I'm a quadruplet. This is how I found my individuality beyond my brothers.

• My brothers and I were the first set of quadruplets to survive birth in Colombia in 30 years.
• As I got older, I fought my mom when she wanted us to dress the same.

As my high-school principal in Miami read aloud the election results over the PA system, I prepared to share my victory. I could hardly remember any instance from my quadruplet upbringing where three other male bodies didn't crowd my shadow. My brothers were announced first: David won president, Pablo vice president, and Lorenzo secretary. Despite my disdain for math, I begrudgingly ran for treasurer because they had called dibs on the other roles.

The classroom fell silent when my teacher awkwardly congratulated me.

"He lost!" someone shouted as I processed what that meant. She apologized for confusing me with my fraternal twin from her other classes. Our slogan was "Vote for the Quads," so I never imagined a humiliating defeat would cement my individuality.

Ever since I was little, I wanted to explore my individuality

I would've colored myself with a sharpie during my youth if it meant being labeled the black sheep.

As a child, I persistently fought my mom against dressing alike or participating in the same activities. My siblings threw a pool party for our 11th birthday, while I chose to play video games inside alone.

Teenage years arrived with more dangerous opportunities for rebellion. Since my brothers abstained from drinking or smoking, I believed every beer, cigarette, or puff of weed would further differentiate me from them. Moreover, I stayed away from any person my brothers befriended.

Mom preached that we were stronger united, but their presence appeared like the kryptonite to my independence. Then came my election loss. It would be delusional not to understand that most voters had skipped my name.

In school, I had gained a reputation that contrasted with my siblings, who were ambitious and kind. I often conflated humor with a mean spirit, struggling to be myself authentically. It wasn't until I was 20 years old, when I shared that I was gay, that I learned to trust people.

Despite my attitude, my brothers always supported me

Throughout junior year, my brothers participated in class-government activities, while I went home alone after school. In our empty house, I served as commander of our room and the entertainment — if only briefly.

I loved David, Pablo, and Lorenzo, but I didn't particularly miss them like I would a friend, so the situation was neither liberating nor soul-crushing. But one day, while talking to David, I expressed concern about never winning. "Why don't we just create something?" he responded. The next day, he spoke with the activities director about adding a position, and the director reacted with excitement about having "all the quads."

Likewise, during scholarship applications, Pablo confided to me that he skipped the Gates Millennium Scholarship to improve my chances of being one of the thousand students chosen from across the nation. "I know you want to move to New York," he said. "Besides, Harvard offers amazing financial aid." When Harvard accepted his early decision, I regretted mocking his confidence instead of praising his hard work, determination, and compassion. And my ego never allowed me to thank him when the scholarship committee selected me.

My brothers ignored my baggage, and "the quads" ran again for student government in our senior year. At our high-school graduation, we held the four highest positions and were the sole speakers at the ceremony.

The moment marked four blood-bound allies preparing to engage life's battles together, even when apart. But only one soldier wore an all-black tux to prom.