the road to citizenship Link to heading

election night Link to heading

November 7, 2016. My flight’s landed at JFK. Passengers are checking their phones. Their faces a strange mix of confusion and terror. And not because bitcoin prices dropped, or their rides bailed. Rather, they’re forced to acknowledge the imminent reality of the Trump presidency.

My uncle picks me up soon, and we begin discussing this reality; which is strange, because we aren’t talkers. We arrive home, to see my grandmother glued to the Television. The look on her face resembling my former flight mates. This is a woman who’s worked three jobs at a time. This is a woman who’s battled poverty. This is a woman who’s crafted the American dream, and that of her children. These things are not simple. They are hard, because they matter. Yet, I’ve never seen her buckle, in the face of these things. I’d never seen her cry. That night, the television illuminated something. Not tears on her face. But, the tears behind.

With her usual cool resilience, she greets me. Asks if I’ve eaten. Collects a pillow and comforter. I haven’t been home in some time. In passive Jamaican patois she asks,

“Javin, you file fih citizenship yet?”

why citizenship ? Link to heading

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a permanent resident in the U.S. Until 2016, I was content in this meaning

  1. I can work
  2. No jury duty for me and
  3. If a guy like trump get elected, it’s not my fault.

Eventually, I soon found these benefits were more limiting, than freeing. The reality of the 2016 election forced me to educate myself. And in doing so I found

  1. I can work here, but my exotic vacation locales are pretty limited.
  2. Jury, among other civic duties, are a necessary evil. sure, responsibility is hard. But it keeps you accountable and informed.
  3. A guy like trump could ( and eventually did) elected. So by 2020, I needed to be flex the vote.

And so it began. Yaye bureaucracy. Link to heading

The beginning of my process was pretty sad. I had an expired Jamaican passport. My draft card? Still can’t find that. Excuses? I had em all. To boot, my experiences with immigration office waiting rooms were lackluster. But, grandma wasn’t accepting any of the above.

When I was about 12, I lost my greencard. Grandma was livid. And knowing what I know know, I don’t blame her. She scheduled an immigration appointment. We traveled through the chaos of New York city. And survived what felt like at least 4 hours in a waiting room. Only to submit the application. There were two similar trips. And at the end of this, I had a new greencard. Soon after the 2016 election, she reminded me of this snafu.

This ordeal is a small example of sacrifices my grandmother made. This was light cheese for her, compared to the loads of immigration forms she’s been through. Otherwise, her 8 children (including myself) would have never stepped foot on U.S soil. Knowing this, I had to get my Sh*t together.

So there I went. Passport renewed. Social Security card, check. Birth certificate, check. Green card, check check. Speeding tickets all accounted for. By February 2018, my citizenship application was in.

The interview Link to heading

It’s a Monday morning, January 2019. The government is shutdown. I’ve been taking practice civics test every day. Twice a day. USCIS hasn’t contacted me for almost a year. My coworker has us captivated with a rant about donuts. My phone dings. Guess I forgot to silence. Then I see it’s USICIS. It’s not the usual “nothing has changed on your status email.” That day I got my appointment for interview. In three weeks.

By the day of the interview, the government shut down was on halt. insert prayer hands emoji here. I’d been nervous all day. And my coworkers could tell. They quizzed me in semi-jest. For my own good. They knew I needed to loosen up, as much as i needed to know how many members make up the house of reps. The hardest part of the interview ended up being what should have been the simplest

  1. There was a blizzard, so even though it was a 1/4 mile walk, I got lost. By the grace of Odin, I arrived 4 or 5 minutes before the appointment.
  2. The first question was “name a state that borders Canada.” I froze for at least 30 seconds. Context: I live in Minnesota. Geography is not my strong suit. But I got it.

After, a few more questions, and banter the difficulty in writing legibly on touch screens, my application got cleared. It almost didn’t feel real. To the point my best friend had to force me to celebrate. I needed that. lobster spaghetti tastes so much better as a soon to be citizen.

so what now ? Link to heading

In, a couple months, I’ll get an appointment for swearing in. Yeah, this feels like another step. But it’s not. It’s something parents dream of. Not for themselves, but for their children. Citizenship and it’s perks. It offers opportunity for schooling and making a livelihood. It offers the ability to vote for change and it’s vanguards. It even offers a pretty sweet gateway to travel, ensuring one can be well rounded and aware. What parent wouldn’t want these things for their child? Now I can call these dad goals.

The citizenship journey offered me some grateful pie. Knowing my grandmother went through such a process for so many others, myself included. Even as an immigrant my permanent residence gives me privilege. This privilege let me go to university. It let me snag a job with a fortune 500 company. it gave me capacity to work towards full citizenship. Not acknowledging this privilege would be a waste of my grateful pie. And grandma doesn’t stand for wasting food.