much more it is diverse, scenic and urban. In the essay “My Canada” by Anita Rau Badami she said this about Canada “the country had been doing a slow dance for me over the nine years that I had lived here, showing me tantalizing little bits of itself every now and then.” The quote by Badami says that Canada has little charms spread throughout the country, such as the vastness and natural beauty of Lake Louise and all National Parks. Festivals in Edmonton which displays Canadian culture and a variety of other cultures from around the earth.

Despite the many stereotypes that Canadians have, we are all proud to call Canada our home, and we do not get ashamed when asked what culture we come from. Being Canadian brings a sense of freedom, and unity. Being Canadian is an identity that will be everlasting, it is important to hold

Natashia Apangchan Canadian Identity As an immigrant, and of the 7 years that I’ve stayed here in Canada, I’ve come to know some of the Canadian identity. I have lots on mind but the things that stand out the most is that Canadians are so patriotic and generous, and diverse. To me, I see the Canadians as patriotic because their love for their country is very strong. I have seen the pride in their eyes when they say that they are Canadian.

I came to Canada a year ago. As a new emigrant I faced many challenges, that has changed my life. When I arrived with my family in Canada, my parents had a small deposit that just supported us, as a family, for a few months. After that, my parents could not find job due to lack of English proficiency. Canada’s government help us with a small amount of money that helped us to live.

I want to start my story before I was even born. My dad came to the United States but my mom was still in the Philippines. Then when I was born in the Philippines, my mom took care of me for five years while my dad was working a minimum wage job in the U.S., trying to earn enough money to send both my mom and I to the United States so we could all have a better life, one where we could prosper more due to the opportunities that the U.S. provides. I grew up going to a public school from kindergarten to 5th grade where I met people of different races. When I was in school being in ESL (English as a Second Language) exposed me to even more people of color such as Mexicans, Middle Eastern people, Turkish people, Latinos, and other Asian people.

“What was it like?” I asked, scrambling to keep up with my aunt. She paused, her tall thin frame standing in the doorway. Dishes lay scattered around us. Dinner had ended hours ago, and everybody was upstairs..

I can remember it like it was yesterday. My parents left me when I was fifteen years old to go to America. I thought to myself for one year, they left me here to starve, live, and die alone in eastern Europe. When I was sixteen years old I got ready to move to America and start a new life.

My life took an interesting turn when my mother told me I would be moving to a different country, fear took over my body because that meant I would have to start from zero. On January 1st, 2011 my mom gave me the exciting news that her fiancée, now husband, had started the process to bring her to the United States so she could become a permanent resident, live with him, form a family and start a brand new life. I remember her face blighting up to every time she spoke a word but that smile faded once she told me I could not come with at that time because of the expense of the process. I understood why she could not bring me with. We had economic and emotional issues going on.

As the crow flew across the sky, I felt a thick breeze of wind hit me in the face, I heard several voices talking a language I'd never heard before. I was born in southern Europe, and everyone around me was just another figure. I saw men, women, and tiny children, looking like they had been starving for quite some time. I, however did not look much different, but I guess it is the thought of more people starving than just myself. I am 14 years old, I was born in 1877, my parents have been separated from me, and my little brother just died.

As a child of immigrant parents, my formative years in elementary and middle school were shaped by two important factors: the environment in which I lived and my background. My parents worked hard to settle into a new life in a foreign country to provide better opportunities for our family. This meant that we had to be flexible about where we lived due to relocating for jobs, and fluid about our ideas of culture. I recall the daunting nature of moving to a new city, twice, as a child. The prospect of leaving everything that was familiar to me and forming new friendships in an unfamiliar environment was a challenge.

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.

Day 2 Immigrant. That word gives me a label here. I am crossing the border to the U.S because my parents think it will give us a new beginning and a better life. I think they’re wrong. Our life in El Salvador was fine: We had a nice house and we were healthy.

Do you ever stop and think about what the other person is feeling after an argument or when you tell them something life changing? My parents definitely didn't know what was going on in my mind. I was shocked when I heard my parents say that we were moving from Michigan; my home town, the state I was raised in and have great memories from to California, a strange and unknown place populated with strange people. I felt as if my little world had turned upside down and I would be the one to deal with it. The people responsible for this move would be my parents and my older brother.

Caribbean people have the mentality to be personal and close with whomever they come in contact with. It is important for them to establish a setting or environment where the other person feels comfortable as if they are family. For Americans, we cherish the personal space of others and ourselves. It is American culture to be mindful of how comfortable others feel around us. “Depending on your country of origin you may think nothing of bumping shoulders with someone in a crowded market or leaning in close to hear what a person is saying.

Coming from a low income family, living in a small town in India, I learned early on about struggling and surviving those struggles. I watched my parents working day and night to provide for electricity, pay for our monthly school fees so my sister and I can have a better education, and for the future they wished upon for their children. To further enhance this vision, my father decided for the family and I to immigrate to the US. Everything was different in the sense that I changed schools, learned a new language, had to make new friends, and learned the different culture. I had to adapt to a whole new world, which was a little difficult at 6 years old