notes: mdwalkerjones

Here's my first try posting on Nostr. It's a story about being diagnosed with a powerful brain cancer at the age of 25. A tale of the times before I found out about that powerful thing which existed right behind my eyes - exactly where I couldn’t see it. I used to live on East 23rd Avenue, near Main Street. I loved that house. That was where I discovered a deep connection with God for the first time. Well, maybe the second, but it was a spontaneous and unexpected connection. I’m convinced the divine inspiration I received during that time was directly related to cancer cells multiplying in my brain. It was around this time I began to understand the beauty of Bitcoin and noticed fractal geometry in nature around me. Trees, rivers, capillaries, lightning shocks. They all have the same mathematical structure. The golden ratio as seen in the shape of the human ear, a nautilus shell, the shape of the Milky Way, the human foetus, or any whirlpool or vortex. It’s all something that has to be seen - it can’t be explained with words. I explored central Vancouver a lot during that time. I discovered beauty there. Queen Elizabeth Park gave me an overflowing amount of inspiration. You see, Queen Elizabeth is just a recent name. It was named that in 1952 (the year of her coronation and the year that my parents were born), but the mountain it is sitting on has been a sacred space to the indigenous peoples for centuries at least. You see, Queen Elizabeth park, or Little Mountain, is actually a ~30 million-year-old volcano. That’s where all that basalt rock comes from. If you go there, you can easily find it on any of the cliffs - the brittle rock that chips off easily. Most of that rock was used to pave the streets of Gastown in the late 1800s before Vancouver was even a city. I was going there almost daily during the pandemic, so it was relatively sparse and definitely peaceful. Before and after coronavirus, you would see large crowds doing tai chi on the flat summit at either sunrise or sunset. Again, there’s something sacred about that space. Whether its sacredness comes from a natural or godly source, or a space becomes sacred because we as humans imbue it as such, I don’t know. But if I ascribe holiness to that place - to me, that place is holy. I mean, it’s a 30 million-year-old volcano that I spent hundreds of hours at during my time in cancer treatment pondering the meaning of life - obviously, it’s sacred to me. But at this point in the story, I don’t know that I have cancer yet. At the turn of the 20th century, Little Mountain was a dense forest elevated above most of the city being used as an industrial quarry for city builders. Decades later, the Canadian settlers of the 30s revamped the barren quarries with a botanical plan and transformed the space into a beautiful garden. I can’t even count how many sunsets I’ve watched from there. At least a hundred. I always tell myself it’s time to go home but end up staying until the orange glow of the sunset drops off the horizon. At the top of Little Mountain, there’s a conservatory in a geodesic dome. Another stellar invention by the late R. Buckminster Fuller. Google him quickly. Total legend. Inside the geodesic dome are tropical plants and bug-eyed parrots in rainbow colours. The last time I went in there was about a week before I found out about the tumour. Rats run around the foliage as food for the big birds. The dome is at the top of the mountain, but it’s definitely not the main attraction in my opinion. There are so many little peaceful hidden spots to sit and bask in the forest of flowers and bamboo. If you go to the top after dark, the lights inside the conservatory are off, but you can still hear the occasional caw of a parrot. They make an eerie noise that sounds like a human yelling to the uninitiated ear: tourists who walk around because Queen E park will show up on a list of “10 things you have to do when you visit Vancouver this summer.” And I don’t disagree. You should definitely visit. But when I lived close by, I was able to frequent the place when the crowds dispersed. On a long weekend, it’s packed, but if you go at sunrise, you’ll probably just see me, the old Chinese guy who does Tai Chi (including swinging his arms in circles, slapping his legs, and doing a sort of three-octave singing practice I don’t comprehend but I admire), and maybe that young couple who brings their kitten in their jackets to keep them warm (actually, I only saw them once, but I wanted to share). Anyway, you can probably tell I love that place. There’s one hidden area that I would run to daily and do my Wim Hof breathing exercises. I’d run while only breathing through my nose and go up the steep run until I found that spot with my favourite tree. I would listen to inspiring music (Pokemon 2nd Generation OST, Old School RuneScape OST, or Baroque classics playlist on Spotify), but as soon as I got to my special spot, I always pulled my headphones off. I took my shoes and socks off and sat cross-legged under my favourite tree in the whole world. I repeated my mantras. “Wealth and abundance circulated freely through my life.” “Everything I have is all that I need. Everything I need I already have.” It was a good time in my life. I felt myself communicating with my mother in heaven. I felt a massive amount of spiritual knowledge entering my body on every run, or during every meditation. Cancer still undetected. Maybe cancer cells themselves carry divine knowledge. Knowledge so powerful that when it remains misunderstood, it causes disease. Embracing it, allowing it, surrendering to it - perhaps that is the answer. There was a book. The Subconscious Mind by Joseph Murphy. I’m not sure how it ended up in my possession. I think it was left outside of somebody’s house in a box of free stuff. Being my father’s son, I took all the free books I could see. At first glance, it seems kitschy. A self-help book for suckers, or something. The subtitle read “including the full title ‘How to Attract Money.’” When you’re close-minded, or you believe that hard work is the only way to earn a living wage, books like this are easily overlooked. This was probably 10 months after I had purchased life insurance with critical illness coverage. I had started to open my mind up to the idea of encouraging others on the benefits of this decision and learning more about how to leverage fiat money, while I remained fascinated by Bitcoin. As a result, I began engaging with a community of individuals who were focused on financial literacy, and I was recommended to read three books: Rich Dad, Poor Dad by Robert Kiyosaki, The Richest Man in Babylon by George S. Clason, and Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill. These books are fascinating, and they changed my life for the better. Because I was opened up to these ideas, I gave the other book a chance. “There is no virtue in poverty, it is a mental disease.” Wow. I did not expect that. The Subconscious Mind by Joseph Murphy taught me the mantras which I mentioned earlier. “Wealth and abundance circulated freely through my life.” “Everything I have is all that I need. Everything I need I already have.” It was all a preparation for my diagnosis. Learning how to think. The power of speech, the power of thought, the power of movement. I saw myself growing into a great man. What I didn’t see, however, was how I would get there. Cancer is a catapult into learning how to truly grow into a person. You think you understand life until you face death. Then you understand that you don’t understand anything. It is your duty to surrender to the great mystery of the universe. You do not have the answers. Be humble. Sit down. There was another place I would frequent during this time. Trout Lake. More like a big, dirty pond. Still, a small sandy patch that might be called a beach and a lot of green space for me to walk around barefoot after a sweaty run. I could say I lived halfway in-between Queen Elizabeth Park and Trout Lake. Evening summertime runs in either direction were healing for the soul. I would stuff The Subconscious Mind or Think and Grow Rich into my late mom’s purple fanny pack, and the zipper would barely close. The book would jump off my hip as I ran until I sat down at my destination and did some reading. That was just over three years ago. Fast forward about 15 months to Summer 2020. My mom had passed away by then, but I hadn't yet been diagnosed with cancer. I had already spent three weeks in quarantine with my dad after he caught COVID. He was single, and I didn’t have a mom. We both missed her dearly. Eventually, I returned to my place in Vancouver with my roommate. There was another book: The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot. To this day, I’ve only read a few pages. It ended up on my bookshelf, and I have no explanation as to how. Too many books like that. It was a book my mom had grabbed from my shelf when she visited me in Fanny Bay a year earlier. That was the last time we had strong mother-son bonding time before she passed away. She read it and explained it to me, but I could barely remember. It was about the nature of reality. That was August 2019. She died that December. Around six months later, in Summer 2020, some friends came over to my place. We were living at 12th and Columbia back then, during the peak of COVID fears (it couldn’t have been me). People were still banging pots and pans at 8 o’clock or whatever they did. Anyway, one of my friends noticed the book on my shelf and asked to borrow it. That memory stands out. It was The Holographic Universe. It was the same book my mom had picked out from my bookshelf (Note: I have over 100 books). I had still never read it. I guess that book draws people in. I hope you can understand how I felt in that moment. The same book my mom chose out of a hundred books—a book about the universe being a hologram—stood out to another friend too. I had forgotten my mom had even read it until that moment. Suddenly, the book had power. Anyway, I let her borrow the book and went on with my life. It’s poignant for me to reminisce that during that time, my brain tumor was growing every day, waiting to announce its existence. Realistically, it could have been waiting since the moment I was born, biding its time to strike when I was vulnerable and least expected it. Then again, maybe it was waiting until it knew I was ready to tackle it, for me to grow into a new person. My Emily Carr courses were all online. I would have completed a Bachelor’s Degree in Industrial Design, but life threw a curveball my way. I did finish my first year, but obviously, I didn’t continue. When I’m in a grumpy mood and I exist outside of the present moment, I regret not having a Bachelor’s degree yet and wish I could be further along in my life. However, when I dwell in the present, I remember that if none of that had happened, I wouldn’t have gained a new perspective on life and turned to study Japanese. It wouldn’t have triggered a love for calligraphy and Asian Studies. I would not have been encouraged to go on the Field Studies trip to South Korea, Thailand, and Vietnam this past summer. That trip was the greatest learning experience of my life. Well, I guess my whole life is a learning experience. Everything happens for a reason—if you choose to view it that way. On July 26th, 2021, I went for a run. A sunset run to Trout Lake. I remember it being a spontaneous decision because I didn’t bring my fanny pack, a book, or my wallet. After a great, sweaty workout, I found myself barefoot on the grass near the off-leash dog area. I sat at the north end of the lake as I usually do. I heard rhythmic thumping, which I thought was unusual. I now remember—it was a Wednesday night. I couldn’t see what was happening on the other side of the lake, but I figured the noise was carrying across the water. I walked around the lake to the south side and discovered a very unexpected festival. Those spontaneous moments are wonderful. It was a festival at the tail end of COVID. All the people who didn’t care about restrictions were outside having fun, while those who were more cautious stayed inside, I guess. There were multiple little festivals happening simultaneously. There was a group of tightrope walkers tying their cords from tree to tree. There was a couples’ acrobatics event, or something similar—two people holding onto each other, flipping and pushing each other up high. Imagine a man on his back with his feet in the air and a girl standing on his feet in a ballerina pose. But imagine twenty couples doing it in a big group, with a DJ providing the rhythm. That was the rhythmic thumping I heard from the other side of the lake. When I explain it, it sounds like a false memory, but if you know those Wednesday nights at Trout Lake in the summertime, you know I’m telling the truth. There were multiple DJs, each with a different-sized crowd. There was also an art festival with people painting on various-sized canvases in groups. There were hippie crowds and acrobatic people clearly on MDMA, but there were also families and kids running around. Definitely a Vancouver scene. I was there alone, so I just wandered around, observing this fairytale scene I had stumbled across. A Chilean guy had a table set up where he was selling tacos. I didn’t have my wallet, so I e-transferred him $5 for a good greasy bite. As the sun began to set, some fire dancers came out, juggling and tossing balls of fire on the sandy patch at the south end of Trout Lake. I must say, although I had no idea what was coming, it was a beautiful finale to my life before the truth was revealed to me. One woman had set up a giant canvas with four sides. It stood about 5 feet tall and 3 feet wide on each side, creating a massive area for people to paint. There were around a hundred different tubes of paint and paintbrushes scattered on the ground. About a dozen people at a time took turns painting a corner. It looked like fun, so I asked if I could join. Kids drew smiley faces, hippies painted mandalas, and people did whatever they wanted. I like drawing bizarre faces—eyes, noses, and mouths with cities or skylines inside them. Like the silhouette of a castle drawn inside someone’s mouth, or drawing a mouth with teeth as skyscrapers and the back of the throat as a galaxy. A few people admired my paintings, and a few didn’t. They thought they were creepy. “I wonder what’s going on in your head,” said a middle-aged lady with a concerned look on her face. “They look like demons.” I’m not sure if that’s exactly what she said, but I do remember at least two people being creeped out by what I painted. I liked them, so I can’t say I was offended. You can’t win them all. The reason I remember this so vividly is that someone definitely asked me about what was “going on in your head.” If I had known, I would have said, “Well, a cancerous tumor is forming, and tomorrow I’ll have a seizure that will send me to the hospital.” Less than 24 hours later, I was lying in bed with an IV drip in my arm and the rhythmic sound of beeping monitors replacing the bass drum of the DJs. I found myself on the 6th floor of Vancouver General Hospital, the youngest person in the neurological ward. “Young man, what are you doing here?” said the jolly nurse with a Filipino accent. “I have no idea, bro,” I thought to myself. I’m not sure what I actually said to him. Those were the days leading up to my discovery. There’s another 25 years of backstory behind that, which I will get to in future articles. But today, I just wanted to share this story. I have many stories to tell, and I don’t know who wants to read them. But here they are. I can’t end this story without talking a bit about life insurance and critical illness insurance. I bought it when I was 23 years old, although everyone told me not to. “Why buy it when you’re so young?” “Wait another 10 years.” But as Einstein said, “Compound interest is the eighth wonder of the world. He who understands it, earns it. He who doesn't, pays it.” The psychological trick we play on ourselves to buy things we don’t need—what about the things we actually need? We often avoid buying them until a significant event shifts our perspective. If I hadn’t bought it when I didn’t “need” it, I would not have been rewarded for my foresight. With insurance, in this sense, you have to lose in order to win. I lost by having cancer, but I won by having a large sum of money placed into my bank account. My mantra returned to me: “Wealth and abundance circulate freely through my life.” I don’t think I was specific enough with the mantra. The power of words is incredible, and you must be very specific. Wealth circulates freely, but at what cost? And what is abundant in my life, money or cancer cells? Well, with insurance, you have to lose in order to win, so I get the best of both worlds. Instead of letting cancer conquer me, I conquered cancer. So it’s a win-win. You learn how to live, how to become stronger, how to heal. I learned how to grow, how to overcome challenges, how to remain steadfast while undergoing chemotherapy and wishing I could run to my mom for help. I learned how to do all of these things. Through challenges, I won. Every journey is a challenge. Winning is an ongoing process. I recommend you look into financial protection in the face of illness. I also recommend you look into appreciating what you have in the moment, and dwelling on the beauty that exists, right here, right now. Priority number one is living in the moment. Priority number two is preparing for the future. Don’t wait until it’s too late. "Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.". ― Mahatma Gandhi. I trust you found this article to be helpful. I will end with a prayer. A Prayer for Resilience and Gratitude Divine Spirit, In this moment of reflection, I come before you with a heart full of gratitude. I thank you for the strength you have granted me through trials and triumphs, for the lessons learned in moments of darkness, and for the light that guides me forward. I ask for continued courage to face the challenges ahead and for wisdom to embrace each day with open arms. Help me find serenity in the present and clarity in the journey that lies before me. Grant me the resilience to rise above adversity and the grace to appreciate the beauty that surrounds me, even in times of struggle. May I remain steadfast in my pursuit of growth and healing, drawing strength from the lessons of the past and the hope of the future. Let me cherish the love and support of those who walk with me and honor the memories of those who have passed. Guide me to live each day fully and to prepare wisely for what is to come. Help me to balance my ambitions with gratitude, my actions with reflection, and my aspirations with acceptance. As I navigate this journey, may I be a beacon of light and hope for others, and may I always remember that through every challenge, I have the power to conquer and grow. In your name, I offer this prayer with hope and faith. Amen. // I hope to talk with you again soon. MDWJ

Notes by mdwalkerjones | export

▲ ▼

Here's my first try posting on Nostr.

It's a story about being diagnosed with a powerful brain cancer at the age of 25.

A tale of the times before I found out about that powerful thing which existed right behind my eyes - exactly where I couldn’t see it.

I used to live on East 23rd Avenue, near Main Street. I loved that house. That was where I discovered a deep connection with God for the first time. Well, maybe the second, but it was a spontaneous and unexpected connection. I’m convinced the divine inspiration I received during that time was directly related to cancer cells multiplying in my brain.

It was around this time I began to understand the beauty of Bitcoin and noticed fractal geometry in nature around me. Trees, rivers, capillaries, lightning shocks. They all have the same mathematical structure. The golden ratio as seen in the shape of the human ear, a nautilus shell, the shape of the Milky Way, the human foetus, or any whirlpool or vortex. It’s all something that has to be seen - it can’t be explained with words.

I explored central Vancouver a lot during that time. I discovered beauty there. Queen Elizabeth Park gave me an overflowing amount of inspiration. You see, Queen Elizabeth is just a recent name. It was named that in 1952 (the year of her coronation and the year that my parents were born), but the mountain it is sitting on has been a sacred space to the indigenous peoples for centuries at least.

You see, Queen Elizabeth park, or Little Mountain, is actually a ~30 million-year-old volcano. That’s where all that basalt rock comes from. If you go there, you can easily find it on any of the cliffs - the brittle rock that chips off easily. Most of that rock was used to pave the streets of Gastown in the late 1800s before Vancouver was even a city. I was going there almost daily during the pandemic, so it was relatively sparse and definitely peaceful. Before and after coronavirus, you would see large crowds doing tai chi on the flat summit at either sunrise or sunset.

Again, there’s something sacred about that space. Whether its sacredness comes from a natural or godly source, or a space becomes sacred because we as humans imbue it as such, I don’t know. But if I ascribe holiness to that place - to me, that place is holy. I mean, it’s a 30 million-year-old volcano that I spent hundreds of hours at during my time in cancer treatment pondering the meaning of life - obviously, it’s sacred to me. But at this point in the story, I don’t know that I have cancer yet.

At the turn of the 20th century, Little Mountain was a dense forest elevated above most of the city being used as an industrial quarry for city builders. Decades later, the Canadian settlers of the 30s revamped the barren quarries with a botanical plan and transformed the space into a beautiful garden. I can’t even count how many sunsets I’ve watched from there. At least a hundred. I always tell myself it’s time to go home but end up staying until the orange glow of the sunset drops off the horizon.

At the top of Little Mountain, there’s a conservatory in a geodesic dome. Another stellar invention by the late R. Buckminster Fuller. Google him quickly. Total legend. Inside the geodesic dome are tropical plants and bug-eyed parrots in rainbow colours. The last time I went in there was about a week before I found out about the tumour. Rats run around the foliage as food for the big birds. The dome is at the top of the mountain, but it’s definitely not the main attraction in my opinion. There are so many little peaceful hidden spots to sit and bask in the forest of flowers and bamboo.

If you go to the top after dark, the lights inside the conservatory are off, but you can still hear the occasional caw of a parrot. They make an eerie noise that sounds like a human yelling to the uninitiated ear: tourists who walk around because Queen E park will show up on a list of “10 things you have to do when you visit Vancouver this summer.” And I don’t disagree. You should definitely visit. But when I lived close by, I was able to frequent the place when the crowds dispersed.

On a long weekend, it’s packed, but if you go at sunrise, you’ll probably just see me, the old Chinese guy who does Tai Chi (including swinging his arms in circles, slapping his legs, and doing a sort of three-octave singing practice I don’t comprehend but I admire), and maybe that young couple who brings their kitten in their jackets to keep them warm (actually, I only saw them once, but I wanted to share).

Anyway, you can probably tell I love that place. There’s one hidden area that I would run to daily and do my Wim Hof breathing exercises. I’d run while only breathing through my nose and go up the steep run until I found that spot with my favourite tree. I would listen to inspiring music (Pokemon 2nd Generation OST, Old School RuneScape OST, or Baroque classics playlist on Spotify), but as soon as I got to my special spot, I always pulled my headphones off. I took my shoes and socks off and sat cross-legged under my favourite tree in the whole world.

I repeated my mantras. “Wealth and abundance circulated freely through my life.” “Everything I have is all that I need. Everything I need I already have.” It was a good time in my life. I felt myself communicating with my mother in heaven. I felt a massive amount of spiritual knowledge entering my body on every run, or during every meditation. Cancer still undetected. Maybe cancer cells themselves carry divine knowledge. Knowledge so powerful that when it remains misunderstood, it causes disease. Embracing it, allowing it, surrendering to it - perhaps that is the answer.

There was a book. The Subconscious Mind by Joseph Murphy. I’m not sure how it ended up in my possession. I think it was left outside of somebody’s house in a box of free stuff. Being my father’s son, I took all the free books I could see. At first glance, it seems kitschy. A self-help book for suckers, or something. The subtitle read “including the full title ‘How to Attract Money.’” When you’re close-minded, or you believe that hard work is the only way to earn a living wage, books like this are easily overlooked.

This was probably 10 months after I had purchased life insurance with critical illness coverage. I had started to open my mind up to the idea of encouraging others on the benefits of this decision and learning more about how to leverage fiat money, while I remained fascinated by Bitcoin. As a result, I began engaging with a community of individuals who were focused on financial literacy, and I was recommended to read three books: Rich Dad, Poor Dad by Robert Kiyosaki, The Richest Man in Babylon by George S. Clason, and Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill. These books are fascinating, and they changed my life for the better. Because I was opened up to these ideas, I gave the other book a chance.

“There is no virtue in poverty, it is a mental disease.” Wow. I did not expect that. The Subconscious Mind by Joseph Murphy taught me the mantras which I mentioned earlier. “Wealth and abundance circulated freely through my life.” “Everything I have is all that I need. Everything I need I already have.” It was all a preparation for my diagnosis. Learning how to think. The power of speech, the power of thought, the power of movement. I saw myself growing into a great man.

What I didn’t see, however, was how I would get there. Cancer is a catapult into learning how to truly grow into a person. You think you understand life until you face death. Then you understand that you don’t understand anything. It is your duty to surrender to the great mystery of the universe. You do not have the answers. Be humble. Sit down.

There was another place I would frequent during this time. Trout Lake. More like a big, dirty pond. Still, a small sandy patch that might be called a beach and a lot of green space for me to walk around barefoot after a sweaty run. I could say I lived halfway in-between Queen Elizabeth Park and Trout Lake. Evening summertime runs in either direction were healing for the soul.

I would stuff The Subconscious Mind or Think and Grow Rich into my late mom’s purple fanny pack, and the zipper would barely close. The book would jump off my hip as I ran until I sat down at my destination and did some reading. That was just over three years ago.

Fast forward about 15 months to Summer 2020. My mom had passed away by then, but I hadn't yet been diagnosed with cancer. I had already spent three weeks in quarantine with my dad after he caught COVID. He was single, and I didn’t have a mom. We both missed her dearly. Eventually, I returned to my place in Vancouver with my roommate.

There was another book: The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot. To this day, I’ve only read a few pages. It ended up on my bookshelf, and I have no explanation as to how. Too many books like that. It was a book my mom had grabbed from my shelf when she visited me in Fanny Bay a year earlier. That was the last time we had strong mother-son bonding time before she passed away. She read it and explained it to me, but I could barely remember. It was about the nature of reality. That was August 2019. She died that December.

Around six months later, in Summer 2020, some friends came over to my place. We were living at 12th and Columbia back then, during the peak of COVID fears (it couldn’t have been me). People were still banging pots and pans at 8 o’clock or whatever they did. Anyway, one of my friends noticed the book on my shelf and asked to borrow it. That memory stands out. It was The Holographic Universe. It was the same book my mom had picked out from my bookshelf (Note: I have over 100 books). I had still never read it. I guess that book draws people in. I hope you can understand how I felt in that moment. The same book my mom chose out of a hundred books—a book about the universe being a hologram—stood out to another friend too. I had forgotten my mom had even read it until that moment. Suddenly, the book had power. Anyway, I let her borrow the book and went on with my life.

It’s poignant for me to reminisce that during that time, my brain tumor was growing every day, waiting to announce its existence. Realistically, it could have been waiting since the moment I was born, biding its time to strike when I was vulnerable and least expected it. Then again, maybe it was waiting until it knew I was ready to tackle it, for me to grow into a new person.

My Emily Carr courses were all online. I would have completed a Bachelor’s Degree in Industrial Design, but life threw a curveball my way. I did finish my first year, but obviously, I didn’t continue. When I’m in a grumpy mood and I exist outside of the present moment, I regret not having a Bachelor’s degree yet and wish I could be further along in my life.

However, when I dwell in the present, I remember that if none of that had happened, I wouldn’t have gained a new perspective on life and turned to study Japanese. It wouldn’t have triggered a love for calligraphy and Asian Studies. I would not have been encouraged to go on the Field Studies trip to South Korea, Thailand, and Vietnam this past summer. That trip was the greatest learning experience of my life. Well, I guess my whole life is a learning experience. Everything happens for a reason—if you choose to view it that way.

On July 26th, 2021, I went for a run. A sunset run to Trout Lake. I remember it being a spontaneous decision because I didn’t bring my fanny pack, a book, or my wallet. After a great, sweaty workout, I found myself barefoot on the grass near the off-leash dog area. I sat at the north end of the lake as I usually do. I heard rhythmic thumping, which I thought was unusual. I now remember—it was a Wednesday night. I couldn’t see what was happening on the other side of the lake, but I figured the noise was carrying across the water. I walked around the lake to the south side and discovered a very unexpected festival. Those spontaneous moments are wonderful.

It was a festival at the tail end of COVID. All the people who didn’t care about restrictions were outside having fun, while those who were more cautious stayed inside, I guess. There were multiple little festivals happening simultaneously. There was a group of tightrope walkers tying their cords from tree to tree. There was a couples’ acrobatics event, or something similar—two people holding onto each other, flipping and pushing each other up high. Imagine a man on his back with his feet in the air and a girl standing on his feet in a ballerina pose. But imagine twenty couples doing it in a big group, with a DJ providing the rhythm. That was the rhythmic thumping I heard from the other side of the lake.

When I explain it, it sounds like a false memory, but if you know those Wednesday nights at Trout Lake in the summertime, you know I’m telling the truth. There were multiple DJs, each with a different-sized crowd. There was also an art festival with people painting on various-sized canvases in groups. There were hippie crowds and acrobatic people clearly on MDMA, but there were also families and kids running around. Definitely a Vancouver scene. I was there alone, so I just wandered around, observing this fairytale scene I had stumbled across.

A Chilean guy had a table set up where he was selling tacos. I didn’t have my wallet, so I e-transferred him $5 for a good greasy bite. As the sun began to set, some fire dancers came out, juggling and tossing balls of fire on the sandy patch at the south end of Trout Lake. I must say, although I had no idea what was coming, it was a beautiful finale to my life before the truth was revealed to me.

One woman had set up a giant canvas with four sides. It stood about 5 feet tall and 3 feet wide on each side, creating a massive area for people to paint. There were around a hundred different tubes of paint and paintbrushes scattered on the ground. About a dozen people at a time took turns painting a corner. It looked like fun, so I asked if I could join. Kids drew smiley faces, hippies painted mandalas, and people did whatever they wanted. I like drawing bizarre faces—eyes, noses, and mouths with cities or skylines inside them. Like the silhouette of a castle drawn inside someone’s mouth, or drawing a mouth with teeth as skyscrapers and the back of the throat as a galaxy.

A few people admired my paintings, and a few didn’t. They thought they were creepy. “I wonder what’s going on in your head,” said a middle-aged lady with a concerned look on her face. “They look like demons.” I’m not sure if that’s exactly what she said, but I do remember at least two people being creeped out by what I painted. I liked them, so I can’t say I was offended. You can’t win them all. The reason I remember this so vividly is that someone definitely asked me about what was “going on in your head.” If I had known, I would have said, “Well, a cancerous tumor is forming, and tomorrow I’ll have a seizure that will send me to the hospital.”

Less than 24 hours later, I was lying in bed with an IV drip in my arm and the rhythmic sound of beeping monitors replacing the bass drum of the DJs.

I found myself on the 6th floor of Vancouver General Hospital, the youngest person in the neurological ward. “Young man, what are you doing here?” said the jolly nurse with a Filipino accent. “I have no idea, bro,” I thought to myself. I’m not sure what I actually said to him.

Those were the days leading up to my discovery. There’s another 25 years of backstory behind that, which I will get to in future articles. But today, I just wanted to share this story. I have many stories to tell, and I don’t know who wants to read them. But here they are.

I can’t end this story without talking a bit about life insurance and critical illness insurance. I bought it when I was 23 years old, although everyone told me not to. “Why buy it when you’re so young?” “Wait another 10 years.” But as Einstein said, “Compound interest is the eighth wonder of the world. He who understands it, earns it. He who doesn't, pays it.” The psychological trick we play on ourselves to buy things we don’t need—what about the things we actually need? We often avoid buying them until a significant event shifts our perspective. If I hadn’t bought it when I didn’t “need” it, I would not have been rewarded for my foresight. With insurance, in this sense, you have to lose in order to win. I lost by having cancer, but I won by having a large sum of money placed into my bank account. My mantra returned to me: “Wealth and abundance circulate freely through my life.” I don’t think I was specific enough with the mantra. The power of words is incredible, and you must be very specific. Wealth circulates freely, but at what cost? And what is abundant in my life, money or cancer cells?

Well, with insurance, you have to lose in order to win, so I get the best of both worlds. Instead of letting cancer conquer me, I conquered cancer. So it’s a win-win. You learn how to live, how to become stronger, how to heal. I learned how to grow, how to overcome challenges, how to remain steadfast while undergoing chemotherapy and wishing I could run to my mom for help. I learned how to do all of these things. Through challenges, I won. Every journey is a challenge. Winning is an ongoing process. I recommend you look into financial protection in the face of illness. I also recommend you look into appreciating what you have in the moment, and dwelling on the beauty that exists, right here, right now.

Priority number one is living in the moment.

Priority number two is preparing for the future.

Don’t wait until it’s too late.

"Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.". ― Mahatma Gandhi.

I trust you found this article to be helpful.

I will end with a prayer.

A Prayer for Resilience and Gratitude

Divine Spirit,

In this moment of reflection, I come before you with a heart full of gratitude. I thank you for the strength you have granted me through trials and triumphs, for the lessons learned in moments of darkness, and for the light that guides me forward.

I ask for continued courage to face the challenges ahead and for wisdom to embrace each day with open arms. Help me find serenity in the present and clarity in the journey that lies before me. Grant me the resilience to rise above adversity and the grace to appreciate the beauty that surrounds me, even in times of struggle.

May I remain steadfast in my pursuit of growth and healing, drawing strength from the lessons of the past and the hope of the future. Let me cherish the love and support of those who walk with me and honor the memories of those who have passed.

Guide me to live each day fully and to prepare wisely for what is to come. Help me to balance my ambitions with gratitude, my actions with reflection, and my aspirations with acceptance.

As I navigate this journey, may I be a beacon of light and hope for others, and may I always remember that through every challenge, I have the power to conquer and grow.

In your name, I offer this prayer with hope and faith.

Amen.

I hope to talk with you again soon.

MDWJ