Cover Letter
My written language and literacy narrative illustrates one of the defining moments of my life as an immigrant; it describes how and why I am able to persevere through difficulties regarding fitting into society as a foreigner. The journey is never easy, but the feeling of accomplishment and pride is felt when one realizes the sculpture they created of oneself through his or her own blood, sweat, and tears. The person who started the journey is never the same as the one who finishes it. Likewise, I feel as though my narrative depicts the start of my climb up a treacherous mountain of hurdles that essentially built my character today.
My intended audience when writing my narrative was the average non-immigrant American and the regular band of immigrants I identify myself with. I tailored my writing to satiate and appeal to their hunger of wanting to know more about how immigrants feel; to take them inside the mind of an immigrant child and walk in those small shoes.
During the writing process, I gained several insights regarding language and literacy. In class, we have been learning that there are several forms of English around the world and in America; this new knowledge influenced how I wrote about my narrative and forced me to practice real writing… unconventional writing that is from the soul, which leads to the main concept which impacted my writing and learning the most: purpose. I feel as though any time I write, I must do it with purpose, for writing without a need of purpose produces a world without human compassion. Impacting my audience and leaving at least a small thought of change for a reader has become my main new goal in writing.
This phase’s assignment aided me in achieving a crucial social part of the Course Learning Outcomes: Engage in the collaborative and social aspects of writing processes. I worked with my peers for peer reviews of our WLLN drafts and SLLN presentations, and it was the most engaging group experience I have had in class so far. I received so much support from everyone and it motivated me to keep doing better in the course. During my SLLN presentation, one of my classmates stated “Your writing is beautiful”, another one said, “You made me cry”. These comments showed me how I impacted my audience through my story, which led me to realize that having purpose in my writing was very important for me. When I wrote my WLLN draft, two of my peers commented about my writing; they did not incite or recommend any change, rather, they stated I should lengthen my writing and add more to the narrative because they were so fond of my story. I did exactly that, and in my written narrative, I expanded on the details of how my story formed who I was and this truly made my work better.
Throughout my narrative, I go into depth through the mind of an immigrant child. I never saw myself as an immigrant nor an American citizen. Rather, I saw myself as an expert concealer, a hider of things. I hid who I was and where I was from, therefore, I saw myself as a con artist. But, through the help of a very special substitute teacher, I realized that my family and I were not “aliens” as the immigration papers always stated. When I realized my family belonged, it gave me a sense of confidence that we were going to be okay. Where a person is from and their family roots give them a strong sense of backing in life, and once you are told that you and your family belong, you receive that feeling of home. The main takeaway from my narrative is that being an immigrant comes with many difficulties, but it is important to own who you are, where you are from, and why you came to a new world. My writing demonstrates the story of how I was able to gain confidence and a new perspective on how to take pride in being an immigrant.
Language & Literacy Narrative
As a child, I would always conceal that I was an immigrant. I would conceal my accent, I would try to conceal my parents’ accents and mannerisms, and I would even try to conceal my own immigrant behavior. This meant I could not speak the way I spoke at home, I could not read the way I read at home, and that I gave up all forms of writing in my native mother tongue. Of course, today, I regret not embracing my mother tongue; I can speak it fluently, but I cannot read or write it. English has taken over to become my main language, by means of literacy and linguistics.
In elementary school, I had perhaps one of the most meaningful moments in my language experience. I had an Indian substitute teacher who had an accent; this was strange to me. I was sacred for her, maybe even embarrassed or worried. How will the white people think of her? I hope the kids don’t make fun of her for the way she talks. Is someone imitating her? I wonder what the adults think of her? These thoughts stormed my brain and caused me the second-hand embarrassment of my own country. There was no pride, only the intense psychological need of wanting to hide where we were from; to become the embodiment of the traditional American citizen. I was running from who I was.
Her name was Ms. Patel. She had brown skin, long dark hair braided, glasses, and the signature bhindi, or the “red dot”. She spoke in a medium accent, with underlying tones of British English (often the main English medium in India), and she noticed I would rarely speak or try to be seen in class. Hence, she challenged me on this, almost to a point where I thought she despised me. She would force me to come up to the front of the class and practice public speaking by introducing myself. Of course, Ms. Patel enforced this exercise on the rest of the class, but she made me stand there the longest. I was sweating profusely as I was asked to state where I was born and where I was from. My mind was spiraling with thoughts and conclusions of sabotage. Why is she trying to embarrass me? Doesn’t she know that there is no pride in being an immigrant? What if everyone makes fun of me?
Eventually, I stated that I was born in Bangalore, India. “When did you come to America?” asked the bold substitute. This question was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I was so angry at the fact that she was interrogating me on my immigration and me being an “outcast”. I gulped and said “When I was basically a baby, I grew up here!” in a defensive tone. Ms. Patel finally understood that I was not comfortable admitting that I was a foreigner. I did not have the same privileges as the rest of my American peers and I did not want that to show. I ran back to my desk and sulked for the rest of class until lunch. In that moment, I felt my classmates’ peering eyes on me, looking at me like an object or an imported animal in a zoo.
In reality, this was all in my head. Ms. Patel didn’t want to embarrass me, she wanted to expose the class to a new culture. My classmates weren’t judging me, rather, they were probably curious of how another country was. Today, I realized I missed so many opportunities that day to share more about my culture and create a positive view on the Indian immigrants. I could have talked about the food, the dances, the colors, the festivals, etc. This would surely have engaged a large classroom of elementary school children. Till date, one of my biggest regrets is not participating in Cultural Heritage Day at my school. I never wore the traditional ethnic Indian attire in front of my peers, nor did I ever let my mother come to pick me up from school in that same form of attire.
Ms. Patel saw this loud insecurity of mine. She pulled me aside during lunch and asked, “What are you so afraid of?”. I immediately put my apples and sandwich away because I did not want her to notice that I was not eating the Indian bread my mother packed me. As I frantically rearranged my things and kept my head tilted downwards, she realized I was insecure about my oiled hair and my prevailing Indian self amongst other “American” kids. She took a deep breath and told me words that I was never to forget for the rest of my life. “Look at the way I talk and dress, it is not like the people here. But I do not care, I speak English my own way and it is correct. I wear what I want to wear, and that is not wrong either. Be a proud Indian, make your family proud. Stop thinking you do not belong here, you do.” She smiled and left me to be that day.
I never saw her again, but I remember her words every single day when I step out in public. I walk with my head held high, letting my oiled hair shine in the sun. I wear my ethnic clothing confidently in several social settings where the looks and glares do not bother me. I even mention by myself to people that I am from India with the utmost pride. This drastic change was not sudden, it was something that I had to work on for years, but with Ms. Patel’s words of wisdom, I was able to plant the seed of confidence in myself at an early age. I watered it every day with encouragement, pride, and strength. Today, I like to see myself as the fruit of my labor; my personality and the core of who I am in the real prize. My perspective was changed when Ms. Patel uttered the words mentioning I belonged, which meant my parents belonged, too. I began to use my English skills without the goal of trying to hide my culture, rather, I used my English to start describing my culture to others. I embraced it. I communicated it. I accepted it.
My name is Hitha. I am from India, and I am a proud immigrant.
Forms of Supporting Media
Exhibit A: British-built Architecture
This is a depiction of British-built architecture in my hometown. The influence of the British culture also impacted the way we spoke English, with a mix of an Indian and British accent. This impact on Indian culture formed the way my mother and father spoke English, due to the fact that they were schooled in the Oxford schooling system during the 70s, 80s, and 90s. To date, India follows the Oxford English system implemented by Britain colonialism. I feel as though this history explains an important part of my familial background in regards to generational English development. Note: In my narrative, Ms. Patel had underlying tones of British English because she, too, was schooled in the Oxford schooling system in India.
Exhibit B: Identity by Banni Anand (Rutgers University)
Pictured above is a painting formed by an Indian student at Rutgers University describing her experiences as a foreign child in America. This painting really spoke to me because it reminded me of the facade I put on growing up; I always had to maintain that balance between Western life and Ethic life. I dressed up according to the social culture of the country I lived in; ironically, the country I lived in is made up of several cultures and is built by immigrants. I never realized that until later on in life, and this painting perfectly depicts the “faces” that I often put on in an effort of fitting in, never truly embracing my culture. Today, I am open about who I am and have learned my lessons in why hiding one’s identity robs them of who they are.
Exhibit C: Meaningful Quotes
“Every aspect of the American economy has profited from the contributions of immigrants.” ~ President John F. Kennedy
This quote explained by President JFK struck me in the sense that it gives value to immigrants. It explains how we are not burdens to the economy. This comforts immigrants in the sense that they too have a role in the economy, and they belong here just as much as anyone else.
“We the people of this continent are not afraid of foreigners because many of us were once foreigners.” ~ Pope Francis
Pope Francis’ quote regarding how everyone were all once immigrants incites a feeling of mass community. It makes immigrants feel as though they are not the only ones who went through this journey, and that whoever else judges has no right to do so because they and their ancestors, too, were once foreigners.
“A child on the other side of the border is no less worthy of love and compassion than my own child.” President Barack Obama
Since my narrative advances into the thinking of an immigrant child, this quote by President Obama hit home for me. When he mentions that each child is worthy of love regardless of where they are from, it highlights many issues of how immigration can make children and families feel. It microscopes the immorality in how children lose their innocence the second they realize they do not belong because they are not from here. My narrative delves into one aspect of this issue by examining how I felt growing up as an immigrant child. This particular quote validates that all children are equally worthy of basic human love. At the end of the day, we are all just people.
