"Damn..." was the word that finally broke the long silence. The date was October 10th, 2012, and I was given just seven and a half months to live. Sixteen seemed too early for death. From that moment on, I felt as though I was slowly fading away with each passing second. My days became a monotonous cycle of doctor visits, medications, chemotherapy, and radiation. Number of doctors I encountered: 142. Daily pill count: 65. Chemo tested on my body: 21. Daily radiation sessions: 15. A tumor had transformed me into a right-side paralyzed and visionless freak. Then, the treatment decimated my already feeble self-identity. I lost all my hair the first week; blood and exfoliated skin drenched my sheets the week after. Eventually, my bald head, bloodshot eyes, severely damaged vocal cords, punctured lungs, malfunctioning digestive organs, and an emaciated and skeletal physique described me: a living corpse. Amidst the devastation, I refused to let my diagnosis, the world’s first adolescent T-Cell Pro Lymphatic Leukemia patient, dictate my life. Dying without resistance acted against my motto: a strong mentality begets miracles. Even if I were to fail in my battle against leukemia, I knew my struggle would inspire others to find their own strength in the face of adversity. ‘Wouldn’t that make my life meaningful?’ I thought. Then came what I expected to be yet another excruciatingly painful and sleepless night in the hospital. What motivated me to take a stroll out of the bed that evening, I do not recall, but it was soon after which I coincidentally stumbled upon a music therapy session. Frankly speaking, my perception of music and definition of medical treatment had been quite qualified; simply defining music as my “stress reliever” or “solace finder,” and medical treatments to “surgery” or “medication,” I had never spent sophisticated time ruminating on the capabilities of music; ergo, the idea of utilizing music as a form of medical treatment seemed far-fetched and almost laughable to me. Little did I know that it would change my life forever. The impact of music therapy on my well-being was nothing short of phenomenal. It became a soothing balm for my burning anger and a gateway to envisioning a life beyond my illness. Through music, I found solace and strength. I started to document my daily accomplishments, jotting down future goals and words of encouragement. Music therapy breathed new life into the hearts of children who were deemed too heart-broken by their parents and doctors. I witnessed their eyes sparkle with newfound hope as enthusiastic volunteers introduced themselves through funky, upbeat rhythms. In sessions filled with tears and shared fears of death, songs like Jason Mraz's "I Won't Give Up" became a source of catharsis. On another occasion, a few exuberant patients' dancing inadvertently wreaked havoc on their IV machines when the therapists played Psy's "Gangnam Style." It was moments like these that made me realize the transformative power of music. Leukemia had given my singing a new purpose. It had forced me to confront the notion that my voice held the potential to inspire and uplift others. Prior to my illness, I had never fully understood the impact my singing had on those around me. But as I stood on stage, resplendent in my performance suit, I saw the effect it had on my fellow cancer fighters. Their spirits were buoyed, their will to fight reignited, as they witnessed the joy and vibrancy I exuded. The stark contrast between my former emaciated, despondent self and the radiant performer I had become left them awestruck. Twelve years have passed now, but still personally memorable is how Moses, a ten-year-old boy undergoing a stem cell transplant at the time, approached me with unbridled excitement after one of my performances. "Dude, you were like the Hulk! Your voice was like a boom! Did you feel the walls and ceiling shaking? Oh, even the windows too!" His infectious enthusiasm warmed my heart. And then there was Nancy, Moses' mother, who scoured the hospital in search of me. When she finally found me, breathless and teary-eyed, she clasped both my hands and uttered "gracias" repeatedly. Through a translator, I learned that it was the first time Moses had smiled since his diagnosis. It was in these moments, when my performances managed to uplift despairing families, transform the somber atmosphere of the hospital into one filled with hope, and inspire my fellow warriors to believe in brighter futures, that I discovered another reason to appreciate music and the gift of my voice. In the face of a life-threatening illness, I found resilience and purpose through music. It became a lifeline, a constant companion on my arduous journey. Music therapy not only provided solace for my own soul, but it became a beacon of hope for those who needed it most. Through the power of song, I transcended the limitations of my diagnosis and became a source of inspiration for others. Today, as I reflect upon those challenging years, I am filled with gratitude for the transformative power of music and the unwavering support of my loved ones. Cancer may have shaken the very core of my existence, but it also revealed the strength and resilience that lay dormant within me. I emerged from the depths of despair, a survivor and a testament to the indomitable human spirit. My journey is far from over, but I carry with me the belief that a strong mentality can indeed work miracles. I will continue to raise my voice, not only in song but also in advocacy for the therapeutic power of music. My battle with leukemia has shown me the profound impact that a single individual can have on the lives of others. Through my music, I hope to inspire, heal, and spread a message of resilience and hope to all who are in need.