There’s a moment I often return to in my mind—quietly, sometimes with regret, sometimes with a soft ache of longing. It was the moment I had to choose what to study in college. On the surface, it was just a formality, a line to fill on a form. But for me, it felt like a fork in the road that would shape the rest of my life.
If the decision had been based on passion instead of grades, I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second. I would’ve chosen biology—no question.
From as early as I can remember, I’ve been enchanted by the natural world. Not just the beauty of it, but the hidden knowledge it held—especially the quiet power of medicinal plants. In our home, plants weren’t just decoration; they had purpose. My parents, without ever really teaching in the formal sense, passed down an instinctive respect for the healing properties of leaves, roots, flowers. I grew up surrounded by green remedies—plants for fevers, herbs for coughs, aches and pains, roots for energy. It was just part of our life, woven into the fabric of everyday living.
I didn’t even realize I was learning. I just… knew things. I could identify plants by sight, remember their names, understand what they were for. It felt like magic, but also like truth—ancient, grounding, alive.
Alongside that love for plants bloomed another curiosity: nutrition. The idea that food could be medicine fascinated me. I would read and reread articles about how herbs support the immune system, how turmeric fights inflammation, how food could heal—or harm—the body. I remember thinking, even back then, Why aren’t we all taught this? Why isn’t this the foundation of health?
But then came the time to pick a subject for college. And here’s where it hurts: I didn’t choose biology. Not because I didn’t want to. I just didn’t believe I could.
My grades weren’t high enough, at least not in the eyes of the system. Passion didn’t count for much. So I ended up in English Literature. And don’t get me wrong—I found beauty there too. I love words, I always have. Stories gave me comfort and a different kind of escape. But even in the midst of poetry and novels, there was always this small voice inside me whispering, You were meant for something else.
If I could go back, I’d fight for that voice. I’d advocate for the girl who lit up when she learned about chlorophyll or herbal remedies. I’d tell her that what she knew instinctively was valuable—that the world of plants and food and healing needed people like her. People who cared.
I never wanted to be a doctor in the traditional sense. I wanted to be a bridge—between tradition and science, between plants and people. I wanted to understand the healing properties of the natural world in a deeper, more structured way. Maybe even contribute something meaningful to that field.
Even now, I haven’t let that part of me go. I still learn—through online aids, through observation, through conversations with anyone who shares this passion. I still get a little thrill when I recognize a plant in the wild, like I’m reconnecting with a part of myself. That love never left me. It just found another way to live.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s still leading me somewhere I was always meant to go.
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