And the day arrived for our interview - December 3, 2011. It's been a while since the public rush to "Keep Oli and Jelena in the US," and it has been quiet. We went on about our business, left our home on the market (but it did not sell - so we're still here) and planned to get the girls back in public school. I think I just had enough of business, and needed rest. But, we prepared for this day for many years it seemed, and it was finally here.
We put together a binder of all documents needed, photos, letters many wrote on our behalf, copies of bills, tax records, and many other things necessary. Our lawyer and his son showed up, along with the news teams to show evidence of our approval. We went into the Immigration Office in Irving, TX and after a short interview we were granted permission to live here for ten years with our permanent residency, with hope to apply for citizenship in three years!!!!! It was nerve-wrecking at first, (I think my sister bit all of her nails and hair ends off) but it was awesome to spend the day with our husbands and our lawyer who worked so hard on our behalf.
The news media team captured the momentous time as we left the immigration building with the kids and lawyers beside us. I felt like the NASA team in the movie "Armageddon" coming off the shuttle. On a much smaller scale, I know, but to me it meant the world. I could not believe it was finally over, and honestly I still cannot get past the idea. Since the decision from the San Antonio official that removed us from the deportation preceding, the extreme push to make our case known significantly slowed down, and especially so after the decision in Virginia that approved our motion to reopen our case. When we for approved for green cards in December, our family and friends were sure it was a done deal and it was certainly no longer a what if - but no way any other way!
We celebrated this day and let our friends know of the great news which we could not wait to get out! The funny thing was, that our actual "green" cards, much like a drivers license card but indeed green, arrived in the mail like a credit card, in a plain white envelope. The amazing thing was that our green card arrived in the mail on Christmas Eve. It was a long awaited and anticipated present. I thank the LORD for the journey, the favor, and the many friends along the way. Although hard and extremely trying in so many ways, He gave us strength to persevere, and hope for good. I know I cannot explain all that went on personally between Best Friend and me, but all that matters is that we know. We both know Who was in charge beyond doubt. We both know He has good plans for us. We alone know the intimate conversations, prayers, and confessions throughout it all. It was a cleansing period, but a time of growth. Merry Merry Christmas to us!!!
Showing posts with label green card. Show all posts
Showing posts with label green card. Show all posts
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Waiting on Board
I sit here and try to remember all the details again - but it seems so strange to me. I remember that once we saw the tide turn and things looking more hopeful, we gave ourselves time to be still and reminisce. I was so amazed by the support, I cannot express it enough. The money raised through the Paypal account my sister started helped pay the bills during this time so we didn't have to worry. Our friends Joe and Melissa gave us money to pay our mortgage so we don't lose our home in the midst of all this. People donated for a garage sale and our friends even ran it. The money helped us stay afloat during these months and I began looking at reorganizing my life and starting all over. Dan continued his job as a detention officer at the jail, and I began thinking about putting the kids back in school and stopping home-school. It was truly a new beginning for our family.
There were some hang-ups during this time, a lot of odds and end paperwork we had to fill out, a lot of processing and looking for lost documents, deadlines and rushing to comply with it all. The time in the midst waiting for the Board of Immigration Appeals in Virginia was nerve-wrecking! We tried living the best we knew how, had out home ready to sell, and packed up our belongings just in case. There was no national coverage to my knowledge at the time, so we just prayed daily that our case would be approved and we would get a chance to reopen our case. If this happened, our lawyer would apply on our behalf as he did with our mom, and as it has been done with many foreigners, and we would fill out the needed paperwork and go through the necessary procedures and get our green cards. If Virginia denied our case again, as they have done in the past when my dad applied for our family, then we would not be able to apply for permanent residency, and would be in the same boat, probably having to go back to Serbia and wait up to or at least ten years (not sure which one because we have gotten both answers ) before we can return and try again. We were open to this by now, and knew whatever happened, it would be for our best. It was pretty scary to think about moving our entire family across the seas as my parents did, only to a place far less advanced, and without any plans.
We were told that it takes at least three months for the Board of Appeals to look at our case and decide our fate. We were told that it also depends in whose hands our case falls, and what kind of day they're having as well as their personal take on our background and case. It sounded like a gamble, but we put our trust in the LORD. Just like everything else worked out in our favor regardless of what we were told, so did this: only about a month after our case was sent to Virginia, we received the great news that they approved our appeal to reopen our case! It didn't take at least three months, and we had no complications! It was amazing and we were beyond thrilled!
There were some hang-ups during this time, a lot of odds and end paperwork we had to fill out, a lot of processing and looking for lost documents, deadlines and rushing to comply with it all. The time in the midst waiting for the Board of Immigration Appeals in Virginia was nerve-wrecking! We tried living the best we knew how, had out home ready to sell, and packed up our belongings just in case. There was no national coverage to my knowledge at the time, so we just prayed daily that our case would be approved and we would get a chance to reopen our case. If this happened, our lawyer would apply on our behalf as he did with our mom, and as it has been done with many foreigners, and we would fill out the needed paperwork and go through the necessary procedures and get our green cards. If Virginia denied our case again, as they have done in the past when my dad applied for our family, then we would not be able to apply for permanent residency, and would be in the same boat, probably having to go back to Serbia and wait up to or at least ten years (not sure which one because we have gotten both answers ) before we can return and try again. We were open to this by now, and knew whatever happened, it would be for our best. It was pretty scary to think about moving our entire family across the seas as my parents did, only to a place far less advanced, and without any plans.
We were told that it takes at least three months for the Board of Appeals to look at our case and decide our fate. We were told that it also depends in whose hands our case falls, and what kind of day they're having as well as their personal take on our background and case. It sounded like a gamble, but we put our trust in the LORD. Just like everything else worked out in our favor regardless of what we were told, so did this: only about a month after our case was sent to Virginia, we received the great news that they approved our appeal to reopen our case! It didn't take at least three months, and we had no complications! It was amazing and we were beyond thrilled!
We met with ICE following the news, and the officer said
he has NEVER seen the BIA in VA totally dismiss and close a case without having
to go through additional trials. He was shocked - I said God is for us! Our
case with the monitoring agency was closed. No more trips to check in and no more
phone calls. No more trips to the ICE office. Now we only work with our lawyer
and get all of our paperwork checked off and turned in! This is the news we
have been waiting to hear and our family was so happy! My mom said, "Of
course you stay, what - you think you be going back to Serbia - no way!"
We laugh and take a load off, but most of all relief was the word.
We had a few more hiccups because our tax returns from the prior year did not fit the recommended bracket because Dan had lost his job, and his new one did not provide sufficient funds. George and mom pledged as guardians over me and we filled out more paperwork and it looked like all was set up for our final interview!
I believe the news did some follow up stories and once again, we are beyond thankful for all of their support and help because they played a super significant role in changing the direction our case was headed. We are forever thankful for all of our family, friends, coworkers, supporters across the globe, and the media who helped us! We love you all and owe you never-ending gratitude!
Monday, March 28, 2011
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.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
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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