“We don’t need no education” — Oh wait, yes we do

Written by Mira Brock

I sit across from Dia Rueda in Joe’s Coffee on 23rd Street. We drink Earl Grey tea and share a vegan scone. Rueda, at 38, is a confident, curly-haired beauty.  She beams across the table at me, her smile accentuated by bright pink lipstick.

Dia Rueda grew up in Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela. She describes her childhood as being stuck in a “golden cage.” Rueda’s parents did not allow her to play with other children in her neighborhood, who ran around naked and barefoot, and she remembers feeling isolated at her all-girls Catholic school.“I didn’t have money, I was chubby, and I didn’t have straight hair like everyone else,” she says. “I wasn’t really what is considered to be Venezuelan beauty.”

This background and Dia’s story is not unlike that of many other Latina immigrants in the US but it is precisely its relatability that make it a powerful experience to share. Her past, though still a part of her, does not define who she is or aspires to be.

“When you ask me where I’m from, I’ll tell you Venezuela,” says Rueda. “But when you ask me my background, I’m Latina.” Despite being born in Venezuela and identifying with its culture, Rueda calls the United States her home.

Rueda came to the US on May 1st, 1992, only months after the February coup d’etat in Venezuela. At first, adjusting to life in the United States was difficult. She recalls feeling shocked to discover that some of her 8th grade peers at her public middle-school, in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, were pregnant. “I remember my first day of junior high when I saw a bunch of girls my age pregnant,” says Dia. “I had a really hard time adjusting.” However, Dia was able to persevere by dedicating herself to her schoolwork.

“I didn’t want to be here [in the US]. But I knew that I was here for the better,” Rueda says. “So I sucked it up and sort of found shelter in my books.” Rueda remembers studying a lot and focusing on learning English. Previously uninspired by her studies, Rueda soon discovered a budding passion for school and reading. “School became my home and I couldn’t wait for Monday,” she says. “To this day, I think my favorite day is Monday.” By the age of 14, education had become Rueda’s goal. But it was not an easy goal to accomplish.

The hardest obstacle came once Rueda began to learn what it meant to be undocumented in the US. “I realized I couldn’t do what I wanted to do,” she says. “When I got out of high school everything got more complicated. I couldn’t go to college like everyone else.”

As a senior in high school, Rueda went to a camp at Penn State called HAP, Hispanic Academic Program, which guaranteed attendees an acceptance to Penn State with free tuition. However, after meeting with one of the program managers she discovered she was not eligible to attend Penn State without a green card. She left the office in tears, understanding the reality of her situation. “I have no chance,” Rueda remembers thinking to herself. “That’s when I realized.”

Still, Rueda’s fire for learning was not put out. As an undocumented immigrant she paid her entire way through college — attending various schools including the Harrisburg Area Community College and the School of Continuing Studies at NYU — over the course of ten years. During this time, Rueda worked as a nanny, a waitress, and a domestic worker in order to finance each course. “I was undocumented when I graduated from college,” Rueda says with tears in her eyes. “Age 33.”

The schoolwork itself was challenging for Rueda, and she freely admits that she often struggled to write papers and did not have straight A’s. Still, she loved pursuing her education and enjoyed every class. “I always knew having an education is part of who I am,” Rueda says. Watching her speak, one sees this to be true.

When asked what she would tell her 17 year-old self, Rueda says she would tell her to take all the help she can get. “Yes, I can be superwoman,” she says. “But I had help along the way.”

Rueda ultimately obtained her green card through marriage, though she wishes there were more accessible ways. “We have all these successful foreigners,” Rueda says, explaining that she often wonders how others have made it to where they are. “They have all this success and they’re educated,” she says. “Either their parents got it because they struggled or hustled to get it, or you were lucky enough to have someone who really loves you and really wanted to help you out.”

Education is not over for Rueda. She plans to attend law school so she can fulfill her dream of becoming an immigration lawyer. So far, she has applied to seventeen schools, and is still waiting back to hear from two. “If I get denied I will reapply again,” she says. “I will retake the test and reapply and I won’t give up. I can’t, I just can’t.”

I left Rueda in a haze of awe and admiration. And yet, as I walked down the street, I was saddened by the fact that her struggle — although inspirational — is not unique. Despite many benefits, living in the US can be an immense challenge for undocumented immigrants, particularly regarding access to education.  Even so, Rueda’s tremendous personal strength demonstrates the power of perseverance when it comes to achieving your dreams.