My American Dream

When I left my native country, I had my own imagination about America, the place I was going to. Through many descriptions from the books and earlier immigrants, I pictured the life: a nice two-floor

house stands in open field. The green grass covers up the entire yard; it seems that the green grass is going to connect the horizon in the far and far west. When the sun pierces through the cloud, the house seems painting in light orange by the sunlight. Two couples, who wear T-shirts and jeans, stand in front of the house. A big dog lies on the grass; two kids chase in the yard. They live in a comfort life; nothing has to be worried about; the sun is always bright; the sky is always clear; the wind is always blew in a gentle pace. That was most beautiful picture I ever had in my mind. I believed my family would be the characters in the picture when I arrive. That was my American dream.

When I first arrived in America, American dream became a real dream. The real life in America for immigrants, which nobody mentioned about, was far different from the picture I imaged. My family lived in a one-bedroom house. Winter was extremely cold; summer was intolerably hot. Instead, to realize the situation, I wait, I comforted myself that it was going to come true, and it was just a matter of time. I stay in my own dream. Before the sunlight ever had a chance to pierce through the darkness, the real life waked me up. My family was no longer able to afford the present apartment; we had to move to a cheaper apartment. I saw my parents sighed with sorrow; I saw them packed up the belongings; I saw my saw the friends helped us to move to a shabby place. I told myself: if American dream was real a dream, it should be the time to wake up.

I went out and found the first job in my life. In the work, I worked twice as hard as my co-workers. I paid more attentions to everything I did. I always learned new skills faster than others; I put more strength to the job. In the school, I often found myself spent hours and hours to study for the school subjects and other additional works. Even though some students still teased me about my language barrier, I never gave up. Quitting was not part of my consideration. In the following four years, I overcame numbers of problems. Eventually, I became one of seven people in my high school went from ESL 2 to ESL 5; I became one of firsts ESL students in my high school to be qualified to join National Honors Society.

Sometimes I saw my friends fell, got up, fell, got up again. They told me: because you never gave up, as your friend, I would never give up. I held my friends’ hands; I held my family members’ hands. We faced the hardships together. The third year after my arrival, my family moved from a one-bedroom apartment all the way to a two-bedroom house. I saw the sun pierces through my window curtain. American dream is not just a dream. It is a goal I can use my hands to make it comes true. Looking back, I encountered lot more than I could imagine since the first day I arrived. From all of the encountering, I learned that I couldn’t wait for things to happen; I must make them happen. The dream will not come true alternatively, I have to make it comes true. With my own hands and efforts, I can a better life; someday, I will make my entire American dream fully comes true.