Claiming Space: A First-Gen, Undocumented Student’s College Journey

At just 24 years old, Javier Orellana Ostorga has already lived a story many students will never encounter, yet countless others will see themselves in. He is a proud Salvadorian immigrant, a first-generation college graduate, an advocate for immigrant rights in the D.C.-Virginia area, and someone who has learned to navigate systems never designed with him in mind. 

For Javier, college was never simply about earning a degree. It was a question of possibility, identity, and dignity; questions made heavier by the fact that he arrived in the United States undocumented. 

Growing up, he assumed college might always be out of reach. In his Maryland public high school, one that was majority Hispanic and Black but academically dominated by white students, he rarely saw people who looked like him in AP classes, leadership roles, or college-bound spaces. 

All of that shifted when he attended a college-prep workshop for first-generation students. Surrounded by Latino peers openly discussing majors, financial aid, and applications, Javier felt something click. 

“If they can do this, why can’t I?”

That moment cracked open a door he once believed was permanently locked. Still, doubt followed him everywhere, not doubt in his abilities, but doubt rooted in a deeper fear: “Can I even go to college if I’m undocumented?”

His status shaped every decision, every dream. Yet mentors, teachers, and friends encouraged him to try, apply, and believe that he belonged in higher education. 

When Javier talks about college, he never mentions prestige or salary. Instead, he talks about power, not power over others, but the power to be heard and seen. He highlights, “College wasn’t just about a diploma. For me, it was about access, visibility, and dignity.” Higher education gave him the language and tools to understand systems he once had to navigate blindly.

It validated the experiences he carried from his community: ESOL students, DACA recipients, undocumented peers, and students whose stories were often whispered but rarely uplifted in formal institutions. College helped him transform those lived experiences into something bigger: advocacy.

However, college was never easy, and for Javier, his sophomore year nearly broke him. Financial stress, family concerns, and the constant emotional weight of his status left him overwhelmed. Dropping out felt close, too close. 

The Cisneros Institute at George Washington University reminded him of something he had forgotten: he wasn’t doing this alone. They helped him stay grounded, encouraging him to keep going and reminding him that returning later would be far harder. Javier pushed forward, carrying not just his own hopes but the dreams his parents never had the chance to chase. 

When graduation day arrived, disbelief washed over him.

 “My parents didn’t study past elementary school. Finishing college was a symbol of their sacrifice, and proof that we belong in places that once felt unreachable.”

Javier’s motivation never stemmed solely from personal ambition. It came from the community. He often asks himself: 

“If I don’t make room for us, who will?”

That mindset motivated him to become active on campus, to speak up, build community, and support other immigrant students facing the same fears and uncertainties he had once faced. Whether leading workshops, joining organizations, or mentoring students, he learned that success is collective, representation creates possibility, and visibility becomes a responsibility. His identity as an undocumented student wasn’t something to hide; it became the foundation of his purpose. 

Having lived through the gaps firsthand, Javier believes college needs to do much more for undocumented and DACA students. Representation is not enough. He believes that we need more resource centers specifically for immigrant, undocumented, and international students, financial support regardless of status, campus jobs or micro-internships accessible to students without work authorization, faculty trained in culturally responsive practices, and personalized guidance for students with unique immigration barriers. For him, “diversity” isn’t just a statement; it requires action, funding, and intentional support. 

Today, Javier is exploring new passions in the arts and fashion, fields he has always loved but never felt he could pursue. For the first time, he is allowing himself to imagine a life driven by genuine interest, not fear or limitation. Graduate school is still in the picture, but on his timeline. His journey taught him that growth doesn’t have to follow a rigid path. 

Javier’s message for others walking similar paths is powerful. College is not just about jobs, money, or status. It is about discovering your power, embracing your story, and proving that your identity is not a barrier, it’s an asset. 

He hopes his story becomes a doorway for those who come after him, showing undocumented students that their identity and their status are not something to overcome but rather something to embrace and use to lead.

In the end, Javier’s journey is a reminder that even in the most uncertain moments, when the cards are stacked against you, there is still room to move forward, to grow, and to imagine something bigger for yourself, because “Your story is valid. Your future is worth investing in.”