(Co)Existing

Since I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2022 and now find myself undergoing treatment again for a tumor that decided to show up, I keep questioning what it means to (co)exist between joy and sorrow. We celebrate a loved one’s birthday and, the next day, cry over a devastating test result. I share that I’m feeling better and more energetic, while my dear grandmother has been in the hospital for over two months in a critical condition after being hit by a car. I laugh at my dog’s adorable antics while the world seems increasingly divided, with strange forces spreading fear and hatred.

It’s not easy.

Is it possible to split ourselves in two? One me to deal with tragedy, another to embrace joy—without one colliding with the other? Or do we simply have to coexist in this duality? That’s how I feel every day. And along with it comes a mix of guilt, perhaps? Even though I know I can’t—and shouldn’t—be responsible for healing the world’s pain, the question lingers: what can I do to help?

The other day, during an intense super power Kundalini Yoga class—where we moved our bodies frenetically for 50 minutes, full of energy and joy—the instructor invited us to chant a mantra in honor of a student’s mother who had recently passed away. She explained that this mantra could be recited for up to 17 days after someone’s passing, helping both the soul transition peacefully and bringing comfort to those left behind. So we chanted together, for the student and her mother.

When the class ended, I felt an overwhelming urge to hug her. We are not friends, barely acquaintances—I had only seen her a few times in class. And for those who know me, I’m zero hugs. I even call myself “Little T-Rex” because my arms are short, and hugging doesn’t come naturally to me. But at that moment, the gesture was beyond me. It was a necessity that came from somewhere deeper.

I walked up to her, eyes filled with tears, stretched out my tiny arms, and we shared a long embrace.

In that instant, I felt that coexistence in this paradoxical universe was possible—that joy and sorrow, in some crazy way, help each other. And so, we carry on.

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It Is What It Is

I was about to celebrate two years cancer-free on January 19th—my birthday and also the day, two years ago, when my doctor told me the cancer was gone after surgery and six months of chemo. I was ready to get my hair trimmed, now that it’s growing back. I was excited to plan 2025, filling it with new projects, fresh ideas, places to visit, and people to see.

But then, there was a “but.”

An unexpected “but” arrived this winter. Oddly enough, it came with good timing too—the cancer is back.

Actually, according to my oncologist, it seems the MTF breast cancer never really left. The cancer was resistant to the drugs. I always knew triple-negative breast cancer was aggressive and stubborn, but I never imagined this. Seriously—never.

But it is what it is, right? There’s nothing I can do to change or control it. I have to go through the process again. The only thing I can do is continue with the attitude that I am healed, no matter what!

I can’t understand why this is happening. I can’t understand what I still need to learn from this.

We still need more information to figure out the next steps, but the waiting is torturous. For now, I welcome prayers, good energy, kind thoughts, work opportunities, and donations—yes, that will be on my list soon. Being a freelancer and a cancer patient is a tough combo.

And one more thing (not to be rude, but): please don’t give me unsolicited advice about what I should or shouldn’t do unless you’ve checked with me first or you’ve had firsthand experience with cancer. The information out there is overwhelming, and trust me—I tried everything imaginable during the first treatment: traditional medicine, Chinese medicine, and even the woo-woo stuff. I’m open to suggestions, but ask me first.

As if that weren’t enough, my husband is still in rehab, and on the same day I got the news about the cancer, my 96-year-old grandmother was hit by a car. She just underwent a very complicated surgery. She’s a rock—she’s 96 and still fighting.

It is what it is. We keep moving forward. Let’s go!

Just for Today

Happiness is all that we take with us. This small excerpt from the song "Bem-Te-Vi," composed by my aunt Lucina, her partner Lulli, and my father, Mário Avellar, has always struck a chord with me. Happiness is all that we take from this life. Whether destiny knocks on the door or sneaks up on us, as it did to me two years ago when I received the diagnosis of an aggressive breast cancer, this phrase reminds me again that sorrows, disappointments, and angers pale in comparison to moments of pure happiness.

But this topic also makes me ponder the finitude of life. In advance, I apologize for broaching this subject again. Aging, time, death. There's actually a subject that the majority of the world's population avoids talking about at all costs, but that everyone, without exception, regardless of social class, gender, favorite team, or zodiac sign, will experience: death. The so-called "grim reaper" seems distant before turning 50. At least it was for me. As I approach the halfway mark of my existence, with less than three years to go, and after experiencing the scare of cancer, it's something I constantly grapple with.

This reminder of death has two paths. Depression, being the first. Thinking that I have less time to accomplish things I haven't even started yet. That my body seems unable to keep up with my mind anymore. And even my mind is showing signs of weariness. Depressing. The other side is precisely the happiness side. Quite ambiguous, I know. This other path is exactly the opposite of the former. This is where thoughts of still having about 50 years to build everything I haven't started yet come in. That everything I've done for my body and mind in these past 47 years is paying off since I'm aging well. That the eagerness to learn more and more keeps me alive and vibrant.

Let's do this. Following the AA principles and affirming that "just for today" I'll choose the path of happiness. Tomorrow we'll reaffirm, and so on every day, grateful for the experience gained, for the years lived, and for many more to come. Just for today, I choose happiness.