I’m posting this today, July 8, 2018, because, as you will soon read, today marks fifteen years since my cord-blood transplant. This is the thing that has allowed me to live, and I couldn’t be more thankful. I’m not going to preface this too much because pretty much everything you need to know is in the piece. But this piece is by far my most personal and revealing. I’ve been through a lot, and I don’t tend to share it. But here it is anyway.

Here’s the original music video to the amazing song mentioned in the beginning of the piece: I Lived – OneRepublic.

Here’s my version: I Lived.

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I am sitting in a dark room surrounded by twenty-five kids. We are freshmen, adjusting to high school and sitting through boring classes. The biology teacher rambles on about the human body, diseases, anatomy. It’s interesting, but I would rather be home.

She mentions cystic fibrosis, a disease affecting the respiratory system and blocking one’s lungs. We take some notes; mine look like a rainbow, in different pen colors so as to keep me interested. Then, she mentions a video she would like to show us. A music video. The song is by OneRepublic and it features a young man who has cystic fibrosis and lives with it. But doesn’t just live with it. He pushes his disability and his life to the limits. He’s happy.

I watched with interest. I didn’t think this video, this song, would change my life.

The video finished and I sat back in my chair. I was in awe, disbelief. Right then and there I made a promise to myself: beginning with the next four years of my life, high school, I would take every opportunity and experience and leave with no regrets. And after high school, I would continue to live my life that way.

So freshman year, I tried out for everything: the fall play, a four-year Student Government position, five clubs. I rejected my role in the fall play so I could take the Student Government position if I was offered it. I wasn’t, so I was basically left with nothing. I joined a ton of clubs though, and I took two classes that were some of my favorites: Studio Art and Chorus. Freshman year was kind of rough, getting used to high school and all the taller people. By the end of the year, I was running for Sophomore Representative for Student Government and trying to get a bigger role in that club. When I lost, I was devastated. But I should’ve known: it was just one big popularity contest, and I was not popular.

Sophomore year was by far the easiest year. I continued taking advantage of every opportunity I was given, but I still managed to lose out on all of them. This was the story of my life. I felt as though no matter how hard I tried, life had just planned on letting me lose out. I didn’t want the cancer I’d had three times before, but I got that. And I wanted all these opportunities, but I never got those.

I took Computer Science 1 and 2 this year, just to try them out. I was dead set on becoming a doctor, but why not explore? The worst part was, by the end of the year, I’d found myself to be successful in those classes and I actually enjoyed them, so I was screwed. I decided to take AP Computer Science to actually see if I wanted to change my dream. The end of the year was also difficult as I learned my chorus teacher, one of my favorite teachers throughout high school, was retiring. She taught me so much, and I cried knowing that when I came back next year, she wouldn’t.

Ah, so now onto the dreaded junior year. I took my SATs for the first time and didn’t quite reach my goal. I struggled through three AP classes and the pressures of the fast-approaching college applications. This was it. My GPA had to be perfect. I had to get into my dream schools. This pressure caused me to take on one of my worst, I guess anxiety/stress attacks, to date. The first week of March, I fell into a feeling of depersonalization, where I watched myself doing actions but didn’t feel as though I was actually in the moment doing them. I lost three days of school.

Toward the end of the year, I applied for a program that sent a couple seniors to Washington DC, fully paid. For once in my life, I finally got something I wanted, and I couldn’t be happier. At the end of the year, I ran for Senior Co-Chair for Student Government, thinking that I could potentially be on a roll. Once again I lost the election, and once again I was crushed. Life just didn’t have good things in store for me, but I would keep looking up.

I had been waiting for senior year for a long time, for all the privileges and fun events. And senior year proved to be the best year, but it had its mix of drama. I distinctly remember the first day of school being asked to fill out a card with my name the way I wanted it on my diploma. That was terrifying.

Applications were hard and rough. I took the SAT again and managed the score I wanted, actually exceeding expectations (a little Harry Potter shout out there for all my fellow Potterheads). I got my senior t-shirt and enjoyed the Halloween parade, although a little friend drama ensued. I kept pushing through those college applications, thinking, “Just make it to January.” But before January could come, I had another attack. The last week before Christmas break, I was kept at home. I had to miss my last winter chorus concert, and nothing made me more mad. I loved chorus, and I loved the music and my teacher. I had three concerts left and I had to miss one, and I was furious.

January finally came and my applications were in. But now I had midterms and scholarship applications. “I just have to make it to February.” And then February came and all I could think was, “Crap. I still have to make it to May, after APs.” But there was some good stuff. Like getting to go to DC. I had a blast meeting new people and having new experiences. And I wouldn’t have imagined it before, but I made friends from California and Puerto Rico and many other places. That was the coolest part.

But then APs. You would think as a second-semester senior I shouldn’t care so much, but I really wanted college credit, so I busted my butt. And I also went through the hard decision of picking a college. I sifted through financial info and courses, future prospects and quality of programs. Because I had finally decided on computer science over medicine, I wanted to pick the best engineering program. So finally, after a long deliberation, I settled on Cornell Engineering.

So that’s it right? Well, my chorus teacher also decided to leave us. And you’d think it wouldn’t be a big deal because I was leaving too, but I so looked forward to coming back and visiting, and I sure would miss him. He was another one of my favorite teachers.

Prom came soon after, and more drama. I don’t think I’d ever been more hurt by what some of my friends did than I was in that moment. I was excluded from a lot of opportunities and placed at the center of a lot of issues. I guess that’s the thing about high school. Now, more than ever, I couldn’t wait to go to college and find my best friends.

I had my final piano recital where I played a song for my sister and a song for my parents, with a vocal accompaniment on the latter. It meant a lot for me to show my love to the people I cared about most in the best way possible: through music.

The end of May would bring a trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania with our music department. I was so excited. But a day before the trip, I had another attack, and this one brought me down for ten days. I missed the trip, I couldn’t work on any of my final projects that were due all too soon. I missed some of my last few weeks of high school. I think that hurt the most. I knew that this was it, and I wasn’t there to experience it.

But I did get my last week. And I found that so many people had noticed I had been gone, and that made me feel more loved and cared for than ever. I didn’t realize people cared until that moment, and it felt amazing.

I got to go to my last chorus concert and of course bawl my eyes out. I got my yearbook signed by all my favorite teachers and friends who I’d be leaving. I got my last pictures and memories. I picked up my graduation cap and gown. I got my final grades. I said my goodbyes.

The next weekend I had my last dance recital. This was it, all the lasts. A week later I had my graduation rehearsal and party. And then I graduated. After four years of hard work, busting my butt, taking every opportunity; after four years of thinking I wasn’t enough and life didn’t have good things in store for me; after four years, there I was standing on stage, shaking my principal’s hand, receiving my diploma, Cornell-bound. I didn’t think I’d make it here, after having leukemia twice, and thyroid cancer. After having attacks and anxiety. After having thyroid treatments and back problems and growth problems. I wasn’t supposed to make it. But there I was, standing on stage, getting my diploma.

I did it. I graduated. And on July 8, 2018, I marked fifteen years since my cord-blood transplant. I lived.