To most people, Flushing Bay is just another body of water, but to Leah Salmorin, it’s home. 

We met at Mets-Willets Point subway stop in Queens. She was covered in pink clothing from top to bottom, wheeling black luggage behind her as she struggled through the subway turnstile. We descended the subway exit to the street. Salmorin smiled at me, her pink hair flowing in the breeze as we began the trek to the marina. Fine lines etched her face, and her skin resembled parchment — thin and fragile with age spots and sun damage speckling the surface. “My age is of no concern,” Salmorin said as she walked ahead of me with surprising swiftness, almost chaotically. “It’s my energy that matters.”

She was there to paddle in the bay with her Paddle for the Cure (PFC) team. PFC is a nonprofit charity dedicated to spreading hope and support for those battling breast cancer through dragon boat racing. Salmorin’s connection to being in the water runs deep, rooted in memories of her upbringing in the Philippines.

As a young girl, Salmorin spent her days in her family’s sterile medical clinic and helped her dad tend to patients. After a long, arduous week, the family would hop on a pump boat with the motor humming beneath them as they would glide across the water to nearby resorts. They spent weekends diving into crystal-clear waters, swimming for hours and paddling in a canoe-like boat. She remembered her dad sparing all his time for her; whether it would be taking her to swimming lessons and karate classes or traveling to different medical clinics for her low immune system, he would be right by her side. 

“My dad treated me like a princess even though he called me ‘Toto,’” Salmorin said. “He always wanted me to be happy since I wasn’t very healthy. He would go on trips and return with gifts,” she said with a smile facing toward the sky. 

Salmorin’s dad would take her on his medical trips, where he would treat patients in areas without local clinics to increase her social awareness and teach her the importance of helping others. She recalled sitting on a wooden chair with her feet dangling as she watched her dad conduct tests and diagnose patients. Even when she wasn’t by her father’s side, the entire community tied her identity to her father’s reputation. 

“My life was dependent on my dad, everything connected to him,” she said. “He had superpowers, helping people and always told [me to] not allow people take joy out of [my] life.”

As a college graduate who majored in accounting, Salmorin worked as a bank teller for the Philippine National Bank (PNB). She was awarded the “Outstanding Employee” honor at PNB and “Top Financial Consultant” in Pru Life UK’s marketing department. But off-duty, she still worked at her family’s clinic. 

Everything in her life collapsed when her father passed away unexpectedly. Not only did she lose her beloved dad and banking job but her family also lost their business, thrusting them into a period of profound change and uncertainty.

“My dad planted a seed in my heart that carries through my life,” Salmorin said. She added that one’s childhood is very important in building their identity and future, and her dad was a central figure. 

Salmorin moved to Queens, N.Y. to restart her life after her dad’s passing. Before settling in New York, she stayed with her sister in San Francisco, Calif. for a couple of months; unfortunately, it was not smooth sailing. In 2004, shortly after she emigrated, she found an odd lump near her breast. Knowing her family’s medical history, she immediately went to Elmhurst Hospital Center (EHC). There, she was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer and given six months to live.

“I couldn’t believe it,” she said. “Out of these options, going to church, going home and crying and the cemetery, what do you think I chose?” When she asked me this, I answered “Church.” “No. I went to the closest cemetery,” Salmorin replied.

Surrounded by tombstones and vibrant greenery, she took a dry stick from the grass and hopped on a bench. Turning to her left, she asked aloud, “Do you believe that I was given six months to live?” She repeated the question to her right.

“It was a form of healing and coping,” she said. “I would just smile. When you are afraid, a smile [acts] as a blanket of love and that’s good enough.”

During her treatment, she drew up a game plan. Every morning when she woke up, she would go to her mirror and smile at her reflection, repeating affirmations like “I am strong” and “I am powerful.” The second part of her plan was to continue releasing her emotions at the cemetery and pretend cancer was a school exam that she was going to ace. The goal was to stay positive, so she hung up photos of precious memories on her bedroom wall to remind her why she was fighting and who she was fighting for. 

“My dad — he was my favorite, a very close friend — always prioritized routine, and that is what helped me through cancer,” she said. “I would play chess at the park near Elmhurst, feed the pigeons and join a lot of support groups and communities like [my] church.” 

During trials and tribulations, Salmorin found her way back to her dad and the water. 

“Every time I was sick, I went to the water,” she said. “The sea water is so healing, like a renewal of one’s self.”

Salmorin underwent a lumpectomy, four cycles of chemotherapy, 38 days of radiation and took tamoxifen for five years until October 2009. 

As Salmorin gazed out at the bay, the air between us noticeably shifted. Her vibrant voice faltered, and her wide grin trembled before disappearing. She began to cry.

“My dad always said when you help others, don’t expect to receive anything in return and to spread joy,” she whispered. “Who I am is him.”

While in remission, she began volunteering at EHC to empower breast cancer patients with motivation to overcome their illnesses; Salmorin gave public speeches, eventually becoming a lector at two of her churches all while continuing her part-time work as a babysitter and Chinese language tutor. 

Salmorin founded PFC in 2013, building the charity on her belief that “water is wellness” and that being a little crazy won’t hurt.

“[Us] patients and survivors have to believe in science but also keep moving our body to keep healthy. We cannot be completely dependent on medicine, we must be in the water,” she said. “Crazy people know how to create and have fun, it always reminds me to never be too serious in life.”

One might wonder why Salmorin chose to focus her charity on dragon boat racing rather than paddle boating. On a trip to Vermont, she recalls the exhilarating feeling of watching her first-ever dragon boat race which connected her love of water to her Chinese heritage. 

“Exercise and paddling specifically will first bring clarity to the mind and then the body follows,” she said. “I always tell patients, survivors and [PFC] members that we have the mentality of a dragon and the heart of a lion.”

PFC is part of a larger movement ignited by Dr. Don McKenzie, the director of the Division of Sports Medicine in the School of Kinesiology at the University of British Columbia. McKenzie aimed to challenge the notion that women “treated for breast cancer should avoid rigorous upper body exercise for fear of developing lymphoedema.” Since then, the International Breast Cancer Paddlers’ Commission (IBCPC), a Canada-based international organization inspired by McKenzie’s research, was created by Jane Frost. IBCPC reports that there are currently more than 360 “member teams from over 39 different countries.”

“Everyone has dreams and gifts. We all carry divine powers to do what matters to us,” she said. “There will always be critics and it’s never [your fault]. If critics cannot change themselves, it’s their problem.”

Salmorin shifted on the wooden bench where we’ve been sitting for the past three hours. She exhaled deeply, and it’s the kind of breath that resembled a weight being lifted — not just from her shoulders, but from her entire life. Her eyes drifted toward the marina, where small white fishing boats and sleek yachts bobbed gently on the water. She pointed toward them, quietly reflecting while she gazed.

“This brings me back to my roots — the water,” she said. “All these boats remind me of the pump boats in the Philippines. It reminds me that when there is a downfall in life, you can always climb up.”