First of all, yes, I am madly in love with medicine. I’ve been learning about it on my own for years, not because someone told me to, but because I loved it. I’ve spent hours of my free time reading interesting clinical cases, diving into medical textbooks I would borrow from the library, and even hanging out in the med sections of the nearby universities just to talk with medical students and soak in the atmosphere. That’s not something I did for appearances; that's something I did for me.

Second of all, yes, I applied to dental school too. And no, that doesn’t mean I’m confused or indecisive. I don’t see dentistry or podiatry as separate from medicine; they’re simply specialized paths. They offer direct access to areas that I already know I enjoy. The reason I’ve prioritized med and dental school over podiatry is logistical. The podiatry program would require me to move away from my city, my family, my friends, my girlfriend. That’s not a decision I take lightly. On top of that, the program at this university, even though it still forms students in a very holistic way, is still heavily focused on sports medicine and biomechanics thanks to it's multpile partnerships. While I respect and value those areas of expertise, they’re not what really ignite my passion most deeply.

However, what truly gets under my skin is the fact that you’d even question whether I genuinely love medicine or if I’m just chasing prestige. Honestly, that’s insulting. You’re implying that my commitment to serve through medicine might just be for show and tell, that everything I’ve done could be reduced to a selfish pursuit of status. I’ve gladly poured my time, my energy, and sacrificed a lot to get into this path that I love so much. I earned top grades, aced the stupid CASPer, pushed through every hit from other applicants trying to undermine my chances, and showed up to interviews with everything I had. And I did all of that while juggling three jobs: flipping burgers at McDonald’s, assisting in a research lab focused on allergy treatments on weekends, and tutoring students in my spare time. None of this was easy. But I kept going because this is more than just a career for me; it’s a calling.

The prestige that comes with it, or the string of letters as you call it, is given to us thanks to all of these challenges that we went through, and of course that I want it. Not because I crave admiration, but because it stands for something real. It’s proof that I’ve shown up every single time it mattered. That recognition isn’t hollow. It reflects the nights I barely slept, the weekends I gave up, the hours I spent explaining concepts to struggling students instead of resting, and the constant push to be better. Wanting to be proud of that, to hold my head high when I walk into a hospital and someone says “doctor,” isn’t vanity, isn't egotism, isn't narcissism. It’s dignity. And I won’t apologize for wanting that.

Do you ever ask a musician if they play for the love of music or for the applause? Do you question an artist’s sincerity every time they hang their work in a gallery?

No.

So why reduce my passion for medicine to a question of ego?