The Forgotten Ones
When in times of reflection, I often think about where I have been, and where I am going. It is not unusual to find that in my own personal view, I am going nowhere. It is easy to perceive things in this fashion, when faced with circumstances that are beyond my control. Although many things in life are out of our hands, one particular matter lingers in my mind every waking moment of the day. It has the power to bring me to tears with just a single thought. For the last thirteen years of my life, I have been awaiting my permanent residency in the United States. It often leaves a feeling of depression and anxiety in my mind and in my heart. The realization that the country that I consider my own, has not yet considered me a part of its society often breaks my heart. My journey through life in America has for the most part been on a one-lane road, with no room for wavering off the path.
I arrived on United States soil in July 1988. My three-year old eyes gazed at the amazing sight that lay before me, and I was immediately caught up in the hustle and bustle of downtown Los Angeles. I was also excited to see my father, who had come to America three years before. In a sense, this was my first real glimpse of him. The feeling I had was more powerful than I thought it would be. After all, I had not seen him since I was only a few months old. To me, he was a mythical hero who had come to the airport to take us to a magical new place. Indeed, a few days later we were off to Illinois, where we would settle. Little did I know that this was the start of an extraordinary voyage that would push my emotions to the limit.
I was not informed of my situation until around the age of ten. The initial feeling was one of mild trepidation, but yet also feeling that things would soon be settled. I continued on with my life, busying myself with matters that kids would attend to, like playing videogames and keeping up with the latest episodes of the "Power Rangers." It was not until I reached high school and the talk of college that I knew what I was in for. During this time, I struggled to deal with my reality, knowing that I could not do certain things that my peers do. Perhaps the ultimate example was our inability to travel outside of the United States to see our relatives in the Philippines. It was especially crushing for my mother who was not even able to be present at the funeral of her father. Similarly, she fears the in the unfortunate event that something grave happens to her brothers, she again, will not be able to see them. These feelings of hopelessness and despair where exacerbated by the fear that my academic excellence and hard work would go to waste, and I would be stuck in obscurity because of my status. This roller coaster of emotions had even come to the point where I was not afraid to die and contemplated suicide. However, my faith in God and support from my parents would prove to be crucial in reviving my passion for life.
I know that there are countless numbers of children in a similar situation that I face. These are our valedictorians, honor students, athletes, and inspiration leaders that struggle to face an unfavorable reality. It is not fair to call them criminals or lawbreakers. Often times they were brought here by their parents looking to give their children the best they could offer. In some cases, they were smuggled into the country against their will. They have assimilated well to this nation and even consider it their own. No different are they from classmates and friends except for that ever-present barrier of illegal status. Stuck in this limbo, many children who are capable of pursuing their college education cannot because of certain hindrances. Most notably is the out-of-state tuition they must pay. In essence, society is losing out on some of the most brilliant minds in the world. Perhaps these children may potentially find a cure for AIDS or represent a client in a famous court case. We may never know if these kids continue to live in the shadows.
In the wake of the tragic events of September 11, officials have moved to tighten immigration policies. There has been a growing feeling that illegal immigrants are in this country for bad reasons, and all are criminals. The reality is, we do not support acts of terror. For many of us, this country is all we know, and the only nation we consider home. When the nation mourned, so did we. We felt the pain. We must remember those that perished that day who are not documented immigrants. Their children are now facing an even more challenging burden, being without a parent or loved one. Often times it is these loved ones that help us in the times of depression and pain we feel because of our status.
America is the land that I love. It is my country, my home, and my happiness. I sincerely urge that this nation not forget about undocumented children. They may very well be the beacons of peace and hope in times of tribulation.
What can be done? Who are our advocates?
