You see, when I was healed miraculously from Leukemia at the age of 15, I was left with the scars. The scars that reminded me of the pain, of the biopsies, of the medications, of the hovering fear that I'd die because my aunt had died from the same disease years before. Every scar told a story of unconceivable anger because I didn't understand why I'd go through this. I hadn't done anything wrong, so it felt so unfair. I feared that if I ever opened up or tried to bring hope to someone else, the cancer would return and I would be ridiculed as a result. So I did what most of us do at first, cover them up. I invested time and money on finding the perfect cover up make up so that I can mask the story, I mean, scars beneath. I didn't see the glory of it all.

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