There I was standing before a crowd of 100 people — their faces, I could not see because of the bright lights, but I could hear their thunderous applause. I was the lead and first chair of my high school orchestra and had just finished my solo on violin performing “The Theme From Schindler’s List.” As I bowed before the appreciative audience, I couldn’t help but think: The United States of America is a place where anyone can earn a position of distinction with hard work.

It was in stark contrast to an experience I had as a fifth-grader in Korea, my birth country where I grew up until age 12. My peers had voted me vice president of our class, and I was so excited. But that day, the principal called me into his office and asked me to give up my position. He told me that if you’re vice president, that means you have to help support the school financially, and he knew my family was not in a position to do so.

So he gave my title to one of my friends, whose parents were well-off and had called the principal campaigning for their daughter. All I remember is crying all day. My mom told me, “It’s OK. It’s not your fault.”

Five years later, I was in a country where I could earn and keep the title of first chair of my orchestra, though my parents were not rich or influential. This is what I love about America, my adopted country.

But, now that I’m older, I have come to see a different side of America, and I feel like I am being labeled all over again, not for my actions, but circumstances that are out of my control. In contrast to what Ernest Becker says in The Birth and Death of Meaning of how “a fundamental task of culture is to constitute the individual as an object of primary value in a world of meaning,” I am receiving a different message: “Go back to your country!”    

Although I am probably indistiguishable from many of my peers in my actions and appearance, I am what is popularly, but cruelly, referred to as an “illegal immigrant.” I am one of 65,000 undocumented students who graduate from high school each year. Many of us are full of lofty aspirations to attend college and become productive members of society. The only thing that holds us back is a slip of paper with nine numbers, that is, a Social Secutiy number that will allow us to apply for college scholarships, financial aid and jobs.

Some people may say that people like me do not deserve such opportunities, but I am not asking for a handout. I am looking for a way to contribute to this country.

When I first immigrated from a small, homogeneous Korea to this large and diverse country in 2001, I wanted to learn more about my adopted home, so I enrolled in the Los Angeles Police Department’s Law Enforcement Explorers Academy. Through that program, I became aware of the plight of the homeless and became a volunteer, making sandwiches for 90 homeless people every Sunday morning.