Kindertransport †Identity Essay

Do you ever think nearly what you symbolise in this world? Do you ever think somewhat how people, as a whole, perceive your personality, your primer coat, your style, your language, and your opinion? Ive been thinking a atomic re doingor about how my individuality is recognized by others and how I can variegate it within one moments decision. The definition of identity is rightfully vague to my experience but I think it has to do with e very(prenominal)thing in your existence that affects to your physical, psychological, and cultural persona.The people that surround my action label me as they see me yet I label myself by dint of experience. My brain cannot catch a sample of your history and digest through to create a perfect overlook yet it can crawfish out in the development that I witness and an idea of who you truly argon can rootage to grow. When I think of Michael Marcel, the words, funny, strong-minded, and caring illuminate. When your father thinks about Micha el Marcel, variation among traits leave occur. When you think about your mode of living, how do you relate yourself to the rest of the world?Usually, the nationality of a person is a red iris diaphragm for certain stereotypes and pre-judgmental observations. To ones own self, this great power represent a certain uniqueness and pride yet it can, also, provoke a finger of shame and anger. I know that you, as a Dominican/Italian, take great pleasure in voicing your quirked cultural way of living. Kobenhavn and Roskilde will forever morph my character. These two cities within the tiny country of Denmark are home to my relatives, my genetics, and the roots of my place in society. I can guess many instances of existence reminded about the pleasant haven.The death of my Mormor (Grandma) sucked all of the nil from my limbs and left me for dead. I realized that her passing shouldnt be brought downwards with sorrow but rather glazed over with past feelings of happiness. She went thro ugh hours of pain to produce Diana Rasmussen and in turn, Diana gave her a little baby little girl named, Freja. A wave of change rose over my body and I understood that I would always be Dianas daughter. I am confident within my fair, Danish skin.I can remember how do I was throughout my time in America concerning my cultural background and my cultural interests. People would widen their eyes as I communicate about my past in Denmark to them, I was like an alien from a strange planet. In the now, I am criticized for my newly found triple life. I say triple because one parting of me is Danish and I have an entire past within my motherland, one part of me is Italian but I dont have a puffy affiliation with the country, and one part of me is very tied into the Hispanic lifestyle. I am ridiculed on a daily basis for the last part and I am identified differently because of it. By the Caucasian association, I am insulted on (almost) a daily basis. By the Hispanic community in our school, I am subjected to the label of Latina Wannabe. By the Hispanic community outside of school, I am seen as a very good person and willing to accept and try anything new within their countrys ways. By my parents, I am given unmatchable looks as I sing along to Mariposa Tracionera and they wonder why their little girl suddenly turned Hispanic.Recently, I have been subjected to an act of immaturity and ignorance. There is a guy in my grade that hates my lifestyle more than his own selfish loneliness when I chat with the questionable skin head, I can come across him saying that my reach are grimy from touching the hands of Mexicans. It hurts my entire body to hear something so harsh come out of a human beings mouth he takes the medias image of crossing the border, the dose cartel wars, and the unpaid taxes, and spits them back into my face. The other night, I was talking with David and he posted on my wall, stop being so sad. That was an privileged joke between him and I it had no concern with skin-head. The ignorant skin-head commented on the post and said, Go back to Mexico. I called you, crying a river upon the keypad, and complained about the words that had left a mark in my mind. Lack of knowledge can drive the process of identity onto a cruel path. all single piece of matter that inhabits the personal world around you has an put in on your identity. The tiny room in which your soul takes life cast of characters has an effect. The soil that sticks to the bottom of your feet as you take your first steps has an effect. The way you represent yourself is a lifelong process you begin to mold your life as soon as your lungs fill with newly found oxygen. The cries that are let out during your first hours on the outside of the womb might travel through time and find themselves spewing out of your mouth xiii years later because of ridicule over your skin color, musical taste, family situation, and so forth Identity is everything and everything is ident ity. Is it really that simple? Yes, I think so.