On hold with my orthodontist’s office, hoping they still had my dental records somewhere on hand, I stared at the stack of papers on my desk. For my DACA application, I had to dig up my entire history. School records, medical records, bank statements, taxes, anything to prove that I had been present in the United States since June 15, 2007, since I was only 3 years old. I looked everywhere, even pulling out paintings and drawings from when I was in kindergarten, hoping there would be a date that was still legible written on the back of the construction paper.
I was 16, a junior in high school, when a new administration came in and my family finally felt safe enough to send in my DACA application. After what seemed like a thousand notices —application arrival, approval, biometrics appointment, sending in my fingerprints —DACA was frozen. I was just waiting for my work permit to come through, when it was declared that no more applications would be processed. My mom paid $4,500 for the DACA applications my family submitted. As a single mom, she probably had to take out a loan, just for my case to still be frozen to this day — money down the drain.
Around the same time, like many of my peers applying to jobs and internships, I applied to a paid teaching program at my high school. Despite being a qualified candidate, I was denied because of my lack of a work permit. They didn’t have a way to pay me because of my status, but they told me they would figure out a way for me to participate the following year. I was able to participate as a senior, but while my friends and peers were being paid regularly, I had to wait an inconvenient amount of time to be paid via stipend. On one hand, I’m glad that my teachers learned to be understanding and flexible with me, as it created more space for people like me in this program. But on the other hand, I missed a whole year of work because of my status. Although my unemployment was an obstacle, I was able to surpass it by being persistent and creating opportunities for myself. This meant having sometimes uncomfortable conversations about my status to make it happen.
During my senior year, I found out that someone else in my class was undocumented when we got unintentionally but publicly outed, being advised by our counselors about the California Dream Act while everyone else was working on the FAFSA. This allowed me to find other undocumented students around me, and it turned out he had the same situation that I did with his DACA application. That was so long ago and there’s been no update since then. That’s really sad. Five years and no progress.
During my freshman year of college, they brought DACA back to court. These DACA applications are frozen in time, but they’re never closed. I thought that maybe, if this case was successful, my application might finally get processed. That’s when a Texas judge declared it unlawful. I’ve been waiting on news or any kind of progress with DACA ever since. There have been many trials over past years, but all they’ve done is get my hopes up.
My sister had mentioned to me that she heard about immigration services available at her school, and urged me to look into it on my own campus. In November, I found out about East Bay Community Law Center, which has a partnership with UC Berkeley’s Undocumented Student Program. I had a consultation with them via Zoom that I took in a courtyard on campus in between classes. I didn’t understand how loaded with questions the consultation would be. The attorney wanted to know anything and everything about me. Had I ever been the victim of a crime? Was I ever sexually assaulted? When and how many times have I entered the country? How long have I been here? They wanted to be sure that if we submitted an application, it wouldn’t be rejected.
I want people to understand how important it is to seek out immigration services and support. You never know what’s possible unless you ask and are willing to be honest and vulnerable with your attorney. I was told my whole life that I would never be able to get any kind of protection in terms of my immigration status, until I got to college. The most frustrating part is having no control over anything, just being told what you can and can’t qualify for. Eventually, we discovered that I could apply for Special Immigrant Juvenile Status (SIJS).
All throughout the fall and spring semesters of my first year, I took many trips back home to Fresno, spending up to 8 hours on the AMTRAK, to acquire countless signatures and documents from my parents and siblings. This was the hardest part. My ITIN number, passport, driver’s license, birth certificate, Mexican ID, all school transcripts, both of my parents’ birth certificates–which luckily my mom had a copy of my dad’s — were all at home. I even had to collect my roommates’ full names, addresses, and other information because they needed to know about who else lived in my dorm. All of this information took me a long time to find.
My court hearing was scheduled around my 20th birthday, in the spring of my sophomore year. Originally, my mom was going to attend the hearing through Zoom, but they said they wanted her there in person. She had just come up to visit for my birthday, and then had to come all the way back a week later for this hearing. My whole family came for this day. Everyone was so nervous. But when we got there, the judge was cracking jokes. “No, we can’t have you going back to Mexico! We need you here.” The whole process only took five minutes. After my biometrics appointment, I was home for the summer when I finally received confirmation that my work permit was approved, so within a few days I drove all the way back to Berkeley to pick it up.
It was a process. But, I’ve been dreaming of the San Diego Zoo, so now I can finally go.
Mi Historia is El Tímpano’s first-person narrative series that amplifies community voices. This story was produced in the course, “Undocumented America,” and is part of The Stakes, a UC Berkeley Journalism reporting project.
