“We’re under attack! EVERYONE HIDE!” I heard in the distance. The counting started,“10,9,8,7…” I ran as fast as I could, my shadow falling behind. I looked around, trying to find the perfect spot. “6,5,4,3,2…” My heart started racing. I crouched, holding my breath, so still I could hear my pulse thudding in the silence. “1! Ready or not, here I come!” I wasn’t under attack, it was just another round of hide and seek, where the seeker starts counting and the hiders find a spot to not get caught. However, the lessons I’ve taken away from hide and seek extend much further than that. One evening, I overheard my parents' muffled conversation through the thin, unbiased walls of our apartment. “We can’t make ends meet.” In that moment, the fearless child who once confronted every challenge head-on began to fade. I wasn’t just hiding from the seeker anymore—I was hiding from myself. As soon as the game started, I heard a voice from the distance, “Where are you?” Afraid, I stayed quiet, hoping it would pass by. The truth is, I wasn't afraid of being found; I was afraid of being different. In that moment, the game felt less like hide and seek and more like the challenges I face in life. “Gangin, you still don’t have any pokemon cards?” one of my friends asked, a mix of surprise and pity in their voice. “Not yet... but hey, I’ll get them soon,” I said, forcing a smile. They barely glanced at me before turning away, their silence saying everything. From that moment, they drifted further, never realizing how much their dismissal really hurt. One afternoon while out shopping with my parents, I saw it—the phone my friends had. It was my ticket to belonging; I could finally be with my friends again. But beneath it, the price tag read: "$9.99." As I stared at the tag, I was reminded of what I overheard that evening: “We can’t make ends meet.” Those words ringed in my ears but the desire to belong, to stop hiding behind the invisible wall that separated me from my peers, was overwhelming. So I did it. I committed a crime. I took off my jacket and wrapped the card pack. I ran as fast as I could, found my parents and we exited the store. As we stepped further away from the store, I felt the weight of the pack feel heavier and heavier, not in my hands, but on my heart. The price of fitting in seemed far more expensive than I ever thought, and I paid for it not with money, but with a piece of myself. Then, back in the game. I heard the voice again. “Found you!” My mother said as she looked under the table, “You thought you could hide forever?” She said with a smile. But instead of fear, I felt a wave of relief. I was tired of hiding, tired of carrying the guilt alone. I confessed everything, knowing I couldn’t keep covering who I truly was. Like in the game, hiding felt safe at first, but I soon realized the real lesson: true strength comes from stepping out, vulnerable yet authentic. During my freshman year, following a challenging move to Louisiana, I was struck by the stark contrast between my new surroundings and my previous life. The town was grappling with profound isolation and visible decay. Students were unmotivated, minorities faced bullying, and the opportunities available were painfully scarce. I played the role that my mother played for me. I sought everyone’s hiding spot and helped them so their adversities do not set them back. In order to foster confidence in my community, I created a TaeKwonDo academy. What started as a shy group of people became a family, some students kicking even higher than I can. The journey from hiding to stepping out has defined my life in ways I could never have anticipated. From committing a crime to the confines of my own self-doubt, I learned that true belonging doesn’t come from fitting in or hiding—it comes from embracing who you are and empowering others to do the same. Creating the TaeKwonDo academy was not just about teaching kicks and forms, but about building a community where everyone, no matter their background, can find their strength. Like the game of hide and seek, life offers countless opportunities to stay hidden, but real strength comes from showing up as who you are, ready or not. This is the lesson I’ve learned through the game of hide and seek, and it’s one I hope to carry with me as I continue to create spaces of opportunity, both for myself and for the people around me.