![teen gay sex stories of cousins and family teen gay sex stories of cousins and family](https://assets.teenvogue.com/photos/5a037fa0a61c46262fc68b25/16:9/w_2560%2Cc_limit/MCDCAME_SP003.jpg)
What happens when even more of us step forward? How will the U.S. But each becomes another walking conversation. by family when they were too young to understand what it means to be “illegal” - are a fraction of the millions living hidden lives. It’s true, these individuals - many brought to the U.S. Others are coming out over social media or in person to their friends, their fellow students, their colleagues. At least 2,000 undocumented immigrants - most of them under 30 - have contacted me and outed themselves in the past year. While closely associated with the modern gay-rights movement, in recent years the term coming out and the act itself have been embraced by the country’s young undocumented population. I’ve also been witness to a shift I believe will be a game changer for the debate: more people coming out. The questions I hear indicate the things people don’t know, the things they think they know but have been misinformed about and the views they hold but do not ordinarily voice.
![teen gay sex stories of cousins and family teen gay sex stories of cousins and family](https://img.huffingtonpost.com/asset/5bafa8013c000032000b9644.jpeg)
And once that conversation starts, it’s clear why a consensus on solving our immigration dilemma is so elusive. I am now a walking conversation that most people are uncomfortable having. participating in more than 60 events in nearly 20 states and learning all I can about this debate that divides our country (yes, it’s my country too) - I’ve realized that the most important questions are the ones other people ask me. Before I came out, the question always at the top of my mind was, What will happen if people find out? Afterward, the question changed to What happens now? It seemed I had traded a largely hidden undocumented life in limbo for an openly undocumented life that’s still in limbo.īut as I’ve crisscrossed the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), which deported a record 396,906 people in fiscal 2011. As the months passed, there were no knocks on my door, no papers served, no calls or letters from U.S. (“It’s legal suicide,” warned one.) Broadcasting my status to millions seemed tantamount to an invitation to the immigration cops: Here I am. Several immigration lawyers counseled against doing this. When I eventually decided to admit the truth, I chose to come out publicly - very publicly - in the form of an essay for the New York Times last June. I went to college and became a journalist, earning a staff job at the Washington Post. citizen - right down to cultivating a homegrown accent. Like many others, I kept my status a secret, passing myself off as a U.S. There are an estimated 11.5 million people like me in this country, human beings with stories as varied as America itself yet lacking a legal claim to exist here. It’s a fair question, and it’s been hanging over me every day for the past year, ever since I publicly revealed my undocumented status. “Well, you should get your ass home, then.” In California, a middle-aged white woman threw up her arms and wanted to know: “Why hasn’t Obama dealt with you?” At least once a day, I get that question, or a variation of it, via e-mail, tweet or Facebook message. At a restaurant in Birmingham, not far from the University of Alabama, an inebriated young white man challenged me: “You got your papers?” I told him I didn’t. That’s usually the first thing people ask me when they learn I’m an undocumented immigrant or, put more rudely, an “illegal.” Some ask it with anger or frustration, others with genuine bafflement.