By Sharon CuellarSpecial to the Chronicle

My ultimate goal when I was a 14-year-old in high school was to go to college. It always felt like a dream – an achievable dream. As long as I can remember, my parents always urged me to get a higher education, and so it was, it was my dream.

I became part of the Pride in the fall of 2015 and I was more than eager to become a college student. I was the first one in my family to go to college. The first day of my freshman year was quite overwhelming. I vividly remember my parents holding back tears as I got on the train towards Mineola saying, “You did it, mija,” as I felt a tear go down my face.

I set foot on a college campus and I had never become so afraid. I was in an unknown place. It did not feel like home. I did not really know anyone and I was on my own for the first time in 17 years. As the semester went on and I made friends, I suddenly realized that I felt alone – alone in the sense that I did not have anyone to lean on.

For non-Latinx students, the college experience might be exciting and liberating, but mine was quite unfamiliar.

Trying to balance schoolwork with my job and my family became so overwhelming because in Latinx communities, family takes precedence over anything. I worked 20-40 hours per week back home and was also a full-time student with a class every morning at 9 a.m.

I was unable to join clubs or hang out with friends because most of the time I was studying or had to be home. Yet when I was at home, it felt strange. I felt detached from my roots and my purpose, which made me feel alone, even in the place that used to feel the safest.

It was not until I spoke to a close friend of mine, who was also Latino, that I realized I was not alone. College is hard, but it is even harder for us. We did not feel that we were home enough but we also felt that we were not at school as much as we should be, which was conflicting.

Being at a predominantly white institution made us both feel that faculty and friends did not comprehend how exhausting it was to maintain this balance of family and school, which held our potential back.

When I thought I could not feel anymore isolated, the Trump administration and its discriminatory message came into power. I was scared and angry. I know everyone was, but for me, it was different. I was scared for the future of my parents and my brother. I was hurting for people back home – Dreamers and friends from undocumented families. At one point, I became so angry at the nation for being so old-fashioned and racist that I became unattached from my own situation because I could not believe what was going on. I was afraid to step out and be … me. Being Mexican is part of my identity; it makes me who I am. I was not able to comfortably go out into the world without other people accepting me, which made me insecure.

When I saw Hofstra’s “You Are Welcome Here” campaign, that made me feel safe. I was so reluctant to the environment I was surrounded with that I never perceived how open and welcoming Hofstra was. Hofstra is not as diverse as I want it to be. Despite this, it is very satisfying to know that I have coworkers, friends and faculty that believe that my people are just as equal as they are. Seeing other students from all types of different backgrounds advocate for minorities makes me hopeful.

I am fortunate enough to say that I have not personally experienced marginalization at Hofstra, but I know other people’s experiences at other colleges have been different. Hofstra has given me the privilege to feel safe and get a valuable education.

As a Latina with that opportunity, it is now my responsibility to advocate for those Latinx students who have not been so lucky.

The views and opinions expressed in the Editorial section are those of the authors of the articles. They are not an endorsement of the views of The Chronicle or its staff. The Chronicle does not discriminate based on the opinions of the authors.