Journal

2 Jun, 2026

We did not plan this life; it gathered itself around us. In our new house, somewhere beyond the city, beneath an old pepper tree, we start learning again how to be a family in a new way, but cancer strikes again, and old ghosts from the past reappear.

26 May, 2026

I understand emotional intelligence as the ability to manage emotions with empathy and care. In 2002, after surviving cancer, I found joy with my children and friendship with Annie. At a workshop, a cruel remark about cancer shattered us, reminding me how deeply emotional illiteracy can wound.

19 May, 2026

In ICU shortly before Christmas, sleep was impossible at 3 AM. My heart was skipping and racing while machines beeped and honked around me. So I did the only reasonable thing: I conducted them. To Jingle Bells. Quietly, nervously, and slightly absurdly, I turned chaos into something almost musical.

12 May, 2026

Chemotherapy brought waves of nausea, exhaustion, insomnia and unexpected loss, including en masse loss of my luscious head of hair. We applied humour and resilience to carry us through each difficult day, reminding ourselves that even the hardest moments eventually pass.

5 May, 2026

During chemotherapy, a simple puzzle became a turning point when a lost puzzle piece was found. Through my daughter’s quiet strength, I found the courage to face my illness, rebuild my life and choose to live, one piece at a time.

28 Apr, 2026

After a mastectomy, recovery brought both physical challenges and emotional upheaval. A diagnosis of invasive lobular carcinoma led to further treatment decisions, including chemotherapy. Returning to work became a lifeline, restoring routine, resilience, and a sense of control in an uncertain and deeply personal journey.

21 Apr, 2026

As a 50-year-old single mother in a new city, starting a new post within a company where I had worked for many years, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. On the day I should have attended my L.L.B graduation ceremony, I underwent a mastectomy. Life rerouted me without warning.

14 Apr, 2026

On my mom’s ninety-sixth birthday, a quiet nursing home visit reveals the painful truth of loss beyond death, when memory fades, identity dissolves, and love must endure the slow disappearance of someone still alive.