My foot crushed the grapes that made your wine. I am the woman who cleaned your hotel room. I am the man who mowed the grass you walk on. I am the student sitting next to you. I am a ghost.
I became nobody when my parents decided to step foot in the United States when I was only nine months old, deprived of a nine-digit social security number that would come to haunt my family as our time as criminals in this country ticked on.
One of my earliest memories is of my brother and me hiding in the closet of our home as immigration officials looked for my dad throughout our apartment complex. My ghost status has haunted me throughout my life. Not having medical insurance was hard in my early years suffering with severe asthma. Every time I drive to school I risk being pulled over, losing my car, and possibly being deported and separated from my family. Facing tuition without financial aid makes it hard for me to pursue a career in journalism.
I'm one of 65,000 undocumented immigrants that graduate from high school each year. We have been deprived of the right to pursue happiness and bloom into the professionals we desire to be.
This is a human rights issue. We are condemned for the actions of our parents who brought us here, hoping we would grow up to be honest, professional people. Without the privileges of citizens, thousands of students don't have the ability to cure this world of famine and make it whole.