Catherine Gigante-Brown

I left Cuba in 1949, when I was 11 years old. Back then, I didn't understand why my mother sent me away. I still don't.

Makeup and I have always had a love/hate relationship: I love it; it hates me.

Why, when I'm cool with being a salt-and-pepper chick, does it so clearly unnerve others?

To the tattoo artist, I was a flesh canvas that she could transform into something beautiful.

Upset you lost your keys? Try losing your breast. Pissed off about missing that train? Try missing your son’s 8th grade graduation because of a horrific infection from fluid buildup in the previously-mentioned missing breast. See what I mean? It kind of puts life into perspective.

Although I tried to convince myself that I wasn't racist, if the truth were told, I didn't like Muslims. Especially after 9/11.

We’ve pieced ourselves back together in a patchwork quilt of ragged emotions. The aftermath of 9/11 wasn’t easy for us, yet it was much easier than for some. People standing 50 feet away from Peter didn’t come home that night; he did.

Food can be more than nourishing; it can be healing.

If the odds of getting cancer are like Powerball, why couldn't I be a scratch-off millionaire?

From New York to LA, this lady knows a good story.