Immigration conversations are always deeply personal to me. It’s a topic the brings up a lot emotions for me. I was raised by my mom and aunts, three immigrant women, who crossed the border for a dream. They weren’t just dreaming of their future and kids, but those that would come after them. They didn’t have a childhood; they worked as kids. I remember my aunt sharing with me how she had a doll, but never got to play with it because she needed to work at a young age. They didn’t get to go to high school or get a sweet 16. One left first, and the other two followed. Risking it all just for a dream, without actually knowing if they would survive crossing to the United States. For a long time, I watched my mom clean apartments and never really be around. For a long time, I didn’t get it. I wasn’t a mom, and I didn’t see what I see now. She didn’t experience the motherhood I have. I have choices; she never did. I have a degree that she never obtained but I got to obtain because of her h...