Undocumented Ivy League college student Valentina Garcia Gonzalez on the hurdles to her success. Valentina Garcia Gonzalez Fifteen years ago, on September 5, 2002, I arrived in Georgia from my home country of Uruguay.

Six-year-old me was bribed with promises of Disney World and Mickey Mouse, but when I arrived, all I saw were cars and buses and no magical place around. Then, as we walked out of the airport, I saw my father, who had been in the United States for four months, and realized I could forego Mickey and Disney World.

Ever since that day, my life has been boiled down to three things: school, work, overachieving. But even though I was top student in my high school, college was still out of reach. My home state of Georgia barred me from attending public universities due to my undocumented status, and I feared a four-year college could never be a reality.

I spent a gap year after my senior year of high school bolstering my resume and pursuing my dream of college with grit and tenacity, touring college campuses that would provide financial assistance and applying to nine of them. I was accepted into Dartmouth College, shattering a ceiling I was not meant to break in Georgia. Now I’m entering my third year at an Ivy League institution, finally achieving the American Dream™ (myth).

Within these past 15 years of being an “intruder” in this country, I have jumped through countless hoops and hurdles, rings of metaphorical fire, to prove my worth, my humanity, my ability only to arrive at today: Trump saying that I am not human enough to be afforded the most basic human right of having a home.

We are not expendable. We are not all the same. We are human — not aliens nor illegal. We, as undocumented people, are more than just our productivity and economic gain. We want the same rights as any other human being that possesses a piece of paper with nine digits (SSN). Because, at its most basic, that’s what it boils down to: people despising me and my family because I lack a piece of paper. You cannot readily tell that I am undocumented. You do not know where I am from.

And though, long ago, America used to brag about diversity and abundance, today it seems forgotten at every turn:

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

I have lived 21 years in search of the Golden Door. I have been so close to turning the knob and stepping through. Trump has now barricaded it, put guards at the entrance, and wrapped its handle with barbed wire.

The uncertainty of my future is what keeps me awake, frustrated, and fearful, but also motivated. I have fought for 15 years to be seen and heard and acknowledged, and I am hopeful that with the momentum of the dissent from our documented allies and undocumented fighters, we can push Congress to make a change and set a precedent in the US.

I call upon everyone, because this affects everyone. Call your state legislators and demand the protection of undocumented people. Take to the streets, lift your heads high and scream until you can’t scream anymore, cry out for justice, demand protection, walk until you have understood what it is like in our shoes. And, as Sam Cooke has said, it’s been a long time comin’, but a change gon’ come.

Are an undocumented college student or someone with protection under DACA and want to share your perspective? Email ajackson@businessinsider.com