Personal Narrative Analysis

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It took mere seconds my very first day of school to realize I stood out like a drop of black oil paint in an oasis. I attended a private Lutheran school, which only contained one other South Asian student other than myself, my brother. I knew he would not be there for long due to the fact that he is five years older than me and was bound to graduate some time soon. My parents enrolled me in a school they could not afford because they hoped it would excel my education; however, it did a lot more than improve my school knowledge. I quickly became a chameleon, desperate to be accepted. I was the first child to be born in America throughout my entire family tree. I assimilated so rapidly I forgot my cultural roots, and I was not the only one to notice it. After my second year in a school with no other Bengali, Indian, or Middle Eastern companions, my parents noticed I never spoke anything but English at home. Not only that, but instead of using the intended pronunciation of my name I became Raùl, my more common, easier to pronounce alter ego. My parents completed the tedious task of transferring me to a public school before I could even learn the word dumbfounded.…show more content…
There, I met my first Bengali friend outside of a temple, Arman, who soon became a lifelong companion. In the first grade, he stood at four feet eleven inches and a hundred pounds. His grandiose and intimidating size was nothing but a mirage cloaking his altruistic characteristics. I was ecstatic to finally come across another student I could relate to, who consumed the same cuisines as me, and who was accustomed with the zesty aroma of curry. Of course, the opening question he addresses is, “Are you

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