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Ted Hesson

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An American girl in Paris, remembered. This is what her mom wants the world to know.

Nohemi Gonzalez was "a Latina girl that strived to get ahead ... and who achieved many of her dreams."

Any loss of life is a tragedy. But it hurts all the more to see a young person cut down with such a promising future ahead of her.

Students and mourners attend a vigil for Nohemi Gonzalez on Nov. 15 in Long Beach, California. Photo by Sandy Huffaker/Getty Images.

On the evening of Nov. 13, Nohemi Gonzalez was out with three friends at La Belle Equipe, a bistro and wine bar in north-central Paris.

The 23-year-old was studying abroad in Paris as part of her bachelor's degree in industrial design at California State University, Long Beach. She was enjoying her time in the city — her first time out of the United States — and had visited historic sites like the Eiffel Tower and the Cathedral of Notre Dame, according to her mother.

"She had a lot of dreams," Jose Hernandez, a man identified as her stepfather, told the Los Angeles Times. He said that studying in Paris "was one of them."

Her life was cut short at the bistro that night.

Gunmen in a black vehicle opened fire on people sitting on the bistro's terrace, killing 19 people — including Nohemi — and critically wounding nine others, part of a horrific terrorist attack that has jarred France and people around the globe.

Her mother remembers her as someone striving for success.

Although Nohemi's mother, Beatriz Gonzalez, looked emotionally exhausted in an interview published by the Spanish-language news outlet Univision on Nov. 15, she found inspiring words to describe her daughter.

Stepfather Jose Hernandez and mother Beatriz weep during a vigil for Nohemi. Photo by Sandy Huffaker/Getty Images.

When asked how she wanted her Nohemi to be remembered, Beatriz answered, "as a Latina girl that strived to get ahead ... and who achieved many of her dreams."

Nohemi was born in the U.S., according to her mother, but her family came to California from Guanajuato, a state in central Mexico.

"I think the people who did this don't have any conscience," she told Univision. "Because of how many families they hurt."

Nohemi was proud of her immigrant heritage.

A class assignment obtained by the Los Angeles Times gives us a window into how Nohemi envisioned herself.

"I am Mexican American and I also happen to be first generation born in the United States. I grew up in Whittier and had a very hard working mother that raised me to be extremely independent. If I had to describe myself in a few words I would say I am very high spirited, clean, orderly and self driven."

Professors in the design department at Cal State Long Beach lauded her academic performance. She was "a very gifted student," Martin Herman, the department's chairman, told the Los Angeles Times.

Photo by David McNew/AFP/Getty Images.

Beyond her academic performance, she just seemed like a great person.

"Nohemi was an absolute delight," said David Teubner, a professor of design at Cal State Long Beach. "She was funny and warm and such a kind person.... She was involved in everything."

Her friends and family won't let her memory fade away.

Nohemi's fellow students and community members gathered on Nov. 15 at Cal State Long Beach for a vigil to commemorate her life.

Students and mourners hold candles at the vigil. Photo by Sandy Huffaker/Getty Images.

Long Beach Mayor Robert Garcia said she was an "exceptional young woman who worked hard and contributed greatly to [the] community."


Nohemi's cousin, Ellie Gonzalez, captured the raw emotion — and confusion — that many who knew her must be feeling now.

"This is still a really big shock. I don't believe it's real, that this happened," she said. "I'm going to miss her and I love her so much."
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Why would someone cross the border illegally? Hear one man's harrowing story.

When your first day in America means hiding from Border Patrol.

José Miguel Cáceres is a 20-year-old who left Guatemala earlier this year to seek asylum in the U.S.

Here's the story of his first 24 hours at the border, in his own words.

First we arrived there, Camargo. That's the Mexican border with the United States. We were there in a house for four days.

It was a normal house. There were children and their mom and her husband there. Like a normal family. There were six of us, only men. Three of us who were there were from Guatemala, one Nicaraguan and two Salvadorans. I'm 20 years old. The others were 20, 22, 25, all the way up to 40.

We were eating well and able to wash ourselves and everything during those four days. We had everything we needed. On the fourth day, they decided to get us to cross the river.

We left the house in Camargo at five in the afternoon. They picked us up in a white truck and it was only a five-minute ride to the river. We sat in the back and we were covered. We had to be covered because if the army had seen us, they might have killed us or handed us over to immigration.

Once we got to the riverbank, we got out and started to walk. That's when the famous immigration helicopter showed up, the one from the United States.

The helicopter went around in a circle and then lowered a little when it saw us. From there, we dove down on the ground where there were some hills, and we stayed down there a little while. There were lots of plants and thorns.

Illustrations by Kitty Curran/Upworthy

The people from immigration weren't able to see us. The helicopter rose back up, and then from there, it did another circle. That was when we got up and started to run. We ran toward the riverbank so that they wouldn't see where we were. I imagine that maybe they let us go because it's Mexican territory and they weren't able to come down and arrest us. And it was just six people.

When we were watching the helicopter, we were all nervous, all tense. A few of the guys I was with had already been in the U.S. They knew what would happen, how we would suffer if we were caught before we crossed. It's better that they catch you here in the United States than catch you in Mexico. Because throughout Mexico there's a lot of corruption and the police work together with the drug traffickers.

I was coming to the United States because the gangs were extorting me in my neighborhood in Guatemala.

A group of people wanted me to give them money. I was working at McDonald's and they would show up there and ask for money. They would also call my cell phone and home. There were times when they actually came to my neighborhood.

I paid them 3,000 quetzales once, which is about $400. I was a target because I was working and because my family lived in the United States. When they asked me to pay again, I refused. Then they threatened me. They told me they wanted money and if I didn't give it, they were going to kill me. So I spoke with my parents and they immediately sent to bring me here. This was the best option.

I was thinking a lot about my family, my friends, and my girlfriend and her family in Guatemala during the trip. I knew that wherever I was, they were always there with me and supporting me.

So we started running again after the helicopter left. We ran and then we found ourselves another little piece of a hill. Then from there, our guide explained what we were going to do. And he told us that we were going to walk for 15 minutes, to the right.

“OK, 15 minutes," we told ourselves. But 15 minutes became an hour and a half. We walked a good bit, maybe five miles along the river.

We had two guides. They were Mexican, normal people, young, just like us. There was one who had gotten caught maybe a month before. He had a visa or residency here in the United States. But when they caught him bringing people over, they took it away.

When we reached the point where we would cross the river to the United States, we started to inflate the raft.

We were going to inflate it with a pump they brought, but they lost a piece and they had to go back to look for it. We tried to blow it up ourselves, but it was too big. So better to go back and look for the missing piece.

We stayed there, hidden in the brush until one of them came back with the piece and they started to inflate it. "It's good," they told us.

There was just one raft for everyone, for eight people. We needed a raft because the river is very deep and the current is very strong. And the river has whirlpools inside it. That's why many people aren't able to cross. Because they try to swim, but it's too strong.

At that moment, what we were most afraid of was that someone might fall off the raft and into the river. I can't swim, but they gave us life vests.

On one hand, I felt calm because I was using a raft. But on the other hand, I was nervous because an immigration boat could come at any time. And they could arrest us or something.

The raft seemed safe, but it's not.

If the raft hits a wire or maybe a pointy tree branch, even just once, then it can break. Yes, it can break. Then it would send everyone down into the river. We would sink.

We climbed into the raft. There was a person who was rowing and he started to row. It took maybe five minutes to cross and we arrived on the other side. When we finished crossing, it was already dark.

On the other side of the river, the American side, there were woods.

There were plants, trees, and roots all over. We started to climb up a little hill and then they told us to wait a moment.

We waited for five minutes or so and then they gave us instructions for what to do. They told us, "Look, we're going to walk for 15 minutes, that's it. And then someone will show up who will get us in a pickup. The pickup will be there already, waiting. Just a little further."

The walk wasn't hard because there was a dirt road. I think it was for agricultural workers. There are a lot of agricultural companies there, all sorts of companies. Pickup trucks go by there.

When we started to walk, it was around 9 p.m., so there wasn't any light. The sun was down.

Everyone was silent. The one person who said anything was the guide.

He told us what we had to do. He told us first that he wanted us to stay quiet, that we should walk in a line, and that the last one in the back was going to look to make sure no one was coming from behind. If the last person sees someone coming, then warn him.

He said that if we got in a row and went quickly that everything was going to be OK. And that we were going to be with our families soon. They were almost like professionals. I think they cross two groups each day, one in the morning and the other one in the afternoon. They weren't with us for the whole trip. They just cross people over, that's it.

We walked the 15 minutes. Then a guide told us there was a light, and we threw ourselves down in the woods out of fear.

We were worried that someone would be able to see us and was going to arrest us or something like that. There were more thorns on the ground, but when you're in this situation, you don't remember that there are thorns on the ground. We just threw ourselves down.

But then the light passed and they told us, "No, no. It's gone." We continued walking and we arrived at the place where the pickup was supposed to be. But the pickup still hadn't arrived and the guides were worried. They were afraid, too, because if immigration came, the agents would go for them, too.

After all we had gone through, there was a moment of tension because the pickup wasn't where it should have been. So the guides started to call and call and call. We thought about going back.

We were there for 10 minutes, not a long time. But in 10 minutes, you can think about a lot of things. Then suddenly the pickup arrived. "You need to go to the pickup," he said, "but you should go running." The truck was a red GMC and it already had the doors open for us.

We went running to the pickup and since it was night, no one saw us.

We all got in. From there, the driver turned around and we went to a city called Rio Grande.

The last time I had eaten was in the afternoon, but I wasn't hungry. When this is happening, you don't remember if you're hungry or thirsty. All you want is to get out of the situation.

Luckily, we weren't wet. We only got our feet wet, since when we put the raft in the water, we had to climb up. And it was March, so the weather was good. It was a nice day, not too cold, not too hot. I remember the day, it was March 9.

I wore a black sweatshirt, with jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. That's it, they wouldn't let you carry more clothes. I wore them for the whole trip, 10 days.

When we arrived in Rio Grande, we were in a house for about 15 minutes.

It was a nice house and there was a family there. They were good people and they asked us if we wanted something to drink, a soda or a beer. They gave us crackers, something small. They asked if we wanted water, purified water.

The house was pretty big. It had more than one level and maybe five or six rooms, with three trucks parked outside. There was a man, his wife, and a little girl. The man was very nice. They spoke English and they barely spoke Spanish. But two of the guys I was with spoke a little English.

And from there, another young man arrived in a truck and told us, "OK, we're going to McAllen." And then he got us from the house and we got in the truck, a Honda CRV.

We traveled to McAllen and he told us that no matter what — even if the police stop us — we should say we don't know him, that we were just hitchhiking.

There were a lot of police on the highway. We passed 10 patrol cars at one point. We thought they were going to stop us, but they had stopped another person. They had just found a shipment of marijuana and we saw the packages. That's probably what made it so easy for us to pass by at that moment.

The driver was relaxed, though. He was from the United States, but he spoke Spanish. He was 29 or 30 and was wearing boots and a big hat.

It was about 20 minutes from where we were to McAllen. He was playing music and everything. He played Spanish rock music. Maná.

From there, they took us to an auto mechanic shop, where there they told us that two of us would go to an apartment with one guy and the other four would go with another guy. So this is where the group separated.

I went with my friend, the other Guatemalan. They were worried that immigration might check on one of the apartments. This way, if they found one group, they wouldn't get all six of us.

They took us to the apartment, my friend and me.

The apartment wasn't so big. It just had two rooms. One was where the person who was coordinating everything lived. The boss of the operation. In the other room, that was for three of us: me, the other Guatemalan, and a Honduran.

When we arrived at the apartment, it was like 11 p.m. The the Honduran gave us clothes to change into because we were dirty. He told us that the next day we could go to the laundromat.

The room had a television with cable, but no decorations. Just a mattress for him, a mattress for us, a television, and nothing else. That was the room. Oh, and a microwave.

He asked if we were hungry. "Yes, of course," we told him. Then he went to get us food from a restaurant.

We had tacos with beans, a different type than in Mexico. But at that point, anything would have been good. We were really hungry. We stuffed ourselves.

He came and he pulled out a mattress that he had there. He pulled it out and said, "You can sleep here." Then he gave us two sheets. We ate and talked awhile about the experience we had just had. We spoke about the helicopter and all that, about the walking, because we walked a lot. And we thanked God for getting us across uneventfully.

The Honduran guy had already been here six months. He had been living in the apartment, waiting for the right moment to try to pass through the Border Patrol checkpoint on the way to Houston. They were waiting for a rainy day because immigration doesn't go out much when it rains.

After an hour, at maybe 12 a.m., we said, “OK, we're going to sleep because it's time to rest. We've had a rough day."

The Honduran had his own bed and we had a mattress for the two of us. I laid down on the mattress and gave thanks to God for getting us across safely.

I was thankful because there are many people who don't cross the river.

Many people get left behind in the desert. And there are many people who are caught crossing the river. We were lucky to have gotten this far. And we had already gotten through the hardest part.

And from there, we went to sleep. We slept until 9 a.m. the next day and then had breakfast. After a little while, he told us, "Let's go to the shop." The mechanic's shop was only a few blocks away. They didn't want us to stay there alone in the room with nothing to do.

So we walked to the shop to get a change of scenery.

In the shop, we found ways to pass the time. We got to check on some cars and take a few things apart. I don't normally work on cars, but I was watching. There were three mechanics, so we could go with any of those three. If we had any questions about cars, we could ask them. It helped us pass the time more quickly.

A selfie José Miguel took of himself during his time in McAllen. Photo by José Miguel Cáceres, used with permission.

The boss of the operation — who was supposed to help get us to Houston — he was the head of the shop. He had other people who were going to take us to Houston. The shop was big, but he didn't have his own house, just the apartment. He was American, but his mother and father were Honduran and he was born here.

We stayed there until 4 p.m., more or less. When we walked home, the neighborhood was calm. There wasn't traffic and there weren't any people walking around. The street was nice and quiet and there weren't any problems.

Editor's note

I spoke with José Miguel in July at his family's apartment in Arlington, Virginia, where he told me about his first day in the U.S., as well as what came afterward.

He spent five days at the safe house in McAllen while smugglers waited for the right moment to circumvent a Border Patrol checkpoint on the road to Houston. The attempt failed, however, and he was apprehended with 10 other migrants.

He was detained by federal immigration authorities for nearly four months, with most of the time spent at a detention center in Louisiana, far from his family. He was released on bond in mid-July and currently hopes to receive asylum in the U.S.

This is just one story. According to U.S. Customs and Border Protection, from Oct. 1, 2014, to July 31, 2015, Border Patrol agents made 270,818 apprehensions on the Southwest border — numbers that are lower than last year, but still significant. Many of these people were fleeing violence, poverty, and persecution. Others hoped to reunite with relatives on the other side.

Share this story and help more people understand the reality at the border.

*This text has been edited for narrative flow, grammar, and clarity.

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The savvy plan two Puerto Ricans came up with to revitalize the island's economy.

A think tank looks to revive Puerto Rico's stagnant economy.

When Miguel Columna graduated high school in 2006, he followed a pathway that had become common for many of his peers in Puerto Rico: He packed up his bags and left the island.

Columna visiting Culebra, a small island off the eastern coast of Puerto Rico, in Dec. 2013. Photo used with permission.

The now-26-year-old Columna jetted off to Washington, D.C., to study economics and political science at American University. After that, he took a job with the Obama administration, working as a special assistant to the chairman of the Federal Trade Commission.

His story isn't that uncommon.

From 2010 to 2013, more Puerto Ricans left the island than during the entirety of the 1980s and 1990s, according to a report by the Pew Research Center.

The ongoing economic crisis in Puerto Rico is a big reason why so many people are heading out.

Puerto Rico, one of five remaining U.S. territories, is bogged down by a whopping $72 billion in debt and hasn't been able to pay its bills. At this point, some experts say declaring bankruptcy is its best bet because that would allow the government to renegotiate the terms of its debts. But since Puerto Rico is a U.S. territory (sort of like a state, but not really), it can't declare bankruptcy without approval from Congress.

With the Puerto Rican economy in shambles and no promise of relief on the horizon, a net average of roughly 48,000 people per year left the island for the mainland between 2010 and 2013 — and the trend continues today.

Movers pack up a woman's apartment in July as she prepared to move from San Juan to Orlando, Florida. Photo by Joe Raedle/Getty Images.

But folks like Columna are finding a silver lining to the huge numbers of people leaving Puerto Rico behind.

While some see the mass exodus as brain drain — losing ambitious young people to places like New York and Miami — Columna, a transplant himself, envisions his scattered compatriots as a global network, capable of performing “brain circulation" that could bring knowledge, connections, and capital back to Puerto Rico.

His idea: Why not reach out to the millions of Puerto Ricans living outside the island to help promote economic growth back home?

Back in 2012, Columna joined forces with Isabel Rullán, another Puerto Rican working in the Obama administration, to form ConPRmetidos, a think tank that uses public-private partnerships to spark economic development on the island. This July, they launched a new project, the Puerto Rico Global Initiative, focused on connecting Puerto Ricans at home and on the U.S. mainland.

They see the millions of Puerto Rican transplants and their children as potential ambassadors to attract investment in the island.

“We're leveraging the fact that we have this sales force that is untapped," Columna told Upworthy. “It's all these Puerto Ricans who are abroad, who are in decision-making positions."

Of course, even if investments like these succeed, they alone won't solve the island's deep financial woes. For that reason, Columna also wants Congress to allow Puerto Rico to declare bankruptcy.

In the meantime, the group is continuing its more practical work: building connections with Puerto Ricans living abroad who can help bring investments back to their home, in areas such as real estate, energy, and tourism.

Bianca Cabán, a 27-year-old entrepreneur, investor, and philanthropist based in Manhattan, is one of the people who received a boost from Puerto Rico Global.

Cabán (right) with Melissa Mark-Viverito, the speaker of the New York City Council, at a July 2014 event in the Bronx. Photo used with permission.

Both Cabán and her parents were born and raised in New York City, but she still has relatives living in Puerto Rico and would like to see the economy rebound. With a degree in economics and political science from Harvard and experience working for Credit Suisse and Atlas Merchant Capital — an investment firm focusing on emerging global markets — she has the perfect background for a project like this.

In late 2014, she learned about a pilot version of Puerto Rico Global and its mission to connect professionals on the island and around the world. She became an ambassador for the organization but also says they've been “incredibly supportive" when it comes to executing her ideas.

In December, Cabán left her job to pursue investment opportunities in Puerto Rico full time.

At her uncle's house in Rincón, Puerto Rico, during a December 2013 visit. Photo used with permission.

Cabán says she was spurred on by the advice of former Harvard President Lawrence Summers, who also served as a senior adviser for Atlas. She remembers hearing him say to “never waste a crisis," a message that she took to heart. “I saw the opportunity to do well and do good," she says.

So far, she's pitched investors on several business deals in Puerto Rico around real estate and the energy sector, as well as entertainment and medical cannabis. She heads to the island every five to six weeks — staying with friends or in hotels — but would like to establish a business office, if not a home, in San Juan.

Cabán says working with Puerto Rico Global has been "invaluable." Although she grew up visiting the island once or twice a year, she didn't have deep contacts in government or business before now.

“They really helped me get plugged in to that whole system and helped introduce me to the most important people that I needed to know," she says.

Interested in joining the Puerto Rico Global Initiative? Visit them here.

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The 9 teachers who just received awards from the White House were all in the U.S. illegally.

A work permit can change your life.

Jaime Ballesteros first realized just how much his immigration status mattered when he started looking at colleges.

He didn't have a Social Security number — and without that, he wouldn't be able to apply for schools alongside his peers, who were considering colleges like Harvard and Yale.

He knew what was wrong. Born in the Philippines, Jaime came to the U.S. with his parents and older brother when he was 11 years old. His father had a temporary work visa tied to his job as an accountant, which allowed him to bring his wife and children with him.


Jaime at roughly age 6 in Bacolod City, where his family lived in the Philippines. Photo courtesy of Jaime Ballesteros.

Then the recession hit. Jaime's father lost his job in 2007, which meant their visas would expire.

His family went from living the American Dream to immigration fugitives in the course of a year.

The timing couldn't have been worse, either. Jaime was looking at colleges and didn't know how to handle questions about citizenship and legal residency. He turned to one of the few people he thought he could trust, Ms. Solberg, his English teacher.

“She was the first person I came out to as an undocumented person," he told Upworthy. “I was very afraid of putting my family in harm's way."

During his time at Drew University, in December 2011. Photo courtesy of Jaime Ballesteros.

She helped him apply to college, a decision that set him on the path for success. The biggest impediment was money — as an undocumented immigrant, he wasn't eligible for federal financial aid and loans. But after struggling through several applications, he connected with an admissions counselor at Drew University, a liberal arts college in New Jersey. The school was able to offer enough in scholarships to cover his tuition.

He also got a boost from a new immigration policy rolled out in 2012, during his junior year at Drew. The Obama administration announced a program that would allow young undocumented immigrants like him to live and work in the U.S. legally. He applied and was approved.

But he never forgot the support he received from Ms. Solberg.

When Jaime graduated college, he joined Teach for America. Now he's a high school chemistry teacher in the Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles.

At the Ánimo College Preparatory Academy, where he teaches chemistry. Photo courtesy of Jaime Ballesteros.

On the first day of class, he told his students — many of them immigrants, as well — that he was undocumented. “I want them to be comfortable approaching me," he said.

Stories like Jaime's are becoming more and more common.

The program that gave Jaime a pathway to become a teacher — Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) — has allowed more than 664,000 people to work legally in the U.S.

Teachers make up a portion of those newly employed young people, a fact recognized by the White House last week when it handed out Champions of Change awards to nine young teachers, all of whom have work authorization through DACA.

The nine teachers awarded Champions of Change awards by the White House. Photo courtesy of The White House.

The awards typically go to innovative American workers across the spectrum. This time around, all of the recipients were people who either overstayed a visa or entered the country illegally.

Now they're able to live in the U.S. without fear of imminent deportation.

Congrats to Jaime and the eight other educators honored by the White House this week:

1. Kasfia Islam, who moved from Bangladesh to a small town in Texas with her parents at age 6.

Photo courtesy of Kasfia Islam.

As a pre-kindergarten teacher, she said she's careful to watch for students who are learning English and might not understand.

“[The students] want to communicate so badly with you, but they don't have the means to do it, so it can be frustrating for them," she said.

2. Marissa Molina, who came to the U.S. from the Mexican state of Chihuahua when she was 9 years old.

Photo courtesy of Marissa Molina.

After years of hiding her immigration status, Molina feels validated to be able to accept an award from the White House and speak publicly about her situation — for herself and others like her.

“I feel really overwhelmed with emotion," she said about the award. "For many years, I was made to believe that people like me didn't belong in these spaces."

3. Luis Juarez Trevino, whose family brought him to Texas as a child, seeking a better life.

Photo courtesy of Luis Juarez Trevino.

As an immigrant student without much money, Trevino saw college and a professional career as a long shot. “The odds were against me," he said in an email.

“Teachers truly took the time to motivate me, care for my wellbeing, and push me outside of my comfort zone."

4. David Liendo Uriona, who came to the U.S. from Bolivia for a karate tournament and never returned.

Photo courtesy of David Liendo Uriona.

Uriona didn't think college would be an option for him, since he had been living in the U.S. without legal status since he was 14.

“When I was in high school, I felt dejected as result of my lack of documentation," he said. “I know from firsthand experience that there are many students that felt like me in high school, and teaching them that their dreams can come true is one of my biggest motivations."

5. Maria Dominguez, who came to the U.S. when she was 9, after her father — who was living in Texas as a legal resident — passed away in a car accident.

Photo courtesy of Maria Dominguez.

Dominguez said her mother didn't intend to keep the family in Texas after her father's death, but that Austin soon became their home and they joined the estimated 1.5 million undocumented immigrants in the state.

“The Champions of Change Award is allowing me to represent my community, a community that has a voice and a face but that chooses to live in the shadows because they are afraid to share their stories," she told Upworthy.

6. Yara Hidalgo, whose family brought her to California as a 1-year-old from Nayarit, a state in Western Mexico.

Photo courtesy of Yara Hidalgo.

Hidalgo knew from a young age that she wanted to be a teacher, but her experience as an undocumented high schooler — fearing deportation and unsure of her future — steeled her resolve.

"I believe that through education we can promote and be catalysts of progressive change," she said. "Some of our systems are broken and we need to fix them."

7. Rosario Quiroz Villarreal, whose mother brought her from the border state of Coahuila, Mexico, to Oakland, California, at age 7 so they could reunite with her father.

Photo courtesy of Rosario Quiroz Villarreal.

Throughout her life, educators supported her following her professional dreams. She wants to pay that back by guiding others in the same way.

“Growing up undocumented was challenging, given the times I've been rejected because of the lack of a Social Security number," she said. “This validates years of efforts and tells me my work matters."

8. Dinorah Flores Perez, who was 5 years old when her parents brought her from Mexico to the U.S.

Photo courtesy of The White House.

Flores Perez said she "detested" school as a child and chose her profession to make things better for other students.

"I remember feeling invisible, afraid, and insecure in my academic abilities," she said. "I seek to be a different teacher and see my students' limitations as a catapult to change their realities."

These teachers are just a few examples of how much a work permit matters to someone who is in the country without legal status but wants to contribute to their community.

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