It wasn’t until everything changed that I began to see where I truly wanted to go. As I stepped off the plane at SFO from Seoul, my mind was full of plans: I’d join the debate class, learn about cultures different from mine, and work as a cashier at the school cafeteria. Within two months at a new school, my plans came to life. I felt like I belonged when I competed in policy debate, engaging in everyday conversations with my peers at the cash register, and participating as an avid learner in French class with Madame Denis. This lasted until March thirteenth, when the school announced an “extended spring break” due to the pandemic. Then, my world unraveled: my dad got fired, I came out to a family unprepared and hostile, and I was confined to a dreary apartment with little natural light. The social isolation of navigating a Zoom meeting of strangers as a new kid ranked top on my own “Series of Unfortunate Events.” The security I had as a straight-A student and a leader crumbled, and my long-standing self-identity with it. Then, I found myself entirely out of place: once the exemplar, now the anomaly. “It gets better” felt like a lie to me in the throes of an identity and financial crisis. However, the paradox is that the pandemic, the cause of my downward spiral, simultaneously gave me a lifeline. I suffered, but so did many others—financially, politically, and mentally. I found the BLM protests of 2020 and the chaos of the presidential election to be motivational. I wanted to be a person who took action, more than just sitting and scrolling, to make an impact—even on just a few. As with all things, it was a process. My involvement went from phone banking with the High School Democrats to eventually forming a student chapter affiliated with the Young Democratic Socialists of America (YDSA). I was eager to stand in solidarity in a world that demanded separation during the pandemic. During this time, I developed a hobby of diving deep into topics that piqued my interest via YouTube video essays by philosophers and journalists. After a few months, I wanted my political take to be an option for prospective viewers, so I created videos sharing my opinions on topics ranging from post-9/11 civil liberties to 2021’s UN report on climate change. To my surprise, I was featured as an up-and-coming video essayist on The Humanist Report, a leading progressive YouTuber covering current events. Subsequently, The Humanist Report invited me to a five-person panel discussion on current events, including the Build Back Better Act. I went from merely watching to being on the show. While my motivation for my activism continues to be rooted in the belief that changing even one person’s life matters, my approach has evolved to collective leadership and proactive activism. I organized a rally protesting federal inaction on gun violence, and when KTLA, a local news channel, interviewed me, I took on the daunting public exposure to advocate for student safety. At the National YDSA conventions, I spoke in front of hundreds of adults to argue for reform in the organization. These experiences have been the catalyst for my own becoming. Over the past few years, this path has granted me agency—the power to make my own decisions free of self-imposed expectations. I have found my guiding passion, which leads me in everything that I do. I may not have landed where I expected, but I’ve arrived where I should be—and now I know exactly where I’m headed.

It all came to a screeching stop on March thirteenth, two months after starting at a new school. My dad got fired, I came out to a family unprepared and hostile, and I spent most of my time in my dark room. The security I had as a straight-A student and a leader crumbled along with my long-standing self-identity. I found myself entirely out of place: once the exemplar, now the anomaly. “It gets better” felt like a lie to me in the throes of an identity crisis. However, the paradox is that the pandemic, the cause of my downward spiral, simultaneously gave me a lifeline. I suffered, but so did many others—financially, politically, and mentally. I found the BLM protests of 2020 and the chaos of the presidential election to be motivational. I wanted to be a person who took action and made an impact—even on just a few. As with all things, it was a process. My involvement went from phone banking with the High School Democrats to eventually forming a student chapter affiliated with the Young Democratic Socialists of America (YDSA). I was eager to stand in solidarity in a world that demanded separation during the pandemic. During this time, I developed a hobby of studying YouTube video essays by philosophers and journalists. After a few months, I shared my opinions on topics ranging from post-9/11 civil liberties to 2021’s UN report on climate change. While my motivation for my activism continues to be rooted in the belief that changing even one person’s life matters, my approach has evolved: I organized a rally protesting federal inaction on gun violence, and when KTLA, a local news channel, interviewed me, I took on the daunting public exposure to advocate for student safety. At the national YDSA conventions, I spoke in front of hundreds of adults to argue for reform in the organization. These experiences have been the catalyst for my own becoming. Over the past few years, this path has granted me agency—the power to make my own decisions free of self-imposed expectations. I have found my guiding passion, which leads me in everything that I do. I may not have landed where I expected, but I’ve arrived where I should be—and now I know exactly where I’m headed.

The recent unconstitutional martial law declaration in Korea and the ensuing crises reminded me of a similar experience in 2016. That year, as a ten-year-old with my mom, I joined protests of two million people in Seoul, calling for the president’s impeachment despite the risks. In retrospect, when the constitutional court removed the president from power, the seeds of my interest in power’s nature and the prevention of its misuse were planted. During the 2020 election, the experience came to mind, and I wanted to learn more about American politics. I encountered the work of political theorist Noam Chomsky, who argues that policymakers and world leaders too easily detach themselves from atrocities. This knowledge pushed me to join YDSA to advocate for an internationalist foreign policy and test how states would weigh the cost of modern atomic warfare in a MUN Korean War simulation. These experiences taught me that what I think is possible and what is possible are two very different things. Yes, one person alone can't change everything, but many people asking the same question and banging the same drums create a louder echo. I’m determined to carry on the legacy of the fighters who imposed sheer will against entrenched power—those who fought systematic discrimination towards queer people at Stonewall in the 1970s and led the Korean democratization movement in the 1980s. That spirit is what I will carry as I continue my education in college. I intend to equip myself with the tools to enact change by refining my knowledge of history and the political process through courses in international security, government systems, and policy analysis. Building on my journalism skills, I will collaborate with mentors and conduct Participatory Action Research to highlight critical issues of representation and governance. I also hope to continue studying languages, both in the literal sense with my study of French, but also in the abstract and philosophical by exploring how the use of language has, and can, alter the course of history. With this education, I hope to enter the field of national security, whether as a foreign service officer with the U.S. State Department or in the U.S. intelligence community. My goal is to work from within to improve the direction of government actions while simultaneously improving the overall outcome of such directives. As such, I will propose grounded, compassionate solutions that address real human impacts rather than just abstract calculations. I’ve seen how power can be both a force for good and a mechanism for harm. I hope to play a part in pushing the pendulum of power for the better—regardless of the outcome.

We are truly living through unprecedented times. We are witnessing the revival of nationalistic, authoritarian governments around the world. Humanity is facing a grave climate emergency that threatens the very foundation of our society. Various advancements in policy surrounding social issues with roots from deep systemic inequalities are causing backlashes from different elements of society. Wealth inequality is worse than at any time in modern history. In the face of such challenges, there are opportunities. The glimmers of a revival of the labor movement in the United States after decades of decline can reshape our economy into one that focuses on the workers rather than those with capital. Today's youth is more aware than ever before, demanding a dramatic course correction from our respective governments regarding the climate emergency. These are only a few examples out of countless others, but it demonstrates the truth of a particular saying: "In the midst of every crisis, lies great opportunity." That is what I hope to be: a changemaker. By advocacy through journalism and organizing, I hope to help build mass movements that demand change. I am already involved with organizations such as the Sunrise Movement and the Democratic Socialists of America in hopes of learning about how to enact such advocacy effectively. If financial capabilities permit, I hope to learn about effective messaging in Journalism, specifically video journalism online and Opinion pieces in newspapers. It isn't about gaining power, nor is it about glory. It is about being an integral part of a movement for change. It is of my opinion that the times call for action rather than passivity and an acceptance of a status quo that does not work. Through these early steps and goals, I hope to be a part of bringing about structural change.

Staying true to your authentic self: that is what society tells us what we should aspire to be, yet it puts up obstacles after obstacles that often keep you from doing just that. Often, it doesn't seem worth it; why bother when it causes you so many difficulties? How do you practice that kind of bold vulnerability? Why should you in the first place? These doubts creep up in my mind consistently when I am harassed for being openly LGBTQ+, when I am questioned for my advocacy of non-capitalist political beliefs and worldview, and when I am considered "disloyal" to this nation because I am an immigrant who doesn't hide that fact. Yet, every time I question my commitment to authenticity, I remember when I pretended to be something I am not. I remember the stories of those who came before me, of their bravery, who fought for my ability to stay true to myself, even if it is difficult to uphold. I also remember the rewards of authenticity. I have compassion and a sense of community with those similar to me, and I isn't afraid to hide that. I feel proud when I break barriers that people like me rarely, if ever, break, locally or otherwise—not having to be deceitful about my true intentions and why I do the things I do. In other words, in the face of adversity from others and self-doubt from within about staying true to my values, I focus on the sacrifices of those who came before me and the fruits of authenticity. That is how I stay true to myself in my daily life: because I know it is worth it to do so.

When I tell people that every day, I train to jump 9, 10 feet into the air on nothing but a stick, they often look at me with disbelief. This sport is called Pole Vault, and it is the most dangerous event in Track & Field. The question I am asked most often is; why? Why participate in such a challenging event? I ask that myself constantly, especially in competitions where I am terrified of a traumatic injury. My fears are only enhanced when I see my teammate have his arm rendered broken for months because of a mistake. Therefore, I constantly ask myself this question. The conclusion that I arrive at consistently is that I am passionate about it. The thrill of letting go of fear and reservation and trusting myself to get up in the air safely. The possibilities may open to me if I can push through that fear. The benefits outweigh the risks, and therefore, staying brave in the face of fear, whether it be one of injury, embarrassment, or otherwise, is crucial. That is how I practice bravery in life. By jumping into the unknown that is Pole Vaulting, letting go of the fears that hold me back, and pushing forward into the possibilities that success offers.

Authenticity. That is a value on which I base my actions and decisions around. When I joined the Democratic Socialists of America as a socialist organizer, I did so because I believe in a world where everyone can enjoy a decent standard of life, work in fields they feel passionate about, and not be threatened because of who we are. When I came out to my conservative family, it was not because it was easy, but because it was destroying me inside to deny to the world who I am. Every day, there are people in this country, and the world, who seek to silence people with beliefs like mine, darker skin tones, non-heterosexual orientations, and those not born in this country. It is easy to argue for the status quo, and it is easy to believe what other people tell you to think. What is far more difficult is challenging the status quo. A status quo that doesn't work for people who don't fit into society's prescribed notions of "normality." It is difficult to fight for change: for a society where every human being can thrive, not just survive, where everyone can be their authentic selves. That is a world that I believe in, and it is one I will fight for unconditionally. That is how I remain committed to speaking my mind: by standing by my values of staying authentic and speaking truth to power, no matter how difficult or challenging. I will sometimes fail in adhering to this value. But I will always try.