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."
Showing posts with label divorce. Show all posts
Showing posts with label divorce. Show all posts
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.
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.
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