When I was little my family moved from Argentina to Uruguay. I was young, and I didn’t really understand why we were moving from my house in Argentina to Uruguay, all I knew was that we were moving to my parent’s country and we were going to be closer to family. I was six at the time, and I really had no expectations. In all honesty, I thought we were going on another family vacation.

Months turned into years, and I began to adjust to my new life. That was until the economy went bad. Both my parents lost their jobs, and a lot of people in Uruguay started to move to different countries. My parents realized that if we didn’t move then, eventually me and brother would. Chances of us staying together as a family were slim to none. They began selling all of our belongings. I didn’t understand what was going on, I didn’t even know where the United States was. It’s funny remembering telling my friends at school, “we’re moving to Los Estados Unidos”, sounded so funny, like a promise land, like a place where only a certain few went, sort of like a myth. We had only heard a couple of stories of people going, but we didn’t know anyone close to us who went.

I didn’t think much of moving to America. I thought it was going to be exactly like my move from Argentina to Uruguay. I thought I was going to be able to come back easily. I thought I was going to be able to see my family every summer, and talk to them everyday. Thinking back to the time when I said goodbye breaks my heart. I didn’t understand what going on, I was just nine, so I said goodbye in a simplistic form and then we left. It has been eleven years since. I haven’t returned and it breaks my heart to say that the closeness between my family and I is now gone. If I were to go back, I really have nothing waiting for me, my life is here.

Anyway, we moved to New York. I went from living in a big house, and having my own room to moving to a tiny apartment in an unsafe neighborhood in the Bronx, sharing a room with my little brother. Adjusting to an all English speaking class was really tough, luckily I met a few people who spoke spanish, and would help me. I got made fun of a lot because my type of spanish was different than theirs. Eventually I learned English, stopped crying every night because I wanted to be with my family, and began accepting my life in this country.

I felt, I should say… I FEEL like an American. My life is here. Everything that makes me who I am I learned here. I am so grateful to be living here. I didn’t pay much attention to my immigration status until I was a senior in high school, then it hit me all at once. No financial aid? What do you mean I can’t enlist in the Coast Guard? I can’t get my license? What about an ID? To make matters worse, my passport expired and the embassy was helping me renovate my papers (still a work in progress, a slow dreadful one).

So here I am 18 years old, and I’m hit with so many things at once. I cried a lot, “it’s not fair,” I would cry to my parents, “why did you bring me to this country! I didn’t ask to be here, I didn’t ask to be in this situation!”

Eventually I got over my depression and I started to take action. I enrolled at the Fashion Institute of Technology for Communications. I am so lucky to live in New York because I’m able to receive in-state tuition, something that unfortunately many undocumented students don’t have the luxury of having. I’m in my second year, and I hope to one day become a journalist. I think it’s important to inform people of the world around us, what’s going on and educate. The Dream Act will change my life… our lives.

California was the first step, now New York!
NYSYLC, thank you for all your efforts. Looking at things on the website helped me realize I’m not alone in these struggles and that there is a support system. It was comforting.
- Maria Fernanda