Home is 1,716 miles away from the Mexican-American border – in small town Michigan of all places. Yet despite the distance, home is nonetheless stuck between the United States and Mexico. Look closely at my town and you’ll find rigid boundaries. Forbidden crossings too. Our family cooks Mexican food with American ingredients that have painfully American names. Hominy corn. Beans. Hot peppers. Though I was only a freshman at the time, I struggled with the apparent contradiction: that despite the fact that my siblings and I were born 1,716 miles away from the Mexican-American border, we seemed to straddle two countries. Beyond social divisions of ‘us’ and ‘them’, legal reminders have put this border on us as well. Like when my dad got his citizenship in 2016. When I got mine too – that, is my Mexican one. We both needed proof that the country across the dividing line of the Rio Grande was also home. When I recount the numerous borders that have crossed my family, I grapple with their materiality. Through facing social and legal indeterminacy in a place as unlikely as Michigan, I recognize that the immigrant struggle for belonging extends well beyond our physical border. As such, I feel a deep personal obligation to pursue immigration reform. I hope to dedicate my life to fighting for a country where immigrant and their communities are included fully in civic life. Thus far, I have worked diligently to achieve this goal. I have worked in a military base-turned-refugee camp to resettle Afghans displaced by the Taliban, hiked dangerous trails in the Sonoran Desert to leave water for migrants, and even advocated for migrant access to mental health services. Let me speak in detail about this last experience: In 2012, Chicago closed half its public mental health clinics. Immigrant communities have since reported reduced access to clinics and bilingual centers. To address this gap, I joined Treatment Not Trauma to volunteer as a canvass lead. It spearheaded a referendum to reopen the closed mental health clinics. But to get this question on the 20th ward ballot, we needed 1,469 more signatures. Our solution lay Back of The Yards – a Latino immigrant neighborhood with strong support for mental health services. I leveraged my Mexican-American background to encourage civic engagement within my community. In the lead-up to the signature deadline, I spent up to ten hours a day canvassing here. We canvassed every household eligible to vote and earned our question a spot on the ballot. I then facilitated a canvassing workshop between Treatment Not Trauma and two of the University of Chicago’s largest ethnic organizations. This additional outreach paid off. Come election day, our referendum passed with 96% percent support in the 20th Ward. Brandon Johnson has since incorporated our proposal into city policy planning. My commitment to immigrants -- from settlement to arrival -- is evident in my work. I hope to continue this as an immigration lawyer. This profession would empower me to be on the front lines of defending immigrants’ rights. Here, I would challenge deportation orders, file visa applications, and make petitions for asylum. The profession of an immigration lawyer is becoming especially important in our changing world. As climate change intensifies, millions will be displaced. It is therefore up to us to find solutions as radical as the crises we face. I know that human flow will not stop. But laws that harm migrants can. This scholarship is the first step to achieving this dream. With it, I will be one step closer to graduating debt-free – and closer to law school.