Voices: Yellow Light
Many of the Indian American “Dreamers”— those affected by America’s Children Act—have grown up having American lives, identities, and values. They are often strangers to their motherland, which was left behind in their early childhood. Yet, they are denied citizenship and may face deportation. KHUSHI PATEL, one such Dreamer, provides a moving peek into her plight on account of her uncertain citizenship status.
[Most noncitizens who come to the United States on temporary work visas do not have a clear path toward permanent legal status. If their minor children come with them, after turning 21 years old, they “age out” of the temporary legal status derived through their parents’ visas and potentially face deportation unless they can obtain a different temporary or permanent status themselves. These young people often refer to themselves as “Documented Dreamers.” (Source: americanimmigrationcouncil.org)]
The experience of growing up as a Documented Dreamer in a small town in Indiana has triggered a multitude of emotions pulling me in every direction but leaving me stuck in the middle because I cannot follow a single feeling to fruition. In recent years, as decisions about my future loom large, I’ve felt as if stuck at a yellow light. In the three seconds before it will turn red, I must either hit the gas and risk a crash... or slam the brakes. With my foot lifted in midair, I enter a state of slow motion as my mind tussles with these choices.
[Right] Khushi Patel at her high school in Lebanon, Indiana.
If it were only about negotiating one traffic signal, it wouldn’t be so bad. But in my case, these three seconds have become symbolic of an eternity of slow motion filled with trepidation. I would like nothing better than to step on the gas, full speed ahead. It’s not easy, however. This yellow light of an uncertain legal status has forced me to live in a limbo where I simply cannot accelerate to my full potential because I’m never fully assured that I won’t be thrown out of this country—bringing to a thundering crash all that I would, or could, make of my life in the U.S.
Outside of the dilemma about my legal status, my life has consisted of constantly moving through green lights. I am ambitious, creative, and academically gifted; and yet, my anxiety continues to build. I constantly feel defeated, unable to do simple things because of these shackles of my uncertain immigration status. I’ve been a firm believer in fighting for my dreams and striving towards my goals; but imagine how it feels to be in a limbo—even if I do all the right things, I could still end up deported due to a system I cannot change alone.
I was a fourth grader when my family moved to the United States on an E-2 business visa. As a first-generation American, I learned the Pledge of Allegiance and took pride in loving the town I was raised in. I have always been driven to do well in my classes and help the community as well as my parents at their business. I was raised in a mostly white town, and have built my skillset from the environment around me. I feel just as American as my peers. I wouldn’t trade a moment of my upbringing because it has allowed me to become a determined, passionate, and curious individual.
[Left] Going to senior prom with her friends.
My biggest challenge when I moved to the U.S. was learning how to love the difference between my culture and that of my friends around me. Yet, as I got older, the people around me made jokes about how I was an immigrant and that I should “fill out the citizenship application.” This hurt me deeply because if there was such an application available to me, I would’ve filled it out in the blink of an eye. It hurt because no one around me understood that I had no pathway to U.S. citizenship.
Khushi Patel participating in political activism on behalf of Documented Dreamers: meeting with Congressman
Ami Bera (Top) and Vice President
Kamala Harris (Left).
Jumping through hoops that are invisible to most has made this journey frustrating. I have been living my life with a constant threat that the day I turn 21, I could be deported. The country where I went to elementary school, and have called home through my formative years, won’t allow me to claim it as my home. I feel constantly dazed by this question of where home is.
As a Documented Dreamer, I can’t legally work in the U.S. even though I want to contribute to the country that I grew up in. Ironically, while I don’t have legal qualification for a job, I am still liable to pay taxes. My college applications were considered international by every single school I applied to; and so, despite my high GPA, extra circular involvement, and other achievements, I wasn’t eligible for most programs or scholarships because I couldn’t say I was American.
Through all this, I do my best to move on. I decided to pursue my passion for helping others through medicine by volunteering in hospice care at a hospital. I am now starting the process of taking the MCAT to apply to medical school. But as I think of the future, I am concerned that I may not be able to apply to most medical schools in America even though I want to give back to the community that has raised me. How can I become a physician if I cannot get into medical school? How can one bring light to this invisible disparity?
Every single night I am overcome with a deluge of thoughts. I see all these opportunities that I could take if I could press the gas and go, but my citizenship status prevents me from doing so. I feel the pull from both sides. I feel vexed because despite all my persistence, drive, and hard work, I can’t escape the injustices of my situation—even as most Americans remain ignorant of my plight.
I feel for my fellow Documented Dreamers, my brothers and sisters fighting for their dreams, families, and change. I’m trying to be a part of those working to change the system and culture. Society praises success but being stuck at this yellow light has given me insight into something that most others never experience. I’ve learned that to push through this barrier and live a life full of green lights, I must honor the fact that I cannot change all the circumstances that I was put into but can only fight for what I deserve and amplify the voices of all of us.
I know my worth and am doing everything in my power to zoom through the green light. I hope we can together turn this friction into fuel and bring light to the voice of this group of children that has gone unheard for so long.
Khushi Patel is a junior at Indiana University studying Human Biology on the pre-med track with a minor in Healthcare Policy and Management. A version of this article was the third-place winner in the We Are Home essay contest by The Indian American Impact Project.
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