It’s been so long since I wrote that essay declaring my love for Medicine. Five years ago, I was 17 and hopeful. Dentistry proper was still a month away, and I entertained the notion of pursuing Medicine after graduation. I was young, naïve, and like Jon Snow, I knew nothing. I thought that life would work in your favor if you put in enough effort, if you wanted something hard enough—that things would magically fall into place, if you just pulled yourself together, gritted your teeth, and went through with it. I realized that magic, in real life, was nothing grand; it can be found in the little things: kind gestures, help when you most need it, the comfort provided by a person listening. I learned the hard way that people are made for some things but not for others. We have a niche in this world, where our respective skills, talents, and capabilities belong.
There is truth in the saying that nothing worth having ever comes easy. I was adrift for a while, untethered, searching. But even then, I knew what I really wanted. I could’ve been on my way to it earlier, had I written a different course for my first choice in that application form, or had I shifted as early as my second year in college. But I didn’t leave, at those crucial junctures in time when I had the opportunity.
So I got lost in the process, but I also found myself eventually.