My parents made the bold and life-altering decision to move from their home in Mexico to build a new life in the United States when I was one. While my story is my own, it is also an old story that has taken place over many generations, all of whom had the hope of honest work, safety, and a better life for their children. Like the multitudes before me, I experienced family separation, alienation from the culture around me, hope found in my faith, a sense of belonging in my community, and a longing for something new for those coming after me.
We settled into a rural farming community in Iowa, where my parents worked for a dairy farm at least six days a week, often at night. I was a normal kid who loved Power Rangers and Michael Jordan, but by third grade, I learned the difficult reality of our legal status. My two older sisters came home one day in tears because they could not get their driver’s licenses. It was listening to their conversation with my parents where I learned we were undocumented. While at the time I didn’t fully understand the gravity of being undocumented, I knew that my life would take a very different path than my friends’.
This sense of otherness only grew with time. When my friends went on field trips, I had to stay back. When they got their driver’s licenses, I made excuses for why I couldn’t get mine and got rides from them instead. When they were working at the movie theater, I was milking cows. The worst, however, was the fragmentation of my family. We were always in flux between deportations and not being able to re-enter or leave to visit. Someone was always missing, and the longing for unification never left. The blessing of being in the United States was always counterbalanced with sadness, anger at the system, and the turmoil of feeling helpless.
I found strength and hope in my faith, my community, and a few significant opportunities. My faith allowed me to find space where I could feel loved and accepted, even when others said I was a criminal and did not belong. I had professors, mentors, and friends that encouraged and supported me, at times opening up opportunities for me that would not have been otherwise possible, such as getting into college. Despite the consistent and at times the overwhelming message that I did not belong, the people surrounding me and making my life in the United States possible finally overrode that message with a new one: I do belong. An opportunity that completely shifted my reality and whose impact I still cannot fully put to words was receiving DACA. With DACA, I could have a career in an area that I was passionate about, get a bank account, driver’s license, phone, and insurance—all things that had once held me back from fully participating in my community. For the first time, I was assured security, opportunity, and a glimpse of a normal life.
I am now a legal resident and anticipate applying for citizenship in 2020. Last Christmas I traveled to Mexico, where my parents and siblings live, and we were finally reunited after 15 years. Simply being together is something every family should be afforded, regardless of legal status. Our current immigration laws only serve as a barrier between loved ones, keeping us from those who give us a sense of hope and belonging. I am grateful for my story, but despite all it has given me, I want a different story for future generations of immigrants.