I belong here: What it's like to grow up undocumented and without DACA in Arizona

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When I was 4, my mom brought my brother and me to the United States.

We arrived on June 18, 2007 – just three days after the cutoff date to qualify for Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) established by former president Barack Obama.

DACA has helped hundreds of thousands of young immigrants get work permits, but too many of us are left out completely.

Initially, we came to visit my grandparents, as we had done for years. However, my mom decided to stay on a tourist visa, hoping to provide us better opportunities.

As a child, I had no say.

I grew up with a shadow over my dreams

Upon arriving in the United States, my mother tearfully instructed us to memorize a phone number in case she was deported and never returned from work. The constant fear of losing my family has stayed with me since then. 

I remain undocumented, which means living in constant uncertainty with no access to many essential services, including health care and employment opportunities.

It also means confronting immigration-related obstacles at every turn. I’m unable to get an Arizona government-issued ID or driver’s license, a Social Security number or a work permit.

Additionally, I am ineligible for internships or fellowships, or even opening a bank account. Moreover, the pervasive fear of deportation looms overhead, casting a shadow on my aspirations and dreams. 

I’ve overachieved and proved my worth to compensate for my undocumented status. Merely being good was not enough. I strived for greatness to be worthy of citizenship ... some day. 

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I excelled academically, receiving perfect attendance and grades. At Metro Tech High School in Phoenix, I doubled my efforts to pursue a college education, ensuring my mother’s sacrifices would not be in vain.

When I graduate, I may have slim prospects

As I approach the end of my biomedical engineering degree at Arizona State University, I face the harsh reality that my immigration status may prevent me from reaching my full potential.

Proposition 308, which recently passed, has enabled me to pay in-state tuition. Throughout the years, I’ve heavily relied on several scholarships to fund my education. Without them, I would not have been able to afford to pursue a degree.

Although I dream of attending law school to become an immigration attorney, I still have limited options.

Even though I now pay in-state tuition, I still can’t work legally. Law school tuition is expensive, and I would still need to depend heavily on scholarships to continue my studies.

Throughout my academic journey, I’ve met individuals who struggle to comprehend the unique challenges undocumented students face. Often, I find myself educating them with my personal story to garner their understanding and support.

Despite assurances that pursuing higher education would lead to a better future, the door to opportunities has remained shut, leaving my brother, a recent mechanical engineering graduate, and me unable to work in our chosen fields. 

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DACA is not the permanent solution we need

The DACA program, while providing temporary relief for some, does not offer a permanent solution for all. Many individuals, like myself, are ineligible for DACA for various reasons.

I ask Congress to pass a comprehensive immigration reform that goes beyond DACA and provides a lasting solution for me and others like my mom and brother.

While my mother selflessly prioritizes our needs over hers and would be content with legislation focused solely on DACA youth, I firmly believe it’s essential to have a comprehensive approach that offers a clear path to permanent legal status for all.

We’re eager to contribute to our communities and support our families, despite being constantly plagued by feelings of inadequacy, abandonment and anxiety due to our circumstances. The struggles of undocumented individuals like me are often overlooked in the broader conversation.

In the face of derogatory comments telling me to "go back to where I came from," I respond with my truth.

I belong here. This is my home, and I have done more than enough to prove it.

Angel Palazuelos is a senior biomedical engineering student at Arizona State University and an intern at Aliento, which serves undocumented, DACA and mixed immigration status families. This column first published at The Arizona Republic.