Among women, one of the leading causes of death here in the Philippines is breast cancer. My neighbor, the mom of my childhood friend, had a mastectomy (removal of breast). My college adviser also had breast cancer, but she is a survivor. Almost every woman I know had breast cancer or had a malignant cyst in their breasts. My mom has malignant cysts and my cousin had her cysts removed when she was 23.
Actually, breast cancer doesn’t run in the family, we have a history of nervous breakdowns and some psychological problems on the mother side. But then again, I still fear that I might suffer this deadly disease. My left breast is suffering an irritating pain. It’s not that very painful though. It’s like your left breast is carrying something heavy and you can’t make it move. See, I’m pressing my left breast now and it’s quite hurting. I’m having a check-up next week.
I don’t want to die. Of course, no one in their right mind wants to die. Though I admit that there were some instances that I’ve toyed with the idea of killing myself but not really DOING IT. It’s just what you call “emo” moments. Hell, I have a life to live. I haven’t gotten my revenge and avenged my heart. I want to have children and give them names. I want to travel and spit at America’s soil. I still want to meet that someone who’ll rescue me from my absymal life.
My life is just starting. And I know that life is always, and it never fails to be shitty. But I want to live.
