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a battle I never initiated or deserved. How do you go about asking permission to stay home? This
doesn’t make any sense! I felt as if I was about to turn myself in for some crime. But for what?

It was 6:30 p.m. when I’d finally entered the gym. I can’t recall completely how my
mom and I ended that conversation. The musty sweat smell of the gym slapped me in the face
and I felt my stomach plummet. The clinking noise from the parallel bars and weight lifting bars
rubbing together sounded louder than usual and pinched my eardrums. My senses had become so
sensitive that it made me dizzy. I heard one of my co-workers asking if I was all right. I was
sweating with the air conditioner blustering above me. I forced a smile and replied, “I will be.
Hopefully.” I walked behind the receptionist’s desk and typed in the computer, “How to apply
for citizenship.” I never clocked in that day.

My family and I had permanent resident green cards. It never occurred to me there was
an expiration date. I assumed “permanent” meant we weren’t going anywhere and most certainly
not getting kicked out of the country. I’ll never forget the day we received them. They looked
like driver’s licenses, but had nothing green on them. I must have been seven or eight years old
and can remember my parents’ reactions. We were in an office somewhere far from home. The
ride there was long and quiet. My mother kept telling my brother and me to sit still, fold our
hands and not talk. We sat and waited in silence until a woman walked into the office and sat
behind her desk. She had no smile, and her face looked mean, along with her tone of voice. She
wouldn’t look any of us in the eyes. I looked over at my parents and realized something serious
was happening. Both of their faces had worried expressions on them. My mother’s leg kept
shaking, like a nervous habit. When the woman asked for some papers, my mother would
frantically shuffle through her thick binder. It was the first time I had seen my parents so

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