Some stories are not meant to be read quickly. They are meant to be felt—slowly, deeply, painfully—because they remind us how fragile life is, and how powerful love can be. This is one of those stories.
My name is Yuraimi, and I am the father of a little boy named Muhammad Aqra Rizki. Aqra is only four years old, yet his journey has already been marked by suffering that most adults would struggle to endure. He was once a lively child, full of laughter and endless curiosity. His tiny feet ran through our home from morning to night. His questions never stopped. His smile—pure, innocent, and bright—was the center of our world.
Today, that world looks very different.
When a Simple Fever Changed Everything
In November 2024, Aqra developed a fever. At first, we were not overly worried. Children get sick—it happens. He had mild discomfort, a cough, and seemed a little tired. But days passed, and the fever refused to go away. Then came the signs that no parent is ever prepared for.
His stomach began to swell unnaturally. His eyes started to protrude. Panic replaced concern. A mother’s instinct told us something was terribly wrong, and we rushed him to the hospital, hoping for reassurance—but instead, we received the most devastating words of our lives.
Stage 4 neuroblastoma.
The diagnosis felt unreal, as if time had frozen around us. Doctors explained that a tumor was growing behind Aqra’s eyes. Even the smallest movement could cause internal bleeding. He was ordered to stay in bed, completely still. No running. No playing. No freedom.
I remember looking at my son as he lay there—confused, frightened, in pain. His once-sparkling eyes searched my face for answers.
“Papa,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “why does it hurt so much?”
I held his hand, fighting back tears I didn’t want him to see.
“It’s going to be okay,” I told him. “Just keep fighting.”
A Tiny Body, A Warrior’s Spirit
Treatment began immediately. Aqra underwent chemotherapy, followed by multiple rounds of radiation therapy. His days became filled with needles, machines, medications, and pain. His nights were restless. His body grew weaker, but his spirit—astonishingly—did not.
Despite everything, Aqra never complained. He endured more than any child should ever have to endure. When the pain overwhelmed him, he squeezed my hand. When exhaustion took over, he closed his eyes and whispered dreams of playing again someday.
But then came another blow.
“The Cancer Has Returned”
After months of brutal treatment, we received the news that shattered what little hope we had left.
The cancer had relapsed.
This time, it was spreading to his bones.
The doctors spoke gently, but their words were devastating. They told us the focus would now be palliative care—treatment to manage pain, not to cure. They said there was nothing more they could do locally.
For a moment, the world went silent.
But as a father, I refused to accept that this was the end of my child’s story.
Searching for Hope in the Darkest Nights
Night after night, I stayed awake, searching endlessly for alternatives, treatments, miracles—anything. That’s when we discovered CAR-T cell therapy, an advanced and experimental treatment that offered a chance—small, uncertain, but real.
Doctors told us it could save Aqra’s life.
But there was a price.
More than SGD 170,000.
A number so large it felt impossible. A number that stood between my son and his chance to live.
When Love Is Greater Than Money—But Money Still Matters
By this time, I had already lost my job. Caring for Aqra required constant hospital visits and sleepless nights by his bedside. Our savings—every cent we had worked years to build—were gone.
To survive, I became a food delivery driver, working whenever I could. I rode through rain and heat, exhaustion heavy in my bones. But no matter how hard I worked, the gap between what we had and what we needed was unbearable.
There is no pain like knowing your child’s life depends on money you do not have.
The Smile That Keeps Me Fighting
And yet—Aqra still smiles.
Even when his body shakes from pain.
Even when the treatments leave him drained.
Even when his world is confined to a hospital bed.
He smiles.
He talks about running again. About playing with his friends. About going home.
He doesn’t want to give up. And neither do I.
A Father’s Plea
Every day, I sit beside my son and tell him to keep fighting. But the truth is—I am fighting too. Fighting fear. Fighting exhaustion. Fighting despair.
I have done everything a father can do. And still, it is not enough.
That is why I am asking for help.
Not just for money—but for hope, prayers, compassion, and humanity. Every contribution, no matter how small, brings Aqra one step closer to the treatment that could save his life.
Every prayer gives us strength.
Every shared story spreads hope.
Every moment matters.
Together, We Can Change His Story
Aqra deserves a childhood.
He deserves laughter, scraped knees, playgrounds, and dreams.
He deserves the chance to grow up.
I will never stop fighting for my son. But I cannot do it alone.
Please—help us give Aqra the future he deserves.
Together, we can turn pain into hope, and despair into a miracle.
Every second counts. Every heartbeat matters.