Made Outside America
“Uno siempre anhela tener una sala bonita con un comedor bonito y, pues, no. Tampoco se arriesga uno a comprar una sala bonita porque de pronto hoy estamos aquí y mañana no.”
My white then-boyfriend joked as I sat next to him in the car. I had been telling him about a meeting I had gone to earlier that day. A group of black students had been joking about the lack of seasoning in white food and had turned to me to say, “No offense.”
The thing that bothers me about this number is that it doesn’t seem that bad at first. I have over a year left. A lot can happen in that time. But that’s exactly it: A lot can change. Each day that passes, 122 DACA recipients lose their status. My deadline is just a bit farther away. Right now, my DACA is set to expire as I take my finals next year. It will last me through my first three years at Harvard. But it is set to expire before I graduate. A lot can happen in that time. Graduation is not guaranteed. Permission to work after college is not guaranteed.
During the event, I asked him how he could justify a plan that would divide our community and increase deaths at the border, and he claimed his hands were tied because he had to compromise with the demands of the Republicans. He looked at me and said, “We’ve got to turn this over to the next generation who’s willing to fight, and I can’t think of better leaders than those who have been through the struggle.” He was so happy to see how empowered immigrant youth were becoming because we were fighting for our rights.