My Name is Marcos and I am Undocumented

by Dave Bennion

category: DREAM Act

Published May 15, 2009 @ 07:00AM PT

This week's guest Dreamer is Marcos.  Visit Ideas for Change to find out how you can help pass the DREAM Act.

I was brought here somewhere around the age of seven, and as many like me, had a lot of difficulty learning English. During second grade, my teacher did not speak Spanish and most of the times I would simply stare blankly at her and the chalkboard. My most vivid memory regarding this is an African American girl, who would help me with school work and attempted to explain the teacher's lecture to me. Sometimes she would get frustrated and throw her hands in the air and do my work. It's very comical now and deeply wish I could give her my gratitude for her patience.

During elementary school, I remember knowing that I was undocumented and so were other classmates. It was something we were aware of and sometimes talked about it, but it was very personal. At the age of eleven my parents divorced and I moved to Mexico with my mother. The transition was horrible, I went from being an A student to almost failing all of my classes. My father would call and would yell at me and tell me I did not love him, making me feel guilty over the whole thing.  After a while, I adapted and had extremely good grades again and improved my Spanish and math skills. My mother married again, but her husband was a drunk and attempted to hit me more than once, so I went to live with my grandfather at the age of 13. She left him only to get back together with him and move to Texas.  I enrolled in a decent preparatoria (High School), but due to my irresponsibility I got kicked out for bad grades and was stuck doing nothing at home. One night while falling asleep, I thought about my future and realized that it was not heading in a positive way. I wanted a good life, one where I could be happy and at peace.  So I called my father and told him I wanted to move to California with him and find a job, save money and build a home for myself in Mexico to return to.

Upon arrival, I found the woman who caused my parents' divorce married to my dad. It was horrible living with the person I most hated. So from there I went into the deepest and most horrible depression that can be imagined.  To explain it in words is practically impossible. It is like being engulfed and submerged into a different reality, where a disease overtakes the body and consumes all energy, dreams, motivation, self-esteem and even the physical body. The transition to learning English again was horrible and I did not do so well in school. Somehow my grades improved and had the opportunity to attend Santa Ana College. I graduated from California State University, Fullerton and majored in History. By then, not having any control of my life, fighting constantly with my father and mother and feeling completely empty and alone, I had attempted to commit suicide three times. First by slitting my wrist (very naïve), second with the same method but this time I did a lot of research on how to reach my artery and finally by attempting to poison myself with carbon monoxide. On all three occasions I either fell asleep or passed out during my attempt only to wake up the next morning knowing that I'm alive and must continue with my life. Sadly, this is something I have to live with, not only with the scars, but the psychological impact it has had on me. My way of thinking and perceiving the world is very different than most people's.

I did not attend my graduation for my B.A. since it had no meaning to me. What use is a Bachelor's degree to an illegal immigrant? My family made fun of me, saying that I killed myself over nothing and now was an educated illegal. Of course, they did not say it directly, but as is accustomed in my culture, you hear it from someone else. That most certainly had an impact, since I had very little support and had spent so many years working forty hours or more a week while juggling 12 units or more of school.

After graduation I applied for a master's degree at California Polytechnic State University, Pomona, where I'm finishing my first year. This whole time I have gone to school and worked full time in order to pay for my tuition and most of the times I don't have much spare money or time. Like many, I have not enjoyed many social activities and feel like I lost my teenage years and my 20s when I arrived at the age of fifteen.  I have somehow come to terms with it though. This is simply a small sacrifice not only so I can have a better life, but for my family as well. I want to be able to buy my future children the toys they want for Christmas and take my wife out to dinner on our anniversaries. I want to give them a house and a good environment. I also want to be able to provide financially for my parents when they can no longer work and aid my extended family in whatever way I can. Just as important, I want to be able to help my culture and my community to improve the situation of Latinos in this country. My youth in exchange for my future and the well being of my family. Not a bad trade off, just is a very painful one.

Over the years not having an outlet for my frustrations, pain and anger led me to read a lot of poetry and eventually attempt it myself. The following is just one that summarizes quite a bit of my feelings.

Mother Mother

The years have passed
under rain and sun,
with old and tattered rags
and stale dinner scraps,
yet I still wait at your door.

Upon your window sill
a sparrow solemnly speaks:
"Welcome to the Buddhist sanctuary
from the cyclical suffering.

These, my friend, are the twigs
of the nest
for the poor and the downtrodden.
Here your dreams are alive-
they are real."

But my tongue rolls like
a broken locomotive
and my skin reminds you of
an obscene vagrant.
It hurts your eyes, you say.
I am an outcast into a leper colony,
but look at the scars,
I am your suicidal poet,
The civil rights activist,
I am your revolutionary warrior.

Mother, Mother,
I am the poor,
I am the downtrodden,
Why then
Wont you open the door?