Amalia's Story - In Her Own Words
I used to see my life as a blank page, but not in an inspiring way—more like a story I didn’t know how to begin. The weight of adulthood came with a startling truth: I alone was responsible for giving my life meaning. In 2021, amid the stillness of the pandemic, I found myself in a corporate job that drained more than it gave. I craved purpose, impact, something real.
Volunteering was a leap into the unknown—but it changed everything. It pulled me out of routine and into connection, into growth. For the first time, I felt lit up by something greater than myself. One day, a question echoed in my mind: “What did you always dream of as a child?” The answer came easily — Traveling the world. Nature. Animals. Adventure.
But how does a young woman, alone in her early twenties, turn a childhood dream into reality?
The idea felt overwhelming. Traveling solo seemed brave, maybe even reckless. Then I realized—waiting around for someone to join me might mean waiting forever. So, I leapt. Impulsively, wholeheartedly. I found GoEco, an organization connecting volunteers to wildlife projects around the world. Suddenly, the impossible felt within reach. With every detail—from airport pickup to project logistics—handled, the fear began to fade. I wouldn’t be alone. I’d be part of something bigger. And for the first time, I wasn’t just watching life unfold—I was writing it, living it, fully. The dream was no longer a distant idea. It was a departure date.
ZIMBABWE — Volunteering at a Wildlife Orphanage & Rehab Centre
You never forget your first trip—especially when it’s your first time leaving home, stepping into the unknown, and falling in love with the world all at once.
There were countless moments I could share, but one stands out like a heartbeat frozen in time. We were on a Rhino Walk—yes, walking on foot in search of near-extinct giants. Our guide radioed a ranger for coordinates. The GPS lit up. And off we went, no path beneath us, just dry bush scraping our legs, sun pouring down, and my heart pounding louder with every step.
Then—there they were. Rhinos. Ancient, massive, real. I stood there, stunned, just meters away from living fossils. I listened as our guide spoke about conservation, about how these creatures might vanish in our lifetime. And I felt it—something deep, almost sacred. Gratitude. Awe. A sense of meaning.
Later, as we drove through the bush toward caves painted by prehistoric hands, the wind in my face and dust in the air, something washed over me. Not just happiness—aliveness. In that moment, I understood: this is what life is about. Not things. Not titles. But wonder, presence, and living your own story—not watching someone else’s. Since that day, I’ve been chasing that feeling. It gave me something I didn’t know I was missing: perspective.
SRI LANKA – Volunteering at a Sea Turtle Sanctuary and hatchery
Guess what? You never forget your second trip either. There are moments in life—those flashes of revelation—that you never truly let go of. This time, I decided to change the scenery and embrace the tropics. And since life began in the sea, I felt it only right to offer my small contribution to one of the ocean’s most mystical creatures: the sea turtle.
For three weeks, I cared for injured turtles who could no longer return to the vast embrace of the ocean. It was the most rewarding work I’ve ever known. Sea turtle eggs are under constant threat—from predators and humans alike. So, we rescued them, placing them in a protected hatchery. Watching the tiny babies claw their way out from beneath the sand, struggling to find the surface, is a sight I’ll never forget.
But the real magic happened when we set them free. As we placed them on the beach, I listened to our coordinator explain that only 1 in 1000 of these fragile creatures survive to adulthood. A knot of both joy and sorrow twisted in my chest as I watched them race toward the waves. Then, I decided to choose my champion. I gently lifted one of the turtles, whispered, “You will make it,” and watched as she charged ahead, determined and swift.
When the waves reached her, I knew—with every fiber of my being—she was a survivor. She was that 0.01%. She’s made it. And that certainty, that unshakable truth, stays with me. A reminder that even in a world full of uncertainty, we can make a real difference.
KENYA – Volunteering at a wildlife research camp
If I had to sum up this experience in one phrase, it would be this: feeling like a part of the wild. I’ve always felt a deep connection to animals—stronger than words, stronger than reason. So I set out to see animals truly free: no fences, no rules—just nature’s raw unpredictability.
Each morning, my guide would grin and say, “Let’s see what nature gives us today.” And that was the thrill—you never knew what the wild had in store. I had a mission: to see animals truly free. And while I love them all, cheetahs? They’ve always had my heart. So, when we spotted a lone female—lean, focused, hungry—I knew we were in for something unforgettable. She was on the hunt. And I was all in. We followed her like shadows, scanning the environment, adrenaline building with every silent step. She failed once. Then again. I was rooting for her like my life depended on it. I didn’t care about the gazelles.
That day, I was Team Cheetah. Five hours in, just when doubt started creeping in, it happened. A gazelle wandered too far. The cheetah crouched low. In a heartbeat, she exploded forward—pure power and grace. My heart was racing with hers. She got it. Victory. Until it didn’t. We drove closer. The gazelle was still clinging to life, legs kicking, desperate.
And just like that, my triumph turned to sorrow. I went from 100 to 0 in an instant. Joy collapsed into heartbreak. I felt everything—all at once. That moment shattered me. I’d never felt something so beautiful and brutal in my life. The wild doesn’t sugarcoat existence. It shows you everything, raw and unfiltered. Later, I thought of Mufasa’s lesson: the circle of life. And I realized—I had seen it. I had felt it. Life and death, so tightly intertwined, you can’t separate them. That moment is etched into me. I’ll never forget it—and I don’t want to.
