The YLC will feature the story of undocumented youth as told by them. This is Brian’s story

I never thought of myself as different from anyone else. When I came here, I never questioned what got me into the United States. After all I was just seven. I didn’t have a choice on whether to stay in Jamaica with my mother or go to America to live with a man I barely knew, my father. My mother sent me here to live a new, better, and successful life and that’s what I promised her I would do. I never knew keeping that promise would be so hard.

It was in middle school when I was well aware of my father’s financial situation. This was why I didn’t tell my father when my shoes were worn out at the bottom, when my jeans were becoming highwaters, and why I never went to the movies with my friends. I was too embarrassed to hear my father tell me we were too broke to afford what I needed or wanted; if I didn’t ask for anything, I didn’t have to hear him say no. My father had trouble keeping a job and his hand disability made it even harder for him to get a job. I did not like seeing my father struggling or worrying how he’s going to pay the bills.

I learned about my immigration situation during this time. This was the time when everyone around me was getting their working papers and applying for different jobs. My guidance counselor gave me a list of documents I needed to bring in, including a copy of my birth certificate and social security card. I placed it on my father’s dresser where it remained untouched. When I finally asked him for those documents he got so angry. He yelled at me and asked me why I was being ungrateful. He implied that I didn’t appreciate what I had. I translated what he said to mean I didn’t have those documents.He never told me why he got mad but now I understand the pain he must have felt knowing what a burden not having those documents would be on me. Ever since then speaking of my status in or out of the house was taboo. Even with this information I never stopped working hard in school, partly because I was young and didn’t know what it would mean for my future.

It was my junior year of high school and I was sick of feeling helpless. I wanted to take control of my life but at the same time I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me or think I was less than them due to my status. I thought if I spoke about my problems, someone might give me the answers. How wrong I was to believe that obtaining citizenship was going to be easy. I spoke to teachers, guidance counselors, and lawyers and they didn’t give me great options. Teachers that were supposed to be a source of knowledge didn’t know anything about my situation. The people that were supposed to guide me through my high school ordeals didn’t know what path I should take.

This year, I followed my peers’ lead. I studied for the SATs, wrote college essays, and applied to as many colleges as I could; in the hopes that one of those colleges would give me a scholarship that would help me pay for the tuition. I have received acceptance letter into many of the colleges I applied to. Now I wonder how I will pay.

Throughout the years I have been told by teachers, family members, and friends that the future holds great things in store for me. I embrace this support, but I can’t help but to be a little pessimistic. “What do I have to look forward to?” is what I ask myself every morning when I prepare for school. Hopping for a better future for myself was what got me to school.

I’m an undocumented Jamaican immigrant that comes from a poor, unloving, and unsympathetic family, what chance do I have? I always believed that my desire to excel would help me to exceed my expectations. I expected more for myself in the future rather than depression and lost ambitions. Why shouldn’t I have that future I always wanted? I didn’t think I had anything after high school to look forward to. That was until I heard about the Dream Act.

I was researching ways of becoming a citizen. An attorney at a well-known organization, called The Door, sat with me in her office and looked at me with compassion. She was going through the eligibility of the Dream Act and a great smile rose across my face when I realized that I qualified. I went through the eligibility over and over in my head and still couldn’t believe it.

I wanted to get involved, to help myself get where I knew I deserved to be. So when I heard about an organization that fought for the Dream Act and allowed youth like myself to get active I joined. Now I call the NYSYLC office home.

My experience as an undocumented youth has taught me that hope is most necessary for us to achieve our dream. As I get ready to explore the next step in my life, I think about students that do qualify for federal aid and other undocumented students that don’t. I look upon those undocumented students that overcame many endeavors and graduated from college as a source of hope.  They overcame my challenge.  Martin Luther King Jr. once said,” If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you go on in spite of it all. And so today I still have a dream.”  When no one else believed in me I had to believe in myself. When no one else had hope I learned that hope had to be created within.