Paula Lucía Carneri Tamaryn. Credit: Santi Carneri
I hear the fluttering above the roof and the cooing of the doves. I was ten years old; we were at school, and the headteacher approached, firm but smiling warmly, and said to me: “Santiago, go and find your brother Nicolás. Your little sister has been born.” I know I ran, I know I jumped for joy, I know I hugged my brother, who was six years old and was playing seated in the sand. I hugged him and shouted with my friends at school: Paula, Paulita, Paula Lucía Carneri Tamaryn. I know we were able to go and meet her straight away and that my mum was fine too. I remember that day, but I have no memory of her diagnosis. Neuroblastoma, a cancer that almost 30 years later still has no cure because it has not been researched enough.
Who told me, when, where? Nothing. And what does it matter?
I miss you every day, little sister. Sometimes you are an orange butterfly that comes into the garden and insists on landing on me; other times a hummingbird fluttering faster than my eyes among Maye’s flowers; and very often you are that bird that answers my whistles – that’s why I whistle better every day. Once you perched on the branch of a tree and took the shape of a Chaco carancho, with a little red head, to look at me over my shoulder. I feel that we enjoyed together that spicy goat meat the Ayoreo people gave me in the forest. It was in Paraguay that I realised you are also in the feathers of indigenous ornaments, that you are in the wind and in the fire. And that, as always, borders mean nothing to you. We saw you last summer in a tree in the mountains of Denia: there you took the form of a silver barn owl.
Who you were
Your little voice, your Madrid–Argentine accent. Your infinite bravery. Your intolerance of lies and injustice. Your love, your skin. Your curious atheist and Jewish identity. Your sudaka Spanishness. Your anger at the adults explaining everything around you. At two you already spoke more and better than Spanish news presenters; at five your priorities were clearer than mine are today; at six, dogs and turtles followed your commands. At seven, after so much chemotherapy and so many hospitals, you knew more about life than the best philosopher I have ever known. That is why it makes such sense that today you fly in the form of a bird or a butterfly.
What never leaves
I remember you every day, and I always will. Paulita, Polola. Paula Lucía Carneri Tamaryn. Would you be 25 or 24 today? 28, Mum and Dad remind me on a video call – 18 June, your birthday. Don’t worry, at last Nico and I understand how wise and good they are. You left at eight, and it feels like yesterday when I said goodbye to you, to your body, your little body. I cannot write to you without crying. I cannot see a hospital without my heart hurting a little, a lot, a whole world.
Why I write you here
I bring you here because you are not on social media – thankfully, your life came before this low-cost tragicomedy that is virtuality. And now I mention you in English, another of my everyday languages alongside Portuguese and Guaraní. I hope to keep seeing you in your magical forms of bird, wind and fire, which is your will and mine.
Why this matters
I take this World Cancer Day to remind us that scientific research is vital so that children do not die of cancer. It seems obvious, but some appear to forget it when they choose to evade taxes, steal public money or cut public research funding.
The wider reality
In Spain, 2.2 million people live with some form of cancer, and almost 300,000 new cases are diagnosed every year – a rising trend which, according to the Spanish Association Against Cancer (AECC), is due to population ageing and less healthy lifestyles, among other factors.
According to estimates from the Spanish Childhood Tumour Registry (RETI), more than 1,600 new cases of cancer are expected to be diagnosed annually among children and adolescents aged 0 to 19, with around 1,049 cases in those aged 0–14 and 573 in those aged 15–19.
Research saves lives
These figures highlight the importance of specialised paediatric care and continued research to improve outcomes for young patients and their families. In 2025, AECC’s free services supported 86,486 patients and family members, and more than 240,000 calls were received by the Cancer Helpline (900 100 036). The association invested €157 million in cancer research.