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.
             It was four years ago that from that time that I was introduced into the unknown world. My parents grew up in Indonesia, and they abhorred the living conditions there; as a result, they moved to Germany to seek refuge with parts of the family. The city that I grew up my four years in is Munich. In my memories, I can still see the glimmering snowflakes gracefully falling down on the snowy grounds of the city. Yet I only lived in Germany for a short time, I felt like it was where I belonged. From learning two languages fluently (German and Indonesian) to walking for the first time, the recollections can't ever be forgotten.
             What I left behind is something I can't ever overlook. The move from an oversea country to another was the biggest change in my entire life. The prevalent goal that I had to achieve was to fit in with the American culture. Not only was it hard to learn English from scratch, but also it was even worse to go to school. In Kindergarten and the first few years of elementary school, I was made fun of because I couldn't speak well-enough English. This, inevitably, made me angry and disappointed of myself. As a result, I took after school English tutoring classes...