In anticipation of the National Coming Out Week,  stories written and submitted by undocumented youth will be published daily. More stories shedding light on the experiences of DREAMers can be found here. Last week was just the beginning. Stay tuned for more!

Jan 10, 1990. It’s unusually cold here tonight in the arid town of San Miguel, Oaxaca.  There’s apparently no soap to wash me, so I’m laid to rest on my mother’s stomach (as we sleep together for the first time) to keep the ants away. From what I’m later told, only my grandmother was present to aid my mother in the delivery.

Spring 1992. My mother and father left today, they plan to work for one year in New York and then return.

Spring 1993. There’s been a change of plans. After a year of separation, our father has returned to take my older sister and I across the border and to our new home in New York. We cross the border somewhere in Arizona, the three of us, with our aunt.  Looking back, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t live with my parents, but I did. Anyways, I’m glad our family is together again.

Fall 1994. With much anticipation, I’ve begun school. I’m actually too young to enter kindergarten at four, but my mom submitted a forged Mexican birth certificate. For the next 13 years, my birthday will be
December 10, 1989. My sister began her elementary school career last year, and can’t stop talking about it. Lastly, although my thoughts, wishes, and entire vocabulary are in Spanish, I’m not too worried about my ignorance of the English language.

1995-1996. I’m now fluent in English. Somewhere around this time, my imagination and dreams were translated entirely into English, and will remain in that language. I don’t mind the loss too much, I just find it peculiar.

Winter 1999. I’ve begun my application process into the district’s magnet school; apparently my standardized test scores were barely good enough to make me a candidate.

Spring 1999. After an entrance exam and an interview. I’ve been accepted into Mott Hall, next fall I’ll be entering the 5th grade in a new school.

Fall 2002. I lied to my lab supervisor at the local community college where I’ve started to do research in order to fulfill my community service requirement. I told him my parents vote in New York, it’s a small lie, I’m just not a good liar is all….

Winter 2003. I’ve been granted admission to Deerfield academy; I forgot to tell you that I’ve been taking extra courses outside of school in preparation for boarding school.  I can’t begin to assess how much my life will change after these four years, I haven’t really thought much about it really, my conscience is clear knowing that this is a really good school.

September 2003. We rolled into Deerfield, Massachusetts, on a quiet and perfectly still fall morning. The beauty of this dainty town almost hurts you. Although I’m miles away from the world of “crosswalks, concrete, and cranes,” I don’t feel too out of place. My first year dorm – well actually house -  John Williams is older than our nation and our dorm parent, Mr. Brush, seems to be as well.

Summer 2006. During my first week at my first internship, I received a call from the Prep for Prep intern coordinator.  As expected, the digits I submitted as my social security number are not valid and so my stipend will be delayed. I was upset at first but I know that this experience will prove of value whether I’m paid or not. I was mainly startled, if you want to know the truth, I wasn’t expecting any calls at the Brookdale Center of Gerontology, and it was pretty uncomfortable to talk on the phone about by legal status in front of my fellow intern.

Fall 2006. Due to my undocumented status, my potential college list has been altered. Most of my initial liberal art colleges have been crossed off, but thankfully the CEO of Prep for Prep is a trustee for Kenyon College, and my grades fit their admitted students profile so I should have no problem getting in. Either way, I wish I had more options although I remain thankful for what I have.

Winter 2007. I applied early to Kenyon and was granted admission; at least my life is secure for four more years.

Spring 2007. I received a call from the international student’s office today. I was told that I’ll be registered as a non-resident alien in the college files, seeing as applying for a student visa would require
me to return to Mexico, and there’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to return. The risks are just too big.

Summer 2007.  Our supervisor at the office of the public advocate came around asking for our social security number. I gave her the number my parents use to fill out their tax forms. Thankfully the public advocate’s office won’t be paying me this summer. Either way, I hope I didn’t look too nervous.

Return from Winter Break, Jan. 11, 2008. I’m now 18 years old and getting through airport security won’t be as easy without a government ID. Today, an officer of the department of homeland security pulled me aside and had me searched. Thankfully, my mother couldn’t see from the waiting area when they frisk-searched me. It was pretty humiliating but I tried to make small talk as my backpack was emptied. I kept on wanting to tell the officers that I posed a threat to no one and was just like any other college student on their way back from the holidays.

Summer 2008. The CEO of New York Disaster Interfaith Services came by today with new employee agreements I had to sign. Although they’re not paying me this summer, I still had to fill in the social security line. I’m getting pretty tired of having to lie, but I don’t want any problems.

Return from Spring break, March, 2009. Our Greyhound bus spontaneously stopped today in between Buffalo and Syracuse, two Department of Homeland Security officers boarded and I obviously lied to them, telling them I was a US citizen. I didn’t have to show any documents, just uttering the words was sufficient. Unfortunately, the three young men, whom I gave some clothes to in Buffalo, weren’t as lucky. Were I courageous, I would have stood up for them and ask why they had to be hand-cuffed as if they were criminals, or at least silence the laughter I heard coming from the rear. But since I’m not, I just dug my head in the seat in front of me and recited the opening line to Psalm 91 repeatedly, “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.”

End of School Year, May, 2009. Sophomore year just ended. Today, just before leaving Buffalo, NY, a couple of Department of Homeland Security officers boarded the bus, when one asked if I was born in the U.S., I looked at him straight in the eyes and said yes. It’s slightly discomforting to realize that I’ve been getting better at lying to them, but it helps to have so much rage, not at individuals, just at the entire system.

Spring 2009. Today, during a heated argument on affirmative action, I made the statement that I would not be present on the campus were it not for concerted efforts made to assist minority groups that were historically and institutionally prevented from attending college.  One classmate looked at me and asked how did I feel taking someone else’s spot?  I didn’t know how to respond and, unable to justify my existence at Kenyon, stated that I loved it here, and couldn’t imagine my life without this opportunity. Looking back, I don’t think anyone should or can justify their existence [...] too much goes into the existence of one human being, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Fall 2009. During the church offering today, we were asked to fill out an organ donor application. I couldn’t help asking myself that if I died here in America would my heart, lungs and tissues be illegal too?  And thought pleasantly on those lines from e.e. cummings: “when god lets my body be/ from each brave eye shall sprout a tree …. the purpled world will dance upon my lips which did sing.”
Late May, 2009. I’m volunteering at an immigrant rights group from the summer, and while discussing my responsibilities for the summer I was asked if I was a US citizen, I said no.

That’s all I have to say for now, I omitted the events of September 11, my father being laid-off repeatedly, my mother working grueling hours in a clothing factory, and my older sister’s frustration at our condition. I fear that I’ve painted a pretty miserable picture of my life; although these dates aren’t entirely representative of my life, they are, however, “precious parts of my experience” and their significance play out continually throughout my narrative (Ellison). Also, it’s not a good habit to continually lie to people; thankfully I’m slowly getting better at speaking the truth.  I just wanted you to get a fuller understanding of my story, which is now your story.

Hassan tells me that there’s some good must arise from living illegally in the United States, and I’m tempted to agree. Without romanticizing our condition too much, I can say that knowing that everything I have ever worked for can be immediately taken away from me has made me appreciate what I have. I love the bond that unites us all who live without proper documentation in the United States, our shared stories, emotions, and psychology.  There’s also something to say about the narrative that we share with other “alien” people, whether [these "aliens" are] the Israelites living in Egypt or black slaves in America, and that our struggle is the next chapter in the long, but beautiful struggle for civil, natural, and human rights.

In anticipation of the National Coming Out Week,  stories written and submitted by undocumented youth will be published daily. More stories shedding light on the experiences of DREAMers can be found here. Last week was just the beginning. The stories keep on coming! Stay tuned for more!

I entered the United States when I was one year old. My father and my uncles where already over here and had a house that was ready for us to live in. My aunts and all my little cousins traveled with a coyote across the border with my youngest uncle. My parents came to this country to give me the best future, to overachieve the expectations they had for themselves, and to become educated well-off immigrants in the USA. As our family grew, we put applications to receive the proper documentations. Time went by and all my aunts, uncles and cousins received their documents, only my father, my mother and I were left.  I finished elementary school in an arts academy with a bright future ahead. I finished middle school with honors and looked forward to a rewarding high school experience and awaiting to fill out my first college application. My junior year came by and I looked back at my 3.6 GPA, proud of my hard work. I took my first handful of college and scholarship applications home to fill out. Filling out my name, address, GPA was great; But, then I came to a stop when the space to insert my social security number and citizenship status. My hopes and dreams fell to the ground. I looked back at all my hard work and cried, because I felt it was then worth nothing. I looked to my sides and I saw how other students who slacked off all 4 years of high school were going to colleges, receiving financial add and give-away scholarships. I was mad. My graduation party came and I was hopeless, I decided I was going back to Mexico since my academic career had come to an end. Later, I was encouraged to fill out an application for my local community college in hopes of being accepted without much trouble.

So, I filled out the application and was accepted. I enrolled in a community college and paid my own class. Since I couldn’t “legally” work, I only had enough to pay for one English class. My dream has risen higher and higher…I am here with a purpose. Sometimes I feel like a bird that can fly so high but I am in a little cage that is waiting to be opened. I have so much to offer and give, but I can’t help to think that I can’t because I don’t reach certain requirements that our society demands. Now, I have turned all this sadness, anger, stress, uncertainty and disappointment into action!! I have asked God why he chose me to be undocumented millions of times and I always got one answer. “Because you can fight this battle and survive with victory!!” I believe in God and I believe in his promises. I won’t give up!

The place I was born (Belize) is very vivid in my memories.  However, it is not a place I would call home, as these memories are not positive ones.  My parents brought my little brother and I to the U.S. for two reasons.  First, it would provide us with a better education.  Second, we came due to my brother’s chronic asthma (which I tend to prioritize out of the two).  They were not thinking of making a better living for themselves, or of freedom, or of making more money.  They were thinking of the betterment of their children.  They sacrificed their health and business to come.  I recalled being so happy at the airport, leaving for New York, imagining a new life- because that country haunts me.

When I was younger, I was sexually harassed.  To this day, my parents do not know of this as I don’t want to worry them.  I couldn’t think of what to do but just bury the embarrassment far inside of me.  Belize is known as a tourist attraction, but not to me.  It is a poor country with a very high crime rate and poor security.  My parents owned grocery stores and we encountered robbery plenty of times.  I can clearly remember the guns pointing to my father’s head.  It was so shocking for me to witness something like that.  I would not be able to sleep for the night. I don’t ever want to go back, remember pas events, or have to worry if my parents will be dead one day as they try to struggle with thieves.  I don’t ever want to go back.

My home is the U.S.A.  I live, eat, and breathe the same as every American citizen.  We’ve become so americanized we started to neglect our parents, and found them very old-fashioned.  Thinking back makes me feel so horrible.  I remember when I first started school and everyone was wearing brand-name clothing, while I looked terrible. I was envious and I wanted to be just like them, blaming my parents for not giving us what everyone else had.  It has truly changed my brother and I.  My parents own their own business, have to work every day, struggle to make money, and try to earn a living, even as they talk to lawyer after lawyer to help us gain permanent residency.  Every year they age, and it saddens me that the once strong and young-looking parents I knew are now old and fragile.

I am now in college studying aviation management and will be earning my BS in 2011.  But will I be able to find a job?  Find a sponsor? When can I make money and have my parents retire?  These questions are always bothering me and I hope that one day we will all live in peace.

The immigration system is very broken and is quite evil. Should that one piece of paper that identifies us as citizens really separate us from the fact that we are all human beings? Were we not born as brothers and sisters in the first place?

The world scares me- but enough is enough, so I will continue to live.

I first came out to a group of people over two years ago.  I was invited to participate in a presentation regarding immigration at a synagogue to educate its members.  I decided that my story was powerful and it could change the way people look at the word “undocumented immigrant”.  But I was still worried and afraid of people’s reactions once I told them.  Like many students, the fear of revealing my undocumented status was instilled in me since I was young.  How could I ever look at people in the eye and disclose such a personal aspect of my life?  I wrote my story down and read it out loud in front of the mirror a thousand times.  But thinking about coming out still made me nervous.

As you plan to come out to your friends, co-workers, teachers, guidance counselors, or even strangers, you might also feel the way I felt.  As the day of my “coming out” approached, I followed some steps that helped me and hopefully will help you as well.

1) Relax.  It seems silly and impossible to relax but you can.  First, take a deep breath and clear your mind. You have prepared for this and you are ready. Forget about what people might think or what they might say.  This is your life and you will not let yourself be intimidated by other people’s opinions.  Truthfully, most people will be sympathetic to your story and support you 100%.

2) Remember you’re not alone: As you make the decision to come out, there are thousands of other students that have made the same decision with you.  They have decided to stand up and speak out, just like you have.  And just like you, they are not afraid anymore.  Remember that we are all dreamers, and we are all in this together.

3) Realize this situation is not your fault: as an undocumented student, you might feel embarrassed or guilty about your situation.  most of us have felt that at one point or another in our lives.  But remember- the fact that you’re undocumented is not your fault.  There is nothing for which you should be ashamed or embarrassed, because you did not create this situation.  The government, neglecting to fix unfair and unjust immigration policy, created the situation.

4) You’re making a difference.  Whether you’re coming out to one person or to hundreds of people at a rally, you’re making a difference.  By coming out, you’re helping to shed the stereotypes people have been made to believe about immigrants.  it’s a proven fact that people who know someone who is undocumented are more likely to support legalization than somebody who does not.  You could be the person who changes their opinion, and adds another ally to the movement.

So come out and be proud.  Let’s show the country that even though we’re undocumented, we are not afraid anymore!

“Dear DreamActivist: People in this country are sick and tired of all these illegal aliens and want them deported.  March all you want, but do it in a southerly direction, straight to Mexico.  Hard working americans are tired of your anchor babies and your women that are nothing more than breeders.  The men don’t want social security numbers because right now we support their brats.  and that would make them responsible.  Victeeeeeems bear no responsibility.  March, March, March It just makes us want you gone more.  Please drag out those mexican flags to show everyone exactly where their loyalites.  March south and take all your anchors with you Sincerely, Bernice Gunn.”

Thanks for writing in, Bernice! By visiting our site you have taken the first step towards educating yourself on a very important issue for so many Americans.  Since we are kind, generous, and always interested in bringing more people around to the cause, we’ll answer your questions step by step.

First, we’ve got to talk about “people in this country”.  Interestingly enough, you haven’t been elected Official Spokesperson for All Americans.  That actually happens once every four years.  Citizens over the age of 18 get to elect a person to act as our leader, and people around the world generally consider this leader the Official Spokesperson for All Americans.  We call this person “The President.”

The President actually hasn’t said that people are “sick and tired of all these illegal aliens and want them deported.”  Actually, he’s said:

“We need immigration reform that will secure our borders, and punish employers who exploit immigration labor; reform that finally brings the 12 million people who are here illegally out of the shadows by requiring them to take steps to become legal citizens.  We must assert our values and reconcile our principles as a nation of immigrants and a nation of laws.  That is a priority I will pursue from my very first day.”

“Something we can do immediately that I think is very important is to pass the DREAM Act, which allows children who through no fault of their own are here but ahve essentially grown up as Americans, allow them the opportunity for higher education.”

The President’s name is Barack Hussein Obama.  He said these things a couple years ago, and a lot of people agreed with what he was saying, so they picked him to be The Official Spokesperson for All Americans.  Cool, right? Note that The Official Spokesperson for All Americans needs to be reminded a lot about the promises he makes while he runs for President.

Second, we’ll address your question about the demographics of immigrants.  Unfortunately, not all immigrants are lucky enough to be from Mexico.  There are immigrants from all over the world and all continents (except Antarctica, of course. One day, though.) There are immigrants from Africa, Asia, Europe, Oceania, and the Americas.  The best part, Bernice, is that you too are a part of this incredible history of immigration to the United States! Assuming you are not a part of the original indigenous population of the continent that was nearly annihilated by the first immigrants, your ancestors also schlepped over great distances looking for a new, better life, ready to contribute to this country in a positive way.  Isn’t that awesome? You’re like one of us!

Third, we actually would all love to go to Mexico.  We deserve a vacation for working so hard to educate people like you, and Mexico is a beautiful, culturally rich country with a lot to see and do.  but the problem is, if some of us leave, we can’t come back into the country.  And that would suck, because our friends, family, and lives are here.  We want to be teachers, engineers, lawyers, and nurses here, in this country.  But if you help us change immigration law, we would love to take you up on the offer.

Fourth, the men actually would really, really like social security numbers.  They’re trying really hard to figure out ways to get those 9 digits.  Are you single and straight, Bernice?  If you want to help, you can send Gabe YOUR digits, and who knows… there may be wedding bells.

Fifth, thank you for your concern for women and children. That is quite progressive of you.  And if by “breeders” you mean “incredibly sexy people”, don’t hate us because it’s true, hate us because YO’ MAN THINKS SO!

Hope this helps. Don’t choke on the Haterade.

Sincerely,

DreamActivist.

Their enthusiasm has created many willing allies among not only other students but administrators as well, allies who are sensitive to the needs and challenges facing undocumented students.  Read about what they have created:

-This year, with the opening of the Bruin Resource Center, different populations on campus have received helpful additional support- including AB540 undocumented students.  It’s a pretty big university, and navigating the system can be difficult, so the Bruin Resource Center provides information, referrals, and specialized services and programs to address the concerns and needs of AB540 undocumented students.  The motivation behind the BRC? According to Yanina Montero, the Vice Chancellor for Student Affairs, the ultimate objective is to help all students stay in school and succeed.  Sounds like a plan!

-It gets better.  All the aspiring nurses, doctors, biologists, and biotechnologists who happen to be DREAMers (like Tiffany, Benita, Mike, Ashley, and Mamadou) can get the experience they need at UCLA’s world class, totally-famous-because-celebrities-go-there Medical Center.  Until February of 2010, the Medical Center required that volunteers show a U.S. government-issued identification to obtain a background check.  However, undocumented students at UCLA, with the support of the Bruin Resource Center, reached out to the Medical Center and got some serious results: the Medical Center now accepts from its volunteers government identification issued by any country.

-When 32% fee increases make it harder to afford, well, everything (especially when AB540 students don’t qualify for financial aid), there are resources that undocumented students and their allies created at UCLA.  Check out the Food Bank- a resource for anybody who needs it.  Not everybody can afford living close to campus, so during stressful times like midterms and finals, AB540 students can use the Crash Catalog, coordinated internally by IDEAS at UCLA, to find a trusted person willing to lend a couch.

-And finally, students at UCLA collaborated with the UCLA Center for Labor Research and Education to collect and tell their stories in Underground Undergrads, a book that serves to feature not only the stories of eight UCLA DREAMers, but organizations that serve as resources for undocumented students, the history of relevant legislation, and the growing movement organizing around these issues.

Posted with many thanks to proud Bruin Marilyn Corrales.

I always knew there was something different about my parents; they never voted, no matter how passionately they discussed politics at home, they continued to try to make their small business work rather than seek employment, even when the business went into bankruptcy, and they never even brought up visiting their families in other countries, even though they had been away for over 20 years.

Although I love my father very much, he was always a controlling, and, as things got worse, an abusive man. My mother finally divorced him when I was a high school senior. One day, I was visiting my father at his new apartment and he and I got into a heated argument. I don’t remember what the fight was about, but I remember when I was slammed against the door as he screamed into my face. I yelled for help, hoping someone would hear and call the police. And in that moment he relaxed and became very quiet. He looked me in the eye and said “Kid, you don’t have a choice. If you ever call the police, I can guarantee you will never see your mother again.” I didn’t understand, but I grabbed the opportunity to run out the door and get back to my mother’s house.

When I got back to my mom I was sobbing, scared, but also very confused. Eventually, my mother had to tell me the truth, after 17 years of hiding this painful secret from me. She and my dad were undocumented. They were just like all my friends’ parents, working hard, raising their children, paying their taxes, volunteering at school, but they did not have a valid immigration status.

I had no idea what any of that meant. The next morning, I went through the phone book, calling immigration lawyers. It made no sense to me that there was no way for my parents to get immigration status – they had been here for 25 years and they were like everyone else! I visited a few lawyers who all told me that there was no avenue for my parents to adjust their status. When I brought up my father’s abuse and threats, they said it wasn’t bad enough to qualify me or my mother for legal protection. No, they explained, my mother could not be protected from the threat of my father calling immigration on her, therefore, I could not be protected from the threat of losing my mother.

The rights of citizen children are diminished when our parents are constantly threatened; be it by ICE, abusive family members, employers or others. This country has failed to protect me for almost 22 years. I have worked, struggled and prayed for immigration reform. And I have had my heart broken again and again as my mother is put in danger and my life is left hanging. At the end of the day, I do not know which hurts more, the ignorant people who cannot look past the word “illegal” to see all the human impacts of this broken system, or the people who claim to be our advocates but sell us out for cheap political gain.

Senator Schumer, a self-proclaimed immigrant advocate, has proposed introducing a Comprehensive Immigration Reform bill which would require all undocumented immigrants to plead guilty in criminal court before beginning a pathway to earned legalization. To him I say, my mother is not a criminal.

Reform Immigration for America, the spokespeople of the pro-immigrant movement, are willing to back legislation that refuses to recognize lesbian and gay families and would make it increasingly difficult for workers to gain fair employment. To them I say, you may not use my family to justify supporting discriminatory legislation.

I need Comprehensive Immigration Reform to live safely in this country. However, I understand the rights and privileges that being a US Citizen have given me and I think that the most important thing we can do right now is ensure that all young people have the opportunities that I have. We can and need to pass the DREAM Act now so that all young people can pursue their dreams and the dreams of their families. DREAM Act students have been fighting their battle alone for years and now, in this brief window of opportunity, we all must join together and stand behind them. And one day, we will be able to build on that foundation so that all families can be safe.

“On this anniversary of Stonewall I ask my gay sisters and brothers to make the commitment to fight. For themselves. For their freedom. For their country.

…Gay people, we will not win [our] rights by staying quietly in our closets…We are coming out! We are coming out to fight the lies, the myths, the distortions! We are coming out to tell the truth about gays!

For I’m tired of the conspiracy of the silence.

I’m tired of the silence. So I’m going to talk about it. And I want you to talk about it.

…And finally

Most of all

I’m tired of the silence from the White House.”

I, like Harvey, am tired of the silence. I am tired of the apathy. I am tired of the indifference. And I am tired of the hate.

Why come out? Because in the shadows your voice is silenced, and it is that much harder to be a part of the change when your very presence has yet to be acknowledged.

And so I say, my name is Kemi, and I want to recruit you. Why? Because I am undocumented, and this battle should not be mine to fight alone.

Coming out is not an easy feat. You are at once free, but vulnerable. But you are not alone.

In the same speech, Harvey Milk also urged:

“Come out only to the people you know, and who know you…But once and for all, break down the myths, destroy the lies and distortions.

For your sake.

For their sake.”

How many times have you sat silently by as someone close to you says something demeaning about the immigrant community or immigrant youth?

How many times have you heard someone say that “these illegals should just get in line like everyone else,” but did nothing to explain to them that there is no line?

How many times have you chosen to not participate in a march or a rally or an action, or to pick up the phone and call your legislator?

How many more times can you afford to remain inactive, to sit back and let others speak for you and fight the fight that should be yours?

We cannot afford to be indifferent. We cannot afford to let our anger breed passivity.

You are not illegal, because no human being is illegal. But if you are undocumented, I support you, and this movement supports you. If you are an ally of undocumented youth, I welcome you, and this movement welcomes you.

Change may not happen overnight, but there are many small steps that you can take to become active in this movement, your movement.

Join a local group and address the needs of the youth in your community. Don’t have a local group? Let us help you start one, or plug in at the state or national level. Participate in upcoming actions, in whatever magnitude you are able. Encourage people you know to sign the petition. One small step forward is still a step towards progress.

If you are not willing to fight for your own rights, then who will?

Fight and give hope to those who are still afraid or unable to come to terms with the undocumented part of their identity. As in the video below, we must give them hope, though we cannot live on hope alone. Using that hope, we must fight!

Why should undocumented immigrants come out and more importantly, be out?

10. Because the closet is too small and suffocating: There is so much more to learn by stepping outside the cave rather than believing that the shadows bouncing on the walls are reality. See “allegory of the cave.”

9. Because out DREAM Act youth are celebrities who often get what they want without much effort:

“Hi, are you THE Prerna Lal?” is actually a conversation starter followed by star-struck gazes that make one uncomfortable at first, but pretty amused later on when people go out of their way to wine and dine and please you. Just play your cards right and keep your ego in check.

8. Because DREAM Act status is a pickup line:

“Hi, are you Rigo Padilla? I have read so much about you!” And then you smile and act modest while handing her/him your business card and telling her/him to call you anytime.

7. Because most people think you are just “super-rad” and cool:

For example, on a job interview, the potential employer was simply blown away with my immigration status and the ways in which I navigate the system. Of course, I earned “cool” points and bagged the job. This can also be used to impress potential dates. “ZOMG, you ride your bike home for 10 miles every day! That is so cool!”

6. Because it helps us build community:

There is strength in numbers—Where are our 38 million undocumented immigrants? Come out of the shadows, share your stories and experiences. Together we can form a powerful and thriving community with safe spaces and resources for everyone.

5. Because it is safer:

We cannot help and provide services for people who elect to live in the shadow and cower in fear. You can be picked up and deported at any time and we would have no idea. But if you are out about your status and well-plugged in to our community, people will come to your help in no time. And who knows? You may end up with a great job offer regardless of your status and even a work permit if ICE dares to lock you up.

4. Because we cannot help those who don’t help their own cause:

DREAM Activists around the country are putting themselves out there on a daily basis to fight for their basic right to live in their own homes and for YOU to continue living in your home too. What are you doing to help with the cause? We aren’t running some welfare program: Free-loading is not cool.

3. Because you will make really cool friends all over the United States

Name a state and we can probably go there tomorrow, hang out with a fellow DREAM Act student or activista, get a free tour and place to stay.

2. Because you will feel more empowered and free

Yes, freedom is socially constructed but it is a relief to not constantly fear an oppressive and unjust system that prevents you from living out in the open. It is so much more empowering and it also builds your self-esteem. So let it go and see where the freedom from fear takes you.

1. Because we cannot pass the DREAM Act with you in the closet.

Everyone matters. The only way to build mass public consciousness and to fight misperceptions, mediated-conversations and media misrepresentation is to actively show ourselves to the world.

There’s actually no justifiable reason for anyone to live in the shadows. Come out and be out.

The YLC will feature the story of undocumented youth as told by them. This is Brian’s story

I never thought of myself as different from anyone else. When I came here, I never questioned what got me into the United States. After all, I was just seven. I didn’t have a choice on whether to stay in Jamaica with my mother or go to America to live with a man I barely knew, my father. My mother sent me here to live a new, better, and successful life and that’s what I promised her I would do. I never knew keeping that promise would be so hard.

It was in middle school when I was well aware of my father’s financial situation. This was why I didn’t tell my father when my shoes were worn out at the bottom, when my jeans were becoming highwaters, and why I never went to the movies with my friends. I was too embarrassed to hear my father tell me we were too broke to afford what I needed or wanted; if I didn’t ask for anything, I didn’t have to hear him say no. My father had trouble keeping a job and his hand disability made it even harder for him to get a job. I did not like seeing my father struggling or worrying about how he was going to pay the bills.

I learned about my immigration situation during this time. This was the time when everyone around me was getting their working papers and applying for different jobs. My guidance counselor gave me a list of documents I needed to bring in, including a copy of my birth certificate and social security card. I placed it on my father’s dresser where it remained untouched. When I finally asked him for those documents he got so angry. He yelled at me and asked me why I was being ungrateful. He implied that I didn’t appreciate what I had. I translated what he said to mean I didn’t have those documents.He never told me why he got mad but now I understand the pain he must have felt knowing what a burden not having those documents would be on me. Ever since then speaking of my status in or out of the house was taboo. Even with this information I never stopped working hard in school, partly because I was young and didn’t know what it would mean for my future.

It was my junior year of high school and I was sick of feeling helpless. I wanted to take control of my life but at the same time I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me or think I was less than them due to my status. I thought if I spoke about my problems, someone might give me the answers. How wrong I was to believe that obtaining citizenship was going to be easy. I spoke to teachers, guidance counselors, and lawyers and they didn’t give me great options. Teachers that were supposed to be a source of knowledge didn’t know anything about my situation. The people that were supposed to guide me through my high school ordeals didn’t know what path I should take.

This year, I followed my peers’ lead. I studied for the SATs, wrote college essays, and applied to as many colleges as I could; in the hopes that one of those colleges would give me a scholarship that would help me pay for the tuition. I have received acceptance letters into many of the colleges I applied to. Now I wonder how I will pay.

Throughout the years I have been told by teachers, family members, and friends that the future holds great things in store for me. I embrace this support, but I can’t help but to be a little pessimistic. “What do I have to look forward to?” is what I ask myself every morning when I prepare for school. Hopping for a better future for myself was what got me to school.

I’m an undocumented Jamaican immigrant who comes from a poor, unloving, and unsympathetic family, what chance do I have? I always believed that my desire to excel would help me to exceed my expectations. I expected more for myself in the future rather than depression and lost ambitions. Why shouldn’t I have that future I always wanted? I didn’t think I had anything after high school to look forward to. That was until I heard about the Dream Act.

I was researching ways of becoming a citizen. An attorney at a well-known organization, called The Door, sat with me in her office and looked at me with compassion. She was going through the eligibility of the Dream Act and a great smile rose across my face when I realized that I qualified. I went through the eligibility over and over in my head and still couldn’t believe it.

I wanted to get involved, to help myself get where I knew I deserved to be. So when I heard about an organization that fought for the Dream Act and allowed youth like myself to get active I joined. Now I call the NYSYLC office home.

My experience as an undocumented youth has taught me that hope is most necessary for us to achieve our dream. As I get ready to explore the next step in my life, I think about students that do qualify for federal aid and other undocumented students that don’t. I look upon those undocumented students that overcame many endeavors and graduated from college as a source of hope.  They overcame my challenge.  Martin Luther King Jr. once said,” If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you go on in spite of it all. And so today I still have a dream.”  When no one else believed in me I had to believe in myself. When no one else had hope I learned that hope had to be created within.