A Memorable Day in My Life
It was the most frightening day of my life. The day that I left my family in Cuba to move to the United States of America. I remember the day like if it was yesterday, dawning at the very thought of my existence. I thought of how influential my life was going to be while living in America: the styles, the food, the culture. They all seemed distant.
It was about four years ago, when I was sixteen, that I arrived from Cuba to the United States. I remember the feelings that were pulsating through my body: sadness with a hint of remorse. Before I knew it, my family was gone. All that I had left was my mother and father and a suitcase filled with our stuff. I couldn’t help but to think of the vast, majority of people who looked like aliens to me, walking beside me in America. My parents seemed happy, which is a plus; they always said that they wanted a better life for me and that the United States of America would be an ideal place to start with a dream. I guess the only comfort I had was that very dream I had for this country: being someone uniquely special like a unique snowflake. I can almost still smell the succulent aroma of airport food; although, after a few months in America, more specifically Florida, I grew to knowing that the food outside the airport’s doors was much tasty.
The first time that I ever met my family from Florida, I was extremely nervous. My parents and I were at my aunt’s house. Like I remember when I was little, my aunt, who came from Cuba when she was younger, insisted on feeding us every second of every hour. Of course, I insisted that I had enough because of how stuffed I was from eating; I was not use to a table being set up to the status of a “buffet”! That was the moment I met the one person in the United States that I grew to care about more than anything in the world (besides my family in Cuba): my cousin, Joshua. I remember it as the fondest memory I ever had. Joshua came in through my aunt’s front door...