Lying propped up against that bright-orange couch, I pressed my hands on a screen, glued my eyes on its view. It was not a TV screen, but a transparent, pristine glass pane that stood between me and the world. On the highest floor of my hospital room, I gazed upon a city in constant motion, the Chicago skyline and streets with its endless stream of cars, maze of skyscrapers to which I had a birds-eye view. Looking out left me only one question in my mind: When can I be part of this world? From 2012 to 2016, my life was seemingly defined by the IV hooked to my arm, port encased in my chest, and Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. To the unsuspecting viewer, all this small boy could wish to do could stay alive, think nothing else but it. Yet, cancer could never even hope to kill the internal world that was flourishing inside of me during my stay. Among the world I saw through my glass veil was one of stars; and what I couldn’t see, the planets, the moons, the galaxies. There was a whole universe out there, an entire universe within me, and if I couldn’t go out there then I would bring it in here. I spent my time making diagrams of the solar system, cardboard copies of myself with simple organs as my friends. As I grew older, my passion moved from the universe outside me to the universe within. All that knowledge of the universe and organs didn't help me on the dance floor however. I had been so closed off from the world. I didn’t want to just see the world, I wanted the world to see me. In 2018, my family and I made the daring decision to move to Texas, leaving behind all we had ever known for the opportunity of a better life. In this endlessly sunny, yet never hot-enough environment, I’d discover that world that sought the universe contained inside of me and my voice. Before we moved, I had given presentations of “Jayden’s Journey,” a photo album of my cancer story given at Comer’s Children’s Hospital events back in Chicago. Here in Texas, I’d transform that into rousing narrative adventures through my Rotary Speech Competitions, and participation in the BLAST, a Cook’s Children’s community event in honor of cancer survivors that my dad and I would DJ for. To give the show while DJing, I had to learn to dance. Cancer stole athletics from me, which only made books more appetizing; however, that internal universe had simmered a deep love for the creative arts that was pleading to come out. Sophomore year of high school would change that, as my foil yet best friend would drag me to the limelight with Theatre, and spark my passion for reporting with Broadcast Journalism, where my voice finally came to its brightest light. I plan to attend college to major in Broadcast Journalism at the University of North Texas, so that young boy, once sealed behind the pane, will know that he has a voice that deserves to be heard. Cancer, a disease that afflicts so many, can so often feel life-defining, a permanent wall to a seemingly normal life. However, Voice of Reason author and activist Bryant McGill said it best: “Just beyond the horizon of the so-called impossible, is infinite possibility.” As the story of my life continues to unfold, I often think back to how those long hospital stays, years of chemotherapy could’ve changed who I am. Alas, I can only think of it for the better.