The Fighter: A True Story Fighting Injustice, Poverty, Cancer to Becoming a Millionaire

By Linna Baraki

My sister Arian was a fighter who, since the age of twenty eight, battled cancer for nearly nineteen years, always with a smile on her face, a hope to survive, and a desire to live. She never asked, Why me? She never complained about any pain and never gave up on life. She looked at cancer as an opportunity to make the best out of the rest of her life, which she lived outside her comfort zone to achieve her dreams. She never let cancer control her life and lived by I have cancer, cancer doesnt have me. She was among the 3% survivors who survived metastatic cancer for over ten years. Her therapist was her strong faith and she immersed herself in God. She wiped her tears of fears with prayers. She never lost her will. She was blessed with the energy and spirit to provide comfort those cancer patients in times of spiritual distress and anxiety the last years of her life. As a matter of fact her phone number was pinned on the board of the cancer center for those patient who needed words of comfort and needed to talk. Arian was a business woman who succeeded in her career after being diagnosed with cancer. Life was about giving and she gave without expecting to even those who were never there for her, she never complained nor expected anything in return. She made sure to put a smile on someones face with a simple compliment every day. Arians biggest concern was to be able to help families and friends and putting their needs first where at times when she needed to be treated fairly, instead she was misunderstood and labelled as a shrewd business woman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524500016

Linna Baraki

Linna is a mother, a successful business owner and a realtor. She lives in California. This is her first book.

Book preview

© 2016 by Linna Baraki.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016909108

ISBN:      Hardcover          978-1-5245-0003-0

                Softcover            978-1-5245-0002-3

                eBook                978-1-5245-0001-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/25/2016

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

729809

Contents

Acknowledgments

Testimonials

PHOTO%201.jpg

This picture was taken around 2002.

awts1.png

My sister Arian was a fighter who, since the age of twenty-eight, battled cancer for nearly nineteen years, always with a smile on her face, a hope to survive, and a desire to live.

She never asked, Why me? She never complained about any pain and never gave up on life. She looked at cancer as an opportunity to make the best out of the rest her life, which she lived outside of her comfort zone to achieve her dreams.

She never let cancer control her life or touch her mind. She lived by the motto, I have cancer; cancer doesn’t have me.

She was among the 3 percent of survivors who survived metastatic cancer for over ten years. Her strong faith was a large part of her therapy, and she immersed herself in God. She wiped her tears of fear away with prayer. She never lost her will. She was blessed with the energy and spirit to provide comfort to cancer patients in times of spiritual distress and anxiety during the last years of her life. In fact, her phone number was pinned on the board of the cancer center for those patients who needed to hear words of comfort or to talk.

Arian was a businessperson who succeeded in her career after being diagnosed with cancer. For her, life was about giving, and she gave even to those who were never there for her—she never complained or expected anything in return. She made sure to put a smile on someone’s face with a simple compliment every day, and she always held a hand in need. Arian’s biggest concern was being able to help families and friends and putting their needs first. However, when she needed to be treated fairly, she was misunderstood and labeled as a shrewd businessperson.

Arian Baraki was the proud daughter of Dr. Akhter Mohammad Baraki, a well-known chief obstetrician and gynecologist. He practiced at Zayeshgah Maternity Hospital in Kabul, Afghanistan from 1956 to 1982. He also directed the training of doctors in obstetrics and gynecology, assisted in surgery, and managed and administered hospital programs from a professional base. Arian was also the daughter of Sabera Baraki, who was a teacher at Lycee Zarghona high school in Kabul, Afghanistan from 1961 to 1978.

I referred to my sister Arian as Dada, as did many members of the family, even those who were older. Dada, which is a respectful term meaning elder sister, was born on April 6, 1966 in Kabul, Afghanistan. Since 2000 BCE, successive waves of seminomadic people from Central Asia began moving south into Afghanistan. These tribes later migrated farther into South Asia and Western Asia, and they moved toward Europe via the area north of the Caspian Sea. This region was referred to as Arian at the time, which includes modern-day Afghanistan. So when my parents’ first child was born, my father decided to name his prized possession Arian.

One day in 2014, after the death of my sister, as I was making myself a cup of coffee as I do every morning, I happen to notice a picture from my childhood of Dada holding me. I grabbed my briefcase as I was on my way out the door to work, and I felt a sudden emptiness in my heart. Tears suddenly rolled down my cheeks as flashbacks of all the fun-filled, sad, and loving moments we had spent together filled my

PHOTO%202.jpg

Mom and Arian in July of 1966.

PHOTO%203.JPG

Mom and dad in Beirut, Lebanon in 1964.

head. I knew I would not be able to spend any more time with her and create more memories.

I remember the morning of Saturday, November 1, 2014 because it was the last time she was hospitalized. Earlier that day, I picked up my eight-year-old son, Amir, from his soccer game and took him to Noah’s Bagels on Fulton Avenue here in Sacramento.

As I parked the car, he looked up at the sign and asked, Why are we here, Mama?

I said, Because I want you to taste the most delicious bagels in town.

After his games, I usually dropped him off at home before going straight to work. But on this morning, as we walked in, he asked, Mama, is this place new?

I replied, No, buddy. This place has been around for years—many years.

We ordered a dozen bagels to go and then took two bagels out of the box and sat down in the warm, cozy atmosphere.

As he was enjoying his bagel, he said, Mmm, this is really good. How come you never brought us here before? You know I love bagels with cream cheese, and they have a variety of flavors, too!

He continued asking me question after question. How do you know about this place? When was the last time you came here, Mama?

As I looked around and then back at him, I flashed back to the last time I was there. I remembered cleaning the place late at night with Dada. Of course, it had been partially renovated since then.

I told my son, The last time I came here was with your Dada Arian in 1989, but we were cleaning this place after closing hours.

He looked at me, stunned. Why?

It was part of our job, I said.

PHOTO%204.JPG

Arian and I, January of 1976.

What? Are you saying … He paused. You mean; you were a janitor?

I said, If that’s what you would call it, then, yes, we were janitors here.

That boy could not believe the words that had come out of my mouth, and he was not ready to accept them.

He said, No way! I can’t believe it! How were you a janitor?

Our business was not handed down to us. We came here as refugees with no money, and we worked really hard to get where we are now, I replied.

All the refugees were janitors? he asked.

Some were janitors. Some did other kind of jobs—whatever was available for them. This worked for Dada Arian and me because we went to school during the day. I was in high school, and she was in college. She also worked at a pizza place.

We finished our bagels and got in the car. It was very cloudy and rainy. Amir, looking out the window, was very quiet. He looked very confused and shocked during the whole drive back home, but he did not utter a word. As soon as we got home, he grabbed the box of bagels and ran inside the house. As he entered, he started calling to Sumer, his older sister.

Sumer! Sumer! We went to this bagel shop called Noah’s Bagel, where Mom and Dada Arian used to clean years and years ago, working as janitors. Did you know that?

Sumer looked at Amir and me and said, What are you talking about, dude?

Amir repeated himself.

With a sad face, Sumer calmly asked, Really, Mama?

Yes, I said. "And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. It was just another job. We had to provide for ourselves. Dada Arian and

I both went to school during the day, and when this job opportunity came along, we were thankful and accepted it."

Sumer was almost ten years old then, but she was very mature for her age. She would sit and carry on a conversation like an adult. I always believed that Sumer took after Dada Arian, because she was kindhearted, smart, and mature, just as Arian was. A few minutes passed until Sumer,