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Growing My Past

  • Updated October 26, 2021
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I believe this life is a framework that is composed of ideas and actions we take, that result in the consequence of good or bad. The U.S is considered to be a country of opportunities where a person can realize the possibilities when he/she puts their knowledge and skills into practice.

As I opened my eyes in this country, I was not being able to see where I was standing. The air blew with a fresh and cool breeze. All looked dead, the grass was dry and a silence that lasted long. The sound of my heart, beating fast than before. I managed to walk from the hot, smoky field to a peaceful, dead and dry hill. There was a sound, but unknown to me. A language which I never heard before. From a distance, there was a tall yellowish green sign with the words: “Welcome to Milan.”

I was living in Milan, Missouri where I attended my first school. The language barrier was a challenge for me, and so I decided to learn English as my second language. Now I was, on the line holding in my hand a seed, ready to become someone different or give all up. Figuring the words that I heard from the first day, was a mystery that I needed it to learn. As my first day of school started, I set in the last row towards the corner of four metal walls. Staring at the floor trying to place the seed on the ground. But from a distance, I heard a voice, but I didn’t understand. The second time the same sound. This time was more explicit; “dicionario-for-you” with a strong Spanglish accent of a white girl. As days went on, an old dictionary with wrinkled pages was my mouth with a silent tongue.

As a Latin American, born in El Salvador, of a mixed tree but with the same root. Grandmas from different countries: Honduras and Guatemala and a great-grandpa, an immigrant from Turkey. My home tree was set on fire when I was only six, and everything was different from the place I called home. My parents were saving there own. Dad, the someone, but different after all. He was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as ALS. The doctors told my dad that he had eight months to live, a hard time to decide what was better for me. He sold his properties knowing that every day was a step closer to his death. The tree and field have been burned to ashes. But my sister and I have managed to walk in the hot, smoky field, holding a seed looking for greener pastures in the U.S. Where it is believed to have the best fertilizer fields. Life was really difficult, but we had to keep growing, and not to dry up along the way.

Despite the many challenges when growing up. My sister and I finished our public school years. I choose to pursue my education irrespective of my background. Life taught me that consequences are a result of our decisions. We fail our capacity when we wait for others to tell us what to do. I believe that with effort and perseverance I can further my studies.

Working as a CNA, I came across a mentor, Laura, who is the night nurse. Great garner who helps me prune my broken branches. She believes in my potential and pushes me to work hard to become the best fruit of my results. The school and knowledge I am about to learn will prepare my roots into a broader ground. I believe hard work can harvest my goals, just like a giant tree grows from a seed, and despite all the many challenges of my own.

Laura made me believe that it’s feasible for a person to make strides. As a result, I realized that it is conceivable to increase current standards in my life regardless of whether my surroundings acknowledge my potential. I believe if I need better health or more satisfaction or a job that’s more meaningful, I can influence those things to happen. Also, as a result of this belief, I will do, test, and attempt new things notwithstanding when I feel doubtful. If I don’t trust that it’s conceivable to make new ideas work, then making progress becomes hard. More significantly, nothing will work if I don’t have faith in myself.

Cite this paper

Growing My Past. (2021, Oct 26). Retrieved from https://samploon.com/growing-my-past/

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