And so... it was a day I left and went to Starbucks with a book, and cried out to God that I am just like anyone else and cannot hold it together any longer by trying to be a "good Christian wife." I know what the Bible says about divorce, but I see no other way. If there was a way I would follow it, but I only saw fog no matter how hard I tried. So in other words, I stopped trying. I had to for my sanity's sake. My best friend Melissa called just then and when I told her where I was and what I was contemplating, she and her husband Joe came to the coffee shop right away. We talked, and Joe prayed for me and Dan, begging me to not call it quits. I listened but did not hear. I went home, and agreed with God to keep going, just a bit longer. Then...
I went into the monitoring company who by now has changed to BI http://bi.com/ for my routine check in and was told some crazy news. Apparently the motion to reopen our case was denied back in February and even our lawyer kept it from us. All the while he tried all he could to turn the minds of the ones in charge because as he said - there was no reason for the denial, and it was one of those decisions people make according to their moods. And the guy in San Antonio who denied us apparently had a very bad day and for whatever reason stamped our case closed and done. Not in a good way. The agent assigned to my case placed an ankle monitor on me as she described the specifics about the green and red lights on it. I was in shock and could not believe what was happening but at the same time surprisingly calm and at peace. I was told my case was closed and I needed to go to Chicago and get my passport situation taken care of ASAP because I was in the process of being deported and had to leave the country in TWO weeks.
Driving home, I tried to let it all sink in but I was beaten down to the core by this time so I was immune to pain and felt nothing at all. Since we only had the van at this time, Dan was waiting on me to take him to a part time gig selling roofs he was attempting. He got in the car when I pulled into the garage and asked how my visit was, expecting to hear the usual. I lifted up the bottom of my pant leg and exposed the ankle monitor. I briefly told him what happened and that I had to leave the country in two weeks. I said it very matter-of-fact like, still in shock and tazed. He spoke sharply to me to stop the car and looked at me asking questions like - why are you taking me to work, and what are you doing? He said for us to go back into the house and do something about this. He said it did not end there. He took charge for the first time in a very long time. He said many things to me that day, but I knew nothing else mattered and he will fight for me. His job situation did not matter because in at least this - he still had it in him to fight for his princess. I felt loved again. I saw a glimpse in his eyes. I felt it in my bones coming straight from his heart. Even for just a moment. The eyes of my own heart were opened so that I saw Love, I knew I had hope and power, and the inheritance of victory in battle is mine.
I agreed with Dan that I would fight to stay with him. The easy way for me would have been to accept deportation and go willingly, and it would have made sense with our marriage situation. It would have been my "way out." There were moments I was tempted to look forward to being alone in a foreign land and have time to myself to get in shape and "find myself" and come back all chic like Sabrina. But when I looked at my knight in shining armor as I saw him this way for the first time since we first courted, I saw love and I could not turn away from love.
The warrior spirit returned to both of us. It was like we had something in common to fight for since fighting to survive financially was only dividing us and breaking us apart due to our differing views. We gave up fighting to keep our bodies fit and we lost the will to fight to make God "like" us. Just as we were, we offered ourselves to God and knew we could trust Him, that He has ordained all of this. Every circumstance won its battle against us but now the last battle for the win of the war was aimed at us directly. We mustered up any will to survive we had left and let go. There was much more we have not discovered yet. We became stronger together. The battle begun. I knew the road would be a lot harder but at the end of the day, I didn't want to end up singing "Rolling in the Deep."
Friday, July 22, 2011
The Year in Waiting
We got used to the routine and kept going forward. Jelena spent her time planning for her wedding, and I stayed home with the kids, home-schooling and spending time with them. Early of 2010, Jelena was called into the surveillance company's office and an ankle monitor was placed on her because she lacked a specific document she had no idea about. I do not recall all the reasoning behind it, like I said, I hope she writes her own experience to describe the parts I have missed. So as I remember, the wedding shower at Plaka Greek Cafe (a Greek restaurant in Georgetown my mom and step-dad, George, own) was conducted with the bride-to-be cuffed with an ankle monitor under her jeans! She wore that monitor for two weeks I believe until the documents were provided - she was told if she did not provide the document, she would be deported and thus the need for the ankle monitor. In March of 2010, Jelena and Steve married at Gateway church, the way my sister had dreamed of. We had a beautiful ceremony, our oldest daughter, Claudia sang and Isabel and Gabriel were flower girl and ring bearer. The ceremony was exciting and fun, and it took place at the old Grapevine Theater on Main Street. As my mom reconciled with her cousin in Fort Wayne, IN we had our only cousins at the wedding as well as our aunt from Serbia we have not seen in many years. It was magical and beautiful.
March was also mine and Daniel's 14th wedding anniversary. Although this time should have been grand and blissful, for Daniel and myself it was anything but that. All the immigration mess aside, we were struggling like never before in our marriage. It seemed we were alright on the outside like so many marriages these days, attending a thriving church regularly, volunteering and having our kids involved. We even took a trips to try to hold the family together. These were the good times that probably did serve to keep us together...
While he worked in Galveston with a friend, Kenny, doing some plumbing work after the hurricanes hit, I and the kiddos joined him and stayed to play on the beach. Although we ate the Sam's Club mega boxes of mac and cheese EVERY day, his mom bought us before we left, it was a blessed opportunity for us to have fun and be together, enjoying life with our kids. We got a Route 44 Cherry Limeaid everyday between 2 and 4pm to share, and stepped on crabs at night as we walked on the beach. One week we saved enough and shared a dinner out and played miniature golf - even if just the kids played, after watching the volcano show across the street in front of Rainforest Cafe. During the holidays of 2009, we even took a trip to Branson, MO. What many did not know, we made that trip on like $300 (my mom gave us) for 5 days. It was a time share deal I had purchased before he got laid off, and we did not see any shows either; just went sight-seeing and had money for food and gas. But it was a fun family time nonetheless and we all enjoyed it very much! Especially running in our bathing suits in the freezing cold to the pool across the parking lot!
As much as we tried to make the best of things, we were not superhuman and the effects of our situations caught up to us no matter how hard we tried to suppress them. We had to get everything worked out and in the open but the fiery darts against us all happened at once. We were bombarded from every angle in our marriage while still wounded from the immigration trials.
Dan had fallen into despair after losing his job of 13 years, and after all the doors to ministry opportunities closed, he closed up and was unreachable. I could not work and begged him - and nagged of course - everyday, to get a second job or a better paying one. We had gotten into so much debt while he was looking for work and was unemployed, that this very low-paying job would in no way get us back on our feet. (very low-paying government job while he worked as an officer in a jail). I thought of how my mom worked two jobs without knowing the language well and not being documented and wished Dan had at least half that zeal for his family. I know some say that "undocumented illegals" take the jobs from Americans - but I have witnessed firsthand this to be untrue. For example, my mom accepted any job and worked as a grocery store bagger, envelope stuffer and metal sorter. She was happy to have a job and although she worked 70+ hours a week for very little money, she worked to provide as best she knew how. Our family never applied for any form of government assistance nor did my mom sue for child support. Dan was a capable middle-aged man who knew English well, is very intelligent and resourceful, capable of doing any job with perfection from management and audio engineering to cooking, plumbing and craftsmanship. But accepting a job at a retail store or Micky D's was out of the question, and like the cousin in Christmas Vacation, Eddie - he was "waiting for a management position". I think it's because we hold a certain pride in the US and have been conditioned to stay in our field, or not accept less b/c it will hurt our resume, and even legit hopes of achieving our dreams and working for ourselves get in the way of buckling down and doing whatever to get by. I know Dan went through a very rough time with no mentors alongside him, and I know he had no idea what to do and it was scary for him. He lost hope, became depressed, and resorted to sending resumes while expecting no one to respond - and no one did. There was no real effort and it seemed me and the kids were not worth fighting for. It seemed he has given up on us and even though our home was in foreclosure stages, he sat back expecting a miracle to drop from the sky... I at least wanted him to take this opportunity and take some college courses, but that did not work out either. I guess no matter how hard you try, you cannot change someone or "make" them do what you think they should. I was so humbled during this time, like never before. To be in such a weak spot in your lief that you have to accept food from other sources other than from the work of your hands is very degrading. I did not like the way I acted towards Dan, and came to the conclusion that he did not love me anymore. And this lie made me sad and I started to believe I did not want to be with someone who did not love me. Separation? That was the answer to wake Dan up, I thought. I wanted the movie and fairy tale - for him to fight for me and his family, try hard and give all he has like a knight in shining armor coming to our rescue. But then there was that promise of "for better or for worse." I thought I would go crazy and I know Dan was at the end of his rope too.
But instead, I became the nagging wife who is never satisfied and he the absent father who could not provide. We were very unhappy with each other and resorted to eating junk food and becoming as lazy as possible. I wanted to be the typical stay at home wife at the suburbia churches and was embarrassed to accept money from friends, gift cards from our church and even food. I was prideful, had an issue receiving help, and Dan was tired of me complaining.
We took financial classes and Dan started joining groups in which other unemployed individuals also looked for work. We tried marriage help at church and read books about it. We went to counseling and marriage classes. We were tried and tested in every way, even in ways of immorality I won't mention here. We were blessed by an awesome couple Gay and Russell from church to be given an opportunity to complete three weekends of an incredible conference called Discovery, through which we got rid of many demons in our lives. It was like freedom ministry on steroids. We attended a freedom conference called Kairos at our church. We picked ourselves up and dragged us bleeding and bruised, crawling up to each of these events. But each event was a very helpful reminder of God's love and a timely push to persevere.
In the midst of this, Dan began developing a heart murmur and we had to go to many hospitals and emergency rooms to try to figure out what in the world was going on. We got deeper and deeper in debt with added medical bills. I was so mad at him that I could not even be symphatetic as he wanted me to be and as I wanted myself to care. Dan was fearful of the worst, and I wished it were me. Immigration did not matter anymore and I started to wish they would just come and take me away. I was at the end of my rope myself and I just hope we hid it from our kids well enough. I know we hid it pretty well from everyone else.
To recap this year, it started with severe financial difficulty, major debt, then a low-paying job, heart problems for Dan including many hospital and ER visits, marital strife for the both of us and talks of separation, we got fat again, our home on the verge of being taken from us and all savings and 401K spent. We were exhausted in the area of ministry, felt the sifting like crazy and wanted out. BOTH of our cars died - like engines blew up and everything - and we had to borrow money from Dan's parents in order to get a used van. (1997 used). I felt like a failure in homeschooling my kids and I cried daily while feeling like I was a "bad mother." I was anything but a supportive wife and Dan was not a provider and leader we both know he can be. Hopelessness was the buzz word we were tempted with. It was the hardest year of our lives and one we thought we would never recover from.
March was also mine and Daniel's 14th wedding anniversary. Although this time should have been grand and blissful, for Daniel and myself it was anything but that. All the immigration mess aside, we were struggling like never before in our marriage. It seemed we were alright on the outside like so many marriages these days, attending a thriving church regularly, volunteering and having our kids involved. We even took a trips to try to hold the family together. These were the good times that probably did serve to keep us together...
While he worked in Galveston with a friend, Kenny, doing some plumbing work after the hurricanes hit, I and the kiddos joined him and stayed to play on the beach. Although we ate the Sam's Club mega boxes of mac and cheese EVERY day, his mom bought us before we left, it was a blessed opportunity for us to have fun and be together, enjoying life with our kids. We got a Route 44 Cherry Limeaid everyday between 2 and 4pm to share, and stepped on crabs at night as we walked on the beach. One week we saved enough and shared a dinner out and played miniature golf - even if just the kids played, after watching the volcano show across the street in front of Rainforest Cafe. During the holidays of 2009, we even took a trip to Branson, MO. What many did not know, we made that trip on like $300 (my mom gave us) for 5 days. It was a time share deal I had purchased before he got laid off, and we did not see any shows either; just went sight-seeing and had money for food and gas. But it was a fun family time nonetheless and we all enjoyed it very much! Especially running in our bathing suits in the freezing cold to the pool across the parking lot!
As much as we tried to make the best of things, we were not superhuman and the effects of our situations caught up to us no matter how hard we tried to suppress them. We had to get everything worked out and in the open but the fiery darts against us all happened at once. We were bombarded from every angle in our marriage while still wounded from the immigration trials.
Dan had fallen into despair after losing his job of 13 years, and after all the doors to ministry opportunities closed, he closed up and was unreachable. I could not work and begged him - and nagged of course - everyday, to get a second job or a better paying one. We had gotten into so much debt while he was looking for work and was unemployed, that this very low-paying job would in no way get us back on our feet. (very low-paying government job while he worked as an officer in a jail). I thought of how my mom worked two jobs without knowing the language well and not being documented and wished Dan had at least half that zeal for his family. I know some say that "undocumented illegals" take the jobs from Americans - but I have witnessed firsthand this to be untrue. For example, my mom accepted any job and worked as a grocery store bagger, envelope stuffer and metal sorter. She was happy to have a job and although she worked 70+ hours a week for very little money, she worked to provide as best she knew how. Our family never applied for any form of government assistance nor did my mom sue for child support. Dan was a capable middle-aged man who knew English well, is very intelligent and resourceful, capable of doing any job with perfection from management and audio engineering to cooking, plumbing and craftsmanship. But accepting a job at a retail store or Micky D's was out of the question, and like the cousin in Christmas Vacation, Eddie - he was "waiting for a management position". I think it's because we hold a certain pride in the US and have been conditioned to stay in our field, or not accept less b/c it will hurt our resume, and even legit hopes of achieving our dreams and working for ourselves get in the way of buckling down and doing whatever to get by. I know Dan went through a very rough time with no mentors alongside him, and I know he had no idea what to do and it was scary for him. He lost hope, became depressed, and resorted to sending resumes while expecting no one to respond - and no one did. There was no real effort and it seemed me and the kids were not worth fighting for. It seemed he has given up on us and even though our home was in foreclosure stages, he sat back expecting a miracle to drop from the sky... I at least wanted him to take this opportunity and take some college courses, but that did not work out either. I guess no matter how hard you try, you cannot change someone or "make" them do what you think they should. I was so humbled during this time, like never before. To be in such a weak spot in your lief that you have to accept food from other sources other than from the work of your hands is very degrading. I did not like the way I acted towards Dan, and came to the conclusion that he did not love me anymore. And this lie made me sad and I started to believe I did not want to be with someone who did not love me. Separation? That was the answer to wake Dan up, I thought. I wanted the movie and fairy tale - for him to fight for me and his family, try hard and give all he has like a knight in shining armor coming to our rescue. But then there was that promise of "for better or for worse." I thought I would go crazy and I know Dan was at the end of his rope too.
But instead, I became the nagging wife who is never satisfied and he the absent father who could not provide. We were very unhappy with each other and resorted to eating junk food and becoming as lazy as possible. I wanted to be the typical stay at home wife at the suburbia churches and was embarrassed to accept money from friends, gift cards from our church and even food. I was prideful, had an issue receiving help, and Dan was tired of me complaining.
We took financial classes and Dan started joining groups in which other unemployed individuals also looked for work. We tried marriage help at church and read books about it. We went to counseling and marriage classes. We were tried and tested in every way, even in ways of immorality I won't mention here. We were blessed by an awesome couple Gay and Russell from church to be given an opportunity to complete three weekends of an incredible conference called Discovery, through which we got rid of many demons in our lives. It was like freedom ministry on steroids. We attended a freedom conference called Kairos at our church. We picked ourselves up and dragged us bleeding and bruised, crawling up to each of these events. But each event was a very helpful reminder of God's love and a timely push to persevere.
In the midst of this, Dan began developing a heart murmur and we had to go to many hospitals and emergency rooms to try to figure out what in the world was going on. We got deeper and deeper in debt with added medical bills. I was so mad at him that I could not even be symphatetic as he wanted me to be and as I wanted myself to care. Dan was fearful of the worst, and I wished it were me. Immigration did not matter anymore and I started to wish they would just come and take me away. I was at the end of my rope myself and I just hope we hid it from our kids well enough. I know we hid it pretty well from everyone else.
To recap this year, it started with severe financial difficulty, major debt, then a low-paying job, heart problems for Dan including many hospital and ER visits, marital strife for the both of us and talks of separation, we got fat again, our home on the verge of being taken from us and all savings and 401K spent. We were exhausted in the area of ministry, felt the sifting like crazy and wanted out. BOTH of our cars died - like engines blew up and everything - and we had to borrow money from Dan's parents in order to get a used van. (1997 used). I felt like a failure in homeschooling my kids and I cried daily while feeling like I was a "bad mother." I was anything but a supportive wife and Dan was not a provider and leader we both know he can be. Hopelessness was the buzz word we were tempted with. It was the hardest year of our lives and one we thought we would never recover from.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Another Journey Begins...
While my sister was donning an orange jumpsuit and waiting for her cash we sent in so she can buy extra items like a toothbrush and ice cream, freezing in the cell with other women with even more horrific stories from all over the world who have been at the Haskell prison for months and months - I was being summoned to the ICE office myself. Dan came with me, but was not allowed in, so he waited for me outside for what seemed to be an eternity. As I walked in the back to meet with the officers, it seemed I was taken to a movie set back in the 80's of a police office. The way everyone spoke and talked was saddening, and I just sat back taking it all in and wondering how these officers could find peace and a positive outlook on life. I'm sure that after dealing with criminals like the few I witnessed behind me who were smuggling people in from Mexico and obviously lying about their identity, the officers become tainted and lose feeling. I don't know, but there is definitely a need to help those in our public offices. Greater pay and benefits for example? If police officers, fire fighters, teachers, and many other government employees especially in the military branches who work with people to raise up and protect people got paid half as much as IT professionals who raise up and protect computers, maybe things would be different. I suppose being satisfied in life helps to be more loving towards humanity and treating people with respect. The old adage that you treat others the way you would want to be treated should stand for those you do not respect, know, and even your enemies. Treating criminals "like criminals" only makes them want to become greater criminals. We are creating this world around us. I'm not saying that the punishment does not fit the crime, and I even support the death penalty in some cases. But the road to it needs to be paved with respectable and decent people in charge, professionals who convey truth in ways that make even criminals on their way to the electric chair feel remorse for their actions. Although it may not help their circumstances, the power of Love can absolutely change their eternal destination.
Anyway, I told them my story and filled out paperwork, stamped my fingers and all that jazz. I asked them to talk to my lawyer so he can let them know we were underway of getting this taken care of, but they were fed up with speaking with lawyers, I think. I received some paperwork that were to be known as "my papers" from that day on, and I was to carry them with me wherever I went. The paperwork included my rights, picture, fingerprints, etc. I was placed on a monitoring system, through which I had to call weekly on a voice recognition program and report to the office on a regular basis as well. I began to receive home visits so that they were sure I would not leave. Now, we have been in the same house for 13 years, and I was not a threat. I think although this was necessary protocol, it was a waste of taxpayers money - taxpayers, which included us. The company that was outsourced to take care of "watching us" was G4S (Group 4 Securicor http://www.g4s.com/) and it reminded me of the Bourne Identity movies when I looked them up, although the US Dallas division lacked this cool and sophisticated style . I really had no idea how serious this was, and honestly, had blocked it out of my mind so I don't know. I didn't want to think of myself as a criminal, and hated the concept. I wished I had been strong enough to face my fears and tell Dan back then and file to get my paperwork situated when I was first old enough to do it. I had been so scared to take this on, so I hid it well. I craved to be a normal US citizen and dreamed of being born here. But now - I felt weaker than ever, and filled with regret.
My sister stayed in Haskell for almost a month. My mom came to stay with us for a week and help translate all of the departure paperwork needed - which was actually deportation proceedings. For some reason ICE gave us this paperwork in original Serbian Cyrillic which even mom could hardly depict. Steve was flipping out and very nervous, as he was jobless and without his future wife in a short week.We prayed and prayed and trusted that God had a bigger plan than what we could see and know. One good thing that happened was that my mom's cousin who she had spoken to since we have been in the States, came to visit during this time and help and support us. It was a very wonderful reunion with Gordanana (as my son Gabriel called her)! My sister called when allowed but the trembling and fear in her voice made us even more aware of how proactive we had to be and how urgent our prompt cooperation. The women in my sister's cell did not have the support system she did, to help give them hope of being released to their families anytime soon. One woman was taken from her newborn baby and one while on her way back to her country of origin. I cannot help but think there has to be a better way to document people who want to be here and become Americans one day and set them apart from those who have come to abuse the system, commit crime, with no loyalty or dedication to this great land.
Because of much help from our friends and family, who contacted politicians on our behalf, Jelena was released. It could have been the "temp" lawyer's help who was working on her behalf for this short time, but we do not think so. Nevertheless, our lives returned to normal with a few minor adjustments. We both were placed on the surveillance system as I described before, and this became a part of life for us. We checked in to the ICE office whenever scheduled, as well as making our appointments with G4S. Meanwhile, our lawyer was working hard to create a possibility as with our mom, and obtain permanent residency for us. Since Jelena and Steve had planned a wedding in June, with this major upset, the plans were changed. Our lawyer told them they had to get married as soon as possible so he can continue to work on her behalf and have hopes of it turning positive. The good news was that Jelena was released from Haskell and did not have to get married in an orange jumpsuit. Pastor John Spurling took time out of his busy schedule, on his son's birthday even, to marry my sister and Steve at the Southlake Town-Center, not long after she was released from prison. His commitment to help people and love for others was an amazing example of God's kindness. At the Men's Conference called the Alpha Summit, Dan and Steve went to during this time, the confirmation set, and we began to attend Gateway Church.
Things slowed down, and life went on. Jelena and Steve moved their wedding date at the church, because she still wanted a ceremony, a chance to wear her dress and use the decorations she had already bought. The small ceremony in the gazebo in May included only us and our mom and George. We thought about going ninety miles an hour and keeping the date to June and making it happen, but I think my sister was just exhausted and a wedding ceremony did not have the wondrous appeal as it once did. It was a very weird time in our lives, filled with trials and tests of every kind.
I remember going to see another lawyer in Dallas, Mr. Gary Davis. He met us immediately and was a lot easier to understand than our lawyer, as he is younger and spoke in terms we understood. He explained the entire situation to us, and encouraged us, gave us advice and provided answers to all of our questions. In the end, he never charged us and we are so grateful for his time and effort. We were so amazed by this man after all of our experiences in the past with lawyers who only demand money - there are still a few good men. I would definitely recommend Gary Davis for any immigration needs for anyone in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, and of course G. Wellington Smith in the Austin area.
She stayed at home for the next year planning her wedding as best as she could and I continued home-schooling our kids, and volunteering at church. My husband soon got a permanent job at the Denton County Jail as an officer, and Steve received a new job soon as well, much better than the previous one. Dan still went on his mission trip to Africa, in the fall, even though he was reluctant in doing so, in fears of leaving us for a few weeks. But we had peace about it and knew it was time for him to go and fulfill a prophecy spoken over him some years ago. In the midst of our financial drama, we managed to raise the money with many friends and family members chipping in, including help from our church. We received a lot of support as I knew it was meant to happen. I wish I could have been there with the Kidstand team, but it was not time for me to be loosed out into to the world yet.
We were adjusting to life once again, and soon put all of the craziness behind us, as we planned to receive our green cards within two years. Of course, we put it behind us only as much as we could, because the weekly check-ins, phonecalls, or trips to the ICE office kept us humbled as fugitives in a foreign land. But we kept this stuff to ourselves, and after thanking everyone who supported us on Facebook and so on, we thought we would never have to revisit this mess again. We were just going through required protocol until our lawyer finishes up our case. Even though he thought the reporting and check in's were a bit much, he advised us to comply with everything and just go through it.
Anyway, I told them my story and filled out paperwork, stamped my fingers and all that jazz. I asked them to talk to my lawyer so he can let them know we were underway of getting this taken care of, but they were fed up with speaking with lawyers, I think. I received some paperwork that were to be known as "my papers" from that day on, and I was to carry them with me wherever I went. The paperwork included my rights, picture, fingerprints, etc. I was placed on a monitoring system, through which I had to call weekly on a voice recognition program and report to the office on a regular basis as well. I began to receive home visits so that they were sure I would not leave. Now, we have been in the same house for 13 years, and I was not a threat. I think although this was necessary protocol, it was a waste of taxpayers money - taxpayers, which included us. The company that was outsourced to take care of "watching us" was G4S (Group 4 Securicor http://www.g4s.com/) and it reminded me of the Bourne Identity movies when I looked them up, although the US Dallas division lacked this cool and sophisticated style . I really had no idea how serious this was, and honestly, had blocked it out of my mind so I don't know. I didn't want to think of myself as a criminal, and hated the concept. I wished I had been strong enough to face my fears and tell Dan back then and file to get my paperwork situated when I was first old enough to do it. I had been so scared to take this on, so I hid it well. I craved to be a normal US citizen and dreamed of being born here. But now - I felt weaker than ever, and filled with regret.
My sister stayed in Haskell for almost a month. My mom came to stay with us for a week and help translate all of the departure paperwork needed - which was actually deportation proceedings. For some reason ICE gave us this paperwork in original Serbian Cyrillic which even mom could hardly depict. Steve was flipping out and very nervous, as he was jobless and without his future wife in a short week.We prayed and prayed and trusted that God had a bigger plan than what we could see and know. One good thing that happened was that my mom's cousin who she had spoken to since we have been in the States, came to visit during this time and help and support us. It was a very wonderful reunion with Gordanana (as my son Gabriel called her)! My sister called when allowed but the trembling and fear in her voice made us even more aware of how proactive we had to be and how urgent our prompt cooperation. The women in my sister's cell did not have the support system she did, to help give them hope of being released to their families anytime soon. One woman was taken from her newborn baby and one while on her way back to her country of origin. I cannot help but think there has to be a better way to document people who want to be here and become Americans one day and set them apart from those who have come to abuse the system, commit crime, with no loyalty or dedication to this great land.
Because of much help from our friends and family, who contacted politicians on our behalf, Jelena was released. It could have been the "temp" lawyer's help who was working on her behalf for this short time, but we do not think so. Nevertheless, our lives returned to normal with a few minor adjustments. We both were placed on the surveillance system as I described before, and this became a part of life for us. We checked in to the ICE office whenever scheduled, as well as making our appointments with G4S. Meanwhile, our lawyer was working hard to create a possibility as with our mom, and obtain permanent residency for us. Since Jelena and Steve had planned a wedding in June, with this major upset, the plans were changed. Our lawyer told them they had to get married as soon as possible so he can continue to work on her behalf and have hopes of it turning positive. The good news was that Jelena was released from Haskell and did not have to get married in an orange jumpsuit. Pastor John Spurling took time out of his busy schedule, on his son's birthday even, to marry my sister and Steve at the Southlake Town-Center, not long after she was released from prison. His commitment to help people and love for others was an amazing example of God's kindness. At the Men's Conference called the Alpha Summit, Dan and Steve went to during this time, the confirmation set, and we began to attend Gateway Church.
Things slowed down, and life went on. Jelena and Steve moved their wedding date at the church, because she still wanted a ceremony, a chance to wear her dress and use the decorations she had already bought. The small ceremony in the gazebo in May included only us and our mom and George. We thought about going ninety miles an hour and keeping the date to June and making it happen, but I think my sister was just exhausted and a wedding ceremony did not have the wondrous appeal as it once did. It was a very weird time in our lives, filled with trials and tests of every kind.
I remember going to see another lawyer in Dallas, Mr. Gary Davis. He met us immediately and was a lot easier to understand than our lawyer, as he is younger and spoke in terms we understood. He explained the entire situation to us, and encouraged us, gave us advice and provided answers to all of our questions. In the end, he never charged us and we are so grateful for his time and effort. We were so amazed by this man after all of our experiences in the past with lawyers who only demand money - there are still a few good men. I would definitely recommend Gary Davis for any immigration needs for anyone in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, and of course G. Wellington Smith in the Austin area.
She stayed at home for the next year planning her wedding as best as she could and I continued home-schooling our kids, and volunteering at church. My husband soon got a permanent job at the Denton County Jail as an officer, and Steve received a new job soon as well, much better than the previous one. Dan still went on his mission trip to Africa, in the fall, even though he was reluctant in doing so, in fears of leaving us for a few weeks. But we had peace about it and knew it was time for him to go and fulfill a prophecy spoken over him some years ago. In the midst of our financial drama, we managed to raise the money with many friends and family members chipping in, including help from our church. We received a lot of support as I knew it was meant to happen. I wish I could have been there with the Kidstand team, but it was not time for me to be loosed out into to the world yet.
We were adjusting to life once again, and soon put all of the craziness behind us, as we planned to receive our green cards within two years. Of course, we put it behind us only as much as we could, because the weekly check-ins, phonecalls, or trips to the ICE office kept us humbled as fugitives in a foreign land. But we kept this stuff to ourselves, and after thanking everyone who supported us on Facebook and so on, we thought we would never have to revisit this mess again. We were just going through required protocol until our lawyer finishes up our case. Even though he thought the reporting and check in's were a bit much, he advised us to comply with everything and just go through it.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Pre-Marriage Haskell
It was April of 2009. My sister, Jelena and her fiance Steve were finishing up the last touches to get their wedding organized which was to take place in June that year. The dress was bought, venues booked and it was wedding prep time in full swing. My sister planned bridesmaid lunches and bought gifts for everyone, took photos and began organizing everything for her big day. She even moved out of the home she and Steve purchased and lived in an apartment in order to make their marriage more special once the wedding happened.
One not very particular day, Steve received an abrupt knock on the door and a swat team of at least seven guys dressed to combat a terrorist attack came to his home. My sister who was living in the apartment, was getting ready and on her way to work during this time. The officers told Steve that they were looking for a missing girl and think Jelena knows her and could help, so they needed to find her. Steve told them she did not live there and was probably on her way to work, then complied and gave them the address to her company. He called my sister and told her about this strange incident, and I think she had an idea of who it was. It has been her terror and source for nightmares and fear all these years. "They were coming to get us!"
She pulled into her parking lot at work nevertheless, and out came the van with the swat team apprehending her and knocking her down, then shoving her in the van. All this while her coworkers stood by and watched. She was dressed in a business suit for her marketing job, and treated as a criminal. She called me before then and I talked to her briefly, half scared and half trying to comfort her that it's probably nothing. Our fears that our dad had been worrying about all these years were coming to pass.
Jelena was taken to an ICE (Immigration and Custom Enforcement) holding facility where she was kept all day as they went through paperwork. She still remembers how freezing cold that cell was and how scared she was not knowing her fate and not being communicated with. She was later transported to the Rolling Plains Regional Jail and Detention Center in Haskell, TX, about a four hour drive west. I hope she writes a blog describing her experience, and explains in detail her time there. There are so many stories she told of countless women taken from their babies, families and homes, waiting, but without hope, for a miracle.
During this time, she called Steve and we found out what had happened. I called Dan who was working temporarily in Galveston with a friend, repairing the town from hurricane Ike. He advised me to go to his mom's and bring the kids. At this point, I had to flee or fight. I chose to fight. My sister was the most important friend in my life next to Dan, and I also still felt a need to protect her. I packed up the kids quickly and drove to my in-law's home. Dan and I could not imagine having our kids apprehended and taken from me by some agency. I sat with Dan's mom and proceeded to tell her as best as I could and in as short time as I could about our situation. She could not believe her ears, but offered to help in any way. I kissed my kiddos, knowing it could have been for the last time for a long time, and left. I left crying but quickly changed my mind to think positively and put on mental fight gear. It was time to settle this once and for all.
Much opposition and many temptations arose from a million different angles during this time. I had to fight to keep my sanity about me and invite the peace I knew was mine. I talked to Steve and we met to discuss what we would do next. We thought about going to Gateway Church - which was their home church at this time, and seeing if the pastors could help in any way. I called the pastors at the church we were attending, The Met Church. We called our lawyer and told him, at which he was appalled and gave names to some fellow immigration lawyers in town. I spoke to many people that day, and many lawyers, until we came to one who would see us shortly. Dan was worried that I would be picked up as well, but no one came to my home. I even asked Steve to bring me some of Jelena's clothes so I did not have to return home yet, so I can change in the bathroom of the burger place we went to. I had left early that morning in my stretchy house pants and shirt I slept in.
I even asked Steve to go home and get my book I had written which I was told the proceeds of would all go to Gateway Church. I wanted to show it to the pastor in hopes he would listen and hear our story. Now I am glad his secretary would not let me in to see him - she probably thought I was nuts! Also, now that I think about it, I have no idea what I really thought the pastors could actually do for us, but at that time I was desperate for any help. Pastor Spurling from Gateway listened to us and offered to drive up to Haskell on my sister's behalf. Matt Oxley from the Met Church also offered to drive up there and speak to Jelena. The lawyer we spoke with asked for some cash to start the process, and my mom and George paid it. This lawyer stayed with us during the urgent time with my sister, and told us that he believed a background check my sister had filled out at church in order to work with the youth is what triggered the authorities since we were now listed as fugitives. He released her case shortly after and our lawyer from Austin who helped my mom, Mr. Smith, took over. It was all happening so fast.
The secret was no longer a secret. People began to find out and our phone lines were flooded with phone calls from friends and family from all over the place. It was remarkable how everyone came together to help! It was as if many people were just waiting for something to fight for and a cause to uphold.
My sister worked with Dan and also Kim, my sister in-law, so most of the employees at the company knew us. At once, the team began to come together on our behalf. My sister's current place of business also stepped in with VP's and CEO's donating and trying to help in any way. What we wanted to keep on the down-low, now everyone we knew was finding out. What once kept us in bondage was now loosening its grip as more and more people found out about it. One shocking truth was revealed: everyone was on our side! The lies that people would hate us, and shun us, and treat us bad was just that - a big, fat, lie. ALL of our friends, family, their friends and family, and even people who just found out somehow sympathized with us. I could not believe it, but the support and overwhelming encouragement was enough to fuel my desire to get my sister out ASAP!
My sister in law, Kim, came over and we began to strategize. She had not known either, so I filled her in too... Steve set up a Facebook page called "Free Jelena" and we began to post it to our own pages. This was a HUGE step for me, because I have friends on Facebook I have known since grade school, also many people I had worked with at many different establishments, and to now come out and say that I am an illegal alien was embarrassing. I had to do it though, and I knew it. People called and gave ideas about lawyers and going to the news. Steve called his neighbor who works for a news channel and we contacted some other stations but we were told that in situations like these it is actually harmful to get the story in the spotlight. We were told that it would hurt her as they will most certainly deport her. So we stayed away from the media, and went through social networks. We were on Twitter and Facebook setting up links, and Kim was getting a hold of people she knew that could help. We were letting Dan know what was happening, and that I and the kids were safe. We did not want to keep asking mom and George to pay for stuff, and I had like thirty bucks until Dan came home. Steve had just gotten laid off as well, and we had no idea what to do. He did not know how they would pay their bills and house and car payments and also have time to try to help my sister. We set up a Paypal account on Jelena's Facebook page and within the week donations were pouring in from everywhere! Including my mom and George's help, we raised enough money to pay for the lawyer, all of their bills and payments and for Steve to have for food and stuff so he does not worry about his job situation. It was so amazing to see how our friends and family pulled together and helped us!!! I began to see just how much I loved people!
One not very particular day, Steve received an abrupt knock on the door and a swat team of at least seven guys dressed to combat a terrorist attack came to his home. My sister who was living in the apartment, was getting ready and on her way to work during this time. The officers told Steve that they were looking for a missing girl and think Jelena knows her and could help, so they needed to find her. Steve told them she did not live there and was probably on her way to work, then complied and gave them the address to her company. He called my sister and told her about this strange incident, and I think she had an idea of who it was. It has been her terror and source for nightmares and fear all these years. "They were coming to get us!"
She pulled into her parking lot at work nevertheless, and out came the van with the swat team apprehending her and knocking her down, then shoving her in the van. All this while her coworkers stood by and watched. She was dressed in a business suit for her marketing job, and treated as a criminal. She called me before then and I talked to her briefly, half scared and half trying to comfort her that it's probably nothing. Our fears that our dad had been worrying about all these years were coming to pass.
Jelena was taken to an ICE (Immigration and Custom Enforcement) holding facility where she was kept all day as they went through paperwork. She still remembers how freezing cold that cell was and how scared she was not knowing her fate and not being communicated with. She was later transported to the Rolling Plains Regional Jail and Detention Center in Haskell, TX, about a four hour drive west. I hope she writes a blog describing her experience, and explains in detail her time there. There are so many stories she told of countless women taken from their babies, families and homes, waiting, but without hope, for a miracle.
During this time, she called Steve and we found out what had happened. I called Dan who was working temporarily in Galveston with a friend, repairing the town from hurricane Ike. He advised me to go to his mom's and bring the kids. At this point, I had to flee or fight. I chose to fight. My sister was the most important friend in my life next to Dan, and I also still felt a need to protect her. I packed up the kids quickly and drove to my in-law's home. Dan and I could not imagine having our kids apprehended and taken from me by some agency. I sat with Dan's mom and proceeded to tell her as best as I could and in as short time as I could about our situation. She could not believe her ears, but offered to help in any way. I kissed my kiddos, knowing it could have been for the last time for a long time, and left. I left crying but quickly changed my mind to think positively and put on mental fight gear. It was time to settle this once and for all.
Much opposition and many temptations arose from a million different angles during this time. I had to fight to keep my sanity about me and invite the peace I knew was mine. I talked to Steve and we met to discuss what we would do next. We thought about going to Gateway Church - which was their home church at this time, and seeing if the pastors could help in any way. I called the pastors at the church we were attending, The Met Church. We called our lawyer and told him, at which he was appalled and gave names to some fellow immigration lawyers in town. I spoke to many people that day, and many lawyers, until we came to one who would see us shortly. Dan was worried that I would be picked up as well, but no one came to my home. I even asked Steve to bring me some of Jelena's clothes so I did not have to return home yet, so I can change in the bathroom of the burger place we went to. I had left early that morning in my stretchy house pants and shirt I slept in.
I even asked Steve to go home and get my book I had written which I was told the proceeds of would all go to Gateway Church. I wanted to show it to the pastor in hopes he would listen and hear our story. Now I am glad his secretary would not let me in to see him - she probably thought I was nuts! Also, now that I think about it, I have no idea what I really thought the pastors could actually do for us, but at that time I was desperate for any help. Pastor Spurling from Gateway listened to us and offered to drive up to Haskell on my sister's behalf. Matt Oxley from the Met Church also offered to drive up there and speak to Jelena. The lawyer we spoke with asked for some cash to start the process, and my mom and George paid it. This lawyer stayed with us during the urgent time with my sister, and told us that he believed a background check my sister had filled out at church in order to work with the youth is what triggered the authorities since we were now listed as fugitives. He released her case shortly after and our lawyer from Austin who helped my mom, Mr. Smith, took over. It was all happening so fast.
The secret was no longer a secret. People began to find out and our phone lines were flooded with phone calls from friends and family from all over the place. It was remarkable how everyone came together to help! It was as if many people were just waiting for something to fight for and a cause to uphold.
My sister worked with Dan and also Kim, my sister in-law, so most of the employees at the company knew us. At once, the team began to come together on our behalf. My sister's current place of business also stepped in with VP's and CEO's donating and trying to help in any way. What we wanted to keep on the down-low, now everyone we knew was finding out. What once kept us in bondage was now loosening its grip as more and more people found out about it. One shocking truth was revealed: everyone was on our side! The lies that people would hate us, and shun us, and treat us bad was just that - a big, fat, lie. ALL of our friends, family, their friends and family, and even people who just found out somehow sympathized with us. I could not believe it, but the support and overwhelming encouragement was enough to fuel my desire to get my sister out ASAP!
My sister in law, Kim, came over and we began to strategize. She had not known either, so I filled her in too... Steve set up a Facebook page called "Free Jelena" and we began to post it to our own pages. This was a HUGE step for me, because I have friends on Facebook I have known since grade school, also many people I had worked with at many different establishments, and to now come out and say that I am an illegal alien was embarrassing. I had to do it though, and I knew it. People called and gave ideas about lawyers and going to the news. Steve called his neighbor who works for a news channel and we contacted some other stations but we were told that in situations like these it is actually harmful to get the story in the spotlight. We were told that it would hurt her as they will most certainly deport her. So we stayed away from the media, and went through social networks. We were on Twitter and Facebook setting up links, and Kim was getting a hold of people she knew that could help. We were letting Dan know what was happening, and that I and the kids were safe. We did not want to keep asking mom and George to pay for stuff, and I had like thirty bucks until Dan came home. Steve had just gotten laid off as well, and we had no idea what to do. He did not know how they would pay their bills and house and car payments and also have time to try to help my sister. We set up a Paypal account on Jelena's Facebook page and within the week donations were pouring in from everywhere! Including my mom and George's help, we raised enough money to pay for the lawyer, all of their bills and payments and for Steve to have for food and stuff so he does not worry about his job situation. It was so amazing to see how our friends and family pulled together and helped us!!! I began to see just how much I loved people!
The Prophecy
And so it came to pass... my mom got her Green Card! It was so amazing and we were so thankful! To share some of her story as best as I can:
After exhausting as many lawyer offices as she could find only to be told there is no way your case will be heard in court, or to be asked to pay an astronomical amount of money, my mom gave up searching for ways to get her green card. But as in all good stories, a man came along and they fell in love. George wanted to make sure my mom received her green card and they began searching for lawyers again, but this time my mom had more hope. This added hope did not last long as George and my mom were also told time after time from countless lawyers in the Austin area that her case is too complicated and they could not work on it. There were again a few lawyers who wanted a large sum of money up front with little indication they would actually get anything accomplished. George and my mom faced defeat but then George remembered a pen. Yes - a pen.
An immigration lawyer had come by his restaurant some time earlier and he left behind a pen which George had picked up. George called the number on this pen and what do you know - Mr. G. Wellington Smith said her case may be difficult but not impossible and he would take it on, without ever asking for any money up front. That was a huge break!
Within two years of Mr. Smith working with my mom, she received her green card. There was a lot of paperwork involved and meetings too, the usual, but she and George completed it all on time, and followed through. We celebrated at Cheesecake Factory, took pictures, and had fun with it. My mom's card actually came in the mail as a new driver's license, a very non-climactic end to her story.
Following, Dan and I decided to begin working with Mr. Smith in order for me to get the green card as well. We used a portion of our income tax return to begin this process in 2008 and my mom and George paid the rest of the fees. Without their help, we could not have done it. Dan and I were facing the hardest time of our lives financially. I was at home with the kids, and Dan out of work since he had undergone a company-wide layoff in 2008. Our life had begun to change and we began to experience some extremely serious marital strife because of finances or lack thereof.
My sister Jelena, and her fiance, Steven, would begin work on hers as soon after they got married in 2009. My sister was smart and told him about it from the get-go. Jelena had a good job, Steven was doing well for himself as well, and their future seemed very promising. They were anticipating marriage and children.
Overall, everything seemed as it were falling into place as far as immigration was concerned, so we went about life as usual, having to make an occasional copy and fax, fill out forms and send photos and such.
After exhausting as many lawyer offices as she could find only to be told there is no way your case will be heard in court, or to be asked to pay an astronomical amount of money, my mom gave up searching for ways to get her green card. But as in all good stories, a man came along and they fell in love. George wanted to make sure my mom received her green card and they began searching for lawyers again, but this time my mom had more hope. This added hope did not last long as George and my mom were also told time after time from countless lawyers in the Austin area that her case is too complicated and they could not work on it. There were again a few lawyers who wanted a large sum of money up front with little indication they would actually get anything accomplished. George and my mom faced defeat but then George remembered a pen. Yes - a pen.
An immigration lawyer had come by his restaurant some time earlier and he left behind a pen which George had picked up. George called the number on this pen and what do you know - Mr. G. Wellington Smith said her case may be difficult but not impossible and he would take it on, without ever asking for any money up front. That was a huge break!
Within two years of Mr. Smith working with my mom, she received her green card. There was a lot of paperwork involved and meetings too, the usual, but she and George completed it all on time, and followed through. We celebrated at Cheesecake Factory, took pictures, and had fun with it. My mom's card actually came in the mail as a new driver's license, a very non-climactic end to her story.
Following, Dan and I decided to begin working with Mr. Smith in order for me to get the green card as well. We used a portion of our income tax return to begin this process in 2008 and my mom and George paid the rest of the fees. Without their help, we could not have done it. Dan and I were facing the hardest time of our lives financially. I was at home with the kids, and Dan out of work since he had undergone a company-wide layoff in 2008. Our life had begun to change and we began to experience some extremely serious marital strife because of finances or lack thereof.
My sister Jelena, and her fiance, Steven, would begin work on hers as soon after they got married in 2009. My sister was smart and told him about it from the get-go. Jelena had a good job, Steven was doing well for himself as well, and their future seemed very promising. They were anticipating marriage and children.
Overall, everything seemed as it were falling into place as far as immigration was concerned, so we went about life as usual, having to make an occasional copy and fax, fill out forms and send photos and such.
The In-Between Years
Many years passed and my life had been "normal" as I had mentioned before. Although I could not leave the country, Daniel and I took many trips within the US and managed to have fun. I had buried the immigration stuff and hoped it would never appear. My sister and I secretly applied for the Green Card Lottery one year, but did not win. I did not tell Dan about any of this still. My dad would mail us forms to sign from time to time, which we did and sent back. He advised us to keep going to the office in San Antonio and get our work authorization cards, but I was so fed up with all of this, and wanted nothing to do with it. I did not want to think about it nor hash it up again. I mean I buried the problem right? Too bad things do not go away when you just try to forget about them. At one time or another, everything comes out in the open - either by us bringing them up and working on the issue, or having to face it at the most inopportune times. I would chose the former if I had to do it again.
In 2003, Daniel and I experienced God in a way I wish for everyone. I have not been the same since. My life has been a roller coaster ride that I would need a volume of books to explain with. Daniel worked for a direct marketing company and I was an associate selling the nutritional products. During an international event in 2004, a strange man from Korea named Dan Hahn came up to me as I was sitting outside of the Dallas Convention Center. He explained to me that he is prophet of God and begun to tell me some remarkable things that would occur in my life. He mentioned things I never said to anyone, including my favorite verse in the Bible : Matthew 6:33. He brought up the green card. He told me that things would end in this department and within 3 years my family would get a green card. My mom did, in 2007. At the time though, I was like - okay, whatever. I did not care about that. But something stirred in me when he brought it up. Like - how dare he? It was personal and hidden. I liked it that way. I got some old familiar negative feelings back, feelings of discomfort and rejection. I knew he had no way of knowing this other than the fact that God actually revealed it to him. So because of this, I knew it was time to bring it up again. I thought about it, and felt maybe we would just get it in the mail and it would be a discrete ordeal. YAH!
Shortly after, I was reading a book by T. D. Jakes called "Woman Thou Art Loosed," which I grabbed from my mom's library, just because I knew he was a Christian preacher. The book was mainly about freeing women from the spirit of abuse, focusing specifically on different abusive situations women go through, and helping to get the shame off and deal with the hurts. As I read that book, everything pointed to my situation of immigration. Everything I read correlated to my situation and although the subjects are very different, the underlying message was the same. It was a false message actually:
"Because this happened to you (abuse, neglect, trauma from someone behaving in an evil way against you or in my situation - my parents brought me over and now the government saw me as a fugitive for nothing I did) you are different in the worst way, shame on you, you do not belong, you are not like the others. You are unwanted, we don't want the likes of you in our neighborhoods, or anywhere in this country. Go hide! Go back home! You are as a leper. Don't tell anyone your secret. No one will want to be your friend. No one wants the likes of you around." ETC...
The idea of telling Dan and dealing with my shame before him was more than I could bear but it would not leave me alone. It was such a strong pulsing tremor in my head - for me to tell Daniel about my situation. After weeks of trying to fight the overwhelming urge to come out clean, I finally spit it out on a drive back home form Austin. It was night-time, and the kids were a sleep int he car. I remember how long it took me to get it out. I cried uncontrollably and Dan was wondering what in the world it could be. It was not adultery as I told him, so he hadn't a clue. It was like a feeling of nausea and every discomfort imaginable - but why?
Why did I believe a lie that I was at fault and this was such a shameful thing is beyond me now. How could I allow such a huge stone in my heart that has kept me down for so many years? Why did something someone else did cause me to feel shame and keep it a secret as it were my fault? Why did I allow the media, the government or other people who spoke about similar situations to make me feel unwanted and untouchable?
After I told Dan, he simply said, okay, and I looked at him like - really? That's it? He understood that it hurt me and I obviously felt a release when I told him about it, but he did not understand why. He wanted to know why I did not tell him earlier and I explained that I could not bear to have him hate me for it and treat me different. Then I felt bad for not trusting him enough. Overall, it was a HUGE step for me, and afterward, such weight lifted off of me that I could breathe like I could not remember when.
Now that Dan knew, I told him that we would have to get a lawyer to take care of my situation, but since we were not in a good financial standing, it did not matter to me. We needed money for bills and other things, so we both placed it on the back burner this time. We did not mess with the idea, and lived as we have been.
I had gotten a part-time job at our church at that time, but did not tell anyone about my situation. I used my social security number, my driver's license, as in the past, but I felt so convicted this time. Although I considered myself a citizen, and certainly a Texas Resident, I blocked out the fact that I needed paperwork to substantiate this. It was an area I avoided, and I took on the oblivious attitude regarding this. But the nagging feeling of "I must say something or quit," continued. At the time, I took on the responsibility of trying to homeschool my kids, so I quit the job at church and my feelings changed. Again, things seeemed to be leveled out and my secret buried again. I was relieved that I had a reason now to stay at home and did not have to look for work and pretend I was legal. Although we could have defintely benefited from the extra money from me working, I beleive the times I spent at home with the kids were the best opportunity I ever got. In all things, God works everything for my good.
In 2003, Daniel and I experienced God in a way I wish for everyone. I have not been the same since. My life has been a roller coaster ride that I would need a volume of books to explain with. Daniel worked for a direct marketing company and I was an associate selling the nutritional products. During an international event in 2004, a strange man from Korea named Dan Hahn came up to me as I was sitting outside of the Dallas Convention Center. He explained to me that he is prophet of God and begun to tell me some remarkable things that would occur in my life. He mentioned things I never said to anyone, including my favorite verse in the Bible : Matthew 6:33. He brought up the green card. He told me that things would end in this department and within 3 years my family would get a green card. My mom did, in 2007. At the time though, I was like - okay, whatever. I did not care about that. But something stirred in me when he brought it up. Like - how dare he? It was personal and hidden. I liked it that way. I got some old familiar negative feelings back, feelings of discomfort and rejection. I knew he had no way of knowing this other than the fact that God actually revealed it to him. So because of this, I knew it was time to bring it up again. I thought about it, and felt maybe we would just get it in the mail and it would be a discrete ordeal. YAH!
Shortly after, I was reading a book by T. D. Jakes called "Woman Thou Art Loosed," which I grabbed from my mom's library, just because I knew he was a Christian preacher. The book was mainly about freeing women from the spirit of abuse, focusing specifically on different abusive situations women go through, and helping to get the shame off and deal with the hurts. As I read that book, everything pointed to my situation of immigration. Everything I read correlated to my situation and although the subjects are very different, the underlying message was the same. It was a false message actually:
"Because this happened to you (abuse, neglect, trauma from someone behaving in an evil way against you or in my situation - my parents brought me over and now the government saw me as a fugitive for nothing I did) you are different in the worst way, shame on you, you do not belong, you are not like the others. You are unwanted, we don't want the likes of you in our neighborhoods, or anywhere in this country. Go hide! Go back home! You are as a leper. Don't tell anyone your secret. No one will want to be your friend. No one wants the likes of you around." ETC...
The idea of telling Dan and dealing with my shame before him was more than I could bear but it would not leave me alone. It was such a strong pulsing tremor in my head - for me to tell Daniel about my situation. After weeks of trying to fight the overwhelming urge to come out clean, I finally spit it out on a drive back home form Austin. It was night-time, and the kids were a sleep int he car. I remember how long it took me to get it out. I cried uncontrollably and Dan was wondering what in the world it could be. It was not adultery as I told him, so he hadn't a clue. It was like a feeling of nausea and every discomfort imaginable - but why?
Why did I believe a lie that I was at fault and this was such a shameful thing is beyond me now. How could I allow such a huge stone in my heart that has kept me down for so many years? Why did something someone else did cause me to feel shame and keep it a secret as it were my fault? Why did I allow the media, the government or other people who spoke about similar situations to make me feel unwanted and untouchable?
After I told Dan, he simply said, okay, and I looked at him like - really? That's it? He understood that it hurt me and I obviously felt a release when I told him about it, but he did not understand why. He wanted to know why I did not tell him earlier and I explained that I could not bear to have him hate me for it and treat me different. Then I felt bad for not trusting him enough. Overall, it was a HUGE step for me, and afterward, such weight lifted off of me that I could breathe like I could not remember when.
Now that Dan knew, I told him that we would have to get a lawyer to take care of my situation, but since we were not in a good financial standing, it did not matter to me. We needed money for bills and other things, so we both placed it on the back burner this time. We did not mess with the idea, and lived as we have been.
I had gotten a part-time job at our church at that time, but did not tell anyone about my situation. I used my social security number, my driver's license, as in the past, but I felt so convicted this time. Although I considered myself a citizen, and certainly a Texas Resident, I blocked out the fact that I needed paperwork to substantiate this. It was an area I avoided, and I took on the oblivious attitude regarding this. But the nagging feeling of "I must say something or quit," continued. At the time, I took on the responsibility of trying to homeschool my kids, so I quit the job at church and my feelings changed. Again, things seeemed to be leveled out and my secret buried again. I was relieved that I had a reason now to stay at home and did not have to look for work and pretend I was legal. Although we could have defintely benefited from the extra money from me working, I beleive the times I spent at home with the kids were the best opportunity I ever got. In all things, God works everything for my good.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
The San Antonio Trips
I think the biggest stress causing ordeal award goes to our multiple trips to the immigration office in San Antonio. While young, we had no idea why this was such a big deal, but knew it had something to do with staying here. We would all load up from Austin after dad spent like two weeks preparing paperwork, stressing to the point no one dared come near him. We would get up early and get all dressed up and take what seemed to be a very, very long drive to San Antonio. My parents fought a lot during the drive and my sister and I tried to think positive. If things went well, as my sister remembers correctly, we went out to eat after the meeting: Olive Garden on the Riverwalk. But, if they denied us again or whatever negative conclusion occurred, a horrible and immediate drive home followed. And my dad was so angry that as a child I wanted to do something to make it better. I wanted to fix the relationship between he and my mom. I wanted to protect my sister. I was angry at America for making my family sad. I hated whatever "immigration" was because it made my dad so angry. I made inner vows and judgments then that I would be strong for everyone.
I hated talking about San Antonio. San Antonio was the headquarters for immigration, a place where the rejection was set in stone and written in some legal paperwork. Even at school in Texas History when the town was mentioned it made me cringe. It held awful memories for me and my family. When I visited with Dan, I tried so hard to mask my feelings, and I bet we probably fought every time. I remember at least that I drank myself to oblivion once while there, probably trying to escape the pain subconsciously.
I cannot seem to stress enough how bazaar this is on the mind of a young child. Imagine your kids, if you have any, between 6 and 14 and trying to explain to them the judicial system, how the immigration process works and what that all means. I don't think the immigration employees even know! The bottom line that is taken is that we started to believe lies about ourselves. We thought we did something wrong; we could not understand how someone could tell you that you cannot live somewhere. Are we not all people on this only one planet with life on it? Should we not stick together? Can't we live wherever we find room? Why can someone tell you that you have to leave if you want to stay? If nothing criminal and illegal was done - why do they want me to leave? What if I did good and volunteered and did things right? Could I stay? No.
Then I will do the opposite. If they treat me like a criminal and unworthy, maybe I can just misbehave a little...
I hated talking about San Antonio. San Antonio was the headquarters for immigration, a place where the rejection was set in stone and written in some legal paperwork. Even at school in Texas History when the town was mentioned it made me cringe. It held awful memories for me and my family. When I visited with Dan, I tried so hard to mask my feelings, and I bet we probably fought every time. I remember at least that I drank myself to oblivion once while there, probably trying to escape the pain subconsciously.
I cannot seem to stress enough how bazaar this is on the mind of a young child. Imagine your kids, if you have any, between 6 and 14 and trying to explain to them the judicial system, how the immigration process works and what that all means. I don't think the immigration employees even know! The bottom line that is taken is that we started to believe lies about ourselves. We thought we did something wrong; we could not understand how someone could tell you that you cannot live somewhere. Are we not all people on this only one planet with life on it? Should we not stick together? Can't we live wherever we find room? Why can someone tell you that you have to leave if you want to stay? If nothing criminal and illegal was done - why do they want me to leave? What if I did good and volunteered and did things right? Could I stay? No.
Then I will do the opposite. If they treat me like a criminal and unworthy, maybe I can just misbehave a little...
Married Life in the US
As I grew up as American as possible, I learned how to live and get by with who I was. My parent's separated, then divorced, which fit the profile of most of my friends. I got a job early and started paying for the things I wanted. I had lots of boyfriends and adapted to the party lifestyle early on. The best thing that happened was that I met my husband. At none other than K-Mart, Daniel and I sparked a connection and bond I have never witnessed with any other couple. We are truly soul mates.
In 1990 we began dating, and have not stopped since. Daniel loved me most yet cared the least about my immigration status. I felt safe around him and knew he would protect me. He and his family are so proud to be Americans that I never had the nerve to share my history with them. They thought I was legal since I had a social security number, driver's license, and did everything according to the rules. I just never pursued my residency. I never even told Dan before we got married. I was so done with it all and wanted to forget about it and go on with my life.
The last time I spent a day at the immigration office was in the nineties sometime. My mom took my sister and I and we went to see if we could somehow reopen our case and get somewhere. Until now, my dad has fought on his own and been denied over and over that at best we were granted work authorization cards. He never took a lawyer, and trying to accomplish anything concerning immigration without legal council is almost impossible. While in the San Antonio office that day, an officer told me that the only way for me to stay here is to get my husband to petition for me. My case would be separated from my family and I would face the new challenges on my own (with Daniel really, but I was embarrassed to tell him). I was scared to tell Dan and get him involved in all of this mess and at the same time worried what would happen to my family. It seemed like I would get to stay but they would get deported, and I figured we are all in this together. Plus, I was lazy to work on my status and angry at my parents who did not finish it for us. I felt like it was not my responsibility and wanted to wait it out to see what happens, to make them somehow pay for bringing us here like this. Much resentment and anger towards our parents fueled my attitude of indifference.
The officer told us that day to just live as we have been living, and go on with life as we have. So, with nothing solved and not being any further to a resolve, the three Mitic ladies left the San Antonio office that day hopeless. There was such a stronghold on me involving anyone else and our immigration "secret." I had to protect us by not telling anyone about our situation, that it was like Gollum's "my precious." A dark, dark secret - except - when I look back now after having daughters of my own as my sis and I were, - I just want to hold me. This secret was shame, resentment, insecurity, and all the nasty things we place on ourselves when most circumstances were far beyond our control. I see this now a lot with women who have been abused as children, teens, or even adults. They hold a secret and have shame for something someone else did and created in their lives. I felt if I told anyone (EVEN my own husband who I know loves me beyond a shadow of a doubt) they would shame me even more, ridicule me, not like me, think less of me, pity me, and the worst: make fun of me.
Daniel and I have shared a most bizarre and wonderful life together. We live to give and love people. We speak to our family daily and see them often. We adore our friends that have crossed our paths, and our times together. We have enjoyed the most sacred moments together and have three beautiful, beautiful children which I cannot begin to comprehend why we were blessed with them. Just because. Grace.
From days of Hair bands, goth, grunge and garage band days, to days of leading worship in church, Daniel and I have witnessed a lot happen within our lives. We have been honest with each other and gone through the biggest break-up dilemmas and came out on the other end victorious. From jobs to debt, from fun trips to ugly fights, from raising kids to gaining weight - our life has been what most people may look upon as "normal."
Immigration, green cards, citizenship and passports - bah! What's that? I have managed to create an American life for me and my new family. But that is not how the story was written...
In 1990 we began dating, and have not stopped since. Daniel loved me most yet cared the least about my immigration status. I felt safe around him and knew he would protect me. He and his family are so proud to be Americans that I never had the nerve to share my history with them. They thought I was legal since I had a social security number, driver's license, and did everything according to the rules. I just never pursued my residency. I never even told Dan before we got married. I was so done with it all and wanted to forget about it and go on with my life.
The last time I spent a day at the immigration office was in the nineties sometime. My mom took my sister and I and we went to see if we could somehow reopen our case and get somewhere. Until now, my dad has fought on his own and been denied over and over that at best we were granted work authorization cards. He never took a lawyer, and trying to accomplish anything concerning immigration without legal council is almost impossible. While in the San Antonio office that day, an officer told me that the only way for me to stay here is to get my husband to petition for me. My case would be separated from my family and I would face the new challenges on my own (with Daniel really, but I was embarrassed to tell him). I was scared to tell Dan and get him involved in all of this mess and at the same time worried what would happen to my family. It seemed like I would get to stay but they would get deported, and I figured we are all in this together. Plus, I was lazy to work on my status and angry at my parents who did not finish it for us. I felt like it was not my responsibility and wanted to wait it out to see what happens, to make them somehow pay for bringing us here like this. Much resentment and anger towards our parents fueled my attitude of indifference.
The officer told us that day to just live as we have been living, and go on with life as we have. So, with nothing solved and not being any further to a resolve, the three Mitic ladies left the San Antonio office that day hopeless. There was such a stronghold on me involving anyone else and our immigration "secret." I had to protect us by not telling anyone about our situation, that it was like Gollum's "my precious." A dark, dark secret - except - when I look back now after having daughters of my own as my sis and I were, - I just want to hold me. This secret was shame, resentment, insecurity, and all the nasty things we place on ourselves when most circumstances were far beyond our control. I see this now a lot with women who have been abused as children, teens, or even adults. They hold a secret and have shame for something someone else did and created in their lives. I felt if I told anyone (EVEN my own husband who I know loves me beyond a shadow of a doubt) they would shame me even more, ridicule me, not like me, think less of me, pity me, and the worst: make fun of me.
Daniel and I have shared a most bizarre and wonderful life together. We live to give and love people. We speak to our family daily and see them often. We adore our friends that have crossed our paths, and our times together. We have enjoyed the most sacred moments together and have three beautiful, beautiful children which I cannot begin to comprehend why we were blessed with them. Just because. Grace.
From days of Hair bands, goth, grunge and garage band days, to days of leading worship in church, Daniel and I have witnessed a lot happen within our lives. We have been honest with each other and gone through the biggest break-up dilemmas and came out on the other end victorious. From jobs to debt, from fun trips to ugly fights, from raising kids to gaining weight - our life has been what most people may look upon as "normal."
Immigration, green cards, citizenship and passports - bah! What's that? I have managed to create an American life for me and my new family. But that is not how the story was written...
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The Immigrant Stigma and Demoralizaton
From 1985 on, we had to come to grips with some facts about our situation. We were unwanted and illegal aliens. I hated that. Although my dad kept working with the immigration departments in San Antonio, TX to get it all worked out and we are able to remain here legally, the process was surprisingly lengthy and unorganized. We were not allowed to leave the country. I thought about it when my husband (then boyfriend) and I were spending my Senior High-School Spring Break in South Padre. I had that rebellious spirit then, and wanted to cross on over to Mexico just to see what happens. But I got scared, and never ventured south of the border then or ever since. I think the love for travel and seeing the world is embedded in my bones. I feel it. I want to experience life in different cultures and take my family around the world to teach them about life first hand. But to feel like a bird trapped in a cage - although a very big and beautiful cage - it's still crippling. I have missed out on one of my best friend's wedding in Mexico. I have missed out on incentive trips and company trips with my husband. I have missed out on cruise opportunities with my husband. I wanted to go back to where I was born and visit the grandma who raised me as her health is declining. I wanted to show my husband Daniel my place of birth, and the house where I grew up in. I wanted to go back when my grandpa, my hero, died. I could not leave though. If I left, I could not re-enter back for at least ten years or maybe never be able to come back again. And that would have been even worse torture.
I had to come to grips with the fact that we may always live like this. I may always feel unwanted and alienated. But there was an exception to this that I found at a small church we went to for a short while, called Austin Bible Church. My favorite memories during the early years revolved around here as I witnessed something different. The people seemed very nice to us and thus my parents became very involved. We went to the pastor's home for lunches, hung out with the other church leaders as well in their homes and I got a glimpse of community. My mom cooked and baked for the pot-lucks and everyone loved the ethnic foods and praised her for it. I remember pulling up to our apartment door one day and finding bags and bags of groceries in front of our door, with an unanimous note. Some church members bought us a ton of stuff and left it at our door. I did not understand why - were we poor and needed food, or am I witnessing some random act of kindness I am so unaccustomed to? The youth pastor bought a New Testament Bible in Serbian for me so I can understand it better and I read it all the time. He even gave me a really fancy leather-bound Bible in English with my full name inscribed on the front of it, too. I accompanied some kids in decorating the Christmas tree with strung berries and popcorn and I found out what going caroling meant. It was nice. Almost too nice. We stopped going there though, for reasons I don't know, and we were back on our own trying to find community with other Serbian people we have met in the area.
I don't know about other Serbians or Yugoslavians, but in my family there always seemed be an issue with people. I wondered why we had to leave friendships and not talk to people anymore. For example: We met a very nice Serbian family who quickly became our new godparents. They treated us like they knew us for life and we have always been family. We loved each other like family. I loved being in their home because it was beautiful and richly decorated, and they had a pool as well. It made me feel like I had a wealthy family that I could talk about to friends and felt a little bit better about who I was. The family friendship was short lived though and I have not spoken to them in many, many years. My mom has a story here, but maybe one day she can tell it.
So we had no family, no friends, and it seemed there was something so wrong with us; that somehow we had a Scarlett Letter "U" and we were unwanted, untouchable, unemployed, un- whatever.... It seemed that all of our problems originated with the immigration situation, and all of our heart's desires were for being accepted as a citizen or permanent resident of this country. If my dad could legally work, he would have a better job in his field of engineering or architecture and we would have more money, a nicer place to live and less stress over how to make bills and pay for food and clothes. If we were legal residents, we would not have to fear being "picked up by the police" all the time and live freely. If we were legal, my parents would fight less and fear less and be less stressful.
I learned English quickly, and read all the time. I became a better speller than most of my friends. I tried to do everything I could, to fit in. I even worked hard to get all A's and get my first crack at designer clothes - stonewashed Guess Jeans. Yeah, buddy. I stayed up late recording top forty songs off the radio on my recorder (yes a recorder) and replayed them back dozens of times until I learned the lyrics. It's so much easier now, jeez. I wanted to be a part of the in-crowd. I wanted to be popular and not feel ashamed for who I was. I battled with self esteem issues and thought of myself in such a negative way. It seemed that in our school, the popular kids had parents who were very involved in their lives. Their parents could afford their designer clothes, cheerleader uniforms and extra curricular activities. My biggest concerns were fitting in and impressing friends at this time. I remember how many times I got in trouble at school just trying to do dumb things to make people laugh. Only to to be liked.
I even thought if I just could get on the cheerleading team maybe I could be a part of the crowd I looked enviously upon. I did not know many gymnastic moves although I tried every day to perfect hand stands and round-offs. I chickened out to try out for cheerleading, but actually showed up to try out for the school mascot instead. This ended as I was only told my behavior was so out of hand and I had too many "E's" (I think that was the letter for misbehaving on the report cards then) that I had to leave. This scarred me as well, and now I was through with trying to overachieve and be involved. I wanted to hide even more.
My parents used to be very involved when I was younger in Yugoslavia, and I missed that. My mom was now forced to work two jobs just to provide the basics for us and did not understand to speak or read and write in English. My mom tried going to night classes to learn English, but they began to interfere with her job schedule so she quit. Also, I think they were too hard, and overwhelming, and she had no assistance. Shortly after we came here, my mom began working odd and end jobs, like stuffing envelopes, counting metal tidbits for some machines, and babysitting our neighbor's son. During my middle school years, my mom worked full time at K-Mart and in the evenings at a local grocery chain, HEB, as a bagger. I hardly ever saw her because she worked two jobs for most of her life to make sure we had what we needed. I was left to take care of my sister, and I resented being an overseer, since I was not ready to give up my childhood yet. And this is how my intense decline in morality and my behavior began.
I was ashamed of our heritage and even wanted my dad to drop me off far from the school so I was not seen getting out of the brown Gremlin and with him. He has a very dark complexion, like me, and everyone thought he was of Middle Eastern or Hispanic descent. So then naturally, most people thought the same of me. So now not only was I ashamed of my own heritage, but ashamed of being Hispanic or Middle Eastern too, even though I'm not! I wanted us all to be a light skinned, light-eyed Americans! Isn't it funny how we think we know best about how we should look and try so hard to be someone we were not made to be? I used to be embarrassed when my mom spoke to me in Yugoslavian in public, and when my friends came over. I just wanted to be "normal." I refused to speak Serbian and even answered my mom back in English or pretended I didn't understand her. I got pretty good at this, that one day I woke up and truly could not communicate. I had forgotten to speak in Serbian, and even though I may have acted proud of this, deep inside I knew I was sorry. We try to hide from who we are, and many times go to extreme measures to achieve this, but eventually we are found. One way or another, we cannot escape from who were created to be.
Why could not my dad make more money and have a better paying job? I did not understand. Although he always seemed busy and working, going on business trips and such, we never seemed to have enough money. A struggle began in my life against money at this time, and money won. I became a slave to it and succumbed to the love of it. I wanted to have the lives of my friends' and envied them. I blamed the American government for my poor life, although I always had enough food, clothing, and a roof over my head. I suppose I learned the need for more, and began to compare with the Joneses, the Smiths, the Williams', and even the Rodriguez'. Comparing with others is a HUGE mistake for anyone, but one very easy to make.
I understood now about social security cards and work authorizations. Although we had legal social security numbers and cards, there was an imprint on them that they were only allowed for work in conjunction with a work authorization card. Somehow, when my mom applied for jobs, this part was overlooked. But
with my dad, shortly after the initial hire, the employer found out he was working on a short term authorization card, and my dad would be let go. Maybe it was because his positions were paid more. Back then it was not cool and sought after to hire contractors and foreigners. My dad's experience in many types of engineering, architecture, teaching, and even soccer refereeing was reduced to him working at Home Depot for a while, restaurants as a dish-washer, even Pottery Barn and K-Mart as a stocker and clerk. All these jobs were short lived and my dad's credit took a nosedive. His demeanour changed, and he became disillusioned with the American Dream. He drank more, smoked more, and went out often. We have come to know what debt is and our family was plagued with it. His expensive suits were replaced with jeans and free, event t-shirts. He no longer even went out to expensive restaurants and hotels to sit and pretend this was the life he should be living. He stopped taking photographs. He took his lot in life. He was an unwanted illegal, unable to produce a lasting legacy of any kind for his family. His venture for a better life backfired. His life was wasting away before him, he had no hope of retaining a job, and he gave up. It has been so hard on my sister and I to watch and witness the decline of our family.
There are so many factors that contributed to my parents separation. I can speculate on what really did it, but to say that they were not happy would be an understatement. It oozed out of their pores. After many back and forth attempts, my parents finally divorced. The thought of a new baby even came about, but my little brother died shortly before his time to be born. The ordeals which happened around this time can be summed up in their own book. It felt like there was something missing from the equation, a common thread that could bring my family together in diversity instead of us facing it alone and breaking apart during the sufferings and trials. We had lost hope.
My parents became scared that while in the deportation process that we have been in since our visas expired, we would get "picked up" and deported. My sister and I have feared this so much, that our hair rose up and our stomachs turned at every corner. When we heard the sirens of even ambulance or fire trucks, we assumed it was the police coming to get us. We had no idea what we have done, just believed that for some reason we were bad and unwanted so we had to "keep it on the down-low." We lived in fear as did my parents. As I grew up and had my brush in with the police with many speeding tickets and such, the rebellion in me caused the attitude of "you don't scare me." I developed somewhat of a hatred for the law as did my sister. My sister was so little at the time though, that the fear really injected itself in her and she has spent most of her life afraid of being arrested, publicly humiliated, and detained. I will later write about how this came to pass just like that - in 2009.
The facts I knew of about my immigration situation I hid from everyone I knew. I had become so hardened by now that I think I lived in a disillusioned world in which I was a permanent resident. I was an all-American party girl, with a leather jacket, Marlboro's, and a kick-butt attitude. By high-school, I had blended in pretty well, and all I had to occasionally answer was that I was not of Hispanic descent. One man even got angry with me because I did not understand when he spoke Spanish to me, and cursed at me saying I was denying my heritage and should be ashamed. I laughed and told everyone, and found comfort in the fact that all I had to do was prove I was not Hispanic.
I even hid my shame from my Daniel. I met Dan after moving back to Texas, and we began dating when I was 16. I never talked about immigration with him, and although we kept everything - and I mean everything- in the open about what happens with us, I kept this secret from him. I married Daniel and hid this even then. I guess I lied from the beginning when we initially talked about it, or maybe it was that he heard me tell others, I don't remember. We never discussed it for some reason, and that was okay with me. It was too late to talk about it years later, so I just kept on hiding my past, and putting covers on the roots of rejection. I began to forget why I would get so angry at times and jealous of others. I completely forgot why I felt such a huge weight of shame over me, and usually blamed it on alcohol and such.
Years have passed, and I wanted nothing to do with immigration. I didn't want to hear the word, talk about deporting, immigrants, foreigners, even other countries. I was done and so rebellious at this time that anger spewed out at the most inopportune times. I held resentment and downright animosity against America although I did not want to and hid it out of embarrassment. I wanted to be a part of this country, be accepted, and wanted. I wanted to love it like so many patriots including my husband and his family. I acted as if I did, but there was so much hurt that I could not deny.
I had to come to grips with the fact that we may always live like this. I may always feel unwanted and alienated. But there was an exception to this that I found at a small church we went to for a short while, called Austin Bible Church. My favorite memories during the early years revolved around here as I witnessed something different. The people seemed very nice to us and thus my parents became very involved. We went to the pastor's home for lunches, hung out with the other church leaders as well in their homes and I got a glimpse of community. My mom cooked and baked for the pot-lucks and everyone loved the ethnic foods and praised her for it. I remember pulling up to our apartment door one day and finding bags and bags of groceries in front of our door, with an unanimous note. Some church members bought us a ton of stuff and left it at our door. I did not understand why - were we poor and needed food, or am I witnessing some random act of kindness I am so unaccustomed to? The youth pastor bought a New Testament Bible in Serbian for me so I can understand it better and I read it all the time. He even gave me a really fancy leather-bound Bible in English with my full name inscribed on the front of it, too. I accompanied some kids in decorating the Christmas tree with strung berries and popcorn and I found out what going caroling meant. It was nice. Almost too nice. We stopped going there though, for reasons I don't know, and we were back on our own trying to find community with other Serbian people we have met in the area.
I don't know about other Serbians or Yugoslavians, but in my family there always seemed be an issue with people. I wondered why we had to leave friendships and not talk to people anymore. For example: We met a very nice Serbian family who quickly became our new godparents. They treated us like they knew us for life and we have always been family. We loved each other like family. I loved being in their home because it was beautiful and richly decorated, and they had a pool as well. It made me feel like I had a wealthy family that I could talk about to friends and felt a little bit better about who I was. The family friendship was short lived though and I have not spoken to them in many, many years. My mom has a story here, but maybe one day she can tell it.
So we had no family, no friends, and it seemed there was something so wrong with us; that somehow we had a Scarlett Letter "U" and we were unwanted, untouchable, unemployed, un- whatever.... It seemed that all of our problems originated with the immigration situation, and all of our heart's desires were for being accepted as a citizen or permanent resident of this country. If my dad could legally work, he would have a better job in his field of engineering or architecture and we would have more money, a nicer place to live and less stress over how to make bills and pay for food and clothes. If we were legal residents, we would not have to fear being "picked up by the police" all the time and live freely. If we were legal, my parents would fight less and fear less and be less stressful.
I learned English quickly, and read all the time. I became a better speller than most of my friends. I tried to do everything I could, to fit in. I even worked hard to get all A's and get my first crack at designer clothes - stonewashed Guess Jeans. Yeah, buddy. I stayed up late recording top forty songs off the radio on my recorder (yes a recorder) and replayed them back dozens of times until I learned the lyrics. It's so much easier now, jeez. I wanted to be a part of the in-crowd. I wanted to be popular and not feel ashamed for who I was. I battled with self esteem issues and thought of myself in such a negative way. It seemed that in our school, the popular kids had parents who were very involved in their lives. Their parents could afford their designer clothes, cheerleader uniforms and extra curricular activities. My biggest concerns were fitting in and impressing friends at this time. I remember how many times I got in trouble at school just trying to do dumb things to make people laugh. Only to to be liked.
I even thought if I just could get on the cheerleading team maybe I could be a part of the crowd I looked enviously upon. I did not know many gymnastic moves although I tried every day to perfect hand stands and round-offs. I chickened out to try out for cheerleading, but actually showed up to try out for the school mascot instead. This ended as I was only told my behavior was so out of hand and I had too many "E's" (I think that was the letter for misbehaving on the report cards then) that I had to leave. This scarred me as well, and now I was through with trying to overachieve and be involved. I wanted to hide even more.
My parents used to be very involved when I was younger in Yugoslavia, and I missed that. My mom was now forced to work two jobs just to provide the basics for us and did not understand to speak or read and write in English. My mom tried going to night classes to learn English, but they began to interfere with her job schedule so she quit. Also, I think they were too hard, and overwhelming, and she had no assistance. Shortly after we came here, my mom began working odd and end jobs, like stuffing envelopes, counting metal tidbits for some machines, and babysitting our neighbor's son. During my middle school years, my mom worked full time at K-Mart and in the evenings at a local grocery chain, HEB, as a bagger. I hardly ever saw her because she worked two jobs for most of her life to make sure we had what we needed. I was left to take care of my sister, and I resented being an overseer, since I was not ready to give up my childhood yet. And this is how my intense decline in morality and my behavior began.
I was ashamed of our heritage and even wanted my dad to drop me off far from the school so I was not seen getting out of the brown Gremlin and with him. He has a very dark complexion, like me, and everyone thought he was of Middle Eastern or Hispanic descent. So then naturally, most people thought the same of me. So now not only was I ashamed of my own heritage, but ashamed of being Hispanic or Middle Eastern too, even though I'm not! I wanted us all to be a light skinned, light-eyed Americans! Isn't it funny how we think we know best about how we should look and try so hard to be someone we were not made to be? I used to be embarrassed when my mom spoke to me in Yugoslavian in public, and when my friends came over. I just wanted to be "normal." I refused to speak Serbian and even answered my mom back in English or pretended I didn't understand her. I got pretty good at this, that one day I woke up and truly could not communicate. I had forgotten to speak in Serbian, and even though I may have acted proud of this, deep inside I knew I was sorry. We try to hide from who we are, and many times go to extreme measures to achieve this, but eventually we are found. One way or another, we cannot escape from who were created to be.
Why could not my dad make more money and have a better paying job? I did not understand. Although he always seemed busy and working, going on business trips and such, we never seemed to have enough money. A struggle began in my life against money at this time, and money won. I became a slave to it and succumbed to the love of it. I wanted to have the lives of my friends' and envied them. I blamed the American government for my poor life, although I always had enough food, clothing, and a roof over my head. I suppose I learned the need for more, and began to compare with the Joneses, the Smiths, the Williams', and even the Rodriguez'. Comparing with others is a HUGE mistake for anyone, but one very easy to make.
I understood now about social security cards and work authorizations. Although we had legal social security numbers and cards, there was an imprint on them that they were only allowed for work in conjunction with a work authorization card. Somehow, when my mom applied for jobs, this part was overlooked. But
with my dad, shortly after the initial hire, the employer found out he was working on a short term authorization card, and my dad would be let go. Maybe it was because his positions were paid more. Back then it was not cool and sought after to hire contractors and foreigners. My dad's experience in many types of engineering, architecture, teaching, and even soccer refereeing was reduced to him working at Home Depot for a while, restaurants as a dish-washer, even Pottery Barn and K-Mart as a stocker and clerk. All these jobs were short lived and my dad's credit took a nosedive. His demeanour changed, and he became disillusioned with the American Dream. He drank more, smoked more, and went out often. We have come to know what debt is and our family was plagued with it. His expensive suits were replaced with jeans and free, event t-shirts. He no longer even went out to expensive restaurants and hotels to sit and pretend this was the life he should be living. He stopped taking photographs. He took his lot in life. He was an unwanted illegal, unable to produce a lasting legacy of any kind for his family. His venture for a better life backfired. His life was wasting away before him, he had no hope of retaining a job, and he gave up. It has been so hard on my sister and I to watch and witness the decline of our family.
There are so many factors that contributed to my parents separation. I can speculate on what really did it, but to say that they were not happy would be an understatement. It oozed out of their pores. After many back and forth attempts, my parents finally divorced. The thought of a new baby even came about, but my little brother died shortly before his time to be born. The ordeals which happened around this time can be summed up in their own book. It felt like there was something missing from the equation, a common thread that could bring my family together in diversity instead of us facing it alone and breaking apart during the sufferings and trials. We had lost hope.
My parents became scared that while in the deportation process that we have been in since our visas expired, we would get "picked up" and deported. My sister and I have feared this so much, that our hair rose up and our stomachs turned at every corner. When we heard the sirens of even ambulance or fire trucks, we assumed it was the police coming to get us. We had no idea what we have done, just believed that for some reason we were bad and unwanted so we had to "keep it on the down-low." We lived in fear as did my parents. As I grew up and had my brush in with the police with many speeding tickets and such, the rebellion in me caused the attitude of "you don't scare me." I developed somewhat of a hatred for the law as did my sister. My sister was so little at the time though, that the fear really injected itself in her and she has spent most of her life afraid of being arrested, publicly humiliated, and detained. I will later write about how this came to pass just like that - in 2009.
The facts I knew of about my immigration situation I hid from everyone I knew. I had become so hardened by now that I think I lived in a disillusioned world in which I was a permanent resident. I was an all-American party girl, with a leather jacket, Marlboro's, and a kick-butt attitude. By high-school, I had blended in pretty well, and all I had to occasionally answer was that I was not of Hispanic descent. One man even got angry with me because I did not understand when he spoke Spanish to me, and cursed at me saying I was denying my heritage and should be ashamed. I laughed and told everyone, and found comfort in the fact that all I had to do was prove I was not Hispanic.
I even hid my shame from my Daniel. I met Dan after moving back to Texas, and we began dating when I was 16. I never talked about immigration with him, and although we kept everything - and I mean everything- in the open about what happens with us, I kept this secret from him. I married Daniel and hid this even then. I guess I lied from the beginning when we initially talked about it, or maybe it was that he heard me tell others, I don't remember. We never discussed it for some reason, and that was okay with me. It was too late to talk about it years later, so I just kept on hiding my past, and putting covers on the roots of rejection. I began to forget why I would get so angry at times and jealous of others. I completely forgot why I felt such a huge weight of shame over me, and usually blamed it on alcohol and such.
Years have passed, and I wanted nothing to do with immigration. I didn't want to hear the word, talk about deporting, immigrants, foreigners, even other countries. I was done and so rebellious at this time that anger spewed out at the most inopportune times. I held resentment and downright animosity against America although I did not want to and hid it out of embarrassment. I wanted to be a part of this country, be accepted, and wanted. I wanted to love it like so many patriots including my husband and his family. I acted as if I did, but there was so much hurt that I could not deny.
My Life Beginning...
I will begin my story of an immigrant - now that you must say again with a good Slavic accent - by giving a little bit of my background. I wrote an entire book depicting it in greater detail, but for the sake of staying on task - which I must discipline myself to do, since I tend to chase rabbit trails a bunch - I will try my best to concentrate on details which pertain to the particular story of a struggle for freedom... You see. There I go again - over explaining as my husband, Daniel says I do... :) anyway...
I was born in a small town of Nis, in the state of Serbia, Yugoslavia, on the family holiday of St. John the Baptist along with the first snow of the year. Instead of being named Jovanka or Joanna, to go with the religious flow, for some reason my dad named me Olivera. The meaning in Serbian is symbol of peace; derived from the olive tree and considered an emblem of beauty, prosperity and religious privilege. I am holding on to that :) That was a blessing in disguise, since I hated my name throughout my childhood.
As a young child in Yugoslavia, I thought I had everything I needed and could ever want. My parents worked, but we lived with my grandparents, so I always had family around. I enjoyed my family, friends, and many travels. My aunt was my favorite because she always took my side instead of my sister's. I loved playing outdoors in the summer until past dark. I loved the smell of newly watered gardens, and picking apples, cherries and apricots off our trees. I loved listening to music with my dad, especially rock, and English beats like the Beatles. I mean, if "All you need is love, love is all you need." Although my parents fought, they always seemed to get along when it counted. I played pranks on my sister and she played my parents to get me in trouble. All the men in my life drank heavily and smoked but I was their favorite and I loved the attention. I went to school with good friends, and started to learn the German language in 5th grade.
It was in the early 80's that my dad became bent on a conquest for a better life and began looking for possible job transfers in other countries. I think it was a brave quest for freedom, hope and opportunities we did not have in Yugoslavia. Switzerland did not work out, but America did.
My mom's cousin and her family had just visited our home in Nis, and suggested my parents move with them to America, specifically Fort Wayne, IN. Friends my parents met vacationing in Serbia, also suggested my family move to America, but to Austin, TX. So the US seemed like the place to be. My dad packed up and moved, with the understanding that once he settled, he would bring my mom, my sister and I with him. This didn't happen.
The following year, after hearing that my dad was moving from Ft. Wayne and cousins' to Austin to accept a better job with the friend he had met back in YU, my mom sold all we had and bought plane tickets. She spoke to their new friend and my dad briefly, and without a word of English on her lips she left all she has ever known to follow her love. My sister and I were 6 and 11, and we landed in New York on a visa on February 16th, 1985. We had small suitcases of a few pieces of clothing, a toy a piece and a very short supply of personal items. Apparently my dad was not ready for us to come. The "paperwork" was not finished.
I remember my first day in the US. I loved tasting Sprite for the first time on the airplane to Austin. I was amazed at the lights and billboards on the highways. I loved that Baskin Robbins' banana split on the way home from the airport! But all I knew to say in English was "hello"and "I love you." I have missed my dad and was happy my family was back together.
Now, as our life began in America, we had to undergo serious changes. We slept on a futon in a South Austin duplex and all of our furniture was hand me downs. Coming from a place where I thought I could have anything I wanted and so much love and support around me to feeling like we were poor and underprivileged in so many ways was hard. As a small kid, I just wanted my family back the way it was and where it was. But I knew that America was our home now and I had better act American and impress my family and the people I met. It's like I could not be myself anymore because I was scared of rejection. It was as if I started life all over again and I got (or had to be) to be someone different to appease society.
My clothes obviously were nowhere near the designer type - actually most were handmade by my mother. My hair was short and I wore no makeup. I did not fit in in a lot more ways than one and I wished I was someone else. I wished I was blonde and blue-eyed - even as my sister who has light brown hair and green eyes - and I wished I was born here in the States. I wished I had "normal" clothes, a house in the suburban neighborhoods, and my grandparents and extended family and cousins around. I wished my parents did not have accents and did not drive that ugly brown Gremlin. I did not want to be set apart then, I just wanted to blend in.
My dad quickly plugged me into the local elementary school, where I learned English using a curriculum for Spanish-speaking students who also did not know the language. Somehow, it worked and I adjusted quickly. It was so hard for me to hang out with kids and have no idea what they were talking about though. When they laughed and looked my way I almost always thought they were making fun of me, but pretended they were not. Sometimes I understood this, when they pointed to my hairy legs, lips, and arm pits, or at my mismatched "I just stepped off the boat" clothes. I knew who I wanted as my friends, but instead felt as an afterthought, and an outsider. I certainly felt like I did not belong. Even the Hispanic kids had each other to mingle with and talk to. I was the only Yug. But there was always someone who genuinely liked me as a friend no matter the barriers. In my first elementary school it was a girl name Rhoda. She had a great big heart and tried to teach me about the ways of America. She showed me some Southern hospitality and I am very thankful for her.
It was also a time of the United States' rivalry with the Soviet Union, and I often got grouped into to whole communist ordeal. Yugoslavia was indeed a Communist country then, which had a great deal to do with why my dad wanted to leave. But as young as I was and so not in tune with the the news of the world, I became scared to admit I was from Yugoslavia because I didn't want anyone to think I was a communist. From what I learned about it, it wasn't good. Kids and adults alike would try to engage into conversations with me about politics, at which I tried my best to lie my way out. I honestly did not care about any of that - I just wanted to belong and be a kid. I wanted friends. I wanted a place to call home. I wanted my family to be happy. I wanted what my friends seem to have - security.
I began to understand a little about the immigration procedures then. As far as I knew, you had to undergo a process to become a citizen. So I lied to people and told them I was one. That's because they always asked. They asked a lot. And I wanted them to like me and I didn't want to feel the shame which so sneakingly began to overtake me. Shame for not being an American. I felt ashamed for being a foreigner. For the first time I felt like an alien, and this title became what the US government would call me for the next 26 years. An alien, with a long number after it.
The more I tried to hide who I was and my identity, the more people became interested. I got so tired of explaining why we moved here, and why I was here still, and if I had my green card or not, to people who did not even know me. Why did they care so much? I made up stories most of the time to get people to back off and change the subject. My usual was that "my dad came searching for work and a better life for us (which he did) and he got his Green Card and citizenship and then brought us over". Which he did not, but I believed that. I wanted to know that was true. What was this citizenship business anyway, and why was it happening to me? What did I do to deserve this humiliation I did not understand anything about? Why didn't we just stay in Yugoslavia like so many people so rudely suggested as they would tell us to just "go back home?" If I did not think about it, maybe it would all just go away.
What I had come to believe was that we were unwanted here. There were people who could come and apply to stay legally and be granted this privilege, but then there were those of us who were told to leave and were not welcomed here. It's like showing up to a party with some friends and the host asks a few to come in, enjoy and have fun, but tells you and another to get lost. In your mind you're thinking stuff like: "I'm never coming to another party again; I should have worn something else; I should have helped him with that homework; I'm so embarrassed; I'll never live this down." So much shame and rejection was placed on us, but it was only the beginning. My dad had filed for an extension of our visas but it was denied. He kept petitioning for an extended stay, permanent residency and all of that, but this process does not come together and work easily for everyone alike. We were denied and asked to leave. But my dad wanted to stay and fight, because he did not want to go back to our old life. This is the Land of Opportunity, where people come to find the American Dream. As unreal and far fetched this dream seemed to our family, we knew this was our home and we wanted to stay. To go back on what my dad set out to do would be total failure to the eyes of everyone in his family and his friends back in Nis. I don't think "to fail" was part of his vocabulary.
I was born in a small town of Nis, in the state of Serbia, Yugoslavia, on the family holiday of St. John the Baptist along with the first snow of the year. Instead of being named Jovanka or Joanna, to go with the religious flow, for some reason my dad named me Olivera. The meaning in Serbian is symbol of peace; derived from the olive tree and considered an emblem of beauty, prosperity and religious privilege. I am holding on to that :) That was a blessing in disguise, since I hated my name throughout my childhood.
As a young child in Yugoslavia, I thought I had everything I needed and could ever want. My parents worked, but we lived with my grandparents, so I always had family around. I enjoyed my family, friends, and many travels. My aunt was my favorite because she always took my side instead of my sister's. I loved playing outdoors in the summer until past dark. I loved the smell of newly watered gardens, and picking apples, cherries and apricots off our trees. I loved listening to music with my dad, especially rock, and English beats like the Beatles. I mean, if "All you need is love, love is all you need." Although my parents fought, they always seemed to get along when it counted. I played pranks on my sister and she played my parents to get me in trouble. All the men in my life drank heavily and smoked but I was their favorite and I loved the attention. I went to school with good friends, and started to learn the German language in 5th grade.
It was in the early 80's that my dad became bent on a conquest for a better life and began looking for possible job transfers in other countries. I think it was a brave quest for freedom, hope and opportunities we did not have in Yugoslavia. Switzerland did not work out, but America did.
My mom's cousin and her family had just visited our home in Nis, and suggested my parents move with them to America, specifically Fort Wayne, IN. Friends my parents met vacationing in Serbia, also suggested my family move to America, but to Austin, TX. So the US seemed like the place to be. My dad packed up and moved, with the understanding that once he settled, he would bring my mom, my sister and I with him. This didn't happen.
The following year, after hearing that my dad was moving from Ft. Wayne and cousins' to Austin to accept a better job with the friend he had met back in YU, my mom sold all we had and bought plane tickets. She spoke to their new friend and my dad briefly, and without a word of English on her lips she left all she has ever known to follow her love. My sister and I were 6 and 11, and we landed in New York on a visa on February 16th, 1985. We had small suitcases of a few pieces of clothing, a toy a piece and a very short supply of personal items. Apparently my dad was not ready for us to come. The "paperwork" was not finished.
I remember my first day in the US. I loved tasting Sprite for the first time on the airplane to Austin. I was amazed at the lights and billboards on the highways. I loved that Baskin Robbins' banana split on the way home from the airport! But all I knew to say in English was "hello"and "I love you." I have missed my dad and was happy my family was back together.
Now, as our life began in America, we had to undergo serious changes. We slept on a futon in a South Austin duplex and all of our furniture was hand me downs. Coming from a place where I thought I could have anything I wanted and so much love and support around me to feeling like we were poor and underprivileged in so many ways was hard. As a small kid, I just wanted my family back the way it was and where it was. But I knew that America was our home now and I had better act American and impress my family and the people I met. It's like I could not be myself anymore because I was scared of rejection. It was as if I started life all over again and I got (or had to be) to be someone different to appease society.
My clothes obviously were nowhere near the designer type - actually most were handmade by my mother. My hair was short and I wore no makeup. I did not fit in in a lot more ways than one and I wished I was someone else. I wished I was blonde and blue-eyed - even as my sister who has light brown hair and green eyes - and I wished I was born here in the States. I wished I had "normal" clothes, a house in the suburban neighborhoods, and my grandparents and extended family and cousins around. I wished my parents did not have accents and did not drive that ugly brown Gremlin. I did not want to be set apart then, I just wanted to blend in.
My dad quickly plugged me into the local elementary school, where I learned English using a curriculum for Spanish-speaking students who also did not know the language. Somehow, it worked and I adjusted quickly. It was so hard for me to hang out with kids and have no idea what they were talking about though. When they laughed and looked my way I almost always thought they were making fun of me, but pretended they were not. Sometimes I understood this, when they pointed to my hairy legs, lips, and arm pits, or at my mismatched "I just stepped off the boat" clothes. I knew who I wanted as my friends, but instead felt as an afterthought, and an outsider. I certainly felt like I did not belong. Even the Hispanic kids had each other to mingle with and talk to. I was the only Yug. But there was always someone who genuinely liked me as a friend no matter the barriers. In my first elementary school it was a girl name Rhoda. She had a great big heart and tried to teach me about the ways of America. She showed me some Southern hospitality and I am very thankful for her.
It was also a time of the United States' rivalry with the Soviet Union, and I often got grouped into to whole communist ordeal. Yugoslavia was indeed a Communist country then, which had a great deal to do with why my dad wanted to leave. But as young as I was and so not in tune with the the news of the world, I became scared to admit I was from Yugoslavia because I didn't want anyone to think I was a communist. From what I learned about it, it wasn't good. Kids and adults alike would try to engage into conversations with me about politics, at which I tried my best to lie my way out. I honestly did not care about any of that - I just wanted to belong and be a kid. I wanted friends. I wanted a place to call home. I wanted my family to be happy. I wanted what my friends seem to have - security.
I began to understand a little about the immigration procedures then. As far as I knew, you had to undergo a process to become a citizen. So I lied to people and told them I was one. That's because they always asked. They asked a lot. And I wanted them to like me and I didn't want to feel the shame which so sneakingly began to overtake me. Shame for not being an American. I felt ashamed for being a foreigner. For the first time I felt like an alien, and this title became what the US government would call me for the next 26 years. An alien, with a long number after it.
The more I tried to hide who I was and my identity, the more people became interested. I got so tired of explaining why we moved here, and why I was here still, and if I had my green card or not, to people who did not even know me. Why did they care so much? I made up stories most of the time to get people to back off and change the subject. My usual was that "my dad came searching for work and a better life for us (which he did) and he got his Green Card and citizenship and then brought us over". Which he did not, but I believed that. I wanted to know that was true. What was this citizenship business anyway, and why was it happening to me? What did I do to deserve this humiliation I did not understand anything about? Why didn't we just stay in Yugoslavia like so many people so rudely suggested as they would tell us to just "go back home?" If I did not think about it, maybe it would all just go away.
What I had come to believe was that we were unwanted here. There were people who could come and apply to stay legally and be granted this privilege, but then there were those of us who were told to leave and were not welcomed here. It's like showing up to a party with some friends and the host asks a few to come in, enjoy and have fun, but tells you and another to get lost. In your mind you're thinking stuff like: "I'm never coming to another party again; I should have worn something else; I should have helped him with that homework; I'm so embarrassed; I'll never live this down." So much shame and rejection was placed on us, but it was only the beginning. My dad had filed for an extension of our visas but it was denied. He kept petitioning for an extended stay, permanent residency and all of that, but this process does not come together and work easily for everyone alike. We were denied and asked to leave. But my dad wanted to stay and fight, because he did not want to go back to our old life. This is the Land of Opportunity, where people come to find the American Dream. As unreal and far fetched this dream seemed to our family, we knew this was our home and we wanted to stay. To go back on what my dad set out to do would be total failure to the eyes of everyone in his family and his friends back in Nis. I don't think "to fail" was part of his vocabulary.
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