“I like girls.” These were the words I uttered to my parents, who were too stunned to respond at that moment. Candidly, they had every right to be shocked. Hailing from South Asia, I moved to the US to live out my life as the “model minority”: quiet and hard-working, someone who’d land a STEM job and eventually engage in a heterosexual marriage with another individual of the same background. Instead, these three words shattered that prospect. For the next four years, I found myself in the purgatory of maintaining my identity as an academically proficient South Asian girl whilst being a member of the LGBTQ+ community. I had no one to talk to, not my parents, not my teachers, and especially not myself who had no clue what the future held. However, in 10th grade, I found a community of queer students at the Gay-Straight-Alliance club in school. There were students from a myriad of backgrounds: Jewish, Vietnamese...etc who openly identified themselves as trans, pansexual or asexual. Presently, as secretary of the club and a proud bisexual, I've helped other students like me find vital mental health resources through outreaching LGBTQ+ nonprofits. Pursuing the medical field, I will make healthcare more inclusive through active advocacy in making myself an available resource for LGBTQ+ youth. Additionally, I plan to partner with LGBTQ+ youth in schools to make counseling and mental health resources more accessible, while inspiring student-led efforts for disseminating LGBTQ+ mental health resources.

"Focus on your studies- nothing else." These words were directed at me by my mother who, alongside my brother and I, had just arrived in America after an exhausting 18-hour journey from India. We were tasked with starting a new life, in a new country, with only each other to rely on. As such, my brother and I had a fairly linear path paved ahead: becoming proficient in our academics, chasing a 4.0 whenever we could, and staying out of trouble in fear of jeopardizing our parents' efforts. In essence, become the model minority that America wanted us to be. For the most part, I followed through with this expectation. I’ve successfully maintained a 4.0 GPA for four years of my academic journey and won numerous accolades in the form of honor rolls, recognitions of excellence and notoriety by my peers and teachers alike. I followed through with taking rigorous AP and IB courses as a full-diploma IB student, whilst being tasked with 150+ hours of community service and writing an independently produced research paper. I’ve done all my parents have asked for and more in my years as a student. However, here’s where I fell through as a “model minority”. Much like Maggie, I didn’t have a support system when it came to an integral part of my journey: my identity as a bisexual. My parents were stunned upon the unveiling of my bisexuality to them. They were unfamiliar with the term, as well as the concept of liking someone from the same gender. They even attempted to persuade me away from the other half of my love’s reach, seeing it as an opportunity to mend the crack in the delicately crafted image they had of me as the “model daughter”: destined for higher education, a career in the STEM field and a heterosexual marriage. They placed a cover on the situation and this half of my identity, deciding instead to focus on my academics. However, just like Maggie, I didn’t let fear in the form of disapproval from my parents stop me. Rather, it propelled me to seek communities of queer students in circumstances similar to mine at school. In my sophomore year of highschool, I discovered the Gay-Straight-Alliance (GSA) club. They served as the only definite LGBTQ+ safe space on campus, with an active community of members who attend weekly meetings geared towards engendering knowledge of LGBTQ+ history and current events. Falling in love with everything from the group of empathetic and accepting individuals to the strong mission to make our highschool a safe space for LGBTQ+ students, it didn’t take long to pursue a board position in GSA. In junior year, I became the secretary of GSA. During my time as secretary, I’ve organized fundraisers for LGBTQ+ charities like the Trevor Project, found new creative outlets like zines and podcasts for our members to engage in, and most of all helped provide students with vital mental health and counseling resources through outreaching with local LGBTQ+ nonprofits. While these efforts have completely shattered my potential to become the “model minority” in its quiet and restrictive nobility, I find pride in paving the way for immigrants like me to engage in the freedom to love, carve our paths and give back to the communities we treasure. In the future, I hope to use my experience as an LGBTQ+ minority struggling to find where I belong as a stepping stone to creating safe and inclusive spaces in the medical field whilst continuing my engagement in activism for LGBTQ+ and POC rights as the American I wanted myself to be.