That afternoon, the sunlight still spilled extravagantly across the hallway benches, and the air carried the faint, crisp scent of soda water. I sat there, my fingers tightly gripping those thin sheets of paper. The voices around me suddenly felt miles away, as if I were submerged under a thick layer of seawater.
In that moment, it felt as though the world had hit the pause button.
The trip to China we had planned for next week, the old curtains I hadn't yet found time to replace, even the braised pork I wanted for dinner—all of it lost its meaning in a heartbeat. If you are standing in a moment like this right now, feeling a hollow sense of being "abandoned" by life, I want to gently whisper to you: Please, take a deep breath. You are not alone.
Allow Yourself to "Fall Apart" for a While
Many people will tell us to be strong, to be optimistic, and to immediately put on armor like a warrior. But I want to say that in the face of that diagnosis, no one can become brave instantly.
In those first few days, I could only stare blankly from behind the curtains, allowing myself to weep over a pot of boiling water in the kitchen late at night. This feeling of "falling apart" isn't weakness; it is a natural human response to a massive shock. In these moments, don’t rush to scroll through anxious data or try to map out a distant future. Right now, all you need to do is manage the next hour in front of you.
Find the Rhythm of Your Breath
When life feels out of control, the one thing we can still master is our own breath. I began trying to spend five minutes every morning sitting in a rattan chair on the balcony. Not looking at my phone, not thinking about complex medical terms—simply feeling the air enter my lungs and slowly exhaling it back out.
I discovered that when my attention returned to my breath, my racing heart would gradually quiet down. I started noticing details I had never paid attention to before: the silhouette of a tiny sparrow swaying on a power line, or the clean laundry fluttering in the wind on a neighbor's balcony. These mundane, almost trivial moments became my only anchors in a stormy sea.
Let Life Be About "Caring," Not Just "Coping"
We used to be so busy—striving for life, for social circles, for countless "tomorrows." Now that life has been forced to slow down, I’ve realized that the word "companionship" isn't about sitting on the same sofa scrolling through phones. It’s the glass of warm water handed over in the morning; it’s the warmth of a palm during an afternoon stroll.
We no longer dwell on grand plans. Instead, we wonder: Does that cloud today look like a cat? Is this newly tried steamed egg silky enough?
Every Tiny Moment Deserves to Be Recorded
In this small space called CancerFoe, we don’t discuss cold, clinical metrics. We only record a life lived with warmth.
If you feel afraid right now, try writing down one small thing that made you feel even slightly better today. Even if it’s just a wild flower blooming perfectly by the roadside, or a song in your headphones that touched your heart at just the right time. These tiny glimmers of light, when gathered together, become the strength that lights the path ahead.
Life may have hit the pause button, but that doesn't mean it has stopped beating. While we wait to start our journey again, let us lean on each other and walk slowly.
As long as the heart beats, love never leaves the room.