The United States Senate is currently debating a proposal for immigration reform, an issue that affects me personally. Now that I have the chance, it's time for me to speak up and add my story to the mix of perspectives.

I am an undocumented student at Stanford University. I was born in Mexico, but moved to the United States at the age of three after a Mexican construction firm sponsored an E2 investor visa for my father. I began elementary school at age four; by kindergarten, I had started calling Texas home, and by first grade I was fluent in English. My family adjusted well to life in southern Texas, where waves of immigration had made the region predominantly Hispanic, very much like Mexico, and the ideal place to, of all things, build lots of houses. My father's job and the promise of opportunity were secure for the time.

But in 2001, as I was entering second grade, my family's circumstances changed dramatically. My father was suddenly fired from his job as construction manager, after a disagreement over the independent construction projects he was carrying out to supplement his low wage. My father turned in panic to lawyers, but all he learned was that we had to leave the country immediately.

I do not know what eventually pushed my parents to stay. Perhaps it had something to do with the upheaval that turning back our hard-earned progress would cause. How could they take me away from the gifted and talented program I had just been accepted to, or tell my sister that she wasn't going to finish elementary school with her friends? From then on, my family and I became visa "overstays".

I did not understand what it means to be undocumented until I began high school. It was then that I discovered the limits of my circumstances, missing marching band competitions, track meets and summer camps. With further exposure, I began to see what it means to lack health insurance and not have a driver's license like my peers. But I had reason to hope. I was doing well academically and convinced my parents to allow me to change schools after my sophomore year. I entered a public International Baccalaureate school, which would let me take a greater number of rigorous courses.

My idealism and ambition expanded so rapidly that I soon hit the limits of my undocumented status. My senior year of high school, I was arrested at an airport for trying to go visit Texas' largest public university, which I knew accepted undocumented students like me. Twelve hours in an underground Customs and Border Patrol detention facility showed me too clearly the limits of my idealism. With my release, however, everything changed.

The release document that summoned me to see an immigration judge also granted me the ability to travel within the US mainland. All of a sudden, I was able to actually travel to and perhaps even attend the universities I had only dreamed of applying to until then. That small concession renewed my spirit at a time when I was ready to give up.

I graduated from high school a few months later as the class salutatorian, breaking my city's record for International Baccalaureate scores while also achieving the honor of AP scholar with distinction. In what was for me a validation of my hard work, I was accepted to some great schools and decided to attend Stanford University. Thankfully, now that I have been granted Deferred Action status, I have fewer reasons to fear deportation. Under Deferred Action, I am also able to work, and even obtain a driver's license. But this two-year measure will likely end after one renewal with President Obama's presidency, as it represents only a temporary exercise of discretionary executive power.

Already the same barriers are confronting me. I am again missing out on summer opportunities, missing out on many research and internship opportunities available only to US citizens. Although I am part of Stanford's solar car team, I will not be going to Australia this upcoming fall, because I still cannot travel outside the country.

Without immigration reform I will be left jobless and exposed after I graduate, unless I can receive financial aid to pursue a graduate degree somewhere. And what do I do after that? The reality of my legal circumstances continues to haunt me, and mocks the dreams that Stanford is helping inspire.

I'm a mechanical engineering major, a field the US wants to grow and promote more students to study. I want to first work as an engineer on green advancements in energy and transportation, and later in my career use this knowledge to advise policy. I sometimes also dream of running for public office in southern Texas to help the public education system that helped me. I'm passionate about what I do at Stanford, and driven to effect change with what I have learned and hope to achieve. But my wings are cut right now.

I have seen the many sides of immigration, from the numerous visa denials my father experienced before finally receiving an E2 visa, to the often-sad reality of undocumented workers and families in southern Texas. I have seen deportations and raids occur in my neighborhoods, and have myself been detained. Now at Stanford, I can see the immigration debate raging in Congress, and just down the street from me at the many Silicon Valley firms that have suddenly become supporters of reform.

I may be without wings because of my undocumented status, but I still have a voice that I hope will be heard in the midst of all the arguments.