I Just Voted For The First Time. I'm Shocked Anyone Would Pass Up This Opportunity.

I usually dont vote, she said casually over her waffles, the words landing between us like a spilled mimosa. I stared at my eggs Benedict, suddenly less appetizing, as the now-ruiner of brunch continued with a proud grin, And if I do vote in the presidential election, I just write my name in. She laughed.

The irony wasnt lost on me. Here I was, a new U.S. citizen practically vibrating with excitement about my first time voting, sitting across from someone willingly throwing away what Id spent nearly two decades trying to obtain.

Im what they call a third-culture kid, which is a fancy way of saying globally confused. I was born in Japan, with roots in Zimbabwe, and a childhood pinballing between New York City, Harare, and Geneva before landing in South Carolina for college. My cultural diversity manifests primarily through food: My love language is sushi, I feel at home when I eat my moms sadza with oxtail, and I salivate over the perfect raclette. Like many of Americas 45 million immigrants, Im fluent in the art of being from everywhere and nowhere a human GPS constantly recalculating.

Youve never voted before? The question comes with enough raised eyebrows to start a TikTok trend. Ive mastered the apologetic hands-up surrender: No, I just became a U.S. citizen! I watch how quickly the judgment transforms into celebration, like Ive just announced Im expecting. (Mom, if youre reading this I am not. This example just seemed appropriate here.) What they dont see is the Olympic-level obstacle course that is the immigration system. My previous partners, friends and family who helped me navigate it deserve medals themselves for watching me amateur breakdance my way through this adventure.

They say your first time should be special. Mine, at 39 years old, involved a white envelope, sweaty palms, and an overwhelming urge to take a selfie yes, Im still talking about voting. After nearly two decades of living in the D.C. metropolitan area, I finally joined Americas most exclusive club: people who complain about politics while actually doing something about it. A club that, apparently, my friend at brunch had no interest in joining.

For every person who casually dismisses their right to vote over bottomless mimosas, there are countless others immigrants, noncitizens, people fighting through systematic barriers who would trade anything for a chance to have their voices heard. We are the ones watching from the sidelines, holding our breath, while others treat their voting rights like an optional weekend activity.

I join approximately 24 million other naturalized citizens roughly 10% of American voters, or as I like to think of it, enough people to start our own country of formerly-not-Americans. For us, the responsibility hits different. Every bubble I filled represented years of watching from the sidelines, nodding politely during political discussions while internally screaming, I HAVE THOUGHTS!

Dont get me wrong Ive never been quiet about my opinions and have always tried to participate civically however I could. Ive done public relations for immigrant causes and voting organizations, and supported enough agencies and nonprofits to fill a Scrabble board with D.C.s alphabet soup. But theres something special about finally getting to vote. Its like being promoted from enthusiastic spectator to actual player, except instead of sports, its democracy. And trust me, Ive waited on the sidelines long enough.

Side note: Can we talk about those election reminder texts? Hey Mercy, this is [Political Organization] checking for the 47th time if youve thought about voting today! Yes, [Political Organization], I think about voting the way my mom thinks about my single status constantly and with increasing urgency.

But heres the wild part: In 2020, some state races were decided by just a few thousand people . So when people tell me theyre skipping the election because they dont like the candidates, they cant be bothered, or their vote doesnt matter, I remind them that voter apathy dilutes democracy. When you dont vote, you dont have a say on issues that affect you and your loved ones. 

This morning, I walked a block to drop off my ballot, half expecting confetti to fall from the sky. Nothing happened. No parade, no marching band, not even a single firecracker. Just me, casually participating in democracy like Ive been doing it all my life. The significance wasnt lost on me in many countries, including where my entire family resides, people risk their lives for this right. My first ballot feels like the price my ancestors paid for me to get here. Thats what makes me emotional. I returned home a first-time voter and unscathed.

This year, 41 million members of Gen Z are eligible to vote, and thank goodness we have youth who are engaged, leading social movements and passionate about their futures. Im also grateful there are organizations like When We All Vote , which helped me register to vote, and many more like HeadCount , Voto Latino  and Rock The Vote , all working to ensure everyone has a voice in this countrys future. 

My sealed envelope joins millions of others, each containing someones hopes for the future. Mine carries the dreams of that wide-eyed girl who first arrived here, along with a small prayer that I filled everything out correctly. 

I voted today. And while youre deciding whether to vote, remember this: Somewhere in your city, an immigrant is watching their life get decided over brunch conversations they cant join yet. Each ballot carries the power to shift, shape and build the world we live in. Your voting apathy is their Sunday scaries and trust me, no amount of bottomless mimosas fixes that kind of frustration.