"My family has been wondering for years why you don't drive," the nine-year-old boy I was babysitting told me matter-of-factly one day. He was stuffing spoonful after spoonful of Lucky Charms cereal into his mouth.

I just laughed him off, murmuring something about, "Oh, cars are expensive. I can't afford one."

"So you do have a license?" he questioned, looking at me with widened blue eyes.

"Yes," I lied, my face turning rapidly red, and I quickly changed the subject to skateboarding; a topic he's obsessed with.

He's young, so it's not as if he really understands the process of obtaining a driver's license or buying a car, and my answers were enough to placate him. Still the short conversation left me feeling slightly sick to my stomach.

Then a few weeks later I was visiting a college friend, who knows about my situation. She had invited a few of her ‘work' friends over, and I was getting along with them all. As with most recent college graduate conversations, the topic of work came about. I easily deflected the question of what I'd been doing since graduation by saying I had a few part-time jobs and taking some time off to explore my options. I was really enjoying the companionship until my friend blurts out that I don't drive, spinning the words so it sounded as if it was by choice. 

I believe she only revealed this personal bit of information as a way to explain why I didn't have a ‘real' job, even though I felt my early explanation was adequate enough. I don't think she realized the sensitivity of the subject or that this represented the very thing I hid from everyone I met - my undocumented status.

Her friends were kind enough to just smile and nod, but it left me feeling mortified. I wanted to scream that it wasn't my choice. I wasn't lazy or afraid or unmotivated, just stuck in the incredibly frustrating situation of the undocumented DREAMER.