Editorial Update: Cancer's Lesson Plans As Life's Rudest Teacher

As we skipped from one issue to another, cancer hit a little too close to home—in three of our loved ones. And this time, distance made it harder. There’s a unique ache in loving someone who’s fighting cancer from miles away. You want to be there for the appointments, the hospital visits, the long silences that don’t need words. But instead, you find yourself waiting for messages, holding your breath between updates, wondering if “doing fine” really means fine.

Cancer.

The word alone changes everything. It breaks into lives, rearranges priorities, and forces us to face lessons we never asked to learn. Whether we want to or not, cancer teaches. It strips away the unimportant, the rushed, the careless, and leaves us staring at what truly matters: love, presence, and time. The right now. 

It teaches that strength doesn’t always come from being in the room, it can come from across oceans and time zones. From the video calls where you hide your tears so they can see your smile. From the parcels and handwritten notes you send, hoping a piece of your heart travels with them. From the prayers whispered in the quiet hours, when you feel useless but still believe that love can travel farther than you ever could.

It teaches patience, the kind that stretches across not only sleepless nights and test results, but the waiting that distance demands. It teaches humility, reminding us that control is mostly an illusion, and sometimes all we can do is show up in spirit, love deeply, and hold space for the unknown.

Cancer makes you listen differently. It makes you see differently. You start to realise how precious a laugh is, how sacred a shared silence can be. You learn that love isn’t in the grand gestures, it’s in the small acts of devotion: the cup of tea made just right, the late-night message that says, still here, the quiet prayers you send across the miles.

This month, with Breast Cancer Awareness woven into conversations and pink ribbons appearing everywhere, the lessons feel heavier but also more hopeful. Because awareness, at its heart, is education. And education saves lives. Early detection, regular mammograms, and knowing your own body can mean the difference between life and loss. Behind every pink ribbon is a story: some of survival, some of grief, all of courage.

Cancer also teaches gratitude. The quiet kind that seeps into your bones when you realise another morning has come—another chance to say what you didn’t yesterday. Gratitude for the doctors, the nurses, the researchers, and the ones who stay. Gratitude for time, even when it feels too short.

And then there’s love. The kind that anchors you even from afar. The kind that keeps you hopeful when logic says otherwise. Because when you love someone through cancer—whether you’re by their bedside or watching from a thousand miles away—you learn that love doesn’t need proximity to be powerful. You learn that love can’t fix everything, but it can soften the edges of what’s breaking. Sometimes, it’s about standing in the ruins together and still finding light.

Cancer takes much, but it gives perspective. It forces us to see that life isn’t measured in years or milestones, but in the small moments that connect us—across rooms, across countries, across fear. Whether we accept it or not, cancer teaches us how to live beyond fear - in gratitude, awareness, and love that endures even when everything else fades.

Love and light.