I was raised in a traditional Vietnamese household where the sharp, lingering taste of bitter melon was a treat, family was everything, and everyone spoke Vietnamese. However, I lived in a community where speaking English was the majority and I was very clearly, a minority. There were hardly any other people who spoke Vietnamese where I lived. Because of this, I slowly lost my grasp with the Vietnamese language and my ability to communicate with my family This was terrifying for me; as a result, I have made efforts to learn and speak Vietnamese even though it sounds horrendous because I still have a voice and want to be heard. Being a Vietnamese-American, especially in a predominantly white community, has been a hardship that I’ve faced.
My parents are Vietnamese refugees that fled Vietnam after the war. My sister and I were born and raised in the Philippines for 11 years. I can speak Tagalog, Vietnamese and English. I graduated this year from University of Washington, receiving a Public Health degree. I like helping people especially immigrants because I am one myself
Passionate, open-minded, worldly, hard-working, leadership skills Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story. She points her pale finger at a word and I say, “Legislature.” She pauses, and then repeats the word, “Legislature.”
Growing up as Hmong-American youth, I was raised by a father who joined the military when he was twelve years old. He was forced into the Vietnam war fighting for safety, peace, and a relationship with the United States of America. Through this military influence and discipline at such a young age, my father accepted the military lifestyle. He carried it over from the Vietnam war to my family today. Growing up, my father was always strict on me, especially when it came to my appearances and education.
Upon meeting me, not many people know that I am a first generation American. However, they are usually interested in the orgin of my last name. I am in fact Ukranian. Both my parents and my older sister were born in Ukraine. They immigrated to America in 1992 because of religious persecution that they were facing.
As the crow flew across the sky, I felt a thick breeze of wind hit me in the face, I heard several voices talking a language I'd never heard before. I was born in southern Europe, and everyone around me was just another figure. I saw men, women, and tiny children, looking like they had been starving for quite some time. I, however did not look much different, but I guess it is the thought of more people starving than just myself. I am 14 years old, I was born in 1877, my parents have been separated from me, and my little brother just died.
As an Asian American, I frequently get questioned about what kind of Asian I am. When I answer, I get mixed results. Most people who ask me that question like to assume that that I am Japanese or Korean since I love anime and listen to Korean pop. However, I am a Chinese American and I am proud of it. Since I have a Chinese background, I like to express to others about my culture.
As a teenager moving to a new country with a different culture, different language, and being thousands of miles away from everyone I grew up with was not an easy change, however, that was precisely what I did in January of 2013 when I came to the United States with my father. My whole world changed since, and shaped my way of thinking. From learning English, adjusting to a new culture, experiencing my first snow and finding my way in my new country, my life has been an exciting adventure. My parents brought me to America almost 5 years ago to have a better life, and to get a better education.
Life as a Native American sucks. I realized this when I was a little kid. I’ve come to accept that what other people label or describes us as are true. I’m not happy to admit this they are right. My people don’t do anything to prove these people’s claims, or better known as stereotypes, about Native Americans wrong.
The first eight years of my life, I spent in India where I was born. Growing up I was constantly reminded by my parents that I needed to make them proud by getting a good job and living a good lifestyle. They told me this because they did not want to see me live a hard life like they did. When I was nine years old, I moved from India to the United States of America. The reason why I moved to America was not because I was living a bad life in India, it was so that I could have a better education and more opportunities in life.
MEMOIR: INTERVIEW WILLIAM WU I 'm a first generation Asian-American. I was born in Lima, Peru, right before my parents came to America from China, and we moved to America when I was one. Growing as a first generation American, my parents worked a lot. I can 't say that I wasn 't loved, but my bond with my parents was weak because I was always home alone, being babysat by others, or going out because they had to work.
On one brusque day, I was running from the cops knowing that I shouldn’t have held up 7/11 while on probation. Now i’m really gonna get locked up now. I don’t care i’ll miss my sophomore year or if the judge gives me grace again. I’ll end up with my dad in West Cali, and i’ll end up working at his retarded library. My mom and he were divorced when I was three.
I am Hmong-American student, I am seventeen years old. My hometown is in Wausau Wisconsin in the United States. I attend Wausau West High School and it will be my last year. My relationship with my family is great.
Being born to parents who speak Chinese, my first language was Chinese. Growing up, I struggled learning the complex language of English. I had to be in ELD, English Literacy Development, class for years and only until I went to middle school, did I not go to ELD anymore. I was relentlessly made fun of for my grammar in school and I was always afraid to bring Chinese food for lunch because I was scared of people making fun of me.
The year was June 23rd, 1968. It was wet, mucky, and the air was filled with a thick sweat that seemed to never dissipate. We were in the middle of thick, green, tropical jungle in Saigon, Vietnam. Me and my friend Carlton were in a platoon of 6 other men. We were sitting there smoking our cigarettes and telling old stories of the good old days when were back in America.
It's viciously cold, people are sick, hunger is spreading across all two thousand huts, and that’s just the beginning. Further on, I hear gunshots being fired while soldiers are marching. Its 1777 and the Revolutionary War just started and soldiers are already retreating. I stay here and protect the soldiers from enemies while disease, hunger, and cold spread. I know why I was made and how I will serve - sheltering these warriors is the most important objective I will do.