Memories of my homeland are nothing more than a blur as I try to journey back into my childhood. My assimilation into the American culture took place in 1984 when I was only four years old. Nine family members squished into a one-bedroom apartment located in a run down, crime infested area of Long Beach with only the hope of leading a better life as an inspiration for getting up each day. My story sounds pretty generic compared to many other immigrant stories. What makes my story interesting is how my perspective on culture, religion, and life as a whole matures through the year while my parents' remain largely unaffected by the transition into American society.
My parents came from mainland China, although I was conceived in neighboring Vietnam. They practice Buddhism, which is the most popular religion in mainland China. My parents grew up in poverty and were strictly disciplined by my grandparents.
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