The morning of March 3rd, 2003 my dad handed me with a beaming smile a little green card with my picture and name on it. That morning a door had opened for me and my family. It was a door we had been waiting for since 1999, when we left Colombia. I left behind a home and those impromptu family reunions at my grandmother’s house to eat frijoles. My family left behind the shards of glass of my parents’ office window, which shattered when a near-by bomb detonated, and the stress of being held at gunpoint for our car when stopping a red light. It was clear that there was no future in Colombia for us. America became our new home but not everyone gets the same opportunities.

I was a teenager living in the peace and tranquility of South Carolina when I began to understand that even problems occur in America. I was in middle school when one of my closest friends are her family were deported. They have lived in South Carolina for over ten years but that did not seem to matter. I did not really know much about immigration and I did not know what having a green card afforded me. After they were deported, I took an active approach to learning about immigration. My dad put me in touch with an immigration attorney who took me to court and let me shadow him for a day. Sitting on a bench in court surrounded by people, watching a man being escorted in by the bailiff, and watching the judge emerge from her chambers with great authority was both nerve-wracking and thrilling.

A few years after my friend was forced to leave, the parents of my close friend, Ana, were going through a divorce. Ana confided in me and told me her side of the story. I got sucked into the battle and what upset me the most was that her mother thought she could use her as a tool in the divorce. She has the right to feel safe in her own home but she became a bargaining tool from the moment the divorce started. I could not protect her and that frustration fuels my interest in children’s welfare.

I was disillusioned. The places I had called home had their problems. I moved to New York to study, I did not expect to call this place my home. After three years of living here, behind stuck walking behind tourists, deciphering the conductor’s voice on the train, smelling the dubious odor of streets and hearing the harmony of accents the city has become my home in way that no other city has.

My time in mock trial, my internships, my community service activities, conversations, and my interactions with the city have helped me articulate my desires. I want to do something meaningful with my law degree. I want to fight for this city and for my community. I do not know what exact path I want to pursue in law. Maybe I will become a public defender, or an advocate, or a prosecutor. I want to use my law degree to help others—I want to be able to give victims a voice and to fight for them.