Personal Narrative: My Life In The United States

“Our attitude towards immigration reflects our faith in the American ideal. We have always believed it possible for men and women who start at the bottom to rise as far as the talent and energy allow. Neither race nor place of birth should affect their chances” (Cotton). First Crossing: A Whole New World For two months my mother did not rest, for she was contemplating on what her next decision would be.

I drove around the track, parked my car and leaned against the hood. Others had stopped also but the feeling wasn't the same: maybe seemed like a noble, powerful encounter-heart stuck in your throat, leaving your gut wrenching and rumbling along with the engines of the plane that had take off prior, but only it was much more. The triple C-17 perched in formation, ready-as was I, and hundreds of other men-boys- ready to discard their lives into the darkness. There

Struggle Leads To Success Being an immigrant is about leaving one’s native country; but it is also, more importantly, about adapting and assimilating to a new culture. Relocating to a new country could sometimes cause a life-transforming moment. Throughout “The Kite Runner” the author describes different characters which possess different characteristics and personalities. As illustrated in the book, Baba and his family moved to the United States to get a better life, and they quickly started to assimilate the American culture. The Kite Runner is incredibly valuable for high school students because it outlines the perplexity of religious discrimination.

The first time I arrived to this nation, I landed at the city of New York, where countless of immigrants, like me, once entered, what was and is known as, the land of opportunity. I’ve come to think that Ellis Island, the gateway to millions of immigrants to the United States, has remained in tact over the years to remind us that this nation was built and made what it is today by immigrants. The hurdles of being new to this nation approached life in different colors, forms and shapes. My English was undoubtedly limited and the few words that I could grasp did not allowed me to even sustain a conversation based on simplistic small talk.

The sunlight covered the cold concrete. I could hear my watch ticking. The clock brought me closer to the moment I had been waiting for all my life. This project was my life, and I now I could finally watch my life work reveal itself right in front of my

Time seemed to stop, and I was the only one brave enough to approach it. My fingers stretched out, and I expected to fall through: the hall, no matter how blurry, was still there. I expected to feel the heat of a fire. But rather than heat my arm was emerged in cold and disappeared into thin air.

What Makes Me an American? Have you ever asked yourself “What makes me an American?”? To me, living on an Army base and hearing “taps” several times a day. And seeing the different types of army vehicles all around the base make me feel proud. I believe that being an Army child makes me feel the most “American. ”.

The sirens distinct tune followed me as I ran, the loud screeching music closed in on me like walls in a small room. I firmly grasped my candy bar as I turned down a forgotten alley way flooded with smoke smells. My worn shoes were not ready for such a sharp and last minute panic turn, almost diving into a puddle of recently used cigarette butts, I pulled my top heavy body back up to it’s original and close to vertical form and continue my fast paced journey in the night. My journey only lasted a short while before I heard the cop car’s sticky tires scream and slide across the alley’s old and cracked pavement and quickly accomplishes the sharp turn into the narrow alley.

The adrenaline stopped, and exhaustion threatened my limbs. The night air nipped at me, and the stars I once loved seemed dangerous and threatening, like they new something I didn 't. "We 're here." he said. I had fallen into a painful rhythm, and I was all too

I lived in the outskirts of New York City for the first seventeen years, eleven months, and twenty-three days of my life. I loved the enormous oak tree outside my house; the winding roads through my neighborhood in Valley Stream; the quiet moments when the lights went out on the train connecting Long Island to lively Manhattan; the tiled murals scattering the walls of subway stations; the indescribable energy of people bustling around Union Square. Underneath the colossal skyscrapers, I often felt like a tiny ant crawling between blades of grass — small, perhaps even a little insignificant, but grounded. Looking up at the top of buildings, feeling the flow of passersby around me, I could not help but feel that I was standing exactly where I belonged. I wanted to stay in New York City so badly that all but one of the colleges I applied to during my senior year were within three hours of Manhattan.

That’s when I knew something was about to go down. “The time…what time…” I kept saying to myself, but I had no intention of distracting myself with something else. The only thing in my mind was that place I was going to. My legs walked me over the stumps, by the sewer drainages, and under the overgrown branches, even if my mind didn’t know where I was.

With each step I took, determination finish this hike and I hoped this grueling trail was worth the pain. Water gushing from a 75-foot waterfall with a beautiful pool of water at the bottom and green full trees surrounding the area. I had never in my life been so happy that I didn’t quit and that I finished the task. The scene before me was mystical and I thought I was day dreaming.

I pedaled in circles on my deck in my backyard, the wood creaked as I accelerated over each plank. I felt like superman speeding to chase villains. The wind slapped my face to the right and left, forcing me to glance at the trees passing by. I heard my dad over the roar of the wind yelling at me to come inside. Then I crashed.

In 1981 Ronald Regan had just become president; the Los Angeles Dodgers won the World Series, NASA released their first space shuttle and a Man decided it was time for his life to change. In Los Angeles where the sun had presumably been shining and the city rejoiced in response to the dodger’s elite performance the man began to pack his bags and prepare to leave. He left his bed, then his room, and finally the door, he had given himself to the world. Across different time-zones, climates, and cultures the man traveled his heart and brain ruthlessly clashed the entire trip until he reached the destination. One foot followed the other forcefully planted in the soil of Manhattan, New York.

The last 3 miles seemed to stretch in front of me like a marathon. Each step was hard to take, although my wanting to get home was as strong as it had ever been. The follower was hot on my tracks at that point, but my ability to walk any faster was slowly fading away. On the last mile, I ran as fast as I could.