I was seven years old when my parents decided to leave behind the constant fear and rampant danger that plagued Colombia. A month before, the floor-to ceiling glass windows of my parents’ dental office exploded from the impact of a nearby bomb detonated by guerilleros trying to kill Pablo Escobar. It was after being held up at gunpoint in their car for the third time that my parents made a final decision to leave. My dad came first to New York at the start of year 1996 to find a home where he did not have to worry about his family getting kidnapped on the way to the grocery store. My older brother and older sister soon joined my dad, and then my mother and I. We left Medellin, Colombia in October 1997, and with that journey, I abandoned my dolls, my friends, my school, my home, and my abuelitos.

In 2001, four years after arriving in the United States, I was given the privilege to stay permanently in America. When my dad handed me that little green card with my name on it, I knew that a door had opened for our family. But I soon became aware that our story is not the norm. As I grew older, I realized that many of my Hispanic friends did not have a choice in coming here, nor did they have a choice in leaving. Sofia and Camila Garcia were my first close Colombian friends in the U.S.; we met in sixth grade and had sleepovers almost every other weekend. Their family had been living in the U.S. for almost fourteen years before they had to leave abruptly after their asylum application was denied. A few months before the Garcias left, Hispanic immigration lawyers came to our small town promising to act on their behalf and the behalf of another few dozen people. But instead, those lawyers took the hard-earned money of various families and left without a trace. Most of the victims lost a significant portion of their savings but they had no one to turn to because they were here illegally and were afraid of the police. Rather than be deported, the Garcia family chose to leave voluntarily in what felt like an overnight decision. Sofia was a sophomore in high school, and like many others, she and her sister had no choice but to follow their parents after years of living in the shadows of American society.

At a very young age, I had been exposed to violence and crime in Colombia, but this was my first conscious encounter with injustice in America. It left me feeling confused and indignant. This sense of injustice and unfairness continued to preoccupy me when our family moved to Southern California to a community that was 30% Hispanic. In my two years of living in Southern California I learned from my friends more about illegal immigration and migrant working conditions than I could have ever learned from a textbook. One of the first Hispanic friends I made, David, was in my psychology class at the start of the semester but three weeks later he was deported. This harsh reality drove me to find ways to learn more about the law and the ways in which the law can oppress or rescue those who I saw in situations of great instability. I sought out attorneys and found one who finally agreed to take me on as a high school intern for his small private firm. I also joined mock trial, which was led by Mr. Martinez, the AP Econ teacher who later became my mentor and role model. Mr. Martinez was an immigrant from Ecuador who fought tooth and nail to obtain a high school degree, college degree, and ultimately a judicial doctorate. Through Mr. Martinez, I learned about some of the principles of economics which broadened my interest in society and the world. His class taught me the ways in which politics, economics, and institutional structures have the power to both create and remedy the systemic injustices I witnessed firsthand in my own community.

By the time I started at New York University, I knew that I wanted to major in economics and learn about the legal and political world firsthand. During my years at NYU, I also volunteered for an HIV shelter, the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office, and a community service center for new immigrants. Each experience has inspired me further to become a lawyer and fight for those who have not always had a voice, who are pushed aside or neglected. Becoming a lawyer would mean having the ability to bring attention to societal issues that are not being addressed, and to give a voice to the groups that tend to be marginalized by society. I want to be a lawyer because I want to fight for Sofia, Camila, David and countless more. Law school will enable me to utilize societal and institutional tools to fight for my community and my adopted home.