I am Vietnamese :: first person narrative essay

I sit in solemn silence, wondering if I should even bother with this essay. I am not the idealistic Vietnamese child I am nothing special.Since I was born, English has been my primary language. It is the language I think in, the only language I tramp express my true emotions. I am an American-born Vietnamese child, proud of my heritage, yet forever attempting to grasp it. I merely know this my morals and values, instilled in me by Vietnamese tradition make me who I am today. That is why I write, not to win, but to express my pride in my Vietnamese roots. I am Vietnamese. Sometimes, it is hard for me to believe. My grasp of the language is childish at best, and at times, I feel inadequate. It is something that I am ashamed of, yet something I hope to chasten in the future. But I know I am Vietnamese. The ability to overcome hardship, to face fear and succeed is in my blood. As our people imbibe always found light in every bad situation, I was raised to do the same. My ability to speak and write may not be up to par with other Vietnamese children but my heart and spirit will forever be 100% Vietnamese. My parents are the best. They have never ceased to drum me. I grew up in Allen Parkway, alongside hundreds of other Vietnamese families. My parents worked long hours at their jobs to try and provide for my sisters and me. My mother is a seamstress, working 60-hour weeks. My father is a fisher spell. He is gone for a weeks at a time, doing hard physical labor. Whenever I look into his eyes, I begin to cry. I see a man that could have been so much more. He was among the top students in his class. His teachers told him he was destined for greater things. Yet there he stands, in front of my let eyes, a waste of a man. We never had the father and son relationship I have always craved, but my love for him and my mother transcends comprehension. I wish I could say that I had a great upbringing, but I cant. My parents tried their best, but they were hardly ever aro und. My sisters and I raised ourselves. Among the three of us, the cooking, change and household chores were divided.