By the end of junior year in high school, I had the next 10 years of my life plotted out. I started school here in the 2nd grade, and year after year we were taught, both directly and discreetly, that there were certain milestones we were to aim for and successfully reach if we didn’t want to be seen as failures in life.
We were first expected to meet K-12 academic milestones, measured by various standardized tests, and beginning in high school, by a fierce competition involving class rank and GPA. We were then expected to gain admission to a prestigious university, from which we would graduate in 4 years (or sooner). After beginning successful careers, the next expectation was to “settle down,” have some kids, and climb the proverbial corporate ladder. These milestones together symbolized success. This was the epitome of the American Dream. Or so we were told.
So I planned accordingly. Throughout high school, I buried my head in books, took AP tests, played tennis, studied French, and mentored in a hospital nursery for a year. I was meticulous, graduating 9th out of a class of 990 students. I had a plan – attend a great college, go on to medical school, and start my residency, all by the time I turned 25.
I then started filling out my first college applications, got to the infamous residency question, and suddenly my plan began to blur at the edges. A month after graduating from high school, my family was put into removal proceedings. And my plans became cloudier. I shifted course, attending a local public university and working no less than 2 or 3 jobs each semester. College itself was a blur, but I graduated this past December with an economics degree, which I now put to good use by babysitting.
My sister’s story is also one of milestones. She was also born in Nigeria, but suffered brain damage as a result of complications during her birth. Child development is measured in certain signs of progress or growth, such as rolling over, eating solid foods, walking, and social interaction, but she has yet to reach many of these milestones. My sister has cerebral palsy, which covers various ‘neurological disorders that permanently affect body movement and muscle coordination’. She cannot walk or talk, and is ‘total care,’ as defined by her measure of ability. Since middle school, I have been her co-caretaker, administering feedings through a gastrointestinal tube because she cannot eat by mouth and giving bed baths. My mom has always worked nights so that we could switch roles during the day, providing me with a different childhood than most.
And yet, my sister can recognize my voice and she has her own way of communicating, as well as the most amazing smile. Those are really the only milestones that matter to me. A few years ago, we came close to possibly losing her after complications from surgery. The only milestones that mattered then were getting off of the ventilator, opening her eyes, getting transferred out of intensive care – those were the little victories we celebrated. Being undocumented for her has nothing to do with school or graduation, but access to medical care, supplies and medication to keep her stable. Her milestones are measured in the quality of life we are able to provide for her, since none of us can predict its quantity.
By society’s standards, neither of us has achieved the American dream due to our inability to reach given milestones. But those are not the milestones our paths have been defined by. Straying off of the normal path does not symbolize failure, but flexibility, and the strength to forge your own path with nothing but your bare hands, your life experience, and your voice.
Being undocumented, it is much too easy to crumble under the weight of societal or academic expectations. It is much too easy to get stuck waiting for things to change – your immigration status, your financial situation, your skill level – before you can start living the life that you’ve been told you should want. It is much too easy to cross the stage during your high school or college graduation and walk straight into a sea of uncertainty where you are drowned by waves of injustice. Or to expect that future and not graduate at all. But undocumented youth should have more options than uncertainty, more options than caps and gowns and the military.
I’m not interested in spoon-feeding you a crafted idea of what the undocumented experience should look like, for it can vastly differ. It’s not all rainbows and escalations, unicorns and liberation – it’s tough. There will be times where it feels like you have nothing left to give, but understand that for some of us, hitting rock bottom IS a milestone, and a very important one at that. I want us to create spaces and dialogues that encourage and nurture the development of our personal milestones, whatever they may be.
I urge you to challenge the traditional notion of the milestones we must meet in life in order to be successful. Whether it takes you 4 years or 7 to finish college, or you decide not to go at all, or are not able to go; whether you wear your “I Am Undocumented” shirt to the grocery store or have only told one person that you are undocumented; whether you are working 3 jobs or are organizing full-time – own your story, own your experience and never apologize for how different your life has turned out to be from some pre-determined “norm.” For it is the uniqueness of our individual stories and experiences that makes our collective story as undocumented youth so powerful.
