Describe a decision you made in the past that helped you learn or grow.

This is a divisive topic today the least.

When I was 18 I applied for legal residency after living in the United States illegally since I was 3 years old. I waited until I was an adult so that I could apply without my parents who had no pathway to make the same requests. My request was denied 9 months later and I was asked to do a “Self Deportation” within 30 days. The self deportation would allow me to reapply from my birth country under the same law that I applied initially without being charged with a federal crime which would ensure I never became a legal resident of this country or stay in the country and live in shadows the rest of my life.

The choice was difficult, at almost 19 years old, most teens can’t fathom leaving to a foreign country (as much as it was my birth country) and leaving their friends and family behind without a support system in place. What made it worse was that there was no guarantee my case would even get a second look, or an approval. The odds of a Mexican born citizen getting a residency permit was slim to none because we fall under no political asylum laws or refugee status. My mom begged me not to go, my brothers, but I decided that if I didn’t go I would never be able to be the person I could be. My potential for what I could contribute to the world would be reduced to working and getting paid “under the table” and hiding myself in fear for the rest of my life. I left.

It took me over 2 years after conducting my self deportation, countless nights of crying myself to sleep because I missed my family, days when I didn’t have enough money to have a proper meal and even dealt with harassment and abuse at the hands of male employers and supervisors while I waited for an opportunity that would potentially never come.

I can honestly and without shame say that I thought I wasn’t going to survive my own depression and sense of loss. Loss of my life, my family, my friends, my direction. There were days when I didn’t see the point and felt stupid for leaving it all behind and thinking I ever stood a chance. I wanted to die and just walk away from it all.

Then one day I received a letter with an appointment date and time. I traveled to Juarez Mexico on my own, stood in the cold in January waiting for my number to be called. Because that’s what my life was reduced to, a case number. When you go through this process no one asks for your name, you’re just an alphanumeric code, and I clung to it like it was my last shred of dignity. When it was finally called after 12 hours of standing outside in line, right when I felt like my feet couldn’t take it anymore I almost collapsed from relief.

I walked to a small smudgy window where a woman screamed for me to hand her my interview letter through a small opening below the window. She typed some things into a computer and I prepared myself to plea for my life. I’d worn my best clothes, something to look presentable. I had prepped for potential questions that I would need to know to justify why I was a good person, why I was a decent person who deserved an opportunity, I waited as she typed away. Then she slammed a stamp on my letter, slid it back to me, and told me I had to cross the border that day over to the US, then immediately cross back and get my passport stamped before yelling in my face “NEXT!”.

I panicked, I had so many questions, what did this mean? I tried to ask her and she said she didn’t speak Spanish, I was speaking to her in English, but she waved me away repeating the same directions. I walked outside the consulate already in tears at my frustration and anger because I still didn’t know if it meant I was “accepted, or approved” or whatever you want to call it. I decided I would just go to the border and find out. I took a cab and when I got there I used the pedestrian catwalk. I showed them my documents, they escorted me around. The urge to just run north of the crossing was intense, because there I was on US soil for only a few seconds and it felt like a taunt. I wanted to cry again. My passport was stamped and someone just said congratulations, I was looking in the direction of my home, where my family resided that I almost missed it. Seeing my bewildered expression, the officer told me I could legally enter the country now and my residency card and other documents would slowly come in the mail but to make sure my address was updated.

2 years 3 months.

I wouldn’t become a citizen until 2 years later after joining the Navy. But it’s been 16 years and 3 months since that day, and 16 years I’ve been serving my country. Yeah, it was the worst time of my life, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. People may think because I became a citizen and tie it to some notion of the American Dream, but it has nothing to do with that. It’s because it showed me what really mattered, showed me how feeble people were, how loyal they could be, how insignificant some could see us. It showed me the true nature of people, and most importantly, how to be better than the worst and best of them.