Growing up as a first generation American, something that is very common, is that people like me struggle. The opportunity afforded to us is often limited, and the challenges we face can be difficult, whether that is issues with society’s image of immigrants or the clash between wanting to live the American Dream without losing your connection to your culture and family. The threat of losing that way of life is also ever-present. For me, at only 6 years old, I faced the first major obstacle in my life, something many of us first generation Americans have sadly faced. My hero, my protector, my father was deported, leaving me feeling lost and confused. This flipped my innocent, naive little world upside down. It changed me. It opened my young eyes to the harsh realities of the world. As is prone to happen in these situations, my father and I gradually got distant. Luckily my older brother was around although only 15 years old himself, he was a big help for my then newly single mother. We struggled greatly since my father was no longer around to help with bills and to raise my siblings and I. I recall having to sell our furniture and move to a smaller home since we couldn’t afford it without my father. I became a child who had SNAP, I became the kid who brought home plastic bags of food my school would give to me. As I got older, it didn't get any easier. I began to resent the world and viewed it negatively. I felt abandoned and forgotten by my father. The only father figure I had was my older brother, and sadly losing my father and struggling financially wasn’t my worst obstacle I had yet to face. This past October for instance, I faced the most notable obstacle in my life and lived my worst nightmare. I received the worst phone call imaginable, one that made me stop breathing, I felt my stomach drop, I felt like I was going to throw up. I felt so many memories rush through my mind, I felt them slipping through my hands. I received the news that my older brother, whom taught me to be myself despite what others may think, taught me to play video games, and even to brush my teeth. To the man who at the time wasn’t even a man, only a boy who had to step up to raise me and be my only father figure, who tragically and suddenly passed away. It tore me apart. At first, I was able to continue school and sports, acting as though my personal life wasn't falling apart and keeping a strong front. I was convincing everyone I was still the Mairany who was sassy and bold. I pushed myself so much, suffering and isolating myself more and more every day. I stayed in that state stuck for a very long time. But losing my big brother made me realize that, in life, you have to keep pushing through. Even when you no longer have anyone behind you to support you. I know it’s a cliche, but it’s kind of like riding a bike. Even when there isn’t anyone to push you or catch you if you fall, you have to learn to do it all on your own. If you fall you can’t just stay on the ground, you have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and try again. My story is an example of a struggle we first generation Americans face, we struggle greatly just doing our best to live.