Personal Narrative: A Place In The Workplace

Vacated red-bricked buildings with innocent children sitting at the steps, a passed out man sprawling on the sidewalk, loud Spanish music blasted from a community center, a revolting smell from all the garbage in the sidewalk, people screaming for help, blue lights and a cacophony of sirens—this was my new workplace.
I had lived in the area for three years, yet this was the first time I was not driving by it, I was actually walking it—walking it alone. A place where you usually don’t want to walk alone, even in daytime. A place where in the night, siren sounds are heard more often than those of crickets. A place where people struggle to make ends meet every month. This place was also the beginning of my first job as Community Outreach Coordinator with the American Civil Liberties Union. My task was to ask the people on the city’s most dangerous and poorest street if they ever felt that their rights were violated in any way, and if so I would have to document their experience. But for me, it wasn’t that easy.
My immigrant Albanian parents were protective—sheltering me most of my life in an attempt of making my life safer, more solid—with a strict focus on education. So when they found out about my new job, my dad cried out in disapproval “Why did we come to America? For you to work on Main St?!” Because of this lack of
Inspired and wanting to make a difference, I started volunteering at clothing drives, food pantries and a community gardening project—quickly developing a love for both service and my community. That summer, the quiet, uninformed, inexperienced boy I was—confined to my petite, immigrant family—transformed into the confident, considerate, insightful character I still am