Personal Narrative: The Only Guyanese Child

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There was chatter everywhere and an excited buzz filled the school. My mother scanned the hallways, searching for a certain room number that would match the one that was listen on the paper in her hands. A large “Welcome” banner decorated the entrance of the school and white balloons were swaying next it it. I looked out at the sea of unfamiliar people passing me until my mom gently tugged at me to show me that we had arrived at the classroom. She kissed me goodbye and told me to have a great day as I bravely entered the room. When I walked in, something felt off; but I couldn’t quite place it. I looked around the room curiously and that 's when I saw it; I was the only Guyanese child in a sea of African American children.
From the moment
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When my teacher asked us to share to the class what we had for dinner, I felt awkward being the only kid to reply “beef curry and rice” against the many other “baked chicken and mashed potatoes” or “macaroni and cheese”. Sure, I had tried those foods before, but I never had it on a weekly basis. But if saying that I had macaroni and cheese last night instead of bake and saltfish caused people to look at me normally, then that 's what I did. I will admit now that lying was not a very good thing to do, especially for something so small; but I just could not gather the courage to reveal what I actually ate on a daily basis, knowing that my peers would have no idea what I was talking about. I specifically remember that same afternoon I was playing with Play-Doh with a new friend during free time. I had made the mistake of asking her to pass me the “belna” so I could flatten out my Play-Doh to finish the cake I was making. The confusion on her face was evident and I could tell she had no idea what I was talking about. I later found out that American term for what I was asking for was a “rolling pin.”After that day, I learned to call a “belna” a “rolling …show more content…
Very slowly, I had begun into assimilate into both the American and Black culture. I had learned new things about black culture and, unfortunately, began to neglect certain aspects of mine. However, I do not hold the person I used to be against me; after all, I was only a five year old girl just trying to fit in. I understand that before I feared being the odd kid, but being more mature now, I know that there is nothing wrong with being a little different. Instead of seeing my culture as something to be embarrassed about, I now see it as a special part of me that I have learned to love and embrace. Even though that girl with the tiny braids and colorful beads was not me, she will always be a part of me, serving as a memory of the negative effect that trying to please others has on me. In the future, she will be the one that empowers me to introduce my Guyanese side to the world and remind me not to conform to certain ideals presented by

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