Voices: We Are Americans Too
The DREAM Act is a bill that aims to grant legal status to undocumented young immigrants as well as children of longterm visa holders residing in the U.S. Most of the Indian- American DREAMers—those affected by the DREAM Act—have American lives, identities and values. Many of them are alien to their motherland, which they left behind in their early childhoods. YET, they are denied citizenship and may face deportation.
Here’s an impassioned essay providing a peek into their plight.
“Is it a boy?” the neighbor asks
Her words drip with the sweet, sticky, rasgulla syrup trickling from her lips
“No,” Papa grins, “A girl.”
A blank stare ensues, eyes fill with shock.
My parents celebrate my birth as a blessing
Sharing sweets as done when a boy is born
I am to be showered with the same affection and opportunities.
And so comes the tradition breaking.
Papa, a first-gen everything, decides America is the place
For me and my newborn sister
Where we will never be thought less of for being girls
Where we can get “the best of the East and the West”
Where we can dream anything. Do anything.
So my parents plan, they struggle, they sacrifice, they get visas to take us to America:
America (noun. Def: salad bowl, land of opportunities, immigrant’s dream, first chance... and many’s second).
The airport is cold, but Iowa is colder.
Gone is the humid monsoon smog, replaced by the frigid snowstorm chill. We persist.
Mummy and I learn English.
We sit in the public library
I read Amelia Bedilia, Frog and Toad
Mummy reads lips, adding words and phrases to her dictionary
She swaddles my baby sister.
Day by day, we start to learn.
We learn that Iowa has many seasons—all in the same day,
Why football doesn’t involve feet, and
How long it’s appropriate to keep Christmas decorations up.
We sing American songs, road-trip American places, learn American history, adopt American values.
Slowly but surely, I fall in love with America. I want to give back.
My parents are active at their local temple and university community,
I become active in mine.
I teach coding to girls, lead school student council, volunteer at town events, share my heritage through
dance, use my technological skills to better the world.
I win awards, and awards, and awards. The local and national recognition is humbling, It excites me for my
future.
A company offers me a summer internship,
They tell me I am the youngest to receive such an offer
I am ecstatic. My father is not.
You can’t take the job, he says. Your visa doesn’t allow you to earn money My friends talk about summer jobs,
I smile and nod, pretending to have the same luxury.
Papa finally sits me down
He gives me “The Talk”
It turns out, I am not American
I will have done my entire schooling from
Kindergarten to 12th grade in the U.S. But, I am not American
Not even a permanent resident
Our family is still waiting in a years-long backlog for a Green Card
Still waiting. Still waiting.
Only then can we even begin to think about citizenship
We live in constant jeopardy, no security, no stability
Haunted by our status, weaved into every thought
We follow the grueling cycle like hamsters on a wheel:
Renew status. Apprehension. Deny. Appeal. Breath. Expire. Deportation? Renew status...
[Top] Shristi Sharma at her high school graduation.
I find I am ineligible for college scholarships or federal aid
How will I pursue higher education?
I help friends fill out FAFSAs while researching scholarships for international students. That’s what I am: an international student.
After living in this country for 13 years, I am nothing but a foreigner
I get evaluated separately, competing for an even more selective number of seats.
Hushed voices crawl from the master bedroom
Another wave of anxiety crashes over me
Did the visa get denied?
Will I be able to graduate high school this spring?
Questions with no immediate answer
I go back to school and give it my all, pretending I am ok
I tell nobody that I may not be here come February.
My parents work around the clock to get our visas extended
They don’t let me see the worst of it
We persist.
They find a way to stay
I get a full-ride to college life seems back on track.
Naive,
I scroll through social media to find a new threat: Self-deportation.
Three years left to become a permanent resident Age-out, and I’m forced to leave
To go back to a country I haven’t lived in, for over 13 years. I have never envied a green document so much I keep reading the post.
They say there are over 200 thousand of us
I start following them
I read other’s stories. I reach out to them.
We connect, we listen, we share, we support Together, we advocate.
For an America where we belong
For an official status that finally declares:
We are Americans too.
Shristi Sharma, student at UNC-Chapel Hill and first place winner of We Are Home Essay Contest by The Indian American Impact Project, had the opportunity to read her winning poem in front of distinguished guests such as Speaker Nancy Pelosi and Majority Leader Chuck Schumer at the Impact Project’s Diwali Reception on November 3rd, 2021 in Washington, DC.
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