Legal as a Child, Undocumented as an Adult (Part II)

This is Part II of Veronica's story. Read .

In the winter of 2001, an immigration judge uttered the word “denied” to Veronica's family's last appeal for political asylum in the U.S.

The family of five had lived in the United States for more than a dozen years. Veronica had been through elementary school, junior high and high school in the East Bay. She was in her first year at Cal State East Bay.

The family packed their things and returned to Panama. But Veronica’s father had established himself as a valuable asset at the company where he worked, and he submitted a request for a work visa.

After a month, the request was granted and the family once again returned to the East Bay — all except Veronica's oldest sibling who, at 21, was no longer eligible to return as a dependent.

Back in the United States, Veronica went back to college. Life resumed.

Although her parents did not know it, Veronica had a girlfriend. She had been exploring her sexuality for awhile, noticing women in high school, but afraid to look. By college, she knew she was completely drawn to them.

“Yes it was scary at first, but I didn’t think less of myself or really judge myself,” says Veronica. Still, she hid her sexuality from her parents, unsure of their reaction and afraid of their judgment.

Over the next four years, while she was still in school but no longer eligible to be her father's dependent, Veronica returned to Panama twice, the first time to obtain a student visa and the second time to extend it.

Yet she did not have a long-term solution for obtaining legal status on her own. She found the situation daunting and the complexity overwhelming. She remembers going up the student office for foreign students to get help and advice, and then walking away, lacking the will and heart to face her situation head on.

For Veronica, whose entire world was her life in the United States, the idea of being barred from living in the only country she knew was unbearable. Her feelings were made more muddled by the incomplete process of coming out. Her friends knew, but her parents did not.

At school, she floundered. She withdrew from classes, dragging out school so she could retain her student status, an attempt to avoid what, at times, felt inevitable: losing her legal status and having to return to Panama for good.

“I was rebelling and freaking out,” Veronica said.

Everything felt murky. She was doubtful about how long she could keep extending school, especially with her failing grades, and about what the future held for her. She also suspected her mom knew about a new girlfriend — and she felt unable to commit, not wanting to bring someone else into the uncertainty of her residency.

“I felt guilty for having someone else be in this situation,” said Veronica, “In a situation that causes pain and is out of my control.”

She spent less and less time at home, sleeping over at friends’ houses. Finally, frustrated by her behavior, Veronica's parents insisted that she do her school work and comply with a curfew.

“I followed through for maybe two weeks and then I left,” said Veronica, who was then 23. “I left with three pairs of underwear, some socks, a T-shirt, some basketball shorts and that was it.”

“I walked away from school and I walked away from my parents,” she said. For a couple of years Veronica lived at friend's homes, struggling.

To explain her departure, Veronica wrote her parents a letter.

In four single-spaced pages, she poured her heart out. She told them she had been in a relationship with a woman for more than a year. She told them it wasn’t just a phase she was going through. She told them that the uncertainty of her status, and wrestling with what they would think of her sexual identity, was more than she could bear dealing with under the same roof.

“I wanted them to have something in front of them so that I wouldn’t forget to say something or that I wouldn’t forget to explain something,” said Veronica, holding out her hands over an invisible letter.

For the next six months, her mom would send her a text every day, with the same message: "Come home."

“I never responded because I wasn’t ready,” said Veronica. “I needed that time to feel strong enough to stand there as who I was, the whole me, and not need their approval.”

In an Alameda cafe years later, Veronica pauses. Tears roll down her cheeks. It’s painfully complicated, still.

Veronica stayed with friends during that time. She didn’t finish college. The hopelessness she felt about her legal situation the challenge of coming out caught up with her and made her stagnant.

She let the days pass her by. The school semester came to an end and soon after, her student visa expired. After a lifetime lived in the United States, she was 23 and undocumented.

This is Part II of Veronica's story. Read Part I, about her family's move to the United States, .  is about her legal options. Look for Part IV on Friday.