Dear Diary,
Something unusual happened last night. My friends and I were walking through town when, from a distance, we saw two men engaged in what appeared to be a street fight. As we got closer, it became clear that this was exactly what was happening. Instinctively, I hurried my pace, and I could see that one man was on top of the other, seemingly beating him repeatedly.
Two women were standing nearby, probably concerned but doing nothing. I also noticed a passerby across the street, just watching, possibly wondering whether to call the police. I kept moving closer, and before I knew it, instinct had fully taken over. I approached the scene and started shouting at them to stop.
It might have been a risky move, of course, because the chance of getting dragged into a fight that had nothing to do with me was high. Yet, somehow, I achieved my goal. Maybe it was because of my shouting, but the man on top stood up, leaving his victim. The other man also got up and tried to make peace, though the first man refused and made a few more aggressive moves.
Still, the immediate danger had passed, and I was left with my adrenaline to process.
I’m not writing this to boast, but to reflect: this incident shows me something about who I am. The fact that I don’t want to witness violence—and that, if I do, I might be drawn to intervene, even with strangers, to prevent conflict—is somehow telling.
It’s strange. Maybe it shows some nobility in me, or maybe it’s something else entirely. Perhaps it’s evidence of something worth understanding. Maybe it’s a lesson that Love can scream if it’s needed to stop someone from hurting another. Or maybe it just proves that I’m a noble soul who cares for my brothers and, in the end, deserves the best.
