Even when I was younger I remember hearing about how America was the place to be, the place where dreams came true and where it would be much easier for me to succeed and be happier. Everyone around me made it seem like it was the ideal and the most magical place to live.
I was barely 7 when I was told that I had to leave my home and travel to the U.S. My parents had been wanting to get a grasp of passports and visas for such a long time now, but when they actually did, they grew quiet.
No longer were they stressing about how they needed to get their documents approved or how they needed to fill sheet or other documents.
My mom said that my dad would catch up to us later in a few weeks and that it would all be okay. I was really close with my dad and I was at least glad that we would only be separated for a couple days. My dad cried a lot the night we left.
I had never seen my dad shed that many tears and I couldn’t understand why, but just the sight of him made me cry as well. Little did I know, I wouldn’t see my dad in very long time, more than 6 years to be exact.
We arrived at VA very late at night that day. I don’t remember very much, except that I fell right asleep when we got to my uncle’s car.
My mom spent the following weeks looking for a job while I stayed home with my 2 other cousins, aunt, sister and grandma. We all shared two mattresses (for the exception of my grandma) and 2 other couches in a living room.
When my mom finally got a job, she began to save up some money so we could get out of the place we were currently staying in. We lived in bad conditions for about 6 months till we rented an apartment with 2 rooms. My mom still couldn’t pay for more than one room so we had to rent the other one to my aunt. I still had to share a bed with two more people, but at least we didn’t sleep so close to the floor like last time.
The time was moving slow and I was growing too impatient. I waited for weeks, month and years to see my dad. By the time 4 years had passed, I had already lost most of my hope.
One of my uncle’s asked my dad to cross the border with him because he also had some family here. After having have saved up enough money for the trip, my dad accepted my uncle’s offer.
They’ve hid, hitchhiked, suffered through heat, stole food, rode buses for hours on end and in some cases they had to sleep on the ground.
Unfortunately, they got caught by the police mid way through Costa Rica. They were incarcerated for a few days till they were sent back home.
A few months later, my uncle asked my dad if they could try one more time, my dad declined. He had lost all his money just trying to cross through the border and he didn’t have the energy.
Surprisingly enough, my uncle somehow made it. It had taken him a few months for him to cross but he did. He had a few minor injuries and back pain, but it was nothing he said he couldn’t handle.
We were coming home one from school one day with my cousins. My cousin immediately ran up to him and hugged him.
And while I was happy that he had been reunited with his family, I wish mine could have done the same.
My dad regretted not attempting to cross the border with my uncle the second time, but I didn’t blame him. I was just upset that I couldn’t see my dad whenever I wanted.
I couldn’t spend time with him, see him real-life or even touch him. I was very young and I couldn’t get my head around that I basically had no father while other kids did. I was mad at how the system worked and how it deprived me of my dad.
It was understandable that I had lost all hope after all the waiting. I no longer asked my mom when my dad would come or what we were going to do to get him here.
My dad wouldn’t come for another 2 more years on a late august afternoon, 2012. My mom had kept it a surprise after finding out that he had finally gotten his visa. He walked in the room like a stranger, but when I saw him I couldn’t help but run up to him and embrace him in my arms.