Challenges in a Foreign Land

I left her division quite shaken. I felt very small and alone. My invest was perfectly fine considered from my feature background and experiences. However, when I halt in the suspireroom before leaving the building I took a capacious hard look in the mirror. Would I ever fit in to the American lifestyle or culture? Did I have to abandon everything about my own culture and lifestyle to do so? If I did change, what would I have left of my own cultural heritage and personal identity? I drove home very depressed and sad, inquire if we had done the right thing by coming to America. notwithstanding its promises of equality and freedom, I felt like America was a harsh place where people judged you based on the itinerary you talked, dressed, and believed.

As I entered the door I smelled the familiar odors of Fatima's Samosas. I could smell the spices and oil and knew Fatima was in the kitchen with her arms elbow-deep in borecole for the Samosa shells. I walked into the kitchen and immediately felt better. Fatima had an old cassette of some Pakistani medicine playing. Her brightly colored dress and apron were true of Pakistani attire. She was covered with flour and gave me a wide make a face that beamed from ear-to-ear when she saw me. "Good. You're home. Now we make Samosas," she exclaimed. Fatima had a sixth signified and forever and a day knew when something was wrong or out of sorts with me. Her instincts were no contrasting this time. "What's ee's wrong?," she said in her

I sat down and burst into tears until the spices from the plaza stuffing for the Samosas bring outmed to infiltrate all my senses. Fatima put her arms or so me and hugged me. "There is no thing to cry over," she said.

"As long as we have Samosas and each other, we have everything we need." At this breaker point Fatima handed me a brightly colored apron from the kitchen drawer. She fasten it on me and handed me a large bowl with flour, veggie oil, salt, and some spices. "Knead this," she said. "It will solve your problems." I didn't see how kneading dough for Samosas would make me savor better, but I plunged my hold into the mixture and kept kneading the dough into the crumbly mixture essential to make Samosas. As I kneaded the dough and the Pakistani melody played, I looked at Fatima and spy the smile of joy on her face. She seemed so content and happy, even though she more than the rest of us has left much behind to come to America. She noticed me staring at her and said, "You see. Kneading Samosas makes you feel better." Suddenly I did feel better. I continued to knead the dough and listen to the music and realized that the ties that bind my family and I together will always be in place. No foreign country or other culture can rob us of
Order your essay at Orderessay and get a 100% original and high-quality custom paper within the required time frame.