Immigrant Narrative

"This is 911, what is your emergency?" A desperate eleven year old girl tried to answer the operator's question, but all I could manage were sobs.

There were three lessons that my immigrant parents ingrained in their first-generation children: Work hard, never give up, and most importantly, give back. Among other life lessons they taught us, these three were the basis for everything. It would be the basis that would and will define me as a person.

A man’s heart anxiously pounds within his chest, his fists closed, and teeth clenched. Droplets of sweat splash as they seemingly fall from his forehead. He tightens the grip of his baggage as he fixes in on the swift horizon, emerald eyes feverously searching for hope. Full to bursting with tears, he spots his copper lady from a distance. Her torch brilliantly alit in welcoming embrace.

I urge you to do everything in your power to pass a permanent solution for the 11 million immigrants. My parents the original “Dreamers” fled poverty in hopes of a better life for their children. However; in chasing that dream, came many sacrifices—risking a chance of never returning to their homeland or seeing their family—their parents—my grandparents to name a few.

Oddly enough, this illustration begins in an airport bookstore I was rummaging while killing time before a flight in 2004. The store had displayed many softcover books upfront authored by a name I recognized as the Democratic National Convention’s keynote speaker from earlier that year. That man was, at the time, Senator Barack Obama. As it caught my eye, I surveyed the back cover of Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance and for the first time in my life, I read something that resonated with me at my core. It didn’t have anything to do with public policy or red states and blue states; rather it was his desire to “reconcile his divided inheritance.” He was a black man raised in a white family yet he had traveled to Kenya to face his and his father’s truth. As much of a stretch this may seem, this man’s eloquent story of a struggle to understand and resolve his identity was a truth that I too struggled with and continue to struggle with today.

As I walked into the classroom all the kids were staring at mewith every kid staring at me, I thought, “Why didn’t I stop myself from coming to America?”

Since our country’s founding, most immigrants have experienced ascribed discrimination before achieving integration. Several scholarly works suggest that this process is dynamically negotiated between native-born Americans and new arrivals. Before delving into these works, though, we must define so-called social construction. Upon arrival, native-born Americans, especially an intolerant group that calls itself nativist, characterize immigrants as admirable or inferior based on observed national, physiognomic, economic, religious, and linguistic traits. In response to these native characterizations, groups selectively curate cultural practices within the prevalent socio-historical context to best integrate into American society as both sides

As a Mexican-American, I am constantly petrified that one day I will awake, and my parents will be nowhere to be found. I could hear the police sirens outside my home, as unknown men were hammering down the front room, seeking to seize my parents. However, what these men of authority did not comprehend was that my parents were not convicts; their only wrongdoing was entering this country in the search for a better life. They didn’t understand these people who they called illegal aliens, only intended to provide me, their son, with all the basic needs they themselves wish to provide to their families. A common nightmare that still to this day flows within my mind waiting to reappear and strike.

When I used to live in Germany, it would frighten me because of our leader, Adolf

There I was sleeping wonderfully one summer morning, and then all of a sudden I heard the never-ending sound of a lawnmower right outside of my window. As I was walking into the kitchen barely awake with nothing but my boxers on I heard the lawnmower come to a sudden stop and my granddad comes in and says to me “come help me boy” in his thick Vietnamese accent. Somewhat annoyed, I threw on some clothes and went outside only to discover that he wanted me to cut the front yard. Unfortunately I couldn’t even crank the mower up; usually a parent would intervene and crank it for you but not my granddad he just stood there watching with his stern look and well placed E-Z-GO cap. Eventually I get it to crank so off I go plowing through the thick, wet grass. I finished very quickly and at that moment I thought, “Why does it take my granddad forever to do this easy job?” I turn the lawn mower off and my granddad very calmly cranks it back up and cuts over the whole yard again. As confused as I was, I simply went back into the house and carried on with my day. I never asked why he did that, I’m assuming that my job was horribly done and only now it makes sense as to why I finished with such speed.

As an Immigrant child, I had a conclusion that all immigrant parents come to America for a better education for their kids. They wanted to give them the opportunity to have a better life that they never had. In American the first thing that I notice was that the airport, weather, and the school are all very different.

Amit’s life suddenly changed when he moved to Canada. Suddenly he discovered himself as an immigrant to a new country. Immigrant, what an easy word and so well known to all of us. But I am certain that it carries a different meaning to the people who actually possess the status of an immigrant. Amit was talking to me last evening and was pointing out so many things that a new immigrant usually go through when he or she enter a new country. I like to put some of it for the better understanding of our readers:

"Hello, 911, what's your emergency?" The operator woman asked as soon as the phone was picked up. I was hyperventilating and on the verge of an anxiety attack, barely managing to get out my sentence.

Today I finally got my Passport from the Immigration Office in Bekasi back. After 23 Days. Normally it only take around One Week. I will give you a short recap what happened.

In M. B. B. Biskupski’s review of The Immigrant, he claims it is the “most pro-Polish film ever made in America.” A film about two sisters who arrive to America to escape war in Poland, The Immigrant includes a variety of characters, each with flaws of their own. Ewa, the protagonist of the movie is its brave, able victim. She is dependent on Bruno Weiss, a man who helps her escape deportation from America to help her sister Magda get off of Ellis Island. Bruno Weiss is a smooth talker who lends Ewa a place to live, offering her a job as well. It doesn’t take long for Ewa to see who Bruno truly is, a corrupt man and an “absolute wretch.” Initially, Ewa is repulsed by Bruno’s life, but she gives in and becomes a prostitute herself in order to raise money for Magda.