Our Story
Where It Began
I grew up surrounded by quiet suffering. People didn’t always die from rare diseases or impossible conditions. They died from small things. From things that knowledge could have fixed. From iron deficiency. From untreated pain. From bodies that tried to speak and were ignored.
I watched it happen again and again. Mothers fading. Families shrinking. Children learning grief too early
At first, it felt distant. Then it became personal. Sharifah was my dear friend. She knew something was wrong in her body. She said it out loud. She asked for help. But no one truly listened. By the time the truth could no longer be denied, her body had already carried too much alone.
When Sharifah died, something in me broke open. Her death was not just a loss. It was a reckoning. Every skill I had gathered over the years suddenly pointed in one direction. Teaching. Listening. Advocating. Holding space. Translating fear into understanding. None of it was accidental. This was the work I had been preparing for, even when I didn’t know its name
I could no longer sit on the sidelines. I could no longer watch people die from problems that knowledge, early action, and dignity could prevent. One question began to haunt me, and it has never let me go:
Why should a child grow up without a mother because someone didn’t listen when she said something was wrong with her body? Beauty for Ashes was born from that question.
It was born from grief, but it is sustained by responsibility. It exists to interrupt silence. To challenge neglect. To stand where systems fail and say, this life matters. It exists so that pain is not dismissed, symptoms are not minimized, and suffering is not treated as normal. Sharifah’s life shapes the ethics of this work. Her death demands that we do better.
