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Personal Narrative: The Immigrant Child

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Personal Narrative: The Immigrant Child
The day started off as any normal day. My mother woke me up and said “we must go.” Her voice sounded very urgent for what I thought was just a trip to the grocery store. My mom laid my outfit on my bed and packed by book bag; that’s when I figured out that I was starting school. I wasn’t entirely oblivious to the fact that I was going to familiarize myself with a completely different environment, but I just thought I had a little more time to prepare. Well, it turns out that I was wrong. You see, I wasn’t your average pre-schooler who was nervous about making friends. I was the immigrant child who had never spoken a word of English.
Rewind two years prior to that moment where we have an outspoken three-year-old girl accessorized with pink
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