The following was written by a DACA recipient. Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals has helped around 800,000 people across the states, allowing applicants to legally pursue education, work and driver’s licenses in this country. As of September 2017, the program was cancelled and many have lost their permits, placing them at risk for deportation. The author’s permit expired this past January. Photography is one of her great loves and we asked her to bring us into her life with words and pictures. This is her story.

—

Mornings.

Studies show that it takes 21 days to form a habit. As a former barista, my daily morning habit was to brew coffee the second my eyes opened. The 4am shifts were always brutal and never believe anyone that tells you “you’ll get used to it”. You don’t. So every morning, for almost four years, I would wake up, walk to the kitchen, and brew a cup of coffee at 2:45 am. Then my day would start.

Afternoons.

Though the opening shift was rough, it did have a couple benefits. One of them being that by noon I was done with an eight hour shift and usually had an hour or two to myself before a second shift at the other job or class at school. I tended to try to get lunch with friends or sneak a power nap in between shifts and classes but every once in a while I’d go enjoy nature instead. Living in San Diego gives you this weird need to be outdoors even after a long shift at work, plus the caffeine sometimes didn’t wear off until six or seven in the evening so sometimes I’d go on hikes. With views like this just around the corner, it’s actually really easy to accidentally exercise.

Evenings.

Occasionally, classes or shifts would get cancelled and I’d have the evening to myself. Usually I’d spend the evening catching up on homework at some cafe or sleeping because sleep was never actually on my schedule. Between three jobs and college, I either paid rent on time or I slept 8 hours a day- not both. On the rare occasion that I had a night off, I tried to sleep as much as possible, however, there were some nights that I just went out with friends. Lots of my friends work at restaurants, so typically I’d go out by myself and just assume I’d run into one of my friends.

At night.

I don’t like super noisy bars or clubs. I prefer dive bars, or 24 hour diners. More than anything though, I love being outside. Even at night. There’s just something about walking in the lights of the city or the silence of Balboa Park at dark. It’s beautiful. I have a terrible habit of skating at night by myself, which would be fine if I was good skater.

Yesterday.

It takes twenty one days for your body to do something out of habit. In twenty one days you can train your body to drink water at a specific time of the day. In just twenty one days. As a child of undocumented parents, I saw my parents struggle to get by in the states. Somehow, driving with an expired license (and unable to renew), hoping that some job would come by in time for rent and that we’d make enough to buy groceries was easier than whatever was happening in their home country. Somehow, this lifestyle of secrecy and danger was easier than going back. It’s taken me twenty four years to feel vaguely safe here, even once I had my permit and was legally able to drive, work and go to school. I had my work permit for five years. In that time I got into the habit of waking up 2:45 am, starting job #1, going to school, and finishing up with job#2 or 3, depending on the day of the week. For five years, my body was in the habit of sleeping 3-5 hours a day and thriving. In January my permit expired and I am no longer able to work, study or drive.

Today.

For the most part, I’m just home. It’s been two months since I became illegal all over again, somehow my body is just not adjusting. Probably because in my mind it’s still a temporary thing. It’s odd to me, that a concept I’m so used to seeing and living is now completely foreign to me. Occasionally, I still have to drive places and I think my friends and family fear more for me than I do. I know my license is expired and if I get pulled over for whatever reason, I run risk of deportation or at least getting detained. You’d think that watching the anxiety and fear in my parents faces while growing up would have remained a strong memory but five years of freedom completely erased that fear for me. Five years of new habits and life changed the memories of fear and anxiety to normal daily life. This has been my home for so long I forget I’m not welcome. So tomorrow, when I accidentally wake up around 2:45 am and immediately want coffee, I’ll have to remind myself that that is no longer my life.

Tomorrow.

My days are pretty free now. I don’t know what to do with my days now that I don’t work three jobs. Usually I visit museums or hang out at the park with my boyfriend. We love going to the tide pools and and I love reading in the sun. I’m not sure what new habits I’m forming now that I’m free all the time, but I do know a couple that I’m holding on to. I’m going to keep checking the news first thing in the morning. I’m going to keep checking on my parents to make sure they’re still safe. And I’m going to keep asking to stay here, until I no longer feel unwelcome in the country I know is my home.