The inconvenient truth about getting an O-1 visa is this: It’s neither an I-Want song moment where you win the audience over to your side, nor a big celebratory finale singalong where you confetti your way to happily ever after. It’s rather the Act One closer. You have a fifteen-minute well-deserved break, and then you set off to climb even taller mountains.
If you’re in the U.S. for school and then choose to stay and pursue an artistic career like I did, you should know that the O-1 is never a finish line. It’s a temporary extension of an “expiration date,” contingent upon how well you can continue to prove your “extraordinary ability” as a working artist and how much you can continue to quantify your artistic life. If you want to keep making art in this country, the proving and quantifying won’t stop.
Working as a dramatist in the U.S. while on the O-1 status requires my mind to constantly navigate two worlds: one of creative exploration and one of strategic calculations. I’ve gone through the O-1 process twice now. The second petition, in theory, should have felt easier. After all, I had already proven myself once, right? No, honey. It was the same hoops: the same number of new documents, the same exhausting evidence-gathering, the same financial hit. I used the same lawyer so I didn’t have to start from zero, but that didn’t soften the emotional or monetary blow. Knowing that I will probably have to go through it again in the future if I want to maintain my O-1 status only made it even more mentally draining.
The ongoing paradox is that while the creative process resists measurement, the system demands evidence: public mentions, glowing letters from respected peers, productions, reviews, awards, fellowships, residencies, etc. And my time in this country, which is granted by the O-1, is still limited and measurable. The clock is still ticking. I have to be conscious of every career move, not because my intentions are less sincere, but because each show, each song, each essay (like this one), might become a brick in the case I’ll need to build again. I have to accumulate not just artistic fulfillment, but proof.
If you’re reading this magazine, you probably already know how long it can take to get new work, especially original musicals, from ideation to production. Often longer than three years, which is the maximum duration of a single O-1 term. So I can’t really afford to pour all my creative energy into one “masterpiece” or chase that “one song glory.” (For context: I’m working on a musical trilogy Durra Leung’s Lullabies for Motherf*ckers Vol.1, 2, & 3, writing book, music, and lyrics.) For the sake of resume-builders, quantifiable milestones, visible markers of professional achievement, I have to remain open to projects that will offer quicker turnarounds, such as one-off concerts or single-performance short plays and musicals, as well as projects where I’m not the primary author, like music scoring or translations. I’m not from money. But even if I didn’t have to worry about money, I’d still need those short-term wins to justify my existence.
Being a creative artist is already filled with insecurity and doubt. I can’t speak for other non-U.S. citizen artists who share a similar path, but I believe each of us has a strong reason for coming here, staying here, and making art here. Remember: We CHOOSE to take on extra pressure in an already pressure-filled profession. (Though, let’s be honest. Aren’t all artists at least a little masochistic?)
When USCIS grants an O-1, they’re essentially saying, “You have a fine track record, but don’t stray.” They’re giving you the permission to make art in this country, while also lighting a fire under you. So because of my O-1 status, I must keep going. I don’t get to pause, to linger, to rest too long between pages. I keep writing, keep sharing, keep challenging myself artistically, because I, not once, but twice successfully petitioned to be, in their words, “an alien of extraordinary ability.” I must live up to it, not just to prove I belong, but to become the truth of that claim.
