Voices: Alien in the Only Country that I Know as Home
This is the second in a series of essays by DREAMERS—children of long-term visa holders who have become, or are headed towards becoming, undocumented immigrants because of the expiry of their dependent visa. Not having the rights and privileges that their peers enjoy and facing the risk of deportation is deeply unsettling and traumatic for these youngsters who see themselves as nothing but Americans.
“Sueña grande.”
“It say deam...dream big?”
“Yes! Good job!”
Across the mahogany table sits the glaring screen of my laptop displaying the face of a sweet little girl named Diana. Although she lives across the country, we meet once a week on Zoom to read books together. We work on improving her English, but often end up in a fit of giggles instead. She reminds me of myself, and yet I envy her. Because, on paper, she is American, and I am not.
In elementary school, I was “exotic.” At least, my classmates thought so based on how I pronounced words. Their “video” was my “weedio,” and their “suite” was my “soot.” Mocked by my classmates for my Indian accent, I felt isolated and muted. That was until I received a letter to be sent to Room 301: my school’s only ESL classroom. The letter invited me to improve my English, and the classroom soon became my haven. Every day, the teacher, Ms. Gupta, would eagerly read books with me, challenging me with middle school literature. Her comfort and wisdom allowed me to finally project my voice and unapologetically make mistakes.
With sincerity, Ms. Gupta would repeatedly tell me, “You can achieve all of your dreams!” With all of my naivete, I believed her. This is not to say that she was wrong or that such hope is misplaced; it’s just that this hope is reserved for those who are “American” on paper. I am merely a child trapped in the immigration system.
When I was three years old, I moved to America as a dependent on my father’s long-term work visa; and fourteen years later, we are still waiting for our green card. Without a permanent legal status, I cannot participate in internships, apply for most scholarships, attend certain summer programs, and the list goes on. Often, I imagine walking up twenty-one flights of stairs to reach the office of my dream job, and just when the final floor is within reach, the stairs turn into a grotesque funhouse slide to the bottom. Metaphorically, this is what happens when I turn twenty-one: I age out of my dependent visa and will be forced to apply for a student visa. All of the years of waiting are simply erased, and I lose my place in line.
My parents sat me down to explain this to me in middle school, and the dreaded countdown began. Every birthday brought me closer and closer to twenty-one; and dark, persistent thoughts hung like clouds over me, raining down the inevitably of my circumstance. So, I took shelter under the only umbrella of reprieve I could find: school. Throughout high school, I toiled through algebraic limits and Socratic seminars, finding peace in education. I sought new challenging material and literary affairs from Hamlet to Nora Helmer to escape from my reality. The trials, the mistakes, and the achievements—I loved it all. That is who I am: the girl from Room 301 who is curious and smitten with learning.
While my visa status still looms, I know who I am outside of it and what I want to accomplish. I met Diana through eBookBuddy, a newly formed online platform that connects ESL children with older students, and my journey with her has shown me that I can make a difference regardless of my status. Guiding her as a mentor for the past year, I strive to create the same environment that Ms. Gupta gave me, one where she always feels capable. I also challenged Diana to read levels above her grade, helping improve her reading capacity in just six weeks. Despite having the same experiences growing up as Diana, she was born here; and I do envy the stability her future holds. But far surpassing my envy is how proud I am of her and how glad I am that she dreams without limitations.
All of this has shown me that I am more than a status. Although the visa will remain a part of me, I hope never to let it define me. I hope to immerse myself in higher education and advocacy to bring my situation into the spotlight. Even if I must continue through a student visa, I will do so with the same vigor. I will always strive to give back to my home because, at heart, I am an American.
[This essay was the second-place winner of We Are Home Essay Contest by The Indian American Impact Project.]
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