I am a DACA recipient — and it feels like my worst fears are coming true

When I first identified myself after Obama's executive order, it was nerve-wracking because we'd been living in the shadows. Briefly, though, life was great. And then Donald Trump got into power

Protesters demonstrating in front of the Supreme Court as justices debate the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals programme (REUTERS)

My name is Roberto Arreola, I’m 26 years old and I come from Mexico. My parents brought me to the US when I was two years old. Their aspiration was for their children to have a prosperous life and to become educated, have a career, and be happy.

Growing up, I never thought about where I was born and I never considered myself lesser for being undocumented. All I knew was standing up and placing my right hand over my heart while declaring my allegiance to the American flag. That was my identity. I learned about American history in elementary school and how we were taught to praise the pilgrims for giving us freedom of religion and the freedom to live our lives as we choose. I identified with that.

I’m thankful to my parents for raising me and instilling within me the value of hard work. My father taught me that “hard work gets you places, because nothing worth having comes easy”. I knew I had to make my parents proud, because I witnessed all the sacrifices my parents had to go through to dress me, feed me, and have a nice bed for me to sleep in.

I was enrolled in a magnet school since elementary, which aims to get high school students into four-year universities. It was only when I entered high school that my identity started to be questioned. Once I turned 16, I wanted to learn how to drive but I couldn’t, because in California only legal residents can obtain a driver’s license. For college, I also found myself unable to apply for financial aid because I wasn’t a legal resident.

I was confused when all of this happened. I was upset — not at my parents for bringing me here as an undocumented immigrant, but because my father was right: I had to work harder to get places, because nothing worth having comes easy. I knew that I had to get through college and make my parents proud because their dreams became my dreams.

I researched special programs for undocumented students, and I found out about AB-540, a bill which states that undocumented students should pay for tuition at the same rate as legal residents rather than as out-of-state applicants. Despite managing to benefit from the bill, my undergraduate journey was long with many obstacles thrown at me. I needed a car to get around, but my car ended up getting impounded because I was driving without a license. I couldn’t get internships like my peers because I didn’t have legal status.

But then on June 15, 2012, President Obama signed an executive order for Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals into existence, allowing us a pathway to legal citizenship. It felt like I was finally being rewarded for my hard work; as if I was being valued for being who I am, a dreamer. All I wanted to do at that time was get a job, own a car I could legally drive, and start off my own American dream. That suddenly seemed within reach.

Filing for DACA was nerve-wracking because we were living in the shadows, and this meant that I would have to disclose to USCIS my history and my parent’s whereabouts — but they promised that they would not use the information to would incriminate me or my family. I was ultimately granted and accepted DACA status, which granted me legal status for two years. That status could be renewed every two years for a fee of $495.

Life was great. I graduated from Cal Poly Pomona and got a job at a community engagement firm. Then Donald Trump began leading in the polls. He made threats about ending DACA, which was one of the biggest fears I had. If he becomes president, I thought to myself, then Trump would have to fill a Supreme Court seat left vacant by Republican senators, which would threaten the legality of DACA. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Then my biggest fear became a reality: Donald Trump became president of the United States. Luckily, during the time of the 2016 election I was able to submit my application on time and was granted DACA status once again. I was relieved to be protected for the immediate future, even as I was worried about what might happen at the Supreme Court further down the line.

An administrative error has, however, left me in limbo. I am now faced with a dilemma with USCIS because my permit was lost in the mail by USPS and never delivered to me, and the only way to obtain another work permit is to reapply and pay the $495 fee. It should be easy, but the current political landscape means this is almost impossible to do. I am now gripped with fear once again because my job and my entire existence here is being challenged at the Supreme Court. What could have been an annoying but easily remediable error at the post office has become a reason for me to face losing my status in a country I’ve lived in since I was two.

Nothing worth having comes easy, even if it means we have to work three times harder. I just hope that my dreams to continue with DACA come true and that my hard work pays off in the end.