Essay On Being An Immigrant

I was born in the capital of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. My family was native to the land having lived there for decades, but we were soon refugees due to famine and war between ethnic groups who had laid claim to the land we inherited from our ancestors. In leaving, my mother left behind her family, knowing that she may never see them again, so that we; her children, could have a better chance at life. She understood that we were susceptible to becoming victims of war, that it was impossible to foster a home during war. Ultimately, with the war progressing, we moved to the shacks of Nairobi, Kenya in an effort to seek asylum. My father at the time was old, he had fled Ethiopia with sorrow and bitterness, and he knew that he had to prioritize at that point in his life that war would intercede with his ability to care for his family. My father went to America years later. He quickly started

Assimilating was the hardest thing for me because it called for the resignation of who I used to be, my culture, it made me a foreigner to the languages I had learned, the customs I was once loyal to. It forced me to cut ties to my childhood, my past, and with it my memories. The transition during my youth made me culturally aware. Even though some aspects of my homeland were lost in between trying to grasp another, it made me value it a lot more. As long as you understand who you are, you don’t need a language to validate where you come from. It is our choice, our decision of whether we’re willing to. Today, in the melting pot of the world, I can say that I am an Ethiopian, Kenyan, and American. I can explain my culture and how it has catered me to become who I am today. It has catered me to be willing, to strive for an education, to take advantage of time. It has made me proud and