Personal Narrative: It Is Hard To Be An Immigrant
It is hard to be an immigrant or being the daughter of one. I still remember the day when my mom left me with my uncles to come to the United States, because on that day I acted as it was a regular day. I had a different perspective about my mom years ago, I used to call her “witch” because she always wanted me to my homework, have good grade at school; while my priority as a child was to have fun (play as a little child). When me and my family went to the airport to say goodbye to my mom, every thought I was going to cry, but I did not instead I said “finally.” I always regret myself for saying that, but I was a child whose priority was to play. After days and months I started to miss my mom, I was raised with my uncle; they were nice to me