Biometrics Are IN!

November 27, 2012

BOOYAH!

They are in!

My fuckin’ FABULOUS finger prints are in! My hand prints, finger prints and a picture of my geeky face in a blue long-sleeve, corduroy, polo-style shirt have been submitted into the gubernatorial vortex.

WHEW! It. Is. Done.

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I haven’t been updating much on the immigration situation because my focus was on getting stable enough to function and get all the paperwork in. In case you’re new and are just now reading, I am an immigrant, an undocumented immigrant to say the very least. I’ve lived in Texas since I was five years old, roughly twenty-two years, but who’s counting right? *cough*

Back in June, President Obama made a sly move to get a head start in the 2012 elections–he signed an executive order for DACA (deferred action for childhood arrivals) meaning that, a) undocumented aka “illegal” immigrants who came to the U.S. prior to the age of sixteen would be deferred/protected by law from deportation proceedings and, b) they would, by discretionary case, receive a work permit so they (I) can work legally in the United States.

I currently cannot work “legally”. It is a difficult situation to be in as I mentioned in my posts “P Is in SHOCK! UTTER FUCKIN’ SHOCK!” and “P Is in SHOCK! UTTER FUCKIN’ SHOCK! …. But then remembers…”

Most of my friends and acquaintances who are in the same boat either work as waiters, house keepers (like my mother did), janitors (like my father did), construction or farm worker etc.–all jobs I cannot do in a wheelchair. My only options, out of desperation, were to try and freelance. But being mental and having severe anxiety on top of transportation issues makes freelancing extremely difficult. Besides, I needed more discipline.

Since I graduated college in May of 2011, my freelance jobs have added to nearly nothing. I tried websites like e-lance and all this other shit I can’t remember. I spend hours on those sites, touching up my resumé, putting up samples of my work, only to find that at the end of the process, I was always asked for a Social Security number which I obviously do not have.

It became another brick added to the weight of the depression that eventually knocked me down in May. But then, alas, June came with the news of Obama’s signature. I’m not an Obamacrat, I’ll tell you straight up. I’m with the rebel alliance and Jedi nights, not the empire. Besides, Obama had promised several activist groups (some of which I was part of) that he would sign this YEARS ago, but as a true politician, he did not until this election year.

Anywho, I’m not goin’ into my political or social ideals in detail since that is not the focus of my blog. I established at least that from the beginningWhat I do want to share is MY STORY.

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In mid-October I received such wonderful birthday presents!

I got some stretchy pants from my mama, a poem from Angel; I got to see Fiona Apple LIVE with my bro who bought the tickets last-minute; I got a beautiful painting of Mermaid P mailed to moi from Le Sailor–LOOK HERE and I got the DACA application completed and mailed out. That to me was a wonderful gift. They all were.

In April, just before my suck-ass and shameful death attempt, when I thought I couldn’t fall further into depression, I got hooked up with a “job” and felt excitement followed by failure crushing me with the culmination of the second day of work, the day I got fired. I was only an intern, hence the legalities not being clear up and therefore they were not strict in mu application. That’s why I wasn’t asked for my SSI number. Plus, Mansie practically got me that job, a job that only lasted two days.

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Sixty days after Obama’s June executive order, the DACA law went into effect. To cut my rambling a little short, I have had a long process applying for DACA since September, but I finally had my biometrics appointment today!

The biometrics proceeding is basically when USCIS, the Immigration and Citizenship Services department calls you in to take a photo of you, mark your fingerprints and so on, you know, Big Brother type shit . The dude who fingerprinted me was wearing blue latex gloves like he was about to give me an enema. I ranted on my MsMouse Facebook as follows (note the terrible grammar ’cause I was on a not-so-smartphone that kept auto-correcting me in my agitated state):

My rant for today: It’s so hard having to depend on my dad for SO much! I’m grateful that he’s here, but he’s extremely overbearing and has become more stubborn with age (he’s nearly 70). The biometrics appointment went well even though my dad and I got into an arguedment on the way to the US immigration dept office. It went super fast. Yaaaay!

But fuck anyone who thinks I, or anyone like me should be deported. Twenty two ducking years for this and I’ll still as a non-legal resident, only in immigrant with DACA and work permit. At least ill have that thought. And I can’t wait to finally have a job and a little more freedom! Wooohoo.Fuck you govt for playing with our lives! For controlling my live like a piece in a board game!End rant.

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And that is that! I’m on my way to being more of an adult. I feel as though my entire life I haven’t been given room to grow, to spread out and show my inner beauty. This is why I feel so child-like. It’s not a “bad” thing to be child-like, but what I mean is, I’ve always felt restricted like a child. I’ve felt things that should be entitled to me weren’t. I’m an angry little mouse on a tiny, albeit heavy, leash and the cheese is only a foot away. (Godamn I love cheese!)
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Hopefully in a month’s time, I’ll be receiving a social security number along with my work permit! Nope guys, no green card or “legal status” yet. I’ll still technically be an “illegal,” only an “illegal” who can work “legally” (I prefer undocumented).
And ain’t that an oxymoron? That’s politics for ya…
Here’s a little sketch I did on my not-so-smart-smartphone that my bro’s sweet girlfriend gave me before my surgery!
Anyone know of any good and cheap/free sketching apps for Andriod? This one isn’t too great. But I like that you can’t be precise; it makes me less perfectionistic  less critical and quicker. heheh. The scribble at the right surrounding the MsMouse is supposed to say “ILLEGAL”. Try and figure out which part of the tail is the letter G and/or A.
Mouse love

ILLEGAL MsMouse
2012 (c) paz
I am still undocumented aka “illegal”

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When I got to the psychology clinic at the university, there was no one at the front desk. In fact, the doors for the clinic were locked. I panicked for a few seconds and wondered if I had made a mistake and the offices would be closed for Thanksgiving. But the other clinic next door was open and students were on campus.

It took almost half an hour to finally get someone to let me in. By the time I got in, it was nearly 11:30. My appointment was for eleven. Turns out I was probably the only client scheduled for that day and my therapist had put me down for 1:00 pm instead of 11:00. So there was a communication issue. I kept telling myself that I should have called her Friday to confirm, but I can’t beat myself about something so minute.

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Afterward, I headed to the hospital with my dad. He can get very naggy but here’s always there to help. We didn’t have to wait too long. Usually it’s about three to four hours, but we only had to wait about an hour-and-a-half.

The doc looked at my jaw and said everything looked like it’s healing up well. I got no follow-up! Unless there’s a problem, then I should call and schedule.  But I don’t think I’ll have to go back to that clinic ever again! Let’s hope not.

The jaw saga is coming to an end! And I have rescheduled with the therapist for tomorrow.

On another note, my jaw is currently hurting really bad. waaaah.

Oh, but here’s a quick sketch I drew of my dad while he fell asleep waiting in the hospital with me. (Forgot to draw his glasses.)

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(c) paz

addendum: I can’t believe I forgot to mention Carter. I was having a lot of pain and left my purse in the car. That’s where I had my pain med. So my dad went down to the parking lot to get it for me. Since it was such a beautiful day and the doctors were at lunch, I went down with him. I waiting near the tunnel by a construction site on the front of the hospital. And this middle-aged black man comes up to me and asks if I’m waiting for my ride. I said I was waiting on my dad. He kept telling me how blessed he was. Then he said, “I just got out of prison yesterday. Thirty-five years, and I’m not going back”. We chatted for a bit about why we were at the hospital, and I told him to take care. He said he was so very happy to meet me and you could tell he really meant it. 🙂 The end.

Lost Ant II

June 22, 2012

Lost Ant II (c) paz

Click the photo to enlarge.

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Lost Ant

June 21, 2012

Lost Ant (c) 2012 paz

Click the photo to enlarge and read the poem, unless you have amazing, super-zoom eyesight.

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I wrote a quick and silly small-stone poem today.

The photos are from several weeks ago when our spring “bug invasion” was ending. It hasn’t completely ended, neither has this card-making. My dad’s having me do two alternate versions (according to his taste). I’ll appease him.

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An astonishing thing happened today, he said, “You and your mother have changed so much. You are a different person!” He meant it in a good way. But then he added, “It’s a good thing God gave me patience [insert: to deal with you]… It’s a good thing I haven’t had to change much.”

What’s that supposed to mean? My dad is funny, and I mean this in… I don’t know how I mean it.

“We can all improve and change,” I said.

I know I’ve been a difficult person most of my life. But was I that terrible before? And how am I now? It’s funny, even when I get complimented by him, I don’t feel validated. I feel so small, so easily confused –lost and desolate like the ant. I can’t show him how much I’m hurting, how much I feel like I’m about to drown.

I’m left baffled.