Personal Narrative: My American Culture

As soon as I stepped onto the burnt, rubbery tarmac of the Washington Dulles airport that fateful August summer night, I was gripped by the realization that I wasn’t home anymore. For the past five years, I’d lived in Oman- a country often ignored in the vast Middle East. Raised in a close-knit community of Indian expatriates, for the first time in my life, I stood with my thick Indian accent in a sea of “ain’ts” and “yalls”. American culture wasn’t foreign to me; after all, I still watched movies like Spiderman while living in Oman, but my Indian roots stayed strong at the time. Life as an immigrant wasn’t easy as the only brown kid in the middle of rural Pennsylvania. On the first day of school, I heard everyone cheerfully communicating, the words escaping their lips with ease, while I sat anxiously, terrified of answering any questions in fear of being chastised for my vernacular. My voice itself was silenced, stuffed into a box as if it was banished for eternity to a desolate landscape. The years I spent in Pennsylvania gradually taught me to hide my culture from everyone: I didn’t eat with my hands, didn’t mention my knowledge of …show more content…
Having spent my time in America thus far as a shadow characterized as an outcast, I was stunned to see other Indian people when I left from the airport. My first day of school in California was wholly dissimilar to the experience I’d already faced in Pennsylvania. To my surprise, many students of all backgrounds brought a variety of foods and chattered among one another without a care regarding their racial origin. Diversity and one’s homeland were a source of pride, another opportunity to gain new insight instead of things to hideaway. These voices were loud and clear, confident in who they were, and happy to share their lives with a multitude of fellow students. Soon enough, my voice would join this