I’ve always thought that I knew exactly who I was, what category I fit into, my place among the other seven billion people in the world. I was Jessica, the perfect daughter. The student who always tried her hardest and got good grades. The sensible friend who avoided risks and planned out every action ahead of time. I was going to take over the family business like my parents wanted, marry a man of their choosing, and have children because that was what was expected of me. My entire life was planned out for me, until I chose to diverge from the path; until I met a girl who made me question everything that I thought I was, everything that had been ingrained in my head since the day I was born; until I met a girl who showed me who I truly was, and how to fall in love. 

The first time I saw her, no sparks or romantic music was playing in the background. We were barely friends, merely classmates, both trying to adapt to the vicious jungle of high school. Then one day, our teacher assigned us seats next to each other. Our friendship grew slowly over time; I learned that her name was Margo, that she was from France, and that she had been drawing cartoons of the teacher for the past hour. I told her that my name was Jessica, that I enjoyed reading, and that I had to take this class because my parents wanted me to. She was aghast at my complete compliance. 

“What do you want to do? Not what your parents want you to do. Tell me what you want to do,” she had emphasized. So, I told her that while I didn’t mind taking over the family business as my parents wanted, my first and foremost passion was writing. I told her that writing was an escape and a way for me to create a place where I could truly be myself, not someone others wanted me to be. She had smiled brightly and told me, “That is the person I want to know. That is the person I want to become friends with.” 

Every time I found out something new about her, it made me become more and more fascinated with her. At school, we would spend our time exchanging drawings and poems. When we weren’t at school, we would stay up the entire night, talking about anything and everything. I had never become so close to someone as I had with Margo. We were more alike than I had originally thought, but it was the differences between us that I cherished. I admired her boldness where I was passive and her confidence where I was shy. Soon, I found myself thinking about her all the time — her name always found its way into every conversation, and I couldn’t help but love every little thing that she did. At one point, my friends jokingly asked me if I had a crush on her, and it was that question that spiked fear in my heart. 

I had never felt any romantic inclinations towards a girl before —  my only experience in romance consisted solely of various meaningless crushes on boys who didn’t even realize that I existed and romantic comedies from the ‘90s. I was aware of the LGBTQ + community at the time, but my knowledge was limited. For weeks on end, I would stay up at night, unable to sleep because my mind would be racing at warp speed, attempting to discern what my friends could possibly mean by that comment. I told myself that I couldn’t be gay. I had never actively checked out women before. Sure, I would think to myself, “Wow, that girl’s pretty,” or, “How does she get her skin to glow like that?” but I

never held any romantic intention behind those comments. At least, I never thought I did. Besides, I had only ever been attracted to men. I had actively imagined my fake wedding to several men, including Patrick Dempsey. Never in my life though did I picture the priest saying, “I now pronounce you wife and wife.” Amid my crisis, I avoided Margo like the plague. What would I even say to her? There was no possible scenario that resulted in a happy ending for any of us. Then one day, when I was in the bathroom trying to fix my exhausted appearance before my next class, a girl approached me. I found it odd how she was standing so close to me, making small talk for no apparent reason. I assumed she was just trying to be polite until she asked me to grab a cup of coffee with her sometime. I froze for several seconds as realization struck me — this woman was flirting with me! Even more surprisingly, I enjoyed it. I was flattered by her advances and found her to be a very sweet person. Nevertheless, I turned her down — I didn’t want to lead her on when I was still struggling to figure out where I belonged. 

Despite everything, that encounter was able to push me to realize that I did find myself attracted to girls. Maybe it was only two so far, but identifying as straight didn’t necessarily mean that I was attracted to all boys either. However, only part of my struggle was resolved because I still couldn’t understand what I identified as. Putting myself in a category gave me an odd sense of security, instead of remaining undefined and confused. After a bit of research, I finally found a term that I could identify with: 

bisexual: being romantically or sexually attracted not exclusively to people of one particular gender. 

Regardless of my newfound resolve, I still couldn’t face Margo. I knew she would support me no matter my sexual orientation, but how was I supposed to tell her that she was the cause of my sudden awakening? I appreciated how she indirectly helped me realize parts of myself that I never even knew existed, but I loathed the thought of having to explain to my parents how I would not be following their plan for my future. While they never necessarily told me what not to become, they were dead set on me following this path they had laid out for me whether I wanted it or not. I assumed that while it may take them a while to adjust, they would eventually be able to accept me. 

Despite this, I didn’t feel ready to share this with them —  it was as if that sharing something as sacred and private as this with my parents would ruin any sense of belonging or peace that I had achieved. It was as though sharing this with anyone would make it real, and I wasn’t ready to face reality yet. However, keeping such a large secret was taking a toll, and I had never been good at keeping secrets. Eventually, I chose to come out to my two best friends, the only people besides Margo that I had ever been so open and trusting with. They had accepted it right away, barely batting an eyelash. In a way, it comforted me that they didn’t treat it as though it was a big deal. My friends then pushed me to tell Margo, reminding me that it wasn’t right to avoid her simply because I was scared. While I resented them at the time for pushing me to do something that I didn’t want to do, I’ve learned to appreciate it because they gave me the strength I needed. 

When I finally resolved to tell her why I had been avoiding her for so long, I was wracked with worry the entire night before. What would she say? What would she do? Would she reciprocate my feelings? What worried me even more was how much I cared about what she thought. I had never felt so deeply about anyone, and I had only known this girl for a little over a year. When I saw Margo in class the next day, I told her why I had been avoiding her, about my internal battle and ultimately discovering who I was, but I didn’t tell her that it was her who had led me to this discovery. Once again, my bravery had given way to the terror of losing her forever, so I rationalized that keeping one little thing to myself wouldn’t hurt, and would prevent me from the inevitable heartbreak that would surely result from confessing my feelings. Like my friends, Margo had also accepted me immediately, smiling almost as she casually mentioned that she was also bisexual. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help the small seed of hope that sprouted from her words. We silently agreed to put the events of the past weeks behind us. She never asked why I only avoided her during my identity crisis, and I never bothered to tell her. 

A year had passed, and Margo and I grew even closer than before. We made each other better in small noticeable ways. Although neither of us had actually defined our relationship, I knew that once both of us were ready we would be able to sit down and have that conversation.

 This journey that I have been on — I know it’s not over. There are still many chapters left to write and many obstacles left to face. Yet, the entire experience has taught me something. It has taught me that sometimes it’s okay if things don’t go according to plan. That it’s okay if you can’t fit yourself into a category because as cliché as it is, everybody is unique and can’t be assigned a label. Finally, I’ve learned that sometimes you have to lose yourself in order to discover who you truly are. I hope that my generation will be accepting, loving, and open so that no child fears who they are or feels the need to hide who they are to avoid disappointing their loved ones. Lastly, I hope that anyone who reads this takes my words to heart and aids the world in entering an era of change so that I am not the only voice among the masses.