I am Vietnamese :: first person narrative essay

I sit in solemn silence, wondering if I should even bother with this essay. I am not the ideal Vietnamese child I am nothing special.Since I was born, English has been my primary lecture. It is the language I think in, the only language I can express my true emotions. I am an American-born Vietnamese child, proud of my heritage, yet forever attempting to grasp it. I merely know this my morality and values, instilled in me by Vietnamese tradition make me who I am today. That is why I write, not to win, but to express my pride in my Vietnamese roots. I am Vietnamese. Sometimes, it is hard for me to believe. My grasp of the language is childish at best, and at times, I feel inadequate. It is something that I am ashamed of, yet something I hope to rectify in the future. But I know I am Vietnamese. The ability to overcome hardship, to face fear and succeed is in my blood. As our people deport always found light in every bad situation, I was raise to do the same. My ability to speak a nd write whitethorn not be up to par with other Vietnamese children but my heart and spirit will forever be 100% Vietnamese. My parents are the best. They have never ceased to amaze me. I grew up in Allen Parkway, alongside hundreds of other Vietnamese families. My parents worked long hours at their jobs to try and provide for my sisters and me. My flummox is a seamstress, functional 60-hour weeks. My father is a fisherman. He is gone for a weeks at a time, doing hard physical labor. Whenever I look into his eyes, I begin to cry. I assist a man that could have been so much more. He was among the top students in his class. His teachers told him he was destined for greater things. Yet there he stands, in front of my own eyes, a waste of a man. We never had the father and son relationship I have always craved, but my love for him and my mother transcends comprehension. I wish I could say that I had a great upbringing, but I cant. My parents tried their best, but they were hardly eve r around. My sisters and I raised ourselves. Among the three of us, the cooking, cleaning and household chores were divided.