Personal Biography

Personal Biography - Personal Biography Quiero a mi papi!...

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Personal Biography “Quiero a mi papi!” (“I want my daddy!”), I would cry every morning as I saw my father fade away into the distance as he ran to catch the bus. I remember as if it was yesterday, my grandma holding me close whispering to my ear “No llores, ya va a venir” (“Don’t cry he will be back”). For me, my dad was my best friend, my hero, my everything. Soon, the strong father-son relationship we had was going to be broken by the American dream. It was 1995 when my life was turned around as I was forced to migrate with my mother from my birth country of Honduras to a new beginning called Texas. The idea of becoming a Houstonian was strange. The city had over one million citizens and it almost seemed like every hour was rush hour. For me, Houston was like an annoyed ant civilization after someone had stepped over it. In contrast, my hometown probably had less than one percent of Houston’s population. It was a place where everyone knew each other, a place where we carried the burden of others, a place of unity. The few childhood moments I remembered were soon going to banish away. I had to keep myself busy to avoid constantly remembering I had arrived in a new planet. That’s when my mother decided to get me a full time job as a student. My first day of school was full of tears; the idea of being alone was not my best friend. Not only did I have to learn a
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Personal Biography - Personal Biography Quiero a mi papi!...

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