“Terrible things are happening outside. Poor helpless people are being dragged out of their homes. Families are torn apart; men, women, and children are separated. Children come home from school to find that their parents have disappeared.”
— Anne Frank, January 13, 1943
Those words were written eighty-two years ago.
And somehow, they feel truer than ever.
How is that possible?
There’s no time to figure that out…
I’m out of time.
Listen carefully…
Friend…
This is my last crusade.
Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,
For years, I lived in limbo.
Stuck.
Unsure if I can stay.
Unable to leave.
A stranger in a strange land with no future.
One Federal officer could destroy my life.
Before long, I expect masked men with guns to come for me.
In my reality, it’s possible to wake up in Alligator Alcatraz.
You think I’m exaggerating?
I wouldn’t be surprised if my next stop was Guantánamo Bay…
You think they care if I’m legal, not legal, or something in between?
All because I made a single decision that could cost me everything.
I have a U.S. Green Card.
And, I have NO police record…
I came here with my wife in 2019, right before COVID.
The pandemic crushed our marriage—like so many others around that time.
After three years, I left. Alone.
A new city. No friends. No family.
The divorce placed me in a gray area with immigration.
Perfect timing to be on Uncle Sam’s bad side.
I figure it’s only a matter of time.
When I got my green card, it wasn’t real freedom.
It came with an expiration date.
The government handed me a two-year status with a timer attached and said:
Prove it.
Prove your marriage is real.
Prove your life is real.
Prove you deserve the right to stay.
It means my life in America is fragile and reversible.
I built a career, a home, a future… and still, I could lose everything.
I lived every day knowing one bureaucratic hiccup could delete my entire existence here.
I’ve found refuge in the Buddha.
I’ve chosen one final refuge as my last stop before riding out the apocalypse.
The Zen Center is the only place I feel safe.
Why did I risk it?
If they take my green card away, I’ll be gone forever.
I’ll never be able to come back—
not even if I have a U.S. wife or children.
But when push came to shove, I couldn’t stay—
not even to keep a green card.
My ex made life unlivable.
I reached a point where I saw my marriage with clarity.
There was no saving it.
I hate speaking about my immigration situation.
Most Americans can’t relate.
They don’t know what it’s like to earn something everyone else got for free—
only to have it threatened forever.
One guy at work tried to compare it to the time he lost his passport in a foreign country.
Buddy…
Not even close.
YOUR rights are inalienable.
You don’t understand what it means to lose something you could never lose.
Your brain can’t process.
In fact, there’s a high chance you WANT me to leave.
Perhaps my plight makes you happy.
If I went home, I would basically go and live in a cave for the rest of my life.
Total destruction of my future.
FOREVER.
A life sentence.
Forever living in regret.
Forever thinking about the life I was supposed to have.
It gave my dancing a particular urgency that nobody else could see.
So I lived like there was no tomorrow.
Because I knew there might not be.
It was a profound place to come from when I started my salsa dancing journey.
From the minute I left her, I knew the system could hand me a life sentence.
Permanent exile…
So I ran—one hundred races, half-marathons, tens, fives.
And when I wasn’t running, I was dancing.
Salsa.
Bachata.
Dance floors in Toronto, New York, Miami, Atlanta, Houston, Philly, Chicago.
I partied harder in the last 3 years than the whole rest of my life combined.
I started with two left feet — and kept going…
Until people started filming me wherever I went.
Until I became a spectacle.
I danced with thousands of women after years of living in complete isolation.
Then I wrote for giants—Tony Robbins, Neil Patel, Agora, and others whose words move markets.
And still… none of it can save me.
Some stranger gets to decide my fate.
Me being here—writing to you—is the product of generations of sacrifice.
This journey didn’t start with me.
I’ve been waiting four long years for my verdict.
I couldn’t sleep at night…
Until I finally hung a massive flag on my wall.
It helped.
A little.
In my dreams, I see masked men.
Am I overreacting?
We’ll see.
I’ll keep you posted.
Until next time,
Dancer, Writer, Buddhist.
