Leticia Jimenez expects to graduate from California State University, San Bernardino this spring with a degree in business administration.

She came to this country without permission when she was two years old and grew up working with her parents in the fields of the Coachella Valley after school.

She would be excited about the new opportunities that her degree might bring, but would feel anxious every time she left home. "I made sure to say 'goodbye' to my parents properly," she said. "I was more scared when I went out - anything could happen."

Jimenez, 21, is like the millions of undocumented immigrants living in California whose lives are deeply woven into the state’s economic and social fabric and who are increasingly frustrated by a series of immigration-targeting executive orders signed by President Trump. The command felt uneasy.

When Jimenez leaves home, she said she always carries a red card detailing her rights under the U.S. Constitution — one in her purse, one in her car and another One is on the back of her phone case.

"There's going to be a big, chilling element," said Manuel Pastor, director of the USC Equity Institute, which studies immigration in the state. There are about 1 to 8 Californians. Being in the United States illegally or living with a family member who is illegally present in the United States. Most of the immigrants in the state without legal status - about 2.4 million people - have been living here for more than a decade, a factor that sets California apart from the rest of the country.

Pastor said the dramatic changes in enforcement will affect not only undocumented people but also their family members who are "citizens or documented immigrant relatives."

People in California’s industries most reliant on immigrants — manufacturing, agriculture, hospitality, construction — are limiting travel or staying home.

“People are scared to go to the grocery store,” said a farm labor contractor in Ventura County who works with many undocumented workers and who declined to give his name for fear of retaliation. "Some immigrants are afraid to even go to a hospital to give birth at this time."

Mario Cervantes, a gardener from Mexico who has lived in Los Angeles for the past two decades, said he supports Trump's plan to deport criminals who are living illegally in Los Angeles.

But now Cervantes, 50, fears anyone without authorization will be rounded up. He entered the country illegally two decades ago and says he has worked hard and followed the law since then. He said he didn't think Trump's anti-immigrant rhetoric was directed at people like him until he learned about the president's new executive order targeting birthright citizenship.

As he mows lawns and blows leaves across Southern California, he said he plans to be "even more vigilant," especially in certain neighborhoods.

“If I get deported, there’s not much I can do at that point,” he said Tuesday as he chatted with a friend on a corner in Wilmington. However, he added: "I do hope he only goes after people who are here to cause problems."

Trump signed a sweeping series of executive orders — some of which may face legal challenges — that could fundamentally change immigration enforcement in the country. The orders seek to end the refugee system, make it harder for some people to become naturalized citizens, declare a national emergency at the border and enable local police to perform some immigration officer functions that California has banned.

Many elected officials in California have vowed to do whatever they can to protect immigrants. Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta announced Tuesday morning that his office, along with officials in 17 other states, has filed lawsuits over attempts to revoke birthright citizenship.

Masih Fouladi, executive director of the California Immigration Policy Center, said advocates are ready for sweeping changes.

But many people who may have been affected still feel like the orders are an emotional punch. Folladay said he heard about more than 1,000 Afghans who supported U.S. efforts in the country and were allowed to travel to the U.S., many heading to Sacramento, whose travel plans were suddenly thrown into disarray.

People are "terrified to say the least," said Jenny Seon, director of legal services at the Ahri Center, a nonprofit community organization in Buena Park , specializing in serving Korean immigrants and others. "A very scary moment."

There are approximately 560,000 Korean immigrants in California, of whom approximately 55,000 are undocumented. Her organization has been working with people without legal status to prepare for possible deportation, including helping them establish custody of children born in the United States.

"The community is listening to the message and preparing for the worst-case scenario," she said. "The entire immigrant community is really suffering."

In Koreatown, immigrants and their supporters packed Emmanuel Presbyterian Church on Tuesday night for a vigil and legal seminar, one of many information sessions held across the state. Organizers provided cards advising not to speak or sign anything if stopped by immigration authorities.

“We don’t know what timeline ICE (U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement) is working on, but we do know we need to Get ready." Los Angeles, or CHIRLA.

Advocates have been establishing a statewide clearinghouse to collect information on potential immigration enforcement actions. CHIRLA and other advocates are preparing a hotline for Southern California residents to report raids or other anti-immigrant activity.

Law enforcement actions in Kern County in the final weeks of the Biden administration have groups on high alert. Customs and Border Patrol stopped motorists on Highway 99 in and around Bakersfield in what they called a "targeted" operation targeting a transnational criminal organization. A border official said 78 people had been detained and several suspects had been captured. Advocates said about 200 people were detained, many of them farm workers.

Teresa Romero, president of the United Farm Workers union, said people in key immigration areas in the San Joaquin Valley were already reeling from Border Patrol raids when Trump's order was issued earlier this month.

She said in a statement that the executive action "will only increase stress, anxiety and fear."

Still, she and others say, undocumented farmworkers continue to go to work.

In South Los Angeles on Tuesday, several immigrants said they had no choice but to keep working.

“It’s hard right now,” said a woman who gave only her first name, Leticia, and her husband, who sell drills and other construction tools from a blue van. The sidewalk business barely pays rent, she said.

"Worrying about being evicted will only make our situation worse," said her husband, Manuel.

"We have to leave it to God," Leticia said.

The longer immigrants stay in the United States—working, having children, building networks of friends and family—the more dire the threat of deportation becomes.

Sitting next to the van and talking to a friend, who also gave only his first name, Juan said fear was always with him.

"This is something that never really goes away," he said.

But with Trump's inauguration and Juan's neighbors telling him over the weekend that they spotted immigration agents driving nearby, the anxiety escalated. Rumors about such sightings have been circulating since the Kern County round-up, many of them unsubstantiated or false.

This fear suppresses nearby economies as people work and spend less.

Jose Ruiz, 46, said that although he has a green card, many of the customers who hire him to reglaze bathroom fixtures do not. As they took on less and less work, they had less and less money to hire him.

“I usually do two reglazing jobs a day,” he said. “Now I’ve cut it down to once a day.

"They don't want to leave their homes. Sometimes not even for work."