Personal Narrative: The Brooklyn Bridge

Words: 1529
Pages: 7

I was ready to throw up. The foul smells of sewage assaulted my nose; the honking of cars pounded my ears; the sight of trash covering the sidewalk was enough to turn my stomach. I hated going to New York, but every once in a while, my family makes the trip up north to visit Māmā’s sister. After a dreaded seven-hour car ride, I woke up from my nap just in time to see the Brooklyn Bridge. To my juvenile eyes, this bridge looked like something out of the past – in fact, everything around me seemed ancient. And ugly. I continued looking out the car window with boredom until my family reached my aunt’s home (or as I like to call her, Āyí). After sitting in city traffic for about half an hour, our van pulled up to Āyí’s house with her waving from the front door. Like the houses around her, she looked pretty old too. Of course, I wasn’t going to say anything rude like that, especially considering that Māmā warned me beforehand about her sister: “My sister’s one of those traditional Chinese moms so watch out.” While we were getting settled in, Āyí asked whether we were hungry and if we wanted to do some sightseeing. Sure enough, Bàba (my dad) accepted her proposal to head out. We originally wanted to walk around on foot, but cars filled up every parking spot around. Instead of turning back, Bàba was dead set on …show more content…
I asked my parents if we could stay for a little longer since there was so much in the city I haven’t checked out yet, like the Empire State Building or Coney Island. “We don’t want to bother your Āyí any longer,” Bàba replied. Māmā added on, “Yeah, I don’t like my sister that much anyway.” As we crossed the bridge once more, I saw the Statue of Liberty on the other side of the harbor. It was tiny, but I could just make out the green lady holding up the torch. I don’t know what the immigrants in the past thought of the statue, but I do know that New York City became a home for them. After all, it is the original melting