Tears in the Flag

Every American has an immigrant story even if it may not be their own. America is the land of immigrants but immigration patterns have changed quite drastically from Western Europe to Eastern Europe to Asia. There has not been a major immigration reform since 1986 and every law since has been made to control and stem the flow of new immigrants. The Supreme Court just ruled on the legality of DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood arrivals), yet creating no pathway to citizenship. The Dream Act has been tossed around since 2001 with no timeline and lives' hanging in the balance. This story covers one such life. Following the sudden departure of his mother, Arjun finds himself stuck in America as an undocumented immigrant at the age of twelve. His father's immigration petition has failed putting the entire family at a crossroads and in the spotlight of a DHS investigation. Arjun must now figure out how to navigate his new reality without any clear possibility of a future in America. This story is one of many unheard voices that have spent the last few decades hidden in the shadows, fearing repercussions if they speak out, cornered with every new legislation and administration that fails to create a solution for over eleven million people. I felt like I had lost my ability to speak, and it was as if there were a giant stone sitting on my chest as I struggled to breathe. The unraveling of my parents' lives and our circumstances left me speechless. My fate was going to be decided by the people who were in the middle of a panic attack. But thank god for Bibi-my mom left alone. She had made her decision the moment the immigration officer knocked on our apartment door, and nothing was going to change her mind. If I had known that I wouldn't see my mother again for more than a decade, I would have cried my eyes out and begged her not to leave. I was in shock, and I was afraid. I had never felt so helpless as when I roamed around the airport terminal, forgetting where I was or what was happening. Even though Sonya was so young, she would not let go of Mom. Somehow, she understood more than me that we needed to make an effort to keep our mother with us. In the end, Mom hugged Sonya and me tightly before walking toward the security checkpoint, tears running down her face. She kept looking back, and we didn't move until we lost sight of her. I wish I had yelled loudly, "Mom, don't go!" But I did nothing. I do not even remember the car ride back home; it was as if everything after that moment stopped mattering. One has to wonder, did my mom know at the time that this would be the beginning of thirteen- plus years of exile? To be accurate, it would be thirteen years, five months, and four days before my mom would return to us in America, and what happened during that time sets the foundation for this story.