I don't know much about DACA, because it wasn't something that affected me personally. I was fortunate enough to still be under 18 when my mother remarried an American citizen and entered the US as a permanent resident. I don't know how that works, but I do know that I've never had to worry about my place here in the US and I've never had my status questioned.

My brother wasn't so lucky. He was an illegal immigrant for most of his time in the US after his visa expired. He went from job to job, working under the table mostly but still trying to support our family. And it was like that for a really long time, and I think that must have been the majority of his 20s. He spent his youth in the shadows as an anonymous figure hiding away in the background, because this place, even though he had been in the States longer than me, didn't recognize him as one of its own. 

I don't know what it feels like to be considered 'illegal' in a country that I consider to be my home. I don't know what it feels like to be afraid to drive in case I get pulled over and I don't have a license to present to the officer. I don't know what it's like to still have to drive while fully being aware of that, since I have to hold the job that's paying me below minimum wage to support my family.

My brother knows what all of that is like. I remember him crying outside of our apartment door, crouched over the steps, because we couldn't find his expired passport that might have helped him renew his visa. I remember him frantically rummaging through all of his belongings in his room trying to look for some legal document that could probably help his case, and him sighing in relief when he found it stuck behind the drawer. I remember him rolling up in the back of a police car because he got pulled over for no reason and they towed the car away because he didn't have a license, but the officer felt bad and wanted to drive him home.

A few years ago, he got a work permit through DACA. He got a driver's license, and he got to become the owner of the sushi restaurant he was working at. It was a small restaurant, more like a hole-in-the-wall type of place, and I had to work there without getting paid because he couldn't support our family and have employees at the same time, but it seemed like things were opening up for him. Sure, we still lived below the poverty line, and sure, we still had those lingering familial issues to deal with, but he was no longer afraid when we passed by a police car while he was driving, and he didn't have to work for pay under the table. 

I remember him mentioning in passing that he hopes Trump doesn't win the election, because he doesn't know what he'll do about DACA.

He didn't say anything when Trump won. He just seemed resigned.

It's the things I take for granted. I can get a state issued ID with no problem. I can call the police if I'm in danger without having to worry that they might report me to immigration authorities. I was able to fill out my university applications without an issue because I had all of the necessary documents with me (alien registration number, social security number, etc.). 

I still don't know what it's like to live in a country that calls me 'illegal,' and I most likely never will. I do know that there are over 800,000 people that will be affected by the ending of DACA, who'll be tormented for six months while Congress tries to scheme up a replacement and worried about whether or not the replacement will provide to be merciful to them. 

I don't know much about DACA or what it does or how it works. All I know is that it was the thing that allowed for my brother to finally breathe a sigh of relief and not be afraid of existing in this country. I know that it's what took his fear away and allowed him to grit his teeth and smile even while customers were lining up at our restaurant because he and I were the only ones working. I know that it made my brother think about going to community college so he can stop working at the restaurant and try to become educated.

DACA probably means a lot of different things for the 800,000 other people that it affected. I will never know the full meaning of it because it wasn't something that affected me, but I do know that it was what allowed my brother and countless others in his situation to take a breather and not worry about their legal status for once. I don't know how those people will fare if it is taken away, to go back into that plane where once again their existence in this country is not welcome. I think my brother once described it as a suffocating feeling, to be in that uncertain realm. I am terrified that he has already accepted that as a looming reality.