From Shadows to Light

The indomitable spirit of resilience amid the storm of adversity

This week’s essay is written by Hedgiee.

From the very moment I left mi familia, mis cuates, mi pueblo, and my homeland, as a young person, an unshakable sense of displacement has clung to me like a solitary rock beside the road. I felt as fragile as a dandelion amidst the icy expanse of a Minnesota winter. Arriving into this country was like a first day at church, a desire to belong was present, but I was uncertain where to find my place amidst the pews. The word ‘Inadequacy’ feels inadequate to capture the enormity of my struggle to find my place in a country that often appears hostile and unwelcoming.

My new life cycle in the U.S. feels like drowning: counting coins to pay rent, pay bills, and send some centavos to help la familia. Living in survival mode is expensive, the needs are vast and money runs thin all the time. I had two jobs simultaneously, a demanding feat that required immense physical and mental resilience. Sacrificing sleep and enduring grueling hours on my feet, became the norm as I pursued a better life for me and la familia.

Once here, I found myself at the mercy of temporary job agencies. There are organizations that take advantage of vulnerable newcomers like me, individuals trying to secure work without proper documentation. I became one of the countless individuals trapped in this exploitative system, where my dreams and aspirations were overshadowed by the constant fear of being discovered and facing the consequences of my undocumented status.

Tipping toeing in my surroundings was exhausting, my resilience and determination was tested and I was not prepared for that. Despite these struggles, Abuela raised no pendejo. I was driven by hope for a brighter future and the desire to create a life where I could finally belong, unburdened by the weight of being an outsider in a strange country.

Lessons from the Golden Arches

Aunque everything was not sunshines and rainbows, I found employment at the golden arches, which, despite feeling like I was working for free based on the low hourly wage, offered a semblance of stability in mi vida loca. My limited non-English skills became my main challenge, as I struggled to communicate effectively. However, this job became a pivotal chapter in my life.

One day like no other, I was unexpectedly transferred from the kitchen to the front, tasked with managing the cash register and taking food orders. It seemed like a stroke of luck at first, but it quickly turned into a nightmare. My lack of training became evident when I made a significant error on an order, leading to a furious customer. My proficiency in English left me unable to explain my mistake. The customer was mad loco, telling me “yo momma is so....” It felt as if they had peered into my very soul that day, their words cutting deep like cutting onions pa’l pozole. This experience “me prendió la mecha” like people say back home. I was determined to overcome my language limitations and prove that I was worthy of respect. 

Shit! Not me being brown Crisoforo Columbus trying to conquer a colonizer language.

I purchased a dictionary and made a pact with myself: no obstacle, especially no language barrier, would impede my ability to take back our Abya Yala territory and assert my presence. My relentless determination caught everyone around me off guard; they were not ready for me. “No habla English” became my all-consuming mission, a goal I pursued no matter the cost.

I wasn’t about getting a Phd in the English language; it symbolized my determination to bridge cultural barriers and connect with others on a deeper level to create friendships and community. I poured my soul and my apachurrado corazon into this goal, feeling ashamed of my accent and lost in the immensity of this language for the sake of fluency. Every wrong sentence spoken fueled my ganas de hacerlo mejor, driving me to push past obstacles and embrace the challenges head-on. “Caminante no hay camino, se hace camino al andar” I transformed my lack of English from a barrier to a gateway, opening doors to new opportunities and enriching experiences. 

That dictionary became my homie, helping me translate and understand the language that surrounded me. Each encounter with written words prompted me to reach for my knowledgeable amigo, absorbing the meanings and nuances of the language. It was not easy, of course. My co-workers, supervisors and managers grew weary of my endless questions about language and sentence structures. Undeterred, I eventually enrolled in high school, marking a new chapter in my life.

Navigating the Labyrinth of Assimilation

Assimilating into a new culture was a daunting process– ‘Póngase me chingon y vivo, vivo Hijoo, chingaos’, the words of Abuelo that lifted me up as I tried to solve the puzzle of high school life. Words that transformed me from a hesitant outsider to a confident individual who could navigate the complexities of this new place, this new culture, todo el papayal.

Yet, I found myself hiding in the shadows, concealing my immigration status to avoid deportation. Living in the shadows forced me to confront the challenge of assimilation, a slow, insidious force that eroded my native Ñuu I’ni aka Mixteco heritage. I became calladito, just observing and going alone with people telling me what to do. I even started rejecting my origins. I became them and deleted parts of myself to feel included. 

The burden of assimilation was particularly evident within my own community, where I was called pocho, intensifying my internal turmoil.

La migra was always in the back of my mind, slowly calculating every step of the way, to keep existing, to keep surviving for Abuela and my siblings back home. Navigating this labyrinth of assimilation became a battle not just for survival, but for the preservation of my tonal (the totality of oneself) and heritage. The monster of assimilation, though formidable, could not extinguish the flicker of resilience within me. Yet, the shadows that loomed over me and the pressures to assimilate, I refused to let go of my identity and honor my roots, for they are the essence of who I am. 

As I walked into my advisor's office and expressed my eagerness to go to college, she decided to squash my dreams like cucarachas, telling me that students like me can’t go to college due to the lack of documentation. I carried a burning rage, driven by the need to prove others wrong. This was my first case, lol. I gradually prepared myself to challenge the prevailing idea of privilege and who was considered deserving of an education. Seeking guidance and ways to prepare for college, I encountered numerous hurdles. Despite discouragement and doubt, I persisted, eventually earning my associate's degree and transferring to a university.

My journey is but one chapter in the story of 11 million undocumented immigrants, a narrative marked by unwavering perseverance, mentorship, and steadfast commitment to dismantle barriers. While it may seem that I have triumphed over this formidable uphill battle from an outsider’s perspective, countless others face constant barriers in every facet of their lives. This story is a testament to the indomitable spirit of resilience that exists within our immigrant communities.

I hold firm faith that my story will resonate with others, serving as an inspiration for them to persist and labor tirelessly towards uplifting and liberating our community. This journey is a testament to the strength of the human spirit, a reminder that no matter the obstacles, the fight for a better future is worth every step of the way. #HastaLaLucha

Propina

Just a book in the making 

If I was death,

I would spare all our loved ones a life until the goodbyes hugs never end.

If I was grief,

I would give your heart a moment to wipe your tears for the person you are missing.

If I was pain,

I would bring sacred medicine from undisturbed hills to cure your wounds.

If I was lost.

I would tell you to look at the brightest star to guide you home.

But I am just a book in the making, 

unedited writing, 

torn pages, 

a sloppy note that writes itself when it cries at night. 😔

For more work from Hedgiee, visit their Instagram or www.undocustories.com.

We’ll see you next week.