Jay Kiew
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​The hardest thing as a cancer survivor is not the idea of dying, but finding yourself in remission, facing the possibility of losing the ability to do what you once could.

In my case, it was seeing the world.

When I was a baby, I was diagnosed with retina blastoma and lost my left eye to cancer. Privileged with mostly good health throughout my childhood, my world almost collapsed shortly after my 15th birthday, when my ophthalmologist found another tumorous growth in my only good eye.

The bad news dropped like an anchor. I would go into surgery with the possibility that I would come out completely blind. As a kid who was already half-blind, this was not the most ideal situation.

Dressed in a ridiculous baby blue hospital gown, I anxiously waited for the operation. Deep down, I desperately wished for only two things: the ability to see the world and the ability to be a kid again. 
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The Century Club

When I awoke from surgery, I slowly blinked.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, one thing became clear – the operation was a success.

In that moment, I’ve never been more grateful to take in my surroundings.

Shortly after, I stumbled upon the Travelers’ Century Club, a non-profit social organization where membership is granted to individuals who have visited 100 countries or more. Becoming a member quickly became the number one priority on my bucket list. The achievement itself (membership) is unimportant, but the process is.

Stopping to smell not only the roses, but also the manure, is an important part of any key trip. To avoid becoming a landmark traveller, someone who hits up a location solely for the best sights, I intentionally set a target age of 100 years old. Although I’m not naïve enough to think that I’ll live to 100, this enables me to set a minimum travel rate of one country per year without rushing.

As Peter Drucker eloquently stated, “what gets measured gets done.” To keep track of my trips, I regularly update my progress at the bottom of this page. 
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The Cartwheel Project

There’s a tale of a graduate professor who visited a kindergarten classroom.

As he began speaking to them, he asked them “Who here can dance?”

In reply, the majority of the classroom stood up and started showing off their dance moves in unison. “I can, I can!”

He then asked, “Who here can sing?” and was met with a group of five year-olds belting out “La-la-laaa!”

Upon his return to the university, the professor opened his lesson by asking the class, “Out of curiosity, who here can dance?”

​A few hands hovered halfway in the air.


​“And who can sing?” A single hand was slowly raised.

The professor sighs to himself. “What happened to us? We used to be free in how we expressed ourselves and now we’re scared of what everybody else thinks.”
The older I get, the more I find myself reserved, wary and conscious of social dynamics. The reason for this is because adults have more at stake: professions, partners, children, assets and liabilities, to name a few. Because of this, we become less tolerant to risk and more cautious of our actions.

For instance, when I was 23 years old, I went skydiving for the first time and felt completely fine that that death was a possible outcome. When people ask me now if I would consider bungee jumping, I’m more hesitant. I have more to lose.

In 2014, we launched the Cartwheel Project, a 100-day movement where people around the world captured a moment in time when they were mid-cartwheel in front of a local landmark.

The cartwheel was chosen as a snapshot of adults being kids, caught in the moment.
The project was designed to inspire people with the love of travel.

90 friends and strangers not only shared amazing cartwheel pictures , but also raised $1200 for BC Cancer.
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A simple reminder

For a while, I frankly forgot about the whole cartwheel initiative.

I got caught up in my career and my studies. I still traveled, but when I found myself in front of a new landmark, I would say “Oh, I’m too old for those cartwheels.”

Then last March, in my first month of grad school, my vision started blurring – a lot.

After visiting the local hospital, the blurred vision turned out to be the result of a dry environment, solved by simple eye drops. Talk about a moment of clarity. I booked an ophthalmologist appointment immediately to restart my annual check-ups. 

That event was a simple reminder that good health is a blessing, that age is a state of mind, and that sharing my journey of seeing the world is important.

It also reminded me who has been there for me.

How Dr. Cronin, my orthodontist, supported me through six years of braces.
How Dr. Love, my jaw surgeon, supported me through four months of hyperbaric chamber treatment during my undergrad.
How Dr. Paton, my ophthalmologist, has been by my side for the past 26 years as a surgeon and advisor.

The whole way through, thanks to BC Cancer and our provincial health care system, my family has never had to worry. It’s not only my battle with eye cancer that has inspired me to cartwheel the world, but also the generous donors who have supported countless other youth just like me.

My experiences would not have been made possible without the support of BC Cancer.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You made a difference in my life.

Progress Tracker

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Here’s a list of where I’ve been. ​(c) denotes a country cartwheeled in. 

Bon voyage, mes amies! 

Europe (14)
Austria (c) 
Czech Republic (c) 
England (c)
France
Germany (c)
Greece (c)
Hungary (c) 
Iceland (c)
​Italy (c)
Netherlands (c)
Slovakia 
Spain (c)
Switzerland (c)
Vatican City
Asia (9)
Cambodia (c)
China (c)
Japan
Malaysia
Philippines (c)
Singapore (c)
Sri Lanka
Thailand (c)
​Vietnam
North America (4)
Canada (c)
USA (c)
Mexico (c)
​Alaska
South America (3)
Brazil
Chile
Peru
Caribbean (2)
Dominican Republic (c)
Jamaica
Australia (1)
​Australia

connect.

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