Shattered bones, broken hearts, ravished dreams, and a whole world running short of heroes like you... You know, at first I questioned your heroism, just as my own humanity. I was inclined to think that fulfilling your professional duties is no matter of heroism, but mere professionalism. Yeah, it’s twice as hard in a conflict zone like the Nuba Mountains, but still, you did not pledge in the Hippocratic Oath to treat only those in luxury hospitals. So I thought that what you do is the most natural thing on earth, and it’s the rest of us that have gone so inhuman, so selfish and so stupid as to label Man’s natural calling as heroism to be admired from far away. Indeed, cautious admiration from a safe distance is of little help, and one doesn’t have to be a doctor or a hero to stretch a helping hand to the sufferer. Yet, it requires a genuine heroism to do it at the expense of your own life. I know that your humble character wouldn’t allow you to agree with me.

We’re way too different to reach an agreement so fast. I shut my eyes in horror when scenes of violence are on the screen, while you witness that violence firsthand. You spit in the face of fear, whereas I often shiver with it. You’re a distinguished football player, and I am no good even as a football fan. You have reached internal peace despite the turmoil around, while I’m in a constant struggle with myself. But regardless of all these differences, we’re in the same business - that of making the world better.

This business is run by God, and is doomed to succeed. It just takes time. I don’t like waiting though, because the more time elapses, the more people are killed. Once you mentioned during an interview that your patients’ death is the hardest thing for you to put up with. But, you know, there’s no business without losses: What an uncomfortable reality!

There’s too much pain all around. Yet the world seems to be under anesthesia, with cries of sufferers falling on deaf ears. Anesthesia provides but a temporary resort from the painful reality.  Then you find yourself in twice as debilitating pain and need a larger dose until you realize, or rather fail to realize, that it doesn’t really kill the pain, it kills your senses.
 
My dear hero, you prescribe us the strongest painkiller ever - love. It is not sold in drugstores. The only way to obtain it is to excavate your own heart to find this magic drug deep inside, stored beneath the fossils of agony, hatred, fear and disappointment. As a doctor, you know better than anyone else that this old drug with an ever-lasting effect has no expiry date, and no instructions attached. The only instruction is to extract it from the bottom of your heart and share it with the world.

Love has no side effects, and is even used in preventative medicine. Just a handful of it would suffice to prevent the first and all the following genocides, a word that guys with professorial faces and starched collars are so afraid to utter. And while these serious guys are fooling around in search for nicer words to mask the bitter truth, you are saving genocide survivors with a light hand and loveful heart.