以下這篇文章來自影響我最深的一個人- Alvin Tan。這是一則從馬來西亞到美國尋求政治庇護的故事。
Today, May 27, 2015, marks the 1st anniversary of my being in the United States. A year ago exactly, I literally walked from Tijuana, Mexico up to a Customs and Border Protection Officer at the San Ysidro Port-of-Entry at California and told him this, "Sir, I don't have a valid visa. I'm here because I'm afraid to go back to my country. My government is persecuting me. I intend to seek asylum here." He jotted down some notes in a paper and then proceeded to handcuff me and seize my luggage. The other people standing in line appeared nothing short of dumbfounded. I was immediately processed and incarcerated, and I lived in various detention/correctional facilities in different cities and states for three and a half months before getting released on 9 September 2014 in Seattle, Washington.
I still cannot thank the US government enough for not turning me away, because, if they did, I'd immediately put in an application for political asylum in Mexico. I couldn't risk getting deported back at all. When you think about it, if someone didn't have a visa, a border official should simply turn him away and tell him to go back to where he came from, right? But this is not how the US works, and I knew it. I know that they're obliged to arrest you.
And that very day, I felt a huge, huge load relieved off of my back. It's funny enough when I think about it now -- I was about to be detained indefinitely (with no fixed date of release), and I was praising the Lord for being arrested. I was really glad that they wanted to arrest me because that meant that I'm in line and I can begin the asylum process proper. Hell, if I was going to jail in Malaysia anyway, I might as well be detained by some legitimate government, not some fascist Malay pigs who knew nothing.
In detention, I remember trying to make the best of my time there. I talked with many other detainees and even the correctional officers there to research life in America. I stayed fit and worked out three times a week, and I played a ton of soccer and basketball. I dedicated FOUR HOURS a day learning and studying Spanish from a Spanish-English dictionary and Spanish newspapers and magazines; I even practiced with whichever Mexican inmate with sufficient patience to deal with my broken Spanish. I went to the law library whenever I could to understand US asylum law as best as I could. I read tons of case law and textbooks since we had access to LexisNexis.
Then one fine morning, after a court session, I was told that I was to be released immediately because the Assistant Field Office Director of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) in Seattle decided to parole me out into the wild. Yay. I packed up, and I was excited to actually set foot in the US for the first time. At the same time, I was totally intimidated, because I knew nobody, had my passport confiscated by ICE, I barely had more than $1,000, and I didn't know where to go or where to stay. I was completely unprepared as well as heavy-hearted because I thought I was going to be held much longer.
They let me change into the clothes I came to the US with, and then they simply opened the electronic doors and gates. I felt the cool wind blowing in my face and the hot sun shining on my skin, and the guard who released me told me, "Welcome to America."
"Welcome to America."
I remember this line very distinctly because it meant so much to me back then. When you had to go through so much shit in detention -- at times yelled at, chained like animals during the flight, locked in ice-cold rooms for days, and at other times threatened by other inmates -- that sentence meant a lot more to me than to someone who, say, just disembarked from a cozy flight and touched down at JFK or LAX or ATL for her summer vacation.
As unmanly as this sounds, my eyes were really watery when I heard him welcoming me to America: a mixture of sadness leaving the friends I made in detention, of excitement exploring America for the first time, of fear of my unknown fate (imminent homelessness, maybe?), and of gratitude to the US government for receiving me, housing me, feeding me, and treating me with absolute respect, dignity, and courtesy. The guard could have told me, "Now get the fuck out!" or any other abusive variation, but he didn't. He said, "Welcome to America."
I took one step out of the gates of the Northwest Detention Center in Tacoma, Washington. I looked around; it's a complete rural town. I turned back and looked at the guard.
Me: Woah woah woah, uh, where do I go?
Him: Don't you have someone picking you up?
Me: (shakes head)
Him: Well, what about your next-of-kin, friend, relative?
Me: (motions hand saying I have none)
Him: (sighs) Oookkay. Let me see what I can do.
He walked inside, and I followed him, and he said, quite ironically, "No no no, you can't come inside now." Ten minutes later, a correctional officer dropped me at a Greyhound bus station in his own car, and the rest is (boring) history...
Since then, I've been having a road trip throughout America for the first few days, settling down in Los Angeles by 15 September 2014, finding a place to stay, finding work, finding friends, finding girls, and finding myself basically -- chasing my dreams. It's been a year here in America, or really just eight-odd months out as a free man, and I count these things -- things ordinary people would probably take for granted -- as part of my accomplishments:
1) I have gainful employment, a roof over my head, and I'm building up my credentials in the acting industry, my chosen line of work. I'm working part-time with a full-time income, mainly by exploiting how Americans feel like a bad person if they don't tip 20% in Silver Lake. The rest of the time, I simply sing, play my piano, surf the internet, meet new people, and audition for film projects.
2) I acted in my first feature film and gained my first IMDB credit. That means nothing to most people, and it still means nothing to people in the acting industry, but it means a lot to me. I was happy just being on a film set really, but a paid under-5 role? I'll fucking take it! Now just wait for it to be released...
3) I also did a bunch of fun background/extra gigs. Who knew a Kampung Jinjang Utara village boy could somehow get involved in these Hollywood projects, even as an extra?
4) I have a car now. Enough said. My quality of life jumped up a lot since owning one. I'm just ballin' outta control now with my Mazda Miata convertible!
5) I started dating. This isn't a big deal really, since I already dated back in Malaysia, but right now I'm dating with vastly-inferior credentials: small Asian male, fresh off the boat, broke as fuck, crap job, crap apartment, etc. I'm surprised I have any dating life at all. It's pretty much my entire social life now: meeting new people. That's good... I'd rather keep things fresh than hanging out with the same people over and over again.
Would I say that I've done well for my first year in America? Not really. But I feel that I've done above-average in the three priorities that I've set for myself: get paid (work), get laid (date), get great (act), considering my initial circumstances. People often expect miracles from me, because the media somehow paints me as someone with a lot of potentials, especially the Singaporean media. The truth is I'm just a very-average guy trying to do what he loves while not having youth pass him by having as much fun as possible along the way.
I'm a hedonist at the end of the day, and I'm proud of it. What better place to be a pleasure devil than America itself? God bless America!
P.S. Of course, there will be many who measure achievement by money, and I guess in that department I'm not doing too well. In any case, you have no idea what my net worth is; you're making guesses based on my current work. But I really don't care too much about making money. I know I will... eventually. I have the rest of my life to do that, and I won't ever have a family or want to pay a mortgage, so there's really no rush. Fun and laughter and excitement always come first. I've been incarcerated and fucked with enough now by this stage of my life to know that life is at best ephemeral and unpredictable. I'll never pawn my youth away for dineros while the opportunities for chasing my dreams and fun pass me by.
You can't do both either, because making money is often full-time work. Once you get into full-time work, you become a consumer, you become tired at the end of the day with no energy to do anything else, and you start giving up on the more important things in life, like your social fucking life, health, education, dreams, or even simple rejuvenating leisure.
Nobody ever regrets not working enough to make more money. People often regret not having more fun and making the best of their youth. Always.
