Diane Guerrero - My Family Divided: One Girls Journey of Home, Loss, and Hope

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For all the lonely hearts, know that you beat, and thats all that matters.

Deported. Long before I understood the meaning of that word, Id learned to dread it. It implied that one day, my loving, hardworking immigrant parents could be expelled from America and sent back to Colombia. Month after month, year after year, they strived to become American citizens. They pleaded, planned, and prayed. Their dream was to stay with me, here in the country we love.

My story is far from uniquein fact, its heartbreakingly common. There are more than eleven million undocumented immigrants in America, according to US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Often, they are fleeing the violence, poverty, and starvation that plague their home countries. America is a promised land, they hope, that will provide them with safety and solace.

For immigrants without legal documentation, the risk of being deported looms. It threatens to tear them away from their communities, their families, andas in my familytheir children. Some of the children who are left behind are placed in state care or foster families; many others are left on their own, like I was. After my parents were snatched away, no cop or government official checked up on me. No one seemed to careor even noticethat I was alone.

Documented, detained, deported. These are things I never really understood as a kidthings that were rarely talked about. So, I wanted to give you the simplest way I can explain what these words mean. Here goes What exactly do these words mean, and how do they work? Well, in order to live in this country legally, individuals need documentssuch as birth certificates, visas, or green cardsthat prove they were either born here or have government approval to stay. Some immigrants receive temporary visas, allowing them to live in the country for a set number of months or years. Other immigrants are granted residency, allowing them to work and live here legally. And still others are granted citizenship, which gives them the additional privileges of voting, serving on juries, and running for political office.

ICE is the government wing that enforces these laws. Their job is to arrest and detain (or, imprison) the people who have been living in the country without such documentation. Once an undocumented person is detained, a judge determines whether they will be deported and sent back to their homeland. The fear of this happening to my family shook us all to our cores. Anything, from the whir of a police siren down the block to the simple ring of our doorbell, was enough to make us panic. Who was there, and were they coming to take us away?

While were at it, lets address some other vocab: I cringe every time I hear the phrase illegal immigrant or illegal alien . Since the only difference between immigrants and citizens is paperwork, undocumented makes more sense. Its also more respectful; no one is illegal in this worldwe are all humans!

I wish I had understood these things at the time. It would have helped a lot. Honestly, if youre reading this book, youre already miles ahead of most of the people in this country who do not understand the immigration system and dont want to learn about it, because it seemingly doesnt affect them. Believe me, it affects all of us. It affects how safe we feel, the food we eat, and our friends and neighbors. Growing up, I kept my story a secret, and many of my friends and classmates had no idea what I was going through until my first book was published.

Talking about what happened to my family is difficult after years trying to hide it. So why open up now, nearly twenty years later? Because growing up, I felt like the only kid whod ever dealt with having the people I loved most in the world snatched away from me. It wouldve meant everything to know that someone, somewhere, had survived what I was going through. For the thousands of nameless kids and teenagers who feel forgotten like I didthis memoir is for you. Its as much for your healing as it is for my own. In my neighborhood growing up, the sense of community between Latin American immigrants was strong. I want that community to reach across the whole countrystanding together for what is right.

The forty-fifth presidents administration is not making life easy for immigrant people. No, in fact, the administration is going out of its way to make it as difficult as possible, with a plan to increase border security, build a wall, and threaten innocent individuals and families with deportation.

Luckily, many, many people disagree with that dude in the White House. Immigrants, citizens, and activists alike petition for a path to citizenship for the millions of undocumented people who live among us and contribute to Americas culture and economy. We have support. And knowing that we are fighting on the right side gives us hope. We can learn how to protect ourselves, know our rights (yes, we allyou includedhave rights!), educate others, and fight strong and hard together.

Behind every one of the headlines on deportation there is a family. Parents. Innocent children. True stories that are rarely told. At last, Ive found the courage to tell you mine.

To the left is my fathers little apple ( manzanita ). My parents said I looked like a little apple when I was born. To the right is Diana, the nurse who helped deliver me.

Strike a pose!

Real fresh as a freshman in high school

I was just getting out of my Boyz II Men rehearsal.

That bright spring day started off like any other. I know because Ive replayed it in my head hundreds and hundreds of times, trying to make sense of it. Trying to piece together what happened.

Diane, come eat your breakfast, came my mothers voice from the kitchen.

I was shoving books in my bag, hustling to get out the door. I gotta go! I yelled back, becauselets face itI had tude.

Youve got another second, she said, following me down the hall. You need to eat something.

No, I dont have another second, I groaned. Why do you always do this to me? If there was one thing I disliked, it was being late. Especially when I was heading to a school I loved: the Boston Arts Academy (BAA). Before Mami could say another word or even hug me good-bye slam! I was out the door and off to class.

It was nice out, around seventy degrees. After a frosty winter, the weather was improvingand so, it seemed, was my familys luck. The day before, against all odds, my dad had a winning Powerball ticket. A few thousand bucksand for us, it was the jackpot. On top of that, the love was flowing again in our house. Our family bonds felt close. A sign, perhaps, that better times were coming.