This essay was written almost four years ago and served as my Common App personal statement. Even today, I still agree with its message.
“Are you asexual?” I was a few weeks into my senior year of high school, and I thought I was ready for the future. This question shattered all of that—or at least I thought it did.
At the end of 8th grade, I promised myself that high school would be different. Gone would be the constant harassment for what I wore or how I acted. Gone would be the days of failing classes because I didn’t care. But above all, gone would be the dissatisfaction with myself for who I was.
High school regularly tempted me to disregard the promise, but it only served to strengthen my resolve. With a refined sense of work ethic, discipline, and ambition, I threw myself fully into my schoolwork and extracurriculars. The results surprised even me; I was happier than I had been in a while and met several people with common interests. Everyone said I was ready for the real world—and I went along with it since I couldn’t find anything to the contrary. However, my gut told me that I was more lost than ever before in regards to who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do with my life.
I responded like anyone else would, “Umm…no? Why?”
I have always had trouble processing emotions. Emotions only seemed to cloud my judgment and sway my decisions. As such, I would try to base all of my decisions on evidence and reasoning. Logic and reason had never failed me. Any time emotion came up, I suppressed it and dismissed it as a distraction. How could analytical reasoning ever be wrong, especially since it had served me—and every scientist ever—so well?
I later found what I was missing, and why I was so lost. Emotions are like a compass, showing you what you want to do, while logic is the map that shows you how to get somewhere. Without both, you’re lost. Because I had blocked out my emotions, I was still headed towards the goals of 8th-grade-me instead of my true interests and clung to the person I was in middle school: a computer nerd with little knowledge of my emotional capacity. Only a few of my closest friends ever recognized who I really was.
“Well, I was just kinda wondering, you know…” Oh, yeah, I totally understand…
Through this conversation, I recognized that I would never have all the answers, but also that no one else did either. By knowing that no one else was certain made me feel comfortable enough to share my conjecture with the world.
Though I had been preparing to share my conclusion with others for over a year, I still hadn’t found the courage to actually follow through with it—partially out of fear of repercussions, but primarily because of the fear of being wrong. This ten-second conversation—more than the hundreds of hours of planning before it—became my turning point. I was finally ready to finish what I had started several years prior: proving that the person I used to be had no effect on who I am now, or who I could become.
All that was left was to pull the curtain on the person I really am. I have known for years that secrets are poison. They eat you from the inside out, while the people you’re holding them from eat you from the outside in. For me, the only secret that still had power over me was my sexuality, so I ripped the curtain away:
“No, I’m actually just gay.” Man, that felt really good to say out loud.
After hearing those four words exit my mouth, I realized that they are just one of the many things that make me who I am. I also realized that I was truly ready—not just to face the world, but also to be confident in everything I think, do, and believe.