For more than 800,000 young, undocumented immigrants, dreams came true under DACA — Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals. Now, with the clock ticking for Congress to act, they’re on the brink of having those dreams dashed.

Here are some of their stories.

Since first arriving in the United States in 2005, South Korean native Jung Rae Jang has come full-circle.

The Flushing, Queens, resident told The Post in 2014 that as an undocumented immigrant, he was barred from enrolling at a public university in Georgia.

But, thanks to DACA, Jang graduated from Hunter College in 2015 with a degree in history. He landed a job as an immigration advocate — helping others navigate the system as he did — without the nagging possibility of deportation.

“I felt great that I could help people that are in a similar situation as me,” he said. He will soon start a job with the Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs.

But Jang, now 27, knows his future hangs in the balance after Tuesday’s White House announcement.

“I feel very sad and devastated by the announcement,” said Jang, whose work permit expires next August.

“We were promised that we’d be protected from deportation, but now that they make an announcement like this, it kind of makes me lose faith a little bit in the US government.”

Jang took a deep breath when asked what he’ll do after 2020, when the program will expire for good if Congress doesn’t act.

“If nothing happens before that, most likely I won’t be able to work,” he said. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

For Bronx resident Zuleima Dominguez, the end of DACA means the return of her fear of deportation.
“Right now, I could lose everything at once,” she said.

Dominguez, 23, who arrived in the country in 2002 at age 7 from Puebla, Mexico, is double-majoring at Hunter College in political science and gender studies.

She is due to graduate in May 2018 — seven months before her DACA work permit expires. Under the announced phase-out, Dominguez falls past the March 2018 cutoff date to apply for a full two-year renewal.

“What President Trump has done by canceling DACA is stop me from obtaining scholarships to continue my education, stop me from continuing to work. It stops me from [doing] so many things,” said Dominguez, who works full-time at Target.

“Do I believe [Trump] that he’s not going to deport me? No, because at one point, he said that he was going to treat us with heart and at this point, he’s treating us with hate,” she added. “He destroyed 800,000 undocumented people’s dreams.”

Dominguez vowed to stay in the United States after her permit expires, to fight for herself and other immigrants.

“We deserve a chance. We deserve to be treated with respect and dignity. We deserve to stay here,” she said. “I’m not going nowhere. If it’s like, stay without DACA, I’m going to stay without DACA.”

As for so many others, DACA meant a better future for Ricardo Aca, who crossed the border from Mexico into Arizona in 2005.

“DACA meant being able to come out of the shadows, to not have to look over your shoulder all the time, to not live in fear that you might be separated from your family and deported,” Aca, 26, said. “I could pursue a career and make a future for myself.”

Aca’s first on-the-books job was as a busboy at Koi restaurant at the Trump Soho.

“It was something I would brag about. I was working in the fancy building of a famous businessman that we all knew from TV,” said Aca, who lives in Ridgewood, Queens, and has to renew his work permit by October 2018.

Aca attends Baruch College — but now worries his eventual degree in politics and international affairs will be for nothing. His dreams of getting a master’s degree from an Ivy League school are up in the air.

“By the time I graduate, my college degree will just be a piece of paper because I won’t be able to work legally,” he said. “At any point I could be deported and separated from my family.”