Illegal Immigration Short Story

I interviewed a beautiful and courageous woman, of African descent. Born and raised in Monrovia, Liberia on May 20, 1969. In addition, she has one biological brother and three step siblings. Currently she resides in Loganville, Georgia, where she lives with her two children. By the same token, she and her husband been married for twenty-one years to her loving high school sweetheart husband. Due to unfortunate circumstances, she lost her husband in the line of duty. Causing her to become a widow, continuing to survive life without her husband. When I conducted this interview, had one topic in mind that I wanted to learn more about her life as an immigrant and how did influence her life.

Coming from a Mexican immigrant family I have learned to recognize since a very young age that because of the status that my parents are placed in they cannot pursue a better future like the one I want. I have been given the opportunity to challenge myself with obtaining a higher education than just high school itself. My parents have demonstrated to me through their hard work that I have to value this opportunity unless I want to end up with low paying job. My life long dedication comes from seeing my parents make sacrifices in order for my education to continue.

Communication apprehension has been a struggle for me being an immigrant from Mexico. Conversing in my native language I am very vocal, participative and communicative with extensive vocabulary. Communication in a second language presented a language barrier and apprehension of making grammar mistakes and embarrassment of my accent.

“Tell me the moment she feels any pain!” Dr. Cueto shouted. I relayed the message in Thai to

“Don’t stop, keep going because something great is waiting for us on the other side,” my mother kept reminding me while crossing the desert. Crossing the desert to come to the United States was the hardest thing I had to. This was not optional; it was necessary if we wanted to survive. Crossing the desert is challenging, scary, and tiring

I was always a precocious child, yet argumentative and rebellious. I did not want to accomplish anything following a pattern set for me. I wanted to forge my own way. This determination set me at odds with my mother, and has defined our relationship all these years. It has surely led me down my own irregular path in life, and placed me in position to be the family’s black sheep.

December 2008 marks the initial start to the devastating and gruesome cartel drug war in Mexico that has led to the deaths of over 80,000 people. In the midst of this war, violence has surged dramatically in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, an area seen by many as a point of contention in the lucrative drug smuggling business that stems from Mexico and flows into the United States. As a result of the recent outbreak of violence, it has been difficult to accept the fact that my mother and sister cross the border every weekend from El Paso to Ciudad Juarez to go visit family knowing they are at risk of being taken hostage or even worse, getting killed by the cartel. My father has also experienced these life-threatening occurrences

Populations are contained within borders, whether they are physical fortifications or a concept of invisible territorial borders, in order to maintain a nation united and out of problems—is what most of the inhabitants idealize. The well-known border between Mexico and the United States has not only expanded but has also raised many doubts. Urban myths have misled many individuals to think positive about the extensive fence that separates two countries. One popular and recent myth that many people from United States feed off of is that Mexico sends problems, and by building a bigger walls will stop the flow of problems. I myself, am an immigrant from Guadalajara, Jalisco, a rich in culture state; nonetheless, I have lived three-fourths of my life in Modesto, California. I personally have been through the Mexican border several times.

I am an immigrant, originating from Ukraine. I moved here three years ago to take advantage of the “land of the free”. I had heard of the conscription under Russian imperial dictators, such as Tzar Nicolas, and Soviet despots, like Stalin. Fourcing an individual to perform a service, regardless of the cause, seems to be slavery to me. When I found that men in America must register for the draft, in my eyes, “the land of the free” became slightly less free. It is abhorrent that men may be required to enlist in the military, and equally so for women and therefore should not be tied to feredal grants.

At the age of fifteen, I could barely speak an English word. As I sat on the plane with a blank head flying across from Vietnam to the United States, I knew completely nothing what’s going to happen in my life. After almost twenty-four hours sitting on an intolerable chair, I arrived, as I looked above my head “Welcome to the United States”. And yes, welcome to my story, and undoubtedly my experience is the author.

Being an immigrant is not easy, specially when you have to adapt to another environment. Learning english was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. Every time someone spoke to me english, l began to get frustrated. Sometimes I used google translator to do the assignments and projects that they give me, and sometimes my classmate would translate for me the english sentence my teacher spoke, And it would help my english get better.

I was following the heartbreaking news of Immigration crisis in Europe and watching that how these desperate people struggling to save their lives and find a better life in nearby countries, that the photo of my parents and I in a hand curved frame right next to my computer caught my attention and reminded me of my own journey as a refugee.

No one likes when people mispronounce his or her name. If somebody said that my name was too hard, difficult to remember or did not sound good and that was why he or she gave me some “easy” name, it would make me cry. I would consider it as disrespect. Munoz’ stepfather had to accept being called “Tony” versus “Antonio”, because he knew that that was a simple and smooth way to get a job and to have a better future. It meant that he lost himself as a person in the Valley, but it also meant that he was a determined person, who showed that he was a flexible and purposeful worker. “My stepfather must live in the Valley, a place that does not allow that choice, every day.” (Muñoz).

When I was at Tad Gormley watching the Blue Jays and realized that I couldn’t stand, I learned that not everything goes as planned. My parents were helping my sister move into college at the University of Virginia, so I was at the Jesuit football game with a babysitter. At one point, my water bottle fell onto the track, so I jumped over the fence that separates the stands from the field in order to grab it. I didn’t perceive it as a big deal, for I had jumped over that same fence multiple times that game alone. However, at that exact moment I happened to be standing at a point where the fence was poorly patched; so, as I jumped, my foot barely caught the edge of it. I fell awkwardly and landed on my side. Embarrassed, I very quickly hopped

"I will be at the end of your lashing, should you continue to obstruct your stately behavior in this manner," Grey teased." Again." he prodded, pushing his left hip into mine to throw my balance.