I first set foot in the United States in January 2010. I was selected by the State Department for an exchange program for low-income students from Latin America when I was 18 (that’s a long story for another day), and that led to a stint as a scholarship student at a private boarding school in New Hampshire, then four years in college in Vermont, then two years in grad school in New York, then another two years of grad school in Iowa, then to my current life as a full-time literary translator and writer in St. Louis.
It was a slow transition, from poor kid in Brazil who just wanted a good education to adult who’s only ever been an adult in America. I had no idea spending my formative years in the U.S. would make me want to stay. I held various non-immigrant statuses over time: J-1 exchange visas, F-1 student visas, temporary work permits through the Optional Practical Training (OPT) program for recent grads, and more recently the competitive and expensive O-1 visa for Individuals with Extraordinary Abilities in the Arts, which allowed me to work as a freelancer with multiple short-term employers. Each status had their own issues and limitations. The O-1, the best visa I’ve ever had by far, still required a lot of upkeep.
Every time I achieved anything, I emailed my lawyer: Am I extraordinary yet?
Every year, I had to submit hundreds of pages of evidence of overachievement (and thousands of dollars) to the U.S. government to try and prove I was still a foreigner worth keeping around. If I traveled abroad, I had to apply again and show up for an in-person interview to see if they’d let me back in (something only required of Brazilian and Chinese citizens, for some reason). Excellence has been a legal requirement for me since I was a teenager. I put myself up for scrutiny over and over again and waited for their answer, praying I was still good enough to keep my life.
So what would it take for me to be able to stay, to be able to get off that hamster wheel and get a coveted Green Card? I could marry a U.S. citizen, one lawyer told me (which wasn’t going to happen, sorry, my heart already belongs to someone with a shitty passport). Or I could try my luck with Employment-Based Immigration for Aliens of Extraordinary Ability, aka as EB-1.
I’d have to publish writing in recognized magazines, publish books to critical acclaim, win major awards, judge awards, speak at festivals and universities, moderate panels, get national or international media coverage about me and my work, join boards of professional organizations, and get recommendation letters from ten renowned experts in my field. The more prestigious the better. While I’m at it, I should go ahead and get myself some commercial success too. And maybe try and command a high salary, that wouldn’t hurt. None of those were realistic, but I had no other options. I wrote my ass off and translated day and night and applied for everything, every residency, award, contest, grant, scholarship, festival, teaching job. Every time I achieved anything, I emailed my lawyer: Am I extraordinary yet?
In the background, while I beefed up my resume, I got drug tested, sent a blood sample to prove I’m not on any psychiatric medication (depression, ADHD, anxiety, etc, are all grounds for inadmissibility), got tested for STDs, confirmed I’ve never used food stamps or Medicaid (as I’d been advised to, even if I needed them, because guess what, there’s a public charge ground of inadmissibility too). I passed the background check.
Two dear friends lent me money for lawyer fees. Other friends sent me the paid translation and writing gigs they were too busy to take. I published my first book-length translation. After years volunteering with the American Literary Translators Association, there was an opportunity for me to join the board. Then I got an invitation to judge the National Endowment for the Arts Fellowships in Literature (though foreigners aren’t eligible to apply, apparently we can still judge). Then I had a story published in The New Yorker. Then I got interviewed in The New York Times Book Review. Then I sold the novel I’d been writing for seven years. Then my second book-length translation won a National Book Award.
I couldn’t have predicted any of this, no one can control or expect external recognition. The only part I could control was how hard I worked. And I worked so hard I gave myself an ulcer. I ground my teeth until I lost a filling. I pulled my hair until I had a bald spot in the back of my head. And I’m so so tired, so tired I could crumble.
After 13 years in America, on January 16, 2024, more than a year after filing and after a Request for Further Evidence, my case was finally approved. There’s still some final paperwork and it’ll be at least another year until the actual Green Card arrives in the mail, but the hard part is done. I’m allowed to work and travel and live. I won’t have to abandon my house and my books and my bunny and give up the life I’ve built.
It still hasn’t sunk in that I can do whatever I want with the rest of my life, that achievement doesn’t have to be my primary motivation anymore, that I won’t have to prove myself to the government again, that I can just enjoy my house and my family the way it was always meant to be. I don’t trust it yet, that things will turn out ok, but I’m learning to be hopeful. Relief, joy, comfort must be on their way.
It's a great story about making it against all odds, but it shouldn't be like this. It's a burden on your health, it's inhumane. I'm sorry you had to go through all of this. I'm grateful you shared it, though, so that people understand that it's not all spotlights and achievements. I'm just glad it's over now, you deserve to live without that weight on your shoulders.
As an immigrant myself I feel you… Congratulations on being extraordinary!