I do not think that just by looking at me, you could tell that I am one of THOSE people. The ones that came to the United States to take over our jobs and to take back Aztlan. The kind that do not speak good Engleesh and demand that everybody around them learn Spanish. From looking at me I do not think that you could tell that I am an illegal.
I am undocumented, but I am not illegal. I happened to have been born on the wrong side of a line. Wrong because having been born there I am not afforded the same opportunities as people that were born on this side of the line. I try to find redemption for that. A reason why it is not wrong to have been born over there. Why my grandmother had to leave this land and procreate over there instead of starting a life here.
So far I have not had an epiphany about it, but as I have grown up I have learned that people that have the ability to fly do not use it and they do not appreciate it. And I, that cannot fly, wish to do it so bad and when I finally get the opportunity, I will not take it for granted. I also understand very well the needs of the immigrant community. The way that globalization is making the world smaller. That the United States exports its culture to other countries unashamedly, and in the same way, immigrants come to the United States and bring their culture.
But still sometimes I go back to thinking I was born in the wrong place. Wrong because I have to justify and explain my existence in this country. Wrong because people tell me that I should not be here. That my siblings and myself do not deserve the opportunity to reach the American dream since we were not born on this side of the line.
But I cannot go back. I do not remember enough of the country in which I was born. I lived there until I was seven and then I left and have never returned. I have thought about it. Sometimes my pride and guilt are so big that I think I could find a job over there. However, I am not completely competent in the language and I am not familiar with the customs. I already went through the pain of having to adapt to a completely foreign place when I came to the United States. I do not want to do it again.
And so I am left where I began, as a second-class citizen of the United States. I am not one of THOSE people. Actually from my experience I do not think there are any of Those people. There are only people like me and my family that came to the United States in search of a better life. My parents do not speak English, but it is not because they do not want to. They try, but having to raise a family on a second-class wage does not exactly leave time to learn English.
And yet I feel a certain amount of pride in being one of Those people because when other people are complaining about not having jobs Those people go out and make their own jobs, whether it be selling things on the street or building someone’s house; they earn a living. Not only do they survive but they live…..we live and we dance and we sing and we pray and we are happy and we believe. Believe that something better will come that something better is already here and we keep on living.
I might be from the wrong side of the line, but I am still a person. I still have dreams. I still have hopes. I am still a human being and like all human beings I was endowed by my creator with certain unalienable rights among those life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And so here I am trying to pursue my happiness.