The story starts at a public preparatory school in the middle of Sydney. Every student was on pins and needles, waiting for his exam's result and envisioning parental pride and the sweet taste of reward. As the teacher entered carrying the papers, a hush fell over the classroom. The teacher started declaring the results: Ramy Ali, FULL MARK!! Haitham Omar, 97 out of 100!! and so on. A ripple of applause followed every name as the grades were distributed, until he said, “And John Jackson, 15 out of 100! Always the least mark.”. After the school day, while John was walking back home in solitude as usual, he ran into Ramy, the smart and big-headed kid notorious for taunting him after exams. A maelstrom of confusion and fear propelled John faster homeward. John reached home thinking how to tell his parents the bad news: It's not the first time he gets this low mark. Once again, hours of study yielded little fruit. Hardly he could summon the courage to reveal the unwelcome reality, his voice trembling slightly. At that moment, his parents' hopeful gazes turned into depressed eyes, a weight that bore down heavily on his 13-year-old shoulders and hardly saying, “You can do better next time." However, John has never lost hope. He knew he was capable, but his skills are still undiscovered. John entered his room and started writing down everything that happened in his diary, where his thoughts and feelings found form. It was a silent confidant, a sanctuary from the harsh realities of life. But it was not enough to give out all negative feelings. The past failures still came to his mind with memories of his dad's disappointment through other proud parents. John's dream was to achieve success only once to see these proud eyes. Lost in contemplation, John got a phone notification that was a flicker of inspiration, as he thought he found his chance to make the difference. It was about the writing contest that would be held next week. He knew that the contest would be fierce because of the $10,000 cash prize for the first place; however, his belief in his abilities made him more decisive to participate. Unfortunately, the ten-dollar entry fee cast a long shadow over his aspirations since his family's hard economic conditions rendered the cost an obstacle. He didn't know what he would do to get the money, but hopefully slept dreaming of a bright future. The following morning, on his way to school, he noticed a currency fluttering in front of his eyes and going away. With a jolt of adrenaline, he pounced, his heart pounding in his chest as his fingers closed around it. 10 dollars!! What a windfall! Memories of childhood deprivation surfaced—the unattainable toys, the yearned-for sweets that had always been beyond his grasp. However, his desire for his parent's esteem outshone all other yearnings. He resolved to invest his newfound treasure in the writing contest. The ensuing days were a whirlwind of creativity as he spent hours of hard work crafting an opus that was as much a product of his heart as his mind. When the day of the awards ceremony arrived, John's family gathered in the field, interestingly waiting for the winners' announcement. Memories of each failure and the comments following it came to John's mind; eventually, he heard a familiar voice. “John, I didn't expect to see you. Be tuned to clap for me.” Sneered Ramy, the conceited student. John, who was about to cry, was jolted back to reality by his father's fast reply. “You're that kid from John's school, aren't you? Let me enlighten you: success isn't merely a matter of academic prowess. With no morals, you'll always be nothing. So, I'm very proud of my high-moral, passionate, and diligent son, as I've always been.” John felt a kind of warmth he's never felt before. Silence prevailed for a minute, then ”The Champion of this year's writing contest is John Jackson!” the announcer declared in a charged air of esteem and applause. John's dad lifted him in the air, shouting, “It's my son!” John couldn't capture his happiness in words. After all his effort and failures, he did it. His family is finally proud of him. As Roy Bennett once said, “There are five important things for living a successful and fulfilling life: never stop dreaming, never stop believing, never give up, never stop trying, and never stop learning.”. Difficulties and obstacles are found on every step of the way to success. Sometimes we can't get over them, sometimes we think we took the wrong path, and sometimes we get confused. This doesn't mean to give up. Try again; try everything. There're opportunities of progression fluttering in front of your eyes every day. There's a happy life waiting for you to find it. You deserve it. Go for it. Oh, I forgot to introduce myself; my name is John Jackson, the narrator of this tale. I built my ladder to succumb to failures. If I could do it, so can you. Just, believe.

“Surprise, Mrs. Thomas, the test is positive”. “What test?, the young mom begs for an answer. “You're pregnant.” The inspiring peace in his eyes makes you realize you're supposed to be happy about this moment but then you look at your husband. You are both terrified. “Now it's just not a stomach bug, I'm even more sick to my stomach. It's the gut-wrenching realization that you may not live much longer. We had decided four years ago that we couldn't do this again. We barely made it out alive with the first baby. Between being born too early and momma almost dying, it would be too dangerous and selfish to bring another life into this world, but God has another plan. Four months later, everything is going fine, we have a name picked out, bedroom painted pink and a plan to not leave my first baby without a mom. Then karma kicks in and kicks me straight to the ground, literally. While wearing three inch heels in a church parking lot, I loose balance trying to protect one baby from oncoming traffic that I forget, there is a baby in my belly that needs protection too. While I'm on the ground I rip my heel off of my foot and realize that my ankle is obviously broken, deformed and dangling off my leg. I'm rushed to the hospital and doctors have to look at the dusty medical books to see what medication can be given to a pregnant woman. The baby in my belly is still alive but my leg won't be much longer if it's not fixed quickly. The next week is full of terror as I have to make the choice to have a big surgery to save my leg, my lifestyle, my peace. I know it's not good to take pain medication or have x-rays while pregnant but I don't have an option. Either pins, plates and screws, or amputation. I think I make the right decision until the guilt connects the understanding two years later. The baby and I both make it through delivery, learning to walk, learning to eat, learning to pee in the potty but then our world is turned upside down. On a random night, her dad looks at her and asks “why is your nose swollen?” In the few words that she has found over the past two year, she explains; “it's a jewel.” “Like one of these plastic ones?” he asks holding up a shimmery plastic gem. Antibiotics, scans, biopsies and several months later, I get the call no parent can prepare for. “Hi I'm looking for the parents of Birdie?” “Yes I'm her mother”, I say with fear chocking me, stealing my breathe . “Mrs. Thomas, Birdie has cancer” the doctor has tear rearing up in his eyes that you can hear running down his nose through the phone. My mind went blank as soon as I hear the “c-word”, I know he told me more details but I can't hear them. Momma is already in fight mode. I have to fight to save this baby that God gave me when doctors say I couldn't have anymore. I know there is a grand plan for her, but I have to help get her there. “We need to get you in for an immediate PET scan and biopsies,” the oncology team details the treatment plan. A year of chemotherapy, thirty days of radiation and a surgery to remove the entire tumor. Halfway through chemo, it's time to cut the monster out of her face. We know that Rhabdomyosarcoma has little fingers that invade every part of her little face but the doctors are on the same page as us. “We will need to cut it all out, leave a hole in her face and probably take more of her face off until we get clear margins,' the surgeon tells me. “I'm not here to make her look pretty, I'm here to help save her life.” This surgeon is why we chose to get treatment here instead of the world-renowned hospital next door. I know that this is going to be harsh. My little baby has half her face ripped off by a scalpel, in a desperate attempt to save her life. The beeps, lights and constant heart-pounding fear cripples my mind, destroys my faith and paralyzes my understanding. My baby is on life support, I was not prepared for this. I can't protect her from any of this, I'm the one helping the nurses hold her down while she's poked and prodded. The next six months, is a blur. Doctor appointment, infusion day, radiation day and still working a full-time job, somehow doesn't break me. Two years later, my baby is still alive, her face is deformed but the only thing that matter, she does not have cancer anymore. She may not be able to breathe through her nose, may have random aches and pains, my not be able to have adult teeth or a baby of her own, but she's alive. As I try to explain that we're still fighting the effects of the horrific treatment, all of the other kids that started this journey with us, have pass on. “Momma, I'm just lucky” she says through eyes that have seen more than I ever will. “I know baby, everyone has been praying for us” I say with conviction in my heart. We may never know positively if that broken ankle is what did this to her, but I will fight until my dying breath to help her through it. We're paving the way for those that come behind us.

Sometimes, in search of peace you have to overcome barriers of destruction. What's that saying? Everything happens for a reason? Well, I say every step has a purpose. 2018 was a clumsy year for me. My steps were not synchronized, my direction was unknown, and destruction came to break me. It came to humiliate me, and it came to defile my spirit and weaken me.\n\n On January 14th, 2018, I met destruction in the flesh. It was handsome. It had sex appeal, a pretty smile, and a way with words. I forced myself to be blind to the tormenting and troubled shadow that followed closely behind as destruction made its way into my home. This was unlike me. Young, thinking this was living life on the edge. However, I didn't realize that same edge was one I'd desire nothing more but to jump over...end it all.\n\n One plan B later and a evening I thought I would easily forget turned into a nightmare. I confided in a mutual associate, wondering if she knew him. Her expressions turned from joyous and excited to disgust when she see's his profile picture. She tells me destruction was not well. \\"Never see him again.\\" She pleaded. My heart pounded against my rib cage and all i could remember from that night was turning the lights on to see the condom he had removed in the bed before he spilled his poison inside of me. I was blocked from social media and destruction disappeared. \\"Maybe he does have something to hide\\". I said to myself.\n\n A window period? It was only a week in and I was already making myself sick. The sleepless nights, weight loss, dehydration, depression, and thoughts of suicide became my reality. I felt alone, and I was too afraid to confide in anyone. At the age of 23 I could possibly walk into a clinic and test positive for HIV. Three months passed...negative. Five months, and then six...still negative. For whatever reason destruction tried to make his way back into my life and the anxiety hit me so hard I started to question if the tests were accurate. I'm scared.\n\n Now, its October 3rd, 2018, nine months since my encounter with destruction and my tests are still negative. I can breathe a little better now. I sit in my living room writing this letter thanking God that for whatever reason if destruction was not well my life was spared. I take a deep breath, and now I am at peace.