Just trying to belong

Wait, are you undocumented?

It’s a simple question, with out bad intentions, I understand. But for some weird reason, the question lingers until it pierces. I have always had a hard time belonging. It seems wherever I go, I am an outsider.

There are very few places I have felt this sense of belonging. Family is the main one. But that one is mostly a given. I know I can always count on family to belong to. I used to think that being undocumented allowed me to belong somewhere as well.

There is a certain camaraderie I see between Dreamers. It is because we know our struggles. We know what it’s like to want something so basic, like an education, and not be able to attain it. We know what it’s like to attain that education and still be limited in so many ways. We know the pain of living in a world that forces you to identify yourself as a shadow. A world that forces you to break free from a mental constraint that indoctrinates “you are only good for his type of job”.

We all know the pain of not belonging. And that common pain has allowed us belong to ourselves in an unspoken covenant of understanding.

I suppose that sense of belonging vanished for me when told, “I always thought you were a citizen.”

It’s not like I blame or despise people for that, it simply makes me wonder how much I belong anymore. And also, “Why is it that people think I’m a citizen?”

I admit it, I may not be as dark as your average Dreamer, and no matter how much talk there is about being diverse as a movement, the stereotypes will remain in place.

I know I’m not brown enough. And thinking about this I begin to wonder if, subconsciously, that is why I have grown my hair long; to look more ethnic. To look less American. Is this the sudden spark of interest for understanding my indigenous roots?

That is a challenge for me, looking less American, or at least, less white. I like to put on dress shoes, and my time in business school left that mark on me. I now like to dress in business casual.

I also have my own online consulting business, and I work for the largest national network of undocumented youth in the country, United We Dream.

People have recently asked me what I want to do when I get my work permit from DACA. And I realize how fortunate I am to be able to say that I am already doing what I want to do.

Do all these things mean I cannot possibly be undocumented? Does making enough money to help myself and my family mean I cannot be undocumented? Does looking a certain way mean I cannot be undocumented. Because I have refused all those assumptions. I challenge them.

And now it seems I do not belong to the word “undocumented” or “Dreamer”. I want to belong to it. For as long as I can before I get that work permit in the mail. Isn’t ironic that I actually want to be recognized as undocumented?

I would like to challenge everyone’s assumption on what being undocumented means. It does not have to mean that you are doomed to a life of unhappiness. It simply means that that you are doomed to a life of different standards because of an unjust immigration system. Nowhere in there does it say you cannot be successful, of happy.