Memories.

Memories of my homeland are nothing more than a blur as I try to journey back into my childhood. My assimilation into the American culture took place in 1984 when I was only four years old. Nine family members squished into a one-bedroom apartment located in a run down, crime infested area of Long Beach with only the hope of leading a better life as an inspiration for getting up each day. My story sounds pretty …

…break loose for sure. But what matters the most is that I have found my identity. I am no longer bound by an unwritten rule; a rule of conduct of carrying on the practice of my parents' beliefs. I will continue to integrate new goals and ideals as I gain new experiences because life is full of surprises. And I expect no less from my children when it comes time for them to find themselves.