The first time I met my wife, something inside me moved.

It was within the first week of college starting. In our dormitory, there’s a floor just for women. I went into the first room I saw. There, I met her, Sarah. She had an innocence and zest for life. She was quirky with her possessions — keeping little knick knacks that entertained her, including a colorful folding paper mache with numbers, a letter opener in the form of a sword from Lord of the Rings, and a drawing she made from “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.”

I, on the other hand, was much more… simple. I decorated by dorm room with military memorabilia, because at 19, the military is your personality. My dog tags and medals hung on the wall as well as my helmet from being an EMT.

Within a month of meeting, we were a pair. We would go on long walks together, caressing each other’s hands. I once forced her to run two miles, and she hated me for it. Then she got me to start driving more safely. Today, she still hates running and I am a better driver.

When I went to war, we had tearful goodbyes. It hurt that I hurt her. But I had an obligation, and if I didn’t fulfill it, I would go to jail. It seems so asinine now to feel coerced to go to an illegal, inhumane, and unjustified war… and to hurt all those around me because of it.

But that year apart would prove to be the year where we cemented our relationship for the rest of our lives.