Eight years ago, former president, Barack Obama, signed the executive order known as DACA, Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals. It granted “protected status” to immigrants who had arrived in the United States before the age of sixteen, meaning, it allowed immigrants to remain in the U.S. While DACA did offer individuals the opportunity to work, obtain a driver’s license, along with a few other privileges, it did not offer them a pathway to citizenship. It simply meant that they would not be deported. Many times DACA has been labeled as “illegal” and a violation of the constitution; that these immigrants are unworthy of stepping on American soil. Although much of the controversy has settled, many young immigrants protected under DACA still live in fear that they may one day wake up and be deported. I am one of those young immigrants.
Being undocumented comes with many challenges, but one of which has been the most difficult for me has been accepting my identity as a DACA student. I can remember applying to a variety of schools during my senior year of high school; trying to find schools that were both welcoming to immigrants and affordable was quite the task. Before I knew it, senior year had dwindled away and I found myself congratulating peers for being accepted into the schools of their dreams, but I was left feeling alone and rather upset that I had prepared for colleges that I wouldn’t even be able to attend. Throughout my education, I had always felt alone in regard to the college process; I was one of the first in the family to focus on my academics so intensely let alone even consider going to college. When researching how I could possibly afford to attend college, it seemed as though there was no hope; that I would ever be able to attain the education that I had always dreamed of.
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At this point, I had no choice but to take a year off from school. I had spent the entirety of my K-12 education trying to be an exceptional student who never missed a day of school, as a day away from school meant a day away from valuable knowledge. It was as though my world was turned upside down; I went from never missing school to missing an entire year of school. I felt ashamed, not only because I was left behind as the rest of my friends journeyed off to begin their college careers, but because I was me, a DACA student. I fell into a depression and self-hatred towards myself. I had always believed that if I wasn’t able to attend a four-year university I would essentially be nothing; that I would never be successful.
During the first few months away from school, I felt miserable. I didn’t know what to do with myself or quite honestly, where I would end up. My friends questioned why I was still at home and not away studying at some upscale university as they had always imagined me doing. Up until this point, I had never revealed my DACA status to anyone; it was my dirty secret. I was always terrified that my friends and even my teachers would look down upon me that I was a DACA recipient, as though it was something that I brought upon myself. Gradually, I began to reveal to others a side of me that I had kept in the dark for so long, and to my surprise, I was met with unconditional love and support, particularly from my one friend, Lorena, who I learned was also a DACA recipient.
Lorena was one of my coworkers at a store I had worked at during my time off from school. It never struck me that she could possibly be a DACA student or anyone, for that matter, knew what I was feeling. She taught me that being a DACA student is nothing to hide; and that it is something that should not limit me but rather motivate me to keep going. While being an undocumented student means that I am restricted from receiving federal aid, it does not mean that I cannot become everything that I hope to be. The United States is my home and although at one point I rejected my identity as a DACA recipient, I now understand that it is part of who I am.
After taking a year off from school, I wanted nothing more than to return to an academic setting where I would be challenged. When I graduated high school, I never envisioned myself at a community college, but it seemed to be the most logical choice at this point. Community colleges often have a certain stigma around them and a negative connotation to the students who attend them. I’ll admit, that I had always felt this way about community college myself. Why had I worked so hard to go to some dingy, below-average college? However, after being away from school for so long, I buried my pride and decided to apply to the City Colleges of Chicago. Due to my academic success and high grade point average in high school, I was able to apply through the Star Scholarship program, which would cover the cost of attaining an associate’s degree. After feeling as though there was no way I could ever afford to return to school, this seemed like a miracle.
Today, I am in my final semester at Harold Washington College as a Presidential Scholar, Phi Theta Kappa member, and a Dean’s List recipient with an almost perfect GPA. Although my time here has been memorable, it is time for me to venture off and continue my education elsewhere. If there is one thing that I have learned from this all is that the course of my future lies ultimately in my hands and that what I decide to do with my time, what I decide to practice and preach will all impact the person I hope to be one day. I want to be that person who empowers others to strive to be the best possible version of themselves. I want to talk and have people go silent to listen. I want to be that person that others look up to; a powerful force that never ceases. I sure hope that future me is listening because no matter the number of obstacles that I must overcome, this is where I am going to be; this is who I hope to be at the University of Illinois at Chicago.
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