The American Dream is often defined as the belief that anyone, regardless of their background, can achieve success and upward mobility through hard work, determination, and initiative. For me, as a DACA recipient, the American Dream carries a weight that feels both deeply personal and intensely complicated. It’s a dream I’ve always heard about, but one that I’ve had to fight to claim, one that’s constantly at risk of being taken away.
I was brought to the United States as a child, and like many others in the DACA program, I have spent most of my life here. This country is the only home I know, yet the uncertainty of my status always lingers in the background, a reminder that the American Dream is not a guarantee for everyone. Growing up, I was taught that America was the land of opportunity, where anyone could make a life for themselves, regardless of their origin. And for a long time, I believed in that promise. I saw my friends and classmates working toward their goals, and I wanted the same for myself.
However, the reality of being undocumented and eventually receiving DACA is a complicated one. While DACA allows me to work legally and pursue education, the fear of losing it—and the fear of being deported—remains. The American Dream, for me, isn’t a clear, open road. It’s full of obstacles that others don’t face, even though we all start from the same place. My accomplishments don’t feel fully celebrated because the system doesn’t always see me as truly belonging here. I often have to explain my status, explain my worth, and justify my presence.
I’ve worked hard to overcome these challenges. I’m in school, I have a job, and I try to contribute to my community. I am not different from other young people working toward their futures, except that my future has always been uncertain, as if a part of it is on pause until something changes. And that’s where the American Dream for someone like me becomes an ever-present question—will it always be out of reach? Will I ever be fully allowed to chase it, without the constant fear of being sent away from the only place I’ve ever considered home?
To me, the American Dream is about belonging, not just about success. It’s about having the opportunity to create something for yourself, but also about being seen as equal in that pursuit. It’s about having security, not just ambition. And although I don’t know where my path will ultimately lead, I know that the American Dream is something worth fighting for, even when it feels just beyond my grasp. I’ve lived here, loved here, and worked here, and if that’s not part of the American Dream, then I’m not sure what is.