Coming to Terms with My Time in Line

In Portuguese, we have an expression that’s “Eu vou esperar sentada,” literally meaning one is going to sit down to wait for something or someone.

But the expression means to wait for something that you don’t really believe is going to happen.

This perfectly defines my relationship with waiting in line for a green card.

My family immigrated to the U.S. from Brazil when I was two years old, in 1988.

My mother and I were driven through Mexico illegally. My father, who had a tourist visa, was waiting for us on the other side. The idea was to stay for five years.

A few years later, my brother was born, in 1991.

We overstayed my dad’s visa. Now maybe we’d stay for another few years, until my brother learned English well enough.

My father, mother, and I got in line in 1995, through my father’s employer to apply for a green card. A golden opportunity had arisen.

We got out of line in 1999, when my father had a work accident, and his employer feared he’d be sued by my father. So he took us out of line, just in case.

But then we were grandfathered back into line, in 2002, when I was 16. My godfather, who was a citizen, applied for my father‘s green card as his employer.

That process was denied. My godfather’s business didn’t make enough money to sponsor us.

We were grandfathered back in through another employer of my father’s in 2005, when I was 20.

My parents received their green cards in 2011, when I was 25.

Today, I’m almost 30. And still in line.

But at one point, I escaped. I repatriated myself in 2008 and stepped out of line for a while.

I gave up on the line because my whole life, I had let a plastic card or stamp in my passport dictate what I could and couldn’t do.

First, it was that trip to Quebec in middle school I couldn’t attend, even though I was at the top of my French class at the time.

Then it was not being able to study abroad in Europe in high school or college, even though my high school would apply my scholarship to the exchange program.

Then it was not getting my driver’s license, and using my family’s limited financial capacity as an excuse for not having a car.

Then it was time to go off to college. I applied to 12 universities and was admitted to 10. One that denied me admission was a local state school — because I didn’t have a green card or student visa. Luckily, I was able to attend one. I was blessed with a full-tuition scholarship to a wonderful college (and parents who had saved up to cover my room and board). And so this, at least, I was able to do.

But then it came time to find an internship and help my parents out financially. I spent four years interning for non-profits or non-paid internships and working under the table, waiting tables for extra cash to help with books and college living.

I was offered jobs as an orientation counselor, at Teach for America, and at large multinationals — only to find out I wasn’t actually offered the job.

The question “Are you legally eligible to work in the United States?” still haunts me.

All because I didn’t have that little piece of plastic with my picture and a number on it. And the whole time, waiting in line. Because, the lawyer said, it would only be a couple more years. And so I waited.

After graduation and an eye opening non-paid internship at a think tank in Washington, DC, I decided to get out of line.

Leaped out of line, really. I got tired of waiting, tired of getting rejected when I knew I was fit to do the job, when I wanted to travel, when I wanted more.

And so I bought a one-way ticket to Brazil.

Since then, I’ve:

Visited 14 countries,

Held 3 full-time jobs,

Started 3 companies,

Received an MBA,

Got my drivers’ license,

Signed leases on apartments, got credit cards, and voted and decided not to vote!

And I never turned back to get in line.

Until a couple of years ago, that is.

In 2013, my parents applied for a green card for me, an I-130, a petition for an “alien” relative as a single adult child over 21.

And with that, I got back in line.

Because after not seeing my parents for four years, hearing about my mother’s knee-replacement surgery from afar, knowing my father’s working less than he used to, missing my brother’s high school graduation and his adulthood…

I can’t help but think that I’m not there to help. If anything happens to any of them, I can’t jump on the next flight to JFK from São Paulo. Because when I get there, I’ll be deported.

I also can’t attend the myriad conferences and meetings I’ve been invited to attend or to speak at, because the U.S. consulate wouldn’t grant me a business visa.

I can’t open a branch for my businesses in the U.S. because I don’t have the sort of money you need to do that sort of thing.

I haven’t attended any of my friends’ weddings (except for 2, held outside of the US), met my friends’ babies, and have had to deny countless invitations to be a bridesmaid or godmother. Because how would I participate in the wedding or the child’s life?

This is why I decided to get back in line.

But this time, it’s different.

This time, I’m not in line looking eagerly towards the entryway.

This time around, I’m in line, but looking elsewhere, idly in line, barely there.

I’m committed to my two businesses based in Brazil — not waiting around for work in the U.S.

I’m in a committed relationship, having just moved in with my partner — not waiting around, single, to be free to go back to the U.S.

I want to get a Masters’ degree — who knows, maybe in Europe? Maybe here in South America? I’m not waiting around for a green card to get financial aid at a U.S. university.

This time around, I’m not letting the line dictate my life.

When my turn comes, be it 25 or even 30 years after I first got in line, I’ll decide if the U.S. deserves me as a resident. Or not.

In the meantime, ‘eu vou esperar sentada’.