Like Facing a Firing Squad

July 23rd, 2003
Just got back from an admissions interview at Berkeley. I think it went well, and I'm pretty sure that's not just the projection of wishful thinking.
One guy, a Dr. O'Malley, said I'd have a lot to make up for by looking at my grades. But, he'd continued, with a gentle smile, he understood that there'd been extenuating circumstances surrounding my graduation. They liked my essay, for which I was glad. It was all true, and it was all honest:
I want to go to school, to this school for a multitude of reasons. I want to honor my mother's memory. I want to keep the promise I'd made myself as a child: to help people.
That was how it started. I talked honestly about how those plans had been derailed. Then I talked about the consequences of ignoring my obvious path. That's really what I think happened. I don't know if it's as strong as destiny, but I have always, always known in my heart that I am meant to help people. I've spent some time deciding what that means, and trying to reconcile my selfishness with what help really means.
Help means giving people what they really need to improve their condition. Sometimes this might mean defending someone's right to die, and I know this sounds better and less tricky on paper than it will be when I really face it. It always sounds easy on paper, I'm sure of that.
Maybe that was the help my mom really needed. She didn't want a cure. She didn't want to be fixed. She wanted reassurance. She wanted to know I was going to be alright, and I denied her that because I was too young and too selfish to understand. She tried pointing me in the right direction, like she understood what I was meant for. Parents are their own kind of magic, I guess.
Only I was too stubborn to listen and when she decided I would be ok without her, I decided to prove her wrong. I ran away from what I was meant for, ran into a war and did all I could to get shot. Only they didn't shoot anything important. Each of the eight bullets I took outside of Kabul missed organs and arteries. I'm not a mathematician, I don't know what the chances of that are, but I know they are small. They were, I think, warning shots from the powers that be.
And now, after encouragement from my deceased mother and a crazy man dying from cancer, I want to help again. Every step I take in that direction makes me feel stronger and a little less off-balance.