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The life of a foreigner

Ivania Herrera is a junior currently attending East Los Angeles Renaissance Academy, a school focused on Urban Planning and Design in East Los Angeles. She moved to the United States from La Libertad, El Salvador, about two years ago for personal reasons, and to start a new life with better opportunities and to make dreams…
<a href="https://highschool.latimes.com/author/hivania/" target="_self">Ivania Herrera</a>

Ivania Herrera

September 28, 2017

Ivania Herrera is a junior currently attending East Los Angeles Renaissance Academy, a school focused on Urban Planning and Design in East Los Angeles.

She moved to the United States from La Libertad, El Salvador, about two years ago for personal reasons, and to start a new life with better opportunities and to make dreams come through. It was a struggle for Herrera to adapt to a new environment and a different culture. When she arrived, although she wanted to go back to her country the second day, she didn’t understand that much English; still, she’s overcoming those obstacles.

Even though she doesn’t speak the language well, it has been a challenge; she’s putting a lot of effort to not let that stop her from accomplishing her goals. It’s frustrating sometimes not being able to express everything she wants to say and thinks or to be afraid to pronounce something wrong.

She might seem shy sometimes, but once you get to know her well, it’s a whole different thing.

She’s planning on attending college and is interested in design, will aim for a degree in Architecture, and probably get a graduate degree.

She is not the best when it comes to sports, but is involved at school in after school programs such as TAC Leadership, and also does well academically in school.

During her free time, when she’s not doing homework or at school, Herrera likes to draw, sew, or be entertained doing something else.

She will keep up with her effort and work hard to pursue a successful career!

Poem: To My Target Panic

Poem: To My Target Panic

I remember the first time I met you, the first Sunday of September. Before we met, archery was predictable; my routine was reliable. The weight of my quiver, the resistance of my string, the curve of my limbs, and Sunday morning practice, it was always the same. But...