Undocu-Graduation
My mother's dreams and mine come true!
I try to live my life in agreeance with the Taoist philosophy of “Effortless Action.” It translates to Wu Wei, a concept that literally translates to inaction or effortless action. I understand this concept as a practice to surrender to the present moment, accept it, and flow without forcing life to happen. As an example, try to imagine that you’ve studied for four years in a field you choose as an 18-year-old. You are going with it either out of passion or practicality, still, you hastily await the significant walk across a stage and into the real world. During the last months of your senior year, a pandemic strikes the globe. Everyone must remain indoors and avoid direct contact. Consequently, your graduation ceremony is canceled until further notice. In this instance, Wu Wei tells us that we must move forward from these unfortunate events effortlessly, without struggle and attachment. Yet, our human nature moves forward in the only way it knows how, grieving to find acceptance. In theory, Wu Wei doesn’t fail to account for our human tendencies, it tells us to go with it, to go with the flow, to move forward with the grief that will resolve to acceptance. At least that’s how I apply it.
However, when I found out that graduation could possibly never happen, I wasn’t in agreeance with Wu Wei. Far from it, I was frustrated and engulfed in a bubble of self-pity. “Of course this would happen the year I’m graduating,” followed by an instant regret of, “You sound like a snob! People are dying.” I was feeling somewhere in between, guilty of the privilege I had to be alive, safe, and somewhat employed during a pandemic. I was still trying to validate the grief of losing the experience of a once-in-a-lifetime accomplishment. Nostalgic of hopeful daydreams from a time before, I sunk into a gray cloud of loss. The journey to graduation is one of strife and triumph. Our adversities may differ, but all graduates understand what working years for a degree feels like.
As a DACAmented first-generation student, I felt a tremendous letdown. Five years ago, I didn’t think that college was an option. I prayed that I wouldn’t have to indebt my parents with college loans, and miraculously, it came true! The year I received my DACA was just months away from high school graduation. My reality utterly evolved. I struggled through the first two years of university trying to figure out the ropes, but I made it through! Surviving temptations to drop out, I thrived over the next two years.
Yet, when the grandiose moment arrived, I wasn’t exactly where I had anticipated. I wasn’t in a room of graduates that defeated the odds. I didn’t see my family proudly celebrating with me. I didn’t see my younger cousin’s faces filled with a gleam of inspiration, and I didn’t hear my name called to walk.
Weeks of March and April passed by, I found pockets of joy within the chaos, but graduation loomed over me. I debated delaying my own graduation and risking the loss of job offers. The graduation ceremony symbolized a victorious pride for my family and me. Still, I knew that the best choice was to remain on course.
I wanted to sing the national anthem during commencement, but even better I sang an original for my undocu-community.
The day of my Rutgers Undocu-Graduation came on May 18th, two days before the official commencement ceremony. It was an intimate online space. Some of us were dressed up, others logged in from their bed. Our host greeted us from a decorated living room, with hanging golden streamers and a congratulations sign in the middle. I felt the warmness of the moment, the tenderness that we all shared. We understood each other more than anyone else. We knew the weight of the loss at hand, and still, we all showed up with smiles. I felt at home. Our celebration kicked off with close faculty giving speeches and moved on to selected students, including my performance. I shared with everyone what I had written that day. I truly felt blessed to be a part of the community and to share with everyone what we all know: Our resiliency brought us to that point and would carry us forward with love. I performed my song, La Fuerza (the strength), dedicated to the sacrifices immigrant parents make for their kids. Everyone in the zoom embodied that strength; we were all the results of a lineage of sacrifices. I did my best not to tear, and afterward, I had this massive relief. It wasn’t what I expected graduation to be, but somehow, it was better. I was surrounded by people who truly understood what the college experience had been for me, what we all had to figure out on our own, and what we could now share.
After graduation, I had the opportunity to visit a few family members after months of quarantine. Their love and encouragement reminded me that their pride did not depend on a stage or a cap and gown. They were already proud of me. In those moments, I felt honored to be the first to graduate. I wasn’t boastful about winning some kind of race, on the contrary, I was proud of all of us because I knew I did not do it alone. We graduated, and we defied the odds for our next generations to continue moving forward. Despite the anxiety, grief, and fear that surrounded me leading up to graduation, I now understood a bit deeper what Wu Wei was trying to tell me. “Life doesn’t happen to you, it happens for you,” so flow with it.
My childhood best friend and cousin, Marylenia, and I reunited after months of quarantine!
I missed my niece, Fatima's laughter, and love.