As a little girl, I couldn’t wait to grow proper breasts — they symbolised femininity and beauty to me.
Back then, breast cancer was something that happened to other families. Until the day my mom was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. The reality only hit after her first chemo — when her hair began to fall, and her strength faded. She smiled through the pain, trying to protect us from her fear. But cancer doesn’t only attack one person — it tears through an entire family. You watch someone you love fight for their life, wishing you could take their place, share their pain, or fight it with them. But you can’t.
You can only love harder.
After a year of bravery and heartache, my mom passed away just weeks before her 52nd birthday. Since then, two of her sisters have also been diagnosed — My Aunt Letzi on the picture next to me is like a mom to me. When we got her diagnosis my heart broke as if it the first time receive the news. We were blessed that both my aunts caught it early, both are now in remission. My mom’s battle became the lesson that saved them.
Now, I no longer see my breasts or my hair as symbols of womanhood.
Being a woman is something deeper — it’s the flame that keeps burning through love, strength, and compassion. I’m not defined by my body, but by the way I live, love, and serve others.
I refuse to fear the monster that took her. Instead, it reminds me how short life is — to live fully, love deeply, and never take tomorrow for granted.
Every October, when pink ribbons fill the world, I think of her — her laughter, her courage, her quiet strength. I think of every woman still fighting, and every family standing beside them.
You are not alone. We carry your fight in our hearts.
-Alita
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