Diary of a Dreamer, Page 1

The reality of a new administration and the Dreamers that persist and imagine.

I think it’s poetic how today, of all days, we are welcoming a president that wishes to divide the American people while celebrating activist, MLK Jr, who had a dream to bring people together and dismantle the systems keeping them apart. MLK fought for civil rights, and today, I hope to shine light on a civil matter: Immigration, through the lens of myself as an immigrant.

Immigration is a civil issue, not a criminal issue. To be an “illegal” immigrant means nothing in the context of criminality. There is no such thing as an “illegal” person. This is why, we should actively choose other words such as, “undocumented” or if applicable, “Dreamer”.

I am a Dreamer. A Dreamer is an immigrant that was brought to the USA as a child. I have been here in the USA since I was 2 years old. I am now 27 years old. I am also a DACA recipient. DACA is a program created by Barack Obama in 2012 to allow a certain group of Dreamers to qualify for work permits and temporary protection. I do not exaggerate when I say that I was one of the lucky ones that was eligible for this program.

Today, I hope that if you read about anything in America, you read about the immigrants in this country. You read about me, and what it’s like for DACA recipients to exist in the USA. America dreams of a better future and I dream with them.

The Trump administration announced that they will start immigration raids on the day of inauguration. This is a collective nightmare scenario that plays in the head of every immigrant. Even though I won’t see the 2025 inauguration ceremony, I can already imagine Trump swearing his oaths to the American people on the American bible. The same bible where Jesus was a refugee seeking shelter. The same bible that he will swear justice; meanwhile, ICE will separate families forever. Is it truly justice to separate families?

Today, I’m an immigrant. Yesterday, I was an immigrant. Tomorrow, I will be an immigrant. For several years, I was ashamed of my status as undocumented. It formed my identity as someone that had no control of my future. I am underprivileged, underrepresented, and without control. Today, I recognize that only two of those things are true. I am in control of who I am and what I think. But believe it or not, I’m not in control of my identity as an immigrant. I can change my hair, but I can’t change my immigration status. As ridiculous as that last sentence sounds, a lot of people think it’s that easy! I don’t blame them though, the media makes it seem like it is that easy. “Hey, let’s get married and go to the court house really quickly for your green card! Ta da!!” I’ll make a separate post another time on why it’s so unrealistic for married people to just get green cards.

To those that say we’re entering a nightmare for the next four years, I want to implement an exercise: if this is a nightmare, let’s lucid dream. If we leave this as a nightmare, we forfeit control of the future, but if we recognize the power and control of our choices, we have the chance to change reality. The reason it takes so long to achieve your dream is because it requires you to constantly imagine a future different from the one that you’re currently living. To persist is to resist.

But on another note, being an immigrant, means to constantly live in the temporary. I am temporarily here, until someone decides that I shouldn’t be here. I am a temporary worker, until my work permit expires or can no longer be renewed. I am temporarily protected, until the government decides that I am deportable. I have DACA, until the Supreme Court decides that I do not. It’s a seesaw of protection and representation, and frankly, human beings deserve better.

Some Americans treat immigrants like a ghost haunting their home, but aren’t aware of the monster in their own closet. But even as an immigrant, I understand Americans through their hardship. I know what it’s like to have to pay more taxes, but get little in return. I know what it’s like to feel like our politicians do not fully represent us. I understand taxation without representation. I understand the frustration with healthcare and education. Even now, I feel like an American in every way except on paper. That’s what makes me a Dreamer in both the literal sense and the political sense. To dream a world where I could be accepted in the only country I ever knew.

I too have a dream. A dream to be a part of this country permanently. A dream to no longer be a ghost, but rather, a vision of the future for immigrants. America, can you dream with me?