The fluorescent lighting buzzed softly above as I sat in front of the placard reading "United States." I remember the scratch of my pen across the yellow notepad as delegates from across the area exchanged speeches between them. It was my first Model United Nations conference, and while most treated it as a mere extracurricular activity, I saw it for what it really was—a testing ground. I was seventeen, dressed in my too-large suit jacket, trying to calm my nerves before speaking. But as I got up and approached the podium, something flipped. When I was speaking about the resolution on humanitarian aid and guarding vulnerable populations, I knew just how much I cherished real-life leadership. I knew that there are people's lives at stake behind every policy, every vote. That day, I negotiated deals, forged compromise, and for the first time, felt what it was to serve—not just my delegation, but the greater good. It started as an exercise in argumentation and became the seed of my passion: public service driven by integrity, accountability, and advocacy. But it wasn't the conference adrenaline or the negotiation high that stuck with me—it was what followed. During lunch, I walked over to a remote area of the complex where another representative, obviously traumatized, sat by himself. They told me about what their family had experienced having been displaced by a natural disaster in their country of origin. As we talked about the confusion, lack of legal aid, and fear of not knowing whom to turn to, I could see how these discussions we were having in the committee room were mirroring real crises people face all around the globe. I felt a sense of duty rest upon me—not just to talk about solutions, but to be the kind of person who enacts them. That was when my journey toward civil service truly started. I dedicated the next several years to plunging myself into volunteer work—whether providing assistance to grass-roots community initiatives or volunteering with community outreach programs—and learning about the consistent, unsung power of behind-the-scenes service. But regardless, I was still attracted to something more: the power to combine my love of advocacy with a sense of responsibility to protect. That's when I made up my mind to be a Judge Advocate General (JAG) officer. The military has always struck me as the ultimate expression of service—discipline, sacrifice, and leadership at its best. But the legal issues faced in the military system intrigued me even more. Soldiers are often faced with complicated, high-stakes situations where the rule of law is their shield. I want to be the one to ensure that they are treated fairly, their rights are respected, and ethical decision-making is always a priority. My education fit in here, too. My father, who was a leader of public schools, showed me what it means to be the person people look up to when the hard choices must be made. I watched him wrestle with decisions that would affect thousands of students, never losing sight of the individual lives behind the policies. He taught me from him that leadership isn't about making rules—it's about empathy, fairness, and spine. From that very first MUN conference up through today, my life has just had one aim: serve, protect, and lead for a purpose. Entering into a career as a JAG officer is not one of choice, but a serving of purpose, which I brought with me having sat behind that "United States" placard, knowing that I had found where I was meant to be.

First I sat down with this mutual acquaintance, his name was Jamaree. He was quite open about his sexuality, and I began to wonder how he did it. How do you admit something like that? How do you bring it up? How do you feel comfortable with people judging or talking or spreading rumors? I had to know. We sat down at a lunch bench, just the two of us. I felt like people were already talking about us. I quickly asked him what first came to mind, “Do you ever regret coming out?”. He gave me a slight smile and tilted his head. “He knows.” I thought to myself. He did know. Then he said something along the lines of this. “If I never told anyone, I wouldn’t feel worthy to be confident in myself.” That stuck with me. I always was scared of the rumors, the identity I had, my ego got in the way. I’m a 6 '3 athlete with a high self-esteem, it seemed impossible to make myself bisexual. But I am, and I always walked around with my head high, and I deserved to do the same in this circumstance. Sure it wasn’t for a club, or an extracurricular, but this time it was for me. That conversation with Jamaree was two weeks ago as I’m writing this. I sat down with my parents. Mi madre y padre. Good ol’ dad and mom. Dad was your typical former highschool quarterback, we’d always play sports and talk basketball in the living room. My mom was a preppy track girl, go you, go family, go team! I wasn’t looking forward to this talk. This talk was one week ago. My dad would always joke when we had talks of serious content, “listen, we always knew you were… gay.” then we’d laugh it off. We couldn’t laugh it off this time. My dad was puzzled, he thought I was joking, not in a mean way but it still hurt. My mother immediately hugged me and proceeded to make my favorite dishes for the next couple of days. Now we conclude with today. I plan to tell my friends soon, I just need space in between these sorts of talks. I feel a trend. They comfort you, they think you’re joking, they become concerned. Why can’t they just be normal about it? I can’t tell if it’s because I’m a sporty confident guy or this is universal. But I feel good about coming out now. Bisexual, it’s got a nice ring to it. I’ve always been a guy that always has his head high and likes to be expressive and radiate positivity. I don’t see how this is different, because weirdly enough, I feel like it’s supposed to be. All the movies and books, it’s some milestone. This is just me, and I think that is just me. Just because I’m bisexual doesn’t mean I have to convert my personality to fit other’s expectations. And I won’t.