My name is Will Thothong, I’m 24 years old and this is my story about my life and how I became undocumented.

My story starts in Thailand in 1986, where I was born. I don’t remember how old I was when my parents got divorced, but what I would like to remember is sound of the beach and of how my toes felt in the soft white sand. Shortly after my parents separated, my dad and my two older brothers moved to Texas, while I stayed in Thailand with my mom. My mom later decided that she couldn’t afford to take care of me so she sent me to live with my dad’s relatives. She would be gone for several months at a time before surprising me with her visits. I remember her showing up once the morning before I had to go to school, I cried and begged to stay with her because I was afraid that once I come back from school that she would be gone again. When I was seven years old, my relatives and my mom told me that it would be best if I went to live with my dad and brothers in Texas. I didn’t hesitate; I knew that my mom was going to be with me so I went along with the decision. My uncle, mom, and grandmother took me to Bangkok to get my paperwork and visa together. I was filled with excitement to go to America, it was then decided that my grandmother would be the person to take me. That was the last time I saw my mom in 1993. I arrived in Texas to be greeted by my dad, brothers, aunt and uncle. I was put immediately in elementary school, 1st grade. My dad always had to work, so my aunt strictly made sure that I did all my homework and helped me with my readings and spelling list every week. She even sent me to English school every summer; I believe her plans for me worked profoundly; she was like my new mom, my family.

In 1996 I turned 10 years old. My dad was at that time a Texas resident, but he decided in 1996 that he wanted to go back to Thailand and start a new family. That was the last time I saw my dad or talked to him. In 6th grade I got the opportunity to start playing the viola for the school orchestra. At that point of my life I was truly inspired by my teachers to do my best and keep doing my best. Through school, a feeling of being able to be whoever I wanted to be if I worked hard, never giving up, and to never stop learning were instilled.

Freshmen year high school, September 11, 2001 happened, my aunt was diagnosed with cancer that same year. My aunt passed away shortly before the spring semester ended. It was 2002, I was 16 years old. That same summer, my older brother took me to get my driver’s permit. The DPS told me that I didn’t have proper documents to get a permit or a Texas ID. I went home to ask my uncle and my brothers what exactly was going on. At the time I didn’t completely understand the magnitude of the situation, except for immediate facts that I was not allowed to drive or work legally. Over the years while in high school, I slowly learn the bits and pieces of the future that was set forth for me by the decisions that others made.

It was explained to me that when I entered the U.S., my dad applied for my residency right away. Before my dad left for good in 1996, he never completely finished the process and paperwork for me to officially become a permanent resident. As a result, I was seen strictly as an overstayed person with a visitor’s visa, I was now illegal, undocumented. My American citizen uncle and wife reassured me that they were going to adopt me and that everything was going to be alright. A year has passed and I ask my uncle if everything was going to work out. Now this is where I am still confused to this day, but I was told that they simply forgot to take care of the situation. I think that I will never understand and forget how someone like my dad and the other adults in the family at the time allowed this to happen, even when they admit knowing that my dad was leaving without taking care of business. This should have not happened at all under any circumstance. Is it procrastination, lack of responsibility, knowledge, or lack of interest or care of the significance and consequences of their own actions? The whole ordeal fueled more of my distrust and anger for my whole family, and uncertainty of my own life and future. I couldn’t trust anyone, not even my own family.

I held on to what I did have and enjoy that was my music. My late aunt always supported and paid for my music lessons before she passed away. I consistently got into all-region orchestra every year and finally got into the All-State orchestra my senior year. I graduated from high school in 2005 with honors from a class of over 900 students with a GPA of 3.84. With the aid of the Texas House Bill 1403, I was permitted to go to college despite my lack of documentation. I auditioned and got accepted to the school of music at the University of Texas at Austin, with financial aid on need bases to pay for all the tuition and fees, and my American citizen brother co-signing for a loan for my living cost. Through playing music, I saw that everything was going to work out. I channeled all my fears, anger, distrust, joy, and confidence through my music. Music was the only source that I could trust. For the longest time, with music I felt that the intensity of everything that have happened to me in the past and around me that might have held me back, kept me focused and kept me looking on forward. Many times it was as if music was my reality, my home and everything else including my issues with my family was simply washed away, like a bad dream. This all change in the summer of 2007.

In the summer 2007, I suffered a hand injury while performing at a music festival in Kansas. The doctor told me that the nerve in my left elbow was swelling up everytime I played. My junior at UT I was not able to play in the orchestra for the entirety of the fall semester. By spring semester 2008 I was back playing in the orchestra but my hand did not feel the same anymore. What was I to do now? My source of security was slipping from my hands and for the first time in a long time I was honestly scared. My thoughts were depressed. I felt hopeless and ashamed of whom I had become, ashamed that I was loosing control of my life. I had a difficult time keeping my mind focus on school because all I had was doubt and even thoughts of ending my own life. In the past I had an outlet to channel all of my feelings and thoughts, and with the void created from not being able to play music, those thoughts and feelings consumed me completely. I remember walking to class and I would start crying non-stop for the only thing lingering in my mind was that I could end all of this right now; all I had to do was stop my own life. That’s when I knew I really needed help. There is this inner conflict of hoping, wanting to make it through, live. I needed someone to convince me and motivate me to believe that life was still worth living.

I went to the student center to get counseling; I needed someone to talk to. I spent the whole semester once a week to talk to someone and re-organize my goals and hopes again. I told my counselor everything about my parents, how I became undocumented, school, music, my injury, and my suicidal thoughts. Near the end of the spring semester before summer break, I made a switch from a music performance degree to a BA in music, which emphasized less on performing and added a BS in Nutritional Science. I started dreaming up the possibilities. Although there are still set backs for involvement because of lack of documentation, I am still thinking about the possible opportunities in working for the Peace Corp., becoming a Dentist, serving in the Air Force, really I am still looking for anything that comes my way and interest me. I told many of my close friends and music professor about my situation. My music professor has even made a commitment to support me by signing for my loans and have continuously given me words of encouragement whenever I feel lost. I realize that I got to keep on going no matter what happens, I can never give up on myself, and not to judge and give up hope on others.