September 13, 1989, is the day I could never forget. It was a chilly, cool morning day at the Munich International Airport. Airline passengers were bustling around the gigantic airport, frantically running around to catch their flight. I was about four years old, wearing a few layers of clothing because it was extremely wintry in the foreign European country. Everyone knew how I was feeling. I felt nervous, scared, sad, angry, and disappointed all at the same time. The thought of just leaving my birthplace and natural habitat gave me the fright of it all. I hated it and I didn't want to go. The only people that were anticipated about the trip were my family members, my mom, my dad, and my sister. I didn't want to go. I didn't.
Even after I familiarized myself with the English language, I still struggled to be like everyone else. I tried to fit in with the popular kids, but it didn't work. I tried to eat the traditional American food, but I hated it; I only had a interest in Asian cuisine. I tried to do everything but right.
With time growing old, I was slowly beginning to put all the puzzle pieces together and find out what kind of a person I should be. Should I try in all I got to be the popular kid? Should I try to go over the limits of achieving the best grades in order to satisfy my parents? Should I listen to this type of music to fit in with the cool kids? In due course, finding out who I AM was something I had to find out.
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