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Personal Narrative: My Hero's Journey

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I am an independent individual with my own thoughts and my own actions. Unfortunately, however, I am also a younger sister, and I would unhesitantly and mindlessly follow my older sister anywhere, whether what she was leading me to was into an established university or into an abandoned warehouse. If my older sister asked me to jump, then I would ask her how high. If my older sister told me we were going to spend our Sunday afternoon watching Aziz Ansari on Netflix, then I would bring the popcorn. We sat there, that luminous Sunday afternoon, watching the hilarious Indian comedian remind the electrified audience about the courageous travails and journeys of immigrants coming into America. My sister and I laughed as Ansari bantered about the …show more content…

My sisters and I are the first generation of our family to be born in America. Our parents were unhappy with their lives in the Philippines and courageously desired to better themselves and seek opportunity in the United States. Their older siblings, forced to drop out of junior high and toil in rice farms in order to make a living, were wholeheartedly supportive in ensuring better lifestyles for their younger siblings. Therefore, the groveling labor of both of my parents’ families was greatly rewarded when my parents became the first to graduate with Bachelor’s degrees. With their degrees in engineering, my parents were able to enter Canada. The maple leaf country became the setting where my parents’ resilience was to be tested to the extremes. In Canada, they worked past the apprehension and disapproval of their own parents and their own best friends in the Philippines who constantly called them to come back home. They worked past the absurdity and foolishness of the countless jobs they were forced to take in Canada in order to avert abject poverty, such as my father’s graveyard shift at the 7-Eleven gas station. My father worked past the utter humiliation in staring at a mirror which reflected him wearing a McDonald’s uniform. My mother worked past the uninterrupted concern and distress as she clutched her first daughter in her arms and stared

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