I Was an Undocumented Immigrant. I Beg You to See the Nuance in Our Stories.

Almost 14 years ago, I risked the life I had built for myself in the United States by coming out publicly as an undocumented immigrant.

This past Christmas, I took an even greater risk: To find my way to a stable legal status in this country, I had to leave the place I have called my home for over 30 years. I had no promise of being able to return.

In front of me was an opportunity I almost stopped hoping to find. For me, like many undocumented immigrants, immigration reform — on both a wide scale and a personal one — can seem impossible. On the campaign trail all year we heard endless plans that too often vastly oversimplified the reality of immigration. In this country, immigrants, with their complex, nuanced lives,have seen their stories flattened through misinformation and fear.

Those of us who try our best to navigate the legal system run up against arcane, sometimes nonsensical, even arbitrary rules. We need lawyers, friends and allies to help us.

I was born in the Philippines. When I was 12 my mother sent me to live with her parents, both naturalized U.S. citizens who lived in California. Under family petition laws, U.S. citizen grandparents can’t sponsor their foreign-born grandchildren. I later learned that my grandfather had paid a coyote to bring me to the United States. With the help of educators and mentors, I graduated from San Francisco State University and established myself in my career as a journalist. Over time I learned the limitations of my status: first when I applied for a driver’s license, and later when I applied for jobs.

I was a 20-year-old student when the Dream Act — which stands for Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors — was first introduced in Congress in 2001. At least 20 versions of the legislation have since reached Capitol Hill. None have become law. Each has proposed a path to legalization for immigrants like me who were brought to the United States as children.