When you realize that you are invisible to the world, that's the moment you know, you're dead.

When I was five,I used to believe that the world was made of clay. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you leave your prints on it; evidence that you were there. Like those clay models with finger prints all over. At least, I wanted to believe that that was how the world worked. That, maybe, with some miracle, the things that made "me" would still be here even after I was gone. I clinged onto it, like the starts at night cling on to the darkness to glow. But I was wrong. As always.

There was one morning, when I was five I remember, I woke up from my bed and realized my parents weren't at home. Blindly, I ran out, tears making two strips of river down my face. I ran as far as my two little feet could carry me. A policemen who was on a daily route took me in and phoned my parents who were at the market, grocery shopping. That night, my dad took me on his lap, and told me, that if I ever got lost again, just count the stars in the sky. He said, "Lena, by the time that you've counted so many stars that there aren't any numbers left to count them, daddy will come take you home." I believed it. I believed that no matter where I was, he will be there; taking me home.

I was six when I was diagnosed with leukemia.

Sometimes I wonder, if my life was pre-destined even before I was born. And sometimes I wonder, if my dad could have foreseen this outcome when he told me he will take me back home everytime I was lost.

If I could have had another beginning, I would have hung on to my life so hard, struggle with my whole being, to let my dad get a chance to keep his promise.

But looking at all the world, with colours of their own, I know already. I'm invisible. The sun shines through me, as if to say, "No, you're not." I shake my head, however. Because I don't feel it, I don't feel the warmth of the sun nor feel the brightness of it making a halo around my face. I'm invisible.