What Dreams May Come

"What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal."--Albert Pike

When I ask myself what have I done for others that will have me remembered beyond my grave, I am dumbfounded. I honestly don't know if I have done anything significant to mark my own legacy. I fear that I will be remembered as no more than the pink bag-toting doctor who cannot go out in public without painting her face. Or as the authority to consult as far as aesthetics are concerned. I doubt if people ever see the real me beyond all that is obvious. It's of my own doing, after all. I created an image to mask the imperfections I dread the others to see. An image amusing enough to distract them from knowing the one who suffers from unconquerable fears, a front that builds the walls to protect me from the rest of the world, a wall that repels anyone who dare break into my realm.

I fear being remembered as the selfish one who cared about nothing but her own pain. My selfless contribution to the medical world wouldn't really count. It's my obligation to care. Caring should never be a task. It's a calling I'm trying to run away from but beckons at me again and again. As a doctor, I wouldn't leave this world anything noteworthy beyond the call of my duty.

I fear being thought of as someone who lost hope. I want to be a source of inspiration, not a living example of despair.Touching people's lives is one my my ardent dreams. A simple yet ambitious mission to fulfill. I'm not someone powerful who could make things possible at the snap of her fingers. In my own little ways, I hope I could live that dream. I'd like to see people believing in themselves, move them into becoming the person they were destined to become, save them from drowning into the sea of hopelessness. Too grand a dream, maybe. But if I know I made a difference in someone's life, I'd die happy.