Fitboy just spent the last three hours trying to talk me out of my ‘dream’ of becoming a medical relief worker in Africa (or any other ‘dangerous’ place). Took me by surprise. I didn’t think he worried about me much, but he seemed legitimately concerned about my determination to go there, especially with the fact that he didn’t think I realized how unsafe it could be. He kept questioning whether my life was worth less than the “fleeting” lives of the ones I’d help; and if anything I did would be worth it if the people I helped only fell into more trouble the next day, or week, or month. He questioned if I didn’t have anything worth staying behind for. Thing is, at this point, I don’t. I know how dangerous it can be, and I know I might sometimes underestimate it, but I want to do it. I want to help people, whether in Africa, or India, or Korea, or the Philippines, or even here. I just want to help people if it’s within my ability to do so.
I don’t even know why he brought it up, it’s not like it’s going to happen until I graduate anyways.
He also decided tonight that I’m the most frustrating and crazy girl he knows, and that he has no clue what to do with me haha.
bah. I love our late night talks.