The day I heard the words, “You have cancer,”
I thought my life was over.
For the first time, I truly understood that life has an ending.
In my twenties, death felt like something distant—
a reality that belonged to another time, another place, another person.
I never imagined it could become my reality.
Every life that begins will one day come to an end.
Yet until that day, I had never faced that truth as something personal.
How should I live the time I have left?
What kind of ending would I want for my life?
In the depths of despair, I kept asking myself these questions.
And eventually, I came to a realization.
The way we die is deeply connected to the way we live.
If I could not choose the length of my life,
could I at least choose how I lived it?
That question led me to a single phrase:
Quality of Life.
Quality of Life is not defined by success, status, or achievement.
It is not measured by recognition, comparison, or the approval of others.
It is the ability to live each day in a way that allows your heart to quietly say,
“This is enough.”
Even on days filled with pain.
Even through sleepless nights.
Even when life does not go according to plan.
It is the courage to keep searching for small lights in the darkness.
Over time, I learned that the quality of life is not something we are given.
It is something we choose.
Again and again.
I do not write this blog to tell a story of tragedy.
Life inevitably brings moments we cannot avoid.
Illness.
Loss.
Caregiving.
Separation.
Uncertainty.
Each of them has shaped my journey.
But every time life knocked me down, I found myself returning to the same question:
Should I focus only on what has been taken away?
Or should I focus on how I choose to live the time that remains?
We cannot choose the length of our lives.
But we can continue choosing the quality of our lives.
That is what Quality of Life means to me.
Through this blog, I share my experiences as a cancer survivor,
the years I spent rebuilding my life in New York,
the realities of caregiving after returning to Japan,
and the meaning I continue to find through art, architecture, travel, and the quiet moments of everyday life.
This is not a story about perfection.
It is a story about beginning again.
If you feel that your life has drifted away from the path you once imagined,
if illness, loss, caregiving, grief, or uncertainty has caused you to stop and question where you are—
perhaps we can reflect together.
We may not be able to choose how long we live.
But we can choose the quality of the life we live today.
