I write because memories fade faster than moments feel. The rush of volunteering, the first time I stepped into a patient’s room, the late nights studying for my EMT certification—they all blur together after a while. But each one, no matter how small or chaotic, is a piece of the path I’m walking. Writing lets me hold on to those moments, pin them down before they slip away.
I want this space to be a living record of everything I’ve gone through: the wins, the mistakes, the tiny breakthroughs that no one else sees. Because this journey toward medicine isn’t just about grades or goals; it’s about the people, the stories, and the way each experience quietly shapes who I’m becoming.
And on the days when it feels hard to keep going, I want to be able to look back. To see proof of how far I’ve come, to remember why I started, and to remind myself that every challenge, every shift, every tired night is another step toward the future I’m building.