Author’s Note
Have you ever asked a friend—or anyone—who they think you are?
Have you ever wondered how others see you?
Do you even know who you are?
A friend asked me that when I was going through cancer. During our conversation, we spoke about our purpose in life. That’s a question that visits you when your mortality feels close.
And in the last quarter of life, it comes up more often than you expect.
The only way I could answer it was to know who I am—what I love, what matters, what gives my life meaning. Without meaning, there is no purpose.
“Truth Unveiled” is my story.
My reflection of who I am.
My quiet truth.
©2025 Myrna Urmanita. All Rights Reserved.
Truth Unveiled
Having cancer changed my life. Everything that once mattered no longer did. My old life was stripped away, and I saw everything with a new perspective. Cancer woke me up from a deep sleep. It took me years to make it here, but it took a life-threatening diagnosis to become fully self-aware of who I am.
Being able to say, “I know myself,” is humbling and honest. It acknowledges my strengths, weaknesses, values, and boundaries — knowledge gained through reflection and lived experience.
Many people live their entire lives without ever truly knowing who they are. I have come to know myself, but not without fear, pain, and tears. Moving through them unveiled the truths that helped me better understand my character, feelings, motives, and desires.
Discovering that I am multipassionate and deeply empathetic is not something I became late in life. It is knowledge I finally felt safe enough to claim — to accept, and to have the courage to recognize.
Looking back on childhood memories and early experiences revealed the roots of long-held patterns — my behaviors, beliefs, and values.
In my adult years, life didn't allow me to hear—there was too much noise— too many responsibilities, too much jumping through hoops, and proving my worth.
In retrospect, I approach life quietly.
I notice all its shades in slow motion. I see meanings others overlook. Life moves fast, and when it does, I feel overwhelmed — but when it finally slows, the entire landscape comes into view.
And this is where I am now — here, in this space. This is not merely an art and writing platform; it is a place of permission. For those who feel too much. For those tired of performing. For those who will one day face illness, loss, or sudden change and ask, “Who am I now?”
I know who I am. I am a survivor. I am self-aware. And I trust I will become what I am meant to be.
My truth has been shaped by confronting different perspectives of reality through reflection and the integration of life’s lessons. It comes from having lived, endured, loved, lost, listened, and learned. From that comes insight, discernment, and quiet wisdom.
But my journey is not over. I know who I am now — and I am still evolving. Tomorrow will bring another version of my imperfect self, and with it, a deeper layer of authentic truth.
When truth speaks, it comes from a place that is heartfelt, deeply personal, and genuine. It is exactly where the voice belongs — imperfect, purposeful, and honest.
My writing is my voice.
It speaks softly, not because it is uncertain. It speaks softly because it is confident enough not to shout.
And those who are ready will lean in to listen.
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Some things reveal that I have arrived—I am not finished, and finally, I am willing to stay.