My Childhood Memories Of America-Personal Narrative

Here I was about to sit down for 12 hours, looking into a screen in front of me. You know, I was actually excited for this ride-- watching movies, playing games, eating food. (Those are some reasons why I like riding on a plane, it's like you're at a movie theater for the whole day, having everything to yourself, having food being served to you. Of course the worst part of it is hearing the many unpleasant sounds of babies crying.) As I was on the plane that night, I asked myself," Why are we moving? What will it be like? Will I fit in?" Going into a new land without speaking or understanding its language, I was scared. I was scared that I wouldn't be able to make any friends. I was scared that I wouldn't fit in. Before this, I was living a
A place of freedom. A place of courage. A first sight of Washington as I walked into the cold big spaces of the parking lot. The flashing and shining lights of cars and trucks as we were on the road. The quiet and peaceful car ride on our way back to the house. I was in the land of prosperity. It was my first day of school. I walked to school with my sister ready to learn. I can remember us walking through the cold, breezy air reminding ourselves that the only phrase we knew was," I don't speak English." Walking through the school, I couldn't help but notice the wall-less hallways exposing me to the cold air or how decorative each and every classroom was with stapled pictures or arts. I took a couple more moments trying to take in the architecture of the school. Then, it was time. Time to observe. Time to learn. Time to try my best to fit in. In the distance the voices and laughter of kids tickled my ears. A group of students approached the door to my classroom—I knew that I would have to spend time with them for the rest of the year. As I was standing there, I tried the hardest to act cool while they exploded with laughter and