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 I was simply questioning outdated standards from back home.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