I sat there alone, surrounded by locks of curly black hair, feeling my freshly shaved, smooth head. I was the third head in that bathtub to be shaved. I could feel the softness of my scalp; this was an odd but familiar feeling. Goosebumps appeared on my skin as I realized it was the same sensation I had experienced when I felt my parents’ heads after their chemotherapy. But instead of tears rolling down my face following my repeated encounter with cancer, I smiled—I was happy to have a new look. But more than a new look, I also gained a new outlook for myself. I was determined to dedicate my life to cancer research. Being diagnosed with high-risk B-cell lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL) was not going to hinder my abilities, but only strengthen my interests and need to contribute to medicine. Chemotherapy is often seen as a poison, delivering a myriad of unpleasant side effects. Watching my mother and father, who had stage II ovarian cancer and stage IV glioblastoma, respectively, experience these side effects, I understood as a child that cancer treatment needs to be improved. Before entering remission, my mother endured months of nausea, vomiting, hair loss, mouth sores, fatigue, and other side effects. My father experienced the same, if not worse, such as impaired cognition for a year before he passed away. But I learned that observing cancer and chemotherapy is nothing compared to experiencing it firsthand. My experience with cancer began the summer before my junior year when I had debilitating joint pain that proved to be a symptom of leukemia. When I was diagnosed, I braced myself for a similar journey to that which my parents endured. However, the course of treatment for ALL was more demanding than I anticipated, even more intensive than my parents’ treatments. I would have to spend hours in the hospital undergoing multiple tests and treatments, such as lumbar punctures, bone marrow biopsies, and blood transfusions. My treatments had to be more aggressive than the disease, which led to serious side effects. Along with the usual fatigue and nausea, I also experienced excruciating neuropathic pain that rendered me wheelchair-bound with agonizing lumbar puncture headaches. But the longer I spent on the fourteenth floor at Texas Children’s West Tower, the more I realized that my pains were not special. Every child on that floor was on the same unfortunate journey as me. There was never a second of silence; babies and children would constantly screech and sob as they were poked and prodded. As I lay in my hospital bed listening to them suffering, I truly realized the barbaric essence of chemotherapy. Before my parents and I were diagnosed with cancer, I was merely interested in pursuing a career in medicine. But I still felt that I did not have a purpose; I was looking for signs to guide me towards the person I will one day become. Each time I met with cancer in my life, my purpose was being outlined more and more. At first, my aspirations about becoming a doctor were solely driven by my late father. Then, my desire to contribute to medicine grew even more when my mother was diagnosed. Now, as an ALL survivor, I have witnessed dozens of cancer patients endure heartbreaking treatments and heard their cries. I am enthusiastic to contribute a brighter future where we’ve developed novel agents to combat cancer without drastic side effects.