I did dress up on Sundays in beautiful dresses my mother bought me, and I wore a tutu and tights five days a week for ballet, but I was still a tomboy.

Along with my tomboyish ways came an intense hatred of the color pink.

Sure, my ballet tights were pink, and my favorite stuffed animal was a pink lamb named Pink Puffy Marie Long, whom I loved dearly. But still, pink was not my color.

I grew up this way, shunning that color made of 40 parts magenta.

Then, during my junior year of high school I was confronted with the detested color head-on. My best friend’s mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Not too long after, my mother was diagnosed with cervical cancer, and my world immediately began to change. I started to see things in a different light, a light of pink, teal and white.

As the year wore on, I started to think about cancer in a different way. No longer was it something I saw on TV or read about in the news; it was something that was directly affecting me.

My friend and I leaned on each other for strength, and slowly I became comfortable talking about cancer. There was a time in my life when I wouldn’t have dared said the word “breast” or “cervical” outside of health class, but suddenly I wasn’t ashamed.

It was over this time that I learned to love the color pink. It suddenly wasn’t disgusting to me — it was beautiful, symbolic.

Proudly I bought the pink ribbon and placed it on my car and backpack to show my support — I even bought a pink shirt.

Now that October, the national month of breast cancer awareness, is almost over, I have been reminded of that time in my life when I learned to love the color pink, to not take anything for granted, especially my mother.

As the pink bracelets on my wrist jostle around as I type this, I smile at my surroundings. My pink cell phone sits on my desk, my pink bedspread hangs off my unmade bed, my pink iPod blares music into my ears and my pink chair sits in the corner.

I love the color pink, not because I am a girl, but rather because I see so much in the hue.

Pink isn’t just another color, but rather a symbol of survival. It reminds me daily of all that I have and of the importance of awareness.

Maybe I still am a tomboy in some ways, but I am not ashamed to say that I LOVE the color pink!

Most of all, I am not ashamed to talk about cancer and no one should be afraid to talk about breast cancer, cervical cancer or any cancer for that matter.

All women should be checked yearly for breast cancer and do monthly self-examinations — cancer should not be a taboo topic for anyone. Most of all, no one, not even males, should be ashamed to love the color pink.