Continue reading »]]> Documents I have…
*British Birth Certificate
*Wedding License
*My Child’s Birth certificate.

My parents brought me to the states when I was 5 years old. My father was arrested and deported back to England for domestic violence when I was about 8 years old.

I grew up thinking I was an American citizen. When I was in highschool I was required to take a PET (Pre Employment Training) class, part of the class required my SSN. Being a child of only 17 almost 18, I had no idea what a SSN even WAS! I lived in a small town with no desire to learn how to drive yet or a reason too. Julia was working two jobs at the time the school was wanting this, so it was difficult to get in touch with her to sort this out. She had told me to tell the school BHS, that I don’t have one because I was born in England. I still remember the nonchalant manner she informed me of this. I didn’t think much of it at the time.

The school thought I was nuts! I didn’t understand why. I had no reason to question my mother. Well, as it turns out the school asked me to leave. I was suddenly “a liability for them” since I was turning 18 and soon to be considered an adult.

I left with the intention of getting my GED and moving on to collage. I had already picked my courses and planned my life out. Surprise! No SSN or government issued ID, no GED… no GED no collage.

Around this same time I had met Arthur. My first partner. I had moved in with him around the same time Julia moved to Virginia. He had tried to help me get my immigration adjustment started as well as setting up a drivers licence/photo ID. We knew so little back then. In fact we were just talking about that last week, haha. Catch 22′s and dead ends seemed to be everywhere from the very begging. Still I had my love and my pets that I wasn’t willing to give up, let alone my friends.

Needless to say, Arthur and I didn’t work out. 5 years into the relationship and we were ready to move on.

Then I met Justin, my husband. We planned on being in a long term relationship regardless. So we planed on getting an I-130. He came with me to file for it and we were told we should wait for the FOIA to show how I came into the states. I am still waiting for it.

My husband lost his mind and started abusing me when I got pregnant. I had no choice but to file a restraining order. When I told my immigration attorney what had happened and why I can’t pay for the fees anymore, I was dropped because when Justin came to one of my meetings it caused “a conflict of interest”.

Now I have a child, can’t work, can’t rent. I had to move in with a man I don’t even like. He is forcing me to be in a relationship with him since I can’t be I=independent, but it is clean and safe for my child. I am so unhappy and I keep reaching out. I am alone and help doesn’t exist. No one understands, worst of all yesterday I passed a newspaper USA Today. On the front page it stated, “now it will be even MORE difficult for illegal aliens to establish themselves”.

I would love to be independent and not HAVE to be with a man.

~L~

Continue reading »]]> In a neurologist’s office in April it finally all came together. I had been experiencing
symptoms of various illnesses for two years, ranging from vaguely annoying indigestion
and the occasional headache, to debilitating pain and the inability to swallow. After months
of consults, blood draws, medications and surgery, I still wasn’t well. In fact, I seemed to
be falling farther and farther into the valley of illness. My formerly healthy and energetic
self was wondering if I would ever graduate from college or maintain a job, let alone raise a
family.

With scans of my brain open on his desk, the doctor launched into a monologue on the
seminars and conferences he had recently attended, most of which were of little interest
to me. But when he mentioned the recent research showing that there is a link between
childhood trauma and adult onset chronic illness, I broke down. Right there, across the
desk from a less than personable doctor, I sobbed. As not only the months of illness, but the
years of pain flooded through me, the only thing I managed to say to him was “I know”.

In September, the Harvard Educational Review published results from a study that showed
the impact of immigration on the US born children of undocumented parents. I doubt
that it surprised any of us when they revealed that children of undocumented parents
experience “fear and vigilance” which leads to difficulties in educational, economic,
and developmental arenas. We know how our childhoods were crippled by fear in our
families from before we even knew what undocumented was. We know that it was hard
to concentrate in school when we were scared that our parents wouldn’t be there when
we got home. And some of us experienced one or both parents turn their own grief and
frustration onto us, as this system broke them.

Research has also shown a link between adult-onset chronic illness and childhood trauma.
In other words, our minds and our bodies are connected, and what we face as children
can lead to diseases that don’t present until adulthood. Taken together, these two areas
of research lead us to see how the immigration trauma that millions of children in this
country endure can literally break our bodies.

As with many people with chronic illness, I have good days and bad days. And on the
bad days, I need to understand why this happened to me, why I am sick. There are many
things that both modern medicine and I don’t know about my illnesses. However, I do see
how living in the shadow of a broken immigration system caused enough stress on my
childhood body that it couldn’t function normally, and forever changed my life path. Like
the immigration system itself, it’s not fair; it just plain sucks. But, like the undocumented
youth movement has taught us, we can fight the immigration system and we can fight
illness. It won’t be easy, but one day we’ll win. And in the mean time, on the bad days, we’ll
have each other.

Note: I am privileged to have had health insurance throughout my illness experience.
Without that and the access to care that goes with it, I can only imagine how much more

difficult everything would be. It is crucial that we include health care access when we
think about the rights and resources that immigrant communities need to have in order to
survive.

-Anonymous

Continue reading »]]> If someone asked me ten years ago where I would be today.. the answer would not have been here.

My name is Latoya and about 16 years ago my father requested that I move to New York from Jamaica. I was elated beyond measure. Words could not describe how happy I was at the news, but that was short lived. Three days after my arrival I cried for a month straight wishing I had refused his offer of coming here and make that change. I was away from my mother and all that I knew and loved.

I started school shortly after and slowly I began to adjust. Things really dawned on me when I was about 13 years of age. That is when reality hit me; I was in a different situation than everyone else. It didn’t bother me so much until High School. I didn’t know who to talk to or if there was anyone I could speak to. I realized I couldn’t go to college like my friends and that really hurt. I was depressed, unhappy and things at home didn’t make it any better. My father was deported when I was 15 and life went down hill from there.

The people that I lived with made my life more unhappy than it should have been. I rebelled for a while. A family member told me about a bill that would make, what turned out to be a nightmare, go away. My chances, or hopes, hung like clothes on a line; close enough for me to touch and waiting to be picked up. The bill was defeated over and over again, it was put on the back burner and all that did was put my whole life on hold. With all the other things that I was facing at the time, I thought my life was over; I really wanted to disappear.

Depression took over, anger defeated me at that time and years after I felt alone and blamed the whole world. I stopped caring since I thought that no one around me did and things just kept getting worse.

I was a good kid living in a bad dream and didn’t know how to wake from it. I did things that taught me a lesson, things that I wish I didn’t do. Between the ages of 19 and 20 I realized that I am better than that and it’s at this point that I decided to change my life. I started school with money I had saved over time but that was short lived and I became homeless which caused me to stop my education. However, I was determined to make life better for me; I stood up and kept moving.

At the time I moved in with a boyfriend until I was able to obtain my own place. To this day, this place is the only one I’ve ever called home it is where I grew up I learned to be an adult.

This is what the broken immigration system has made me feel and live like for years. I had it all planned out before reality hit me. I was gonna go straight to college and be come a social worker, someone that would make a difference in the life of many children. When will that ever happen? Hope died once in my life and I was in a dark place; today, that light is dim but as time goes by it’s growing brighter. I AM SOMEBODY! I’M STRONG! I’M CARING! All I’m waiting on is the opportunity to use my talent.

The United States is my home and has been for the majority of my life. To me, Jamaica is a foreign country one in which I wouldn’t have the slightest idea of how to survive. UNITED WE STAND BUT DIVIDED WE FALL! Don’t penalize the thousands of kids like my self for a decision that was out of our control. The DREAM ACT is the one thing that I pray for every day. I don’t want to be in the dark anymore nor do I want to feel restricted, trapped or just plain worthless.

Continue reading »]]> Now I am 24 years old,
back then I was only 12 yrs old.
My mother decided to get me a Tourist Visa in order to visit DIisney World.
I came with my grandmother and there was no Disney land. It was New York City
I landed a cold February. I’ll never forget.
2 months later My youngest brother got sick and so my Grandmother went to his rescue back to our homeland….
I had to stay behind with a single promise, “I’ll be back in 2 weeks, behave.”

I had to stay with an Uncle who I barely knew. As the years went by I got to really know him up to the point in which I wished I had never met him in the first place.

I tend to block bad memories from coming back and I’m starting to believe that this is how I survived my teenage years, living with a verbally abusive and alcoholic Uncle. I do not hate him, but I have no respect towards him; from brushing my teeth with a toilet brush to making me give him my entire paycheck because, “you have to help me”. Now that I look at it; it was not help…I was supporting him. How could I be so smart in school and so dumb at home? He’s my Uncle and he was the only known thing I had in this foreign country full of English speakers.

I just want you to know that I graduated from High School in the honor roll crew. I have a flying GPA of 3.9 in College. I bet you would never guess that this charming girl, the bright, helpful, good and “normal” girl is not what you think she is. She did not call Mama every other day, she did not eat on a regular daily basis, she couldn’t afford to buy notebooks so she would rip off the left over pages from last years supplies and recycled that. No branded clothing, no fancy pens or pencils, no “wow I’m so proud of you” from her parents only from the teachers. Yeah that girl with the bright future was just left behind with no passport and an expired visa at 12 years old.

I had to grow some “balls” along the way, but I was still naive. I felt a lot of fear and loneliness growing up in a corner of the Bronx County in New York City.

See, things aren’t always what they seem and each story is different. I hope that through my blog you will understand that better. Now that you’ve got the facts straight, let us get to know each other and let me say what I have kept behind closed doors all these years. I kept it hidden behind curtains because I was ashamed. I want to make this silent dream scream because today is the day. No more hiding. If I survived (and continue to do so) then anyone can.

Sincerely,
GGMOM

Continue reading »]]> I came upon the NYSYLC website when I was doing research about students who are like me, undocumented. I’m so glad I found this website because now I know that I’m not the only one feeling this way. Others are fighting for the same dream.

I was born in Ecuador and came here at the age of 5. My mother had me at a young age and came to this country so I could have a better future. I faced numerous of difficulties and challenges, yet these circumstances have allowed me to grow as a person and become stronger.

Since my mother didn’t speak english very well, I had to translate everything for her and do everything on my own. I didn’t really mind because it only made me extraordinarily independent. My immigration status didn’t affect me until I turned 16. That is when I came to the realization that I would not be able to do the certain things that my friends could. The simple things like getting a driver’s license, travel or receive financial aid for college. That is when I told myself that I would not give up or stop believing.

Entering my junior year of high school I had a goal and it was to be the best student that I could be. I worked hard to get my grades up and finished the year with the best grades that I have ever gotten. Now I’m 17 years old and a senior in high school. I’m trying to apply to college and hope to pursue my dream of obtaining higher education. I want to be able to give back to this country because I feel like it is my home. I want to become a nurse and help others in any way that I can.

This journey has been difficult and it will only get more challenging. However, I have faith that every single undocumented individual will see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Bernice Johnson Reagon once said, “Life’s challenges are not supposed to paralyze you; they’re supposed to help you discover who you are.” All these challenges we face will be worthwhile in the end. Angy’s videos and the different blog posts on this website have shown me that I’m not alone.

Sincerely,
Brigitte N

Continue reading »]]> When I look at myself and see the things that I have accomplished and have yet to accomplish, pride runs through me as I see the harvest of what I have cultivated. My story is somewhat different from those of many Latinos because of specific struggles that I have faced throughout my life and still do. I do not discredit those Latinos that I see in college today who are also furthering their education because it makes me appreciate what we Latinos stand for. Although as a Latino not born in the United States, my life has taken on a different role because of the many circumstances that have come my way.

My life began in Mexico City where my parents moved after facing the many hardships of living in a town in Puebla, Mexico that did not provide for them nor the family that they were trying to raise. Once my elder siblings were born as well as I, was when my parents knew they had to set a strong foundation for us, and it was this that forced them in search of the “American dream”. This is where my grasp for a better education began. It was a result of feeling left behind by my parents that created my motivation to submerge myself in education when I was just six years old and it continued even after I rejoined my parents in the the United States after two years.

Once here I was able to dedicate myself to (1) acquiring the language and (2) to assimilate into the culture of the United States. I do not refer to the culture of the United States as the American culture because the American culture is an open spectrum that includes North, Central and South America. It is a term that has been overlooked and under-credited because of the power of the United States. Going back to my acquiring the language and assimilation I was quickly engulfed in the education that I was being offered.

Continuing from second grade I picked up the English language and after three years of hard work I became the valedictorian of my elementary school, which was a great reward for my parents whose wishes were coming true. My post education continued in the same pattern throughout my junior high school and high school career. Though the experiences that I encountered in between is what shaped my appreciation for education. These experiences comprise of my involvement with gangs, violence and drugs. Of these acts I do not repent nor am I ashamed of because it allowed for my choice of two paths that I had in front of me, which was getting and an education versus following a path that would end in jail or death. This I appreciate because it exposed me to a reality that many Latinos face in their adolescent years.

Any study can show reasons why Latinos drop out of high school or do not continue onto college, yet they cannot fully understand our reality because they are not in our place. In my life, I have seen people drop out of school because of personal reasons such as money, family issues, or their affiliation with gangs have cost them their life. In a way it has served as an example of why I should not pursue that avenue, but my logic comes from much more than that. My family is the justification of why I deserve, as well as they do, better than that. My parents came here in a life threatening
experience to secure my reach for an education and this is what I am not willing to throw away.

I am an undocumented student who cannot afford a huge effort to go in vain because of the common hardships that a Latino adolescent confronts. My situation is a representation of how education has changed my life. I am not able to receive financial aid, get a legal job, nor travel to seek opportunity. Yet, it motivates me to not look back rather endure and go beyond what little is offered to me. In order to understand my feelings of a Latino acquiring an education my past and present reality must be taken into consideration.

When I look at other Latinos who do not pursue an education I know I cannot pass judgment on their decisions. Rather it disheartens me to look around and know that the majority of the Latino population will not make it this far as a direct result of the discriminatory systems in place. It goes beyond the misfortunes of dealing with language barriers, inadequate school structures due to the fact that they are funded by local resident’s taxes, so when the community is impoverished our school systems and resource allocated toward education are greatly hindered. The solution can be found in the community itself where the many distortions begin.

I am able to allocate for this solution because of the current involvement that I have through Phi Iota Alpha Fraternity Inc. that I joined a few months ago. Their mission is to empower and unite young Latino men in education through the community and it is dedicated to “developing in its members an awareness of the common values and traditions of the nations of Latin America and to preparing them to become active participants in the process of advancing the social and economic conditions of all Latin Americans”. I am not allocating for everyone to join Phi Iota Alpha rather presenting a possible solution that people should look into these type of organizations as well as educating themselves in the social issues that surrounds them. I am also trying to accomplish this and it is one of the reasons why I am a part of the executive board of the Dream Team club at Brooklyn College, which is a club that creates a space for undocumented students and their supporters and provide them with viable information, resources and emotional support. It is an opportunity to help myself and those students who are also affected by such unjust immigration laws. At the same time it serves as an example to give back to the community and support a movement that has a bigger cause than gaining citizenship for high academic achieving students. It is taking a stance against the unfair opportunities that are offered to young Latinos and non-Latinos furthering their right to an education.

Acknowledging and understanding my motivation for the pursuance of an education I have concluded that it comes from the negative aspects that I have confronted throughout my life. Exchanging them for a positive actuality has set me in the correct direction. This means that in order for us to truly appreciate what we have we should not have it to begin with. It sets our standards and goals at a higher perspective, which in turn generates us to work callously. I do not mean to say that people should begin with nothing, but to comprehend that there are others who are less fortunate and for such reason we must appreciate what we have and what we can reach for.

A few weeks ago I went to the protest at Wall street because I felt that I had to be involved in society. After marching and chanting “we are the 99%” I had a realization; I am NOT the 99% because I have made it this far through my experiences, paying for college out of pocket and reaching for higher goals in education and in the community. The words of motivation that I say to myself every time I feel an obstacle or situation is preventing me from proceeding are, “Be determined, whatever situation that you are in now, be content with it because it can be worse”. With that said, I am proud to be a struggling undocumented Latino student in college that faces reality every step of the way.

-Cesar Ventura

Continue reading »]]>
My silence was never meant to betray you; I just never thought it defined the person that I am… It’s important for me to share this with you. I’ve had a hard time sleeping ever since I left Jacksonville…

I was eleven when I first came to America. It was 1989. It’s hard to describe how the spirit of a country can move a person; all I know is that I was in love. I watched my very first big screen movie, ‘Honey, I Shrunk the Kids’, ate my first slice of pizza, and finally tried what all those Garfield comic books always raved about: Lasagna. Summer was soon over and it was time for me to start 7th grade.

Assimilating was not easy to be sure, but I was privileged to have English as one of my primary languages. Born in Saudi Arabia, my father worked for a US company that provided schooling for all employees and their family. I learned euphisims and cultural norms mainly-and square dancing?! That year, our family of five learned with wide-eyed wonder all the joys of our new home.

My favorite memory by far is the letter from Ed McMahon that arrived in the mail of the family friend’s house where we were staying. We made a huge deal about it and surprised them with this amazing news (they won a million dollars!) – only to be surprised, and a bit dismayed, ourselves. I remember things were simple then…

Fast forward five years and much had changed. The best part was finally welcoming a sister- 13 years my junior .The worst part was watching my parents’ divorce after 26 years of marriage. By the time I was a senior in high school, the strict Muslim household I lived in started to feel like a prison. My father called me “Americanized” whenever I questioned his rules. He was right. But I wasn’t losing my religion. I was simply questioning outdated standards from back home. Was that so wrong?

My mom had told me she quit school to marry my father. Over the years, I saw her comply with my fathers wishes-even when she disagreed. I used to wonder why she put up with all of it. But I know now what I didn’t know then-my mother endured an abusive marriage because she didn’t have the education to be able to leave my father. She would never be able to make a living on her own, or enough to be able to take care of her 4 children too.

I abided by my fathers rules- as painful and unfair as they were (not allowed to join the basketball team even when i made the cut, never allowed to leave the house) But college was around the corner. I needed to be on my best behavior and do exactly as I was told. I would be free soon. It was worth the wait. But I learned my patience was in vain.

A month before high school graduation, I got my acceptance letter from Clemson University. I was ecstatic! Only it was short lived. My father informed me that he wasn’t paying for college. I wasn’t going (like my two brothers). I needed to “learn how to cook,” so he could find a respectable suitor for me.

I was in disbelief. I had seen him divorce my mother at a time when she needed him the most. I saw her left with nothing but heartache. I had tried to be neutral throughout their divorce-thinking my Dad must have his reasons that perhaps I didn’t understand. But when he shared this, I was dumbfounded. How could he expect me to forgo my education and enter an arranged marriage? I vowed I would never let what happened to my Mom, happen to me. And I told him so to his face. He told me to leave and never return. I brought him shame any way…

Sometimes the motivation and courage you need come in a form you can understand only in hindsight. So I mustered up the strength and moved out. My older brothers doubted me often and for good reason. There were no handouts. I doubted myself at times too. I didn’t qualify for financial aid or student loans. The road was long and meandering and often times scary. But I was free to make my own decisions and that was worth more then words can ever describe.

I worked three jobs, took a few extra years, but I graduated from college like I said I would. I have since worked my way up to enjoying what many would call a successful career. Nowhere would my story even be possible. Nowhere except the United States.

I have had a taste of freedom and indeed it is amazing. But I am not yet fully free, you see. I this ‘injury’ I call my scarlet letter. But no matter what I call it, I can’t seem to get rid of it. I am what many disparagingly refer to as an “illegal alien” I am undocumented in a country I have pledged my whole-hearted allegiance to for over 20 years…

I was oblivious to my status for years initially. I was in high school and was working part time. I had just passed my driver license test too. All seemed normal in that sense. Our family had an appointment at the INS (now DHS) office one day -one I assumed was a formality of some kind.

My father had created a web of lies about our immigration situation and I was about to find out just how deep the deceit was. He asked us to tell a story that was far from the truth which he shared during the two hour ride to Atlanta. My brothers and I exchanged looks with the unspoken thought of how wrong this was. We had so many questions but my father’s word was the law in our house. My brothers and I were interviewed first, one by one.

When it was my turn, I took an oath to tell the truth. It was the scariest thing to know you are being recorded and put in a situation that you don’t really understand -not then. Not now. I couldn’t carry the lie all the way through. Neither could my brothers. My father was called in last. The officer shared his surprise with my father- how our family had managed to get by with overstaying our visit visa. He wasn’t the only one. Apparently, it expired over four years ago.

But how was I working? How were we all working? and interacting with the IRS? I had a valid social security card-I quickly deduced that the photocopy I had was altered. My original stated ”Not valid for employment”. Still the number was the same. How was it working? That was a mystery to apparently everyone in the room.

The ordeal concluded with the officer reminding my father of the gravity of his offense. We seemed to be a good family though, so he was going to forego punishment and “close (his) eyes” and pretend that none of this happened. “I guess keep doing what you’re doing,” he shrugged. It was simply too late to correct anything. He wished us luck.

This all took place right in the middle of a very tumultuous time for my brothers and me. What my father thought was my mom changing into a different person was really a manifestation of schizophrenia. Within months, he had remarried and kept custody of my little sister and abandoned us. They would eventually move to Canada.

With three of us in college, and without my little sister, my mom found the loneliness deafening. She begged to go back to Pakistan to be with her family. We tried our best to discourage her because we had no idea when we would meet again. The three of us were still trying to grapple with our ‘situation’ while dealing with my Mom’s ever-increasing delusions and hallucinations. We were losing our age of innocence- in one sweeping storm.

We knew our predicament was a tangled mess. Looking at our documents, we saw none of our names matched-it was beyond comorehension. But there was no one to save us. Meanwhile, my mom’s situation got bad enough where she would go missing for hours. Maybe if she was surrounded by so many people all day long, maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone anymore. We decided to honor her wishes. Saying goodbye at the airport was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I haven’t seen her in over 13 years…

I know life breaks us all at some point. But being sad and angry took so much energy. Plus, it wasn’t going to change anything. The only thing I could change was my attitude and I did. I focused on happiness. After graduation, it took a little over two months to find a job. During this down time, I saw a lawyer. My only option was to marry an American citizen. But I wasn’t going to do that. Checking a box didn’t feel like a lie (although by now, I knew it was), but making up a marriage sure did. Unfortunately, I had “aged out” for any other scenario.

Once again, a limitation; I tried not to dwell upon it. I figured by the time I’m 30, Ill be in love- married with kids with all this behind me…

I ended up finding the right company; after several interviews I was offered a position. The HR department would tell me on a Friday that I passed my drug test and criminal background check, but in order to work I had to present proper documentation by that Monday or they would retract the offer. I had to present an actual social security card. My father never gave me one like he gave my brothers. All I had was a photocopy and that wasn’t good enough. How would I possibly survive without a job?

But when my strength had left me, a friend provided me with his and became my saving grace. He wouldn’t let me accept this as failure. I put up a fight but eventually agreed to go to Buford Highway – an area in Atlanta that is densely populated with immigrants. I can assure you that no matter how much I practiced saying, “I actually am looking to get a social security card?” it never became easy. Everywhere I asked, I felt humiliated. As the day neared an end, my friend never showed his discouragement. He asked me to try one more time.

This time, we stopped at a bus station and I asked him to stay in the car. I walked toward the bus stop I thought was empty, sat down, and cried. At some point, someone sat next to me and asked me if I was okay. Out of complete delirium, I blurted out my needs. As luck would have it, Jesus-as was his name-knew someone who could help.

We drove to his friend’s house; I stayed in the car. I paid $150 dollars to get a replica of my real social security card. It now stated: “Valid for Employment.” That Monday, I presented HR with my driver’s license and social security card. They made photocopies and ran my number and information through social security verification number (SSVN) the government system in place back then. As always, it worked. And as always, I wondered why.

My job was an entry level position, but I was able to work my way up. I loved the company culture so much that I stayed with them for 9 years. I would meet my fiancé here. He was the antithesis of everything my father was; he was so easy to love…

But wouldn’t you know it: love is blind. It really is.

My fiancé happened to be a German national, working in the US on an H1B visa. We thought his visa would be extended, only to find out that immigration rules had changed. He didn’t have the two-year extension he originally thought. Suddenly, we had four months. We consulted an attorney, but the option was what it has always been: marry a US citizen.

Meanwhile, I saw The DREAM act, gain and lose momentum three times-taking my hearts and hopes with it and leaving no reprieve to my situation. We decided not to let this craziness get in the way and still marry. I would get German citizenship. But it was not to be.

I learned that leaving meant I would be exiled for a minimum of ten years, if not for life. This would indirectly affect my fiancé and his chances of working in the United States too. Plus, I had two brothers left, my only family, and it would be hard not seeing them for a decade. I couldn’t do it. I tried to be positive as he left to work overseas. Love conquers all, I reminded myself daily.

Since he was the only one who could travel, he came to visit every month. After a year of hoping, it became clear there was no end in sight. I thought the right way was suppose to be easy?? But the chance to get another visa for him was minimal to none.

Traveling every month was financially, emotionally, and physically taking its toll too. We both worked in a village of sorts, full of amazing, genuine people. All politely asked the obvious: If we were engaged, then why didn’t I just marry him to make this easy? I needed and wanted to be comforted, yet I couldn’t tell the truth.

Everything happens for a reason is what I would tell myself and others as my engagement came to an end. We both cried on the phone and said our goodbyes. Doing it in person was harder to accept. The pain of a secret was now pure isolation. My heart felt incarcerated.

Joni Mitchell put it best:

“And if you care,
don’t let them know.
You’ll give yourself away.”

I dove into my work, so I had little time to dwell on sorrow. Plus, a move to sales proved to be rewarding. There was something about winning over a client. Interacting with complete strangers meant a lot of story-telling. In each person’s story was infinite wisdom, and a lens I never had before. It helped bridge the gap from stranger to friend. It helped me create life-long relationships, regardless of whether I ‘won the bid’. It was validating.

I started to ignore the injury to the point of denial. Since I couldn’t begin anything, nothing could end. It all felt so hopeless and comforting at the same time. Meanwhile, I became increasingly afraid of propaganda, with all its simplicity. I watched words like “different” turn into “dangerous” as enforcement and fear spread like wildfire.

So I told myself that all would work out. That I would find love again(this time with a US citizen) and this would all make sense in the end… All I could do was take it one day at a time- and time suddenly was fleeting.

Somewhere along the way, my brothers and I succeeded in gaining custody of my little sister- who was caught in another messy divorce overseas. She is a US citizen who can sponsor her siblings- but only when she turns 21. (And when that day comes, the wait is 12 to 25 years). One of my brothers married over 4 years ago. They just had a baby too but they have put their lives on hold out of concern for our safety. The other one is engaged.

I’m lucky. I could marry a friend-on paper. But I left home at 17 so I wouldn’t be defined by marriage. And that won’t change. I guess I’ve been yearning for a dignified option for so long, that I am guilty of becoming indifferent and maybe even delusional. My silence turned into this complex code – made up of a self-preservation, fear, and apathy.

I was rewarded with a trip to an exotic getaway-a special reward for exceptional sales results for the entire company -one I had to pretend to conflict with my schedule. It had become a part of life. Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind was the mantra behind my world.

Parts of me fantasized that maybe I had become ‘legal’ somehow. After all, I have paid my taxes since the age of 16. Social security offices even sends me an annual letter that showed all my reported earnings over the years. Maybe they thought my number was miscoded; that it was a computer error? I decided it was easier to pretend since IRS and SSA and DHS knew I was working.

This year, I unexpectedly found an opportunity with a company I highly respected. It was the move in the right direction for my career and upon meeting the leaders, a no-brainer. After nine years, I learned the hiring process had changed. I learned about “e-verify” when I arrived for orientation and a three week training. After entering my information, the system generated an alert on me within five minutes. My world had been cut asunder.

Despite the speed of the system’s response, I felt like life was suddenly moving in slow motion. The kind director of human resources assumed it was a glitch and asked me to take care of it. I wanted to tell him everything and to explain how sorry I was, how I didn’t mean to do this to them. But, it was a little too late for apologies. Numbly, I returned to my room, packed all my belongings and cried all the way back to Atlanta. What had I made of my life? When I have children, what would I teach them?

What was worse, these people were caring. They called me every day to make sure I was okay. They were concerned about the consequences of me being undocumented. Every day I spoke to them, I hated myself for not owning up to the entire truth. But how could I tell them about all of this? I started writing.

First though, I saw several attorneys and realized the only changes made were in the ever increasing enforcement taking place, especially in certain states. I happened to be in the wrong state. Scared to death, dear friends helped me get rid of most everything I owned and narrowed my belongings down to a suit case. I kept running. I ran all the way to New York.

With the comfort of everyday routine, the tranquility of repetition gone, silence ensued. I only had one answer. And that was to tell the truth and have faith that everything that is happening, is exactly as it should be. That somehow it will all make sense when I look back.

I know this started when I was too young to understand…I haven’t spoken to my father in years. I want nothing to do with him- and for many reasons.

Being ‘put’ in this situation used to be one of them. But not anymore. I can’t remember when that changed…. Maybe it was that day I got my college degree. Or that day when I wished Mom could have seen me graduate. Or that day I marveled at how far I had made it. Or that day- and so many days after- where I pause to count my blessings. I gasp when I think: What if my father never brought me to America? I may have never had the chance. I may have never realized what Im capable of…. Its a bittersweet feeling of acceptance. One that wrestles inside me every day-always it will.

Waiting to see what happens to me next has not worked for quite some time. In fact, it has only hurt. But I gaze thankfully at my dysfunctional childhood. I think it gives me that edge that I am better prepared to go through life’s trials and tribulations. I take responsibility for what I did. But I have tried and tried. But in the meantime, I’ve had to depend on me. I had to survive. All I can ask for is your forgiveness. I am human and I’ve had only the best of intentions.

I found that when I shared my story, I was not only forgiven but people believed in me. It turned out I had friends- in spite of myself. Two friends are even willing to push for a private bill for me. Countless others are writing letter of recommendations. It has been incredibly humbling. And I had an epiphany. Everyone believes in me, supports me, and has forgiven me

This left one person I owed an apology too-me. I’ve asked myself for forgiveness. After all, you can’t heal an injury unless you acknowledge it, the extent of damage it’s caused, and honor it’s limitations.

So a catastrophe is what it took to make me look fear in the eyes. I see it. I have faith. DHS- a place I never dreamt of returning to after that fateful day- is where I am heading. I think perhaps there is a human being whom I can speak to that will finally give me some sort of guidance on how to move forward.

No, I don’t think I am entitled to anything. I am just deeply patriotic. I truly pledge my allegiance to The United States of America…humbly, daily, always.

Somiya