How do you survive when the system won't let you live?

It’s exhausting.

I’m tired of going from one legal option to another, only to be offered the same thing every time: to turn yourself in.

I have a friend who did that, and the deportation was immediate. They didn’t even give them time to breathe — and I’m not exaggerating as much as it sounds.

I know someone else who worked for a company and wanted to do things right. They began the process by turning themselves in, just as instructed. Now they’ve been given a deportation date.

So I ask myself, does it even matter if you work or not?If you don’t work, they say you’re not contributing — and they deport you.

If you do work and try to legalize your status, they also deport you.

I don’t understand.

And as if that weren’t enough, my parents —like many other migrant families— built a little house in an informal settlement. We’ve been living here for a year now, slowly building a decent space with what we can. They bought the land, built the home, and held onto hope.

They told us there would be improvements, that they would fix the roads, the houses, and offer support. But recently, we found out they plan to turn this area into a green space.

That means they might destroy everything that hundreds of migrant families have built with effort and necessity — over 60% of the people here are migrants.

And yes, it’s possible we could end up on the streets.

Who listens to us? Who protects us? Where is the humanity in this?

It’s exhausting to explain again and again that you didn’t come here to steal anything — you came to start over, to work hard, to live with dignity.

I believed that in Chile, by being honest and patient, I would have the chance to rebuild myself.

But how can I do that if I can’t even sign a work contract because no one will hire me for being an irregular migrant?

And without a job, I can’t regularize my status.And without regularizing, I can’t get a job.

One thing leads to another, like a cycle that never breaks.

We’re all waiting for that so-called regularization — the one they say is already prepared and just needs a signature. A signature that never comes. Maybe because, deep down, they simply don’t want to sign it.

And in the meantime, those who decide our future... stay silent.

Sometimes I wonder, where has the humanity gone?

Of those who have the power to sign a regularization process and don't do it.

What's stopping them? Thinking only about themselves, their comfort, their image?

Maybe they never had to migrate.

Maybe, in difficult times like those of Pinochet, they didn't have to leave the country to seek a life elsewhere.

But don't they remember? Do they have no memory?

Because if they once knew what it was like to lose everything... how can they deny us the opportunity to start over?They treat us like a problem. Like numbers. As if our presence were a threat, not a sign of survival.

They call us “illegals,” but all we’ve done is try to survive where there was no more room for pain.

I just want to live. To work. To build a future.

But without opportunities... how are we supposed to do that?

That's what I've experienced so far.

We're still waiting.

We're in the voting stage. The authorities will decide whether to convert this area into a green space or allow us to stay.

I don't know what will happen.

What I do know is that behind every little house, there's a story.

A family. An effort.

And I hope—for once—that people are listened to more than just paper plans.

Because we're not asking for charity, just the opportunity to live without fear and with dignity.

Y así seguimos, viendo cómo el poder se pasea en camionetas blindadas, mientras el pueblo espera que algún día esas promesas bajen del podio y se conviertan en hechos. Pero bueno, al menos nos queda la esperanza… y los discursos bonitos.