Personal Narrative: I Am A Migrant Worker

My story would have never begun if my parents had not made a huge decision in my life, almost 15 years ago. When they decided to move our family across the border, my future would be become unknown. The fate I had been destined to have was completely altered, now, I had the opportunity to change my life for the better, to strive for something bigger. My parents pushed me to be the best I could be, and to work as hard as possible to get what I wanted. As the daughter of two Mexican immigrants I grew up in a very cultural household, and being surrounded by Spanish at all times. The only negative being I had to learn English on my own, and which led to me having some difficulty when I first started school. Yet, growing up in a Spanish speaking

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.

We started off with a bang. We started with me thinking of what to do how to do it and what were my ideas. Then, a little later we actually started it and not gonna lie, it was scary. I didn’t know that much about my family, yeah i've heard stories but they're stories. Later on we went home i didn’t tell my family anything just unsuspiciously getting all the information and I learned a lot yes. I learned about my names and why they're my names, I learned about my dad getting lost a lot, I learned about my mom moving here to america when she was 14 and how her life was before she moved and why she moved. I learned about my uncle going to jail for crossing the border illegally which is kinda funny. All those I learned but i couldn’t find anything

Growing up as an immigrant I view the world in a much more different light than most people do. Whenever an opportunity presents itself to me I am willing to put in the effort if I know it will better my life. This trait of resourcefulness originates from my family who, over the years have created a life for themselves out of virtually nothing. I moved to America at the young age of two years old with my father. Though he didn’t have much to begin with, my father decided to move to this country in hopes to lead a better life and follow on the path of the American dream. I vividly recall being in the backseat of our car while my father trained me on the importance of remaining perceptive and hardworking in school and abroad, I remember he would

Despite the Mexican culture that I’ve grown into, this country has been considered my home since I was only a year and a half old. Just like my parents, I am an illegal immigrant. I don’t remember living life without being surrounded by the American influence. Despite any length of time I have spent living and learning in the United States, or the active impact the American Dream has had on my life, according to Donald Trump, I am a threat to this country.

I remember when we studied the Great Depression in middle school, I remember it was just a few months after I moved to the United States. I don’t like art that much, I see a photograph and just think “hey that is nice” then move on, but “The Migrant Mother” was one that impacted me for the reason that my family and I were related to them. We left our home in the look for a better life with barely anything on us.

It all started on one sunny day on the month of July, I was done with my service to protect my country the United States of America. Man it was nice to experience the smell of freedom once again. Due to my deployments in many countries I never had the opportunity to step forth in the land of the free, my home, it felt nostalgic to experience it all again. During my time in the military I was twenty-one and was first a designated marksman or Scout Sniper in the Marine Corp for a year or two, then I decided to join a special operations team and joined the 75th Ranger Regiment and continued my role as a sniper. Then finally through months of hard work and combat deployments my skills as a sniper was finally recognized. I was hand selected to

I arrived to their house around noon and thought I had everything under control. I later realized that I didn't. I thought they would just watch t.v. the whole time but unfortunately that didn't happen. As soon as their mothers left they were digging into anything and everything they could get their hands on. I got up to clean up one mess to run somewhere else and clean up a new mess for about 30 minutes back and forth. After driving me crazy they soon got hungry, so I made them mac and cheese because everyone loves mac and cheese, right? Nope! None of the kids liked my cooking so I had to prepare an entire new meal, which added to the pile of dishes I had to wash. After they were satisfied with the second meal they went outside to play, while

I really enjoyed reading your post. Like you, I also have experience working with immigrants, and would like to continue doing so. Having said that, the second paragraph of your post made me feel a bit apprehensive. Reading the quote, I was reminded of the responsibility to keep my own beliefs and values in check, but also that it is the social workers’ responsibility to be aware and mindful of the clients’ as well – which weighs heavily on me.

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.

As an immigrant learning about the lives of those who have different experiences from me has always been important to me. One way that I have tried to open myself to learn about others is the course that I have taken in school. When it comes to my major in addition to focusing on public policy I also took various course regarding American Government and race (Race and American Political Development, Slavery and American Politics etc.). Overall throughout my academic career I have taken various courses that deal with the topic of race, gender, human sexuality, the conflict in the middle east and human rights overall.

We moved from Mexico to the U.S. when I was six. Moving to a new country meant starting from scratch. We slept in hotels for the first couple of weeks until mom was able to find a job. Being an immigrant who didn’t speak English made it extremely hard to find a job. She was hired to pick up strawberries for $7.50 an hour. With this wage, we weren’t able to afford a home, so we rented a room. The room was small so my brother, mom, and I shared a bed.

Fresh white snow falling from the sky, hitting my face as i walk through the bumpy road losing my mind. As walking through the road i look up to the sky and a bright light shines through my eyes. All of sudden i come back to reality,the flash of light was the street light while i was walking towards our red truck covered with snow. At the same time i'm walking and waving goodbye to my relatives from the small party they just had for their little daughter. Of course my parents taking long saying their goodbyes waiting by the door of the house. Suddenly, i hear my older sister, Yizel.

It was the third grade, a year I don’t remember all that well. expect for bits of a series of events that has stunted my ability to strongly connect with people. I had a friend, let’s call him Anglo for the sake of his privacy. He and I would sit on a slab of concert at marked the as the border of school playground, and an expanse of black top where the buses were parked when not in use.  We talked more than anything, food, and Pokémon where the main topic of discussion, along with verbal retellings of the last movie we watched.

I think that is an awesome change! Congratulations on making that decision. I definitely think that more has to be done (especially for women) given the current refugee crisis' state.