I saw an article that Hayley Williams quoted, referencing ‘the death of the mass audience’, that insatiable desire for majors to have that viral moment with their artists, that TikTok sound to blow up, that one song to hit that unattainable KPI, whilst the integrity of the artist suffers. I, for one, am exhausted of music being pushed as a product. Tired of witnessing music that is underpinned by an ego-centric capitalist formula. I don’t claim to be an expert in anything, but the transparency of music created with artistry sitting in the backseat whilst profit and virality sit up in front sucks. It’s clear to see through.

This isn’t me harbouring these negative thoughts towards the artist, but more my gripe with the well-oiled machine that majors are. It’s deeply systemic and perhaps a matter best left for a separate article altogether.

The rollout of Hayley Williams’ ‘Ego Death At A Bachelorette Party’ is the prime example of taking a community-led approach. Fan submissions for the tracklisting, fan-created merch, and what felt like an anti-major marketing approach ultimately led to a release that fostered a palpable sense of unity, re-ignited that feeling of discovering something new and exciting, and this was all for the people who truly give a shit. I think so many of us have been desensitised to what it actually means to have a sense of community in a predominantly individualistic society. I almost found myself double-taking when I realised I was feeling excited about music again. It was the most beautiful album rollout, I can say with my chest, I’ve ever witnessed. This is the kind of stuff I want to engage with these days. It must have been the most liberating and freeing feeling to bring out a release this way without being underpinned by the thumb of a Major, and Hayley, her team, Post Atlantic, deserve all the flowers.

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However, I digress, and that article then goes on to mention the birth of the micro-community. The idea that having a thousand people who actually give a shit about what you’re doing will ultimately succeed a million who don’t. I find myself resonating more with artists who take this route, and would argue that micro-communities have always existed in the shadow of the major behemoth, but I think people crave authenticity and the intimacy of being part of small-scale community-focused art. This isn’t a desire solely relegated to the music industry. In a time when the world seems to be falling apart, it’s never been more pertinent for us to have a real connection.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s definitely a space for majors, and I enjoy a good mainstream bop as much as the next person. This isn’t about scoring brownie points for being edgy or ‘alternative’. I just wish there were more room for independents and space to measure what ‘success’ actually means. It shouldn’t be a monopoly. I sadly think it will be a while longer before major labels adopt this way of thinking, but I’m cautiously optimistic these conversations may just be starting to take place a little more these days.

Reading articles here about music discovery inspired me to put together my own list of songs I’d say are best listened to on a miserable day. I think there’s such power in discovering music via word of mouth. Albeit digitally, if there’s even just one song or artist from my list you discover and enjoy, I’d consider my job done.

Songs for miserable weather (Link to open the playlist on Spotify, but I’ve attached YouTube videos for each song as well)

I’m someone who naturally gravitates towards melancholy music. It must be something in my DNA. Whether that says more about my mental state than anything else, who knows? I can’t deny the comfort this type of music brings me. Perhaps it allows me to be still and reckon with my feelings, process the negativity, or even get comfortable being uncomfortable. It’s also rained virtually every day of 2026 in the UK, so a playlist like this may serve a rainy day well. I thought it would be cathartic to not only share some of the music that I feel so deeply, but to take you through my thoughts and anecdotes on each of the songs, which hopefully provides you with some context, and the space to bring your own interpretation and thoughts if you choose to listen to them.

Reverie - Sarah Kinsley

Speaking of music discovery, I discovered Sarah Kinsley, an exceptionally talented singer/songwriter, through a YouTube ad a few years ago. It’s one of the very few ads that instantly landed with me. Ironic, considering the machine YouTube is, but good music will forever be good music, no matter the method of discovery.

Reverie is a heart-aching song, one that exudes a sense of yearning that has become part of her signature sound. From her recently released E.P, ‘Fleeting’, I’ll never forget the visceral emotion this song first made me feel upon first listen. The melancholy piano intro, which builds and blossoms into such a full and undeniable outro, paired with lyricism that alludes to what could have been.

You might go too far and build a life
You can't step away from
Imagination is a sacred drug

You were a scapegoat for my life to unravel / It’s just a dream, don’t you get it? / It’s all a dream, just forget it.

We’re only at the start of 2026, but I’ve already decided this will take the spot for the most beautiful song I’ll hear this year. The whole E.P is phenomenal, but this song is the standout for me.

In the end, everything is fleeting. And how wonderful that it is. Thank god it all is. - Sarah Kinsley

The Sound Of Changing Place - Far Caspian

I’ve always been a fan of Joel Johnston’s (Far Caspian) sincere and often melancholic songwriting. This particular song from 2025’s ‘Autofiction’ is my favourite from the record and tackles the theme of transitional periods throughout life. There’s an anxeity induced uncertainty that comes with these periods, and as a millennial stumbling through life, I instantly connected with this song.

This song is about packing up or unpacking, realizing you’ve accumulated too much clutter, and wishing you didn’t need to drag it all along with you to the next house that you hope is going to feel like home. - Joel Johnston

There’s almost an inconsequential sound to this song, in a way that resonated so strongly with me. The strumming of the guitar, the gentle vocal delivery, truly evoked that feeling of hoping for more, but instead, you’re left grounded by reality.

Decide to sellotape the boxes one by one
I know it's cold and dull
The sound of changing place

There’s an ironic beauty that can be found in the mundane, and this song encapsulates that feeling perfectly. It’s also one of my favourite commute songs.

Laura Palmer’s Theme - Angelo Badalamenti

I had the pure joy of discovering the masterpiece that is Twin Peaks later in life. I could write countless Substack articles on the impact the late David Lynch’s works had on me. This specific piece of music is the main running motif throughout the show, often used in pivotal emotional scenes, and a piece of music that became so synonymous with the show.

Angelo Badalamenti’s prolific compositions will live on forevermore, but this piece of music was truly his magnum opus for me. It’s a piece of music that has reduced me to tears, especially when it reaches the crescendo. There’s a fascinating and iconic video of Angelo doing a live demonstration explaining how he came to compose the piece, and it’s a must-watch.

The piece even had its viral TikTok moment, which I absolutely loathed. ‘Laura Palmer didn’t die for this piece of music to be used in your ‘get ready with me’ video’, was my initial thought. Gatekeeping is a controversial topic, but I couldn’t help but feel this was a piece worthy of being gatekept. As time has moved on, I’ve tried to see the positive side, but deep down, I’ll always like the comments that call out those who use this song without knowing the context.

Mind Loaded - Blood Orange ft. Caroline Polachek, Lorde, and Mustafa

No better song on this playlist embodies heartache more than this one. Taken from 2025’s critically acclaimed ‘Essex Honey’, ‘Mind Loaded’ is an overwhelming symphony of emotion, featuring a stellar line-up of collaborators.

The aching descending piano motif is the cornerstone of this song, and punctuates the lyrics that deal with an overload of emotion, hence the metaphor in the title. The instrumental section after the first verse quite honestly gave me goosebumps when I first heard it. The lamenting strings accentuating that piano motif so gracefully, yet tragically.

Caroline Polachek’s vocal presence on this song was pivotal. Her signature ethereal vocals soar in harmony with Dev Hyne during the second verse so brilliantly.

And then towards the end of the process she added this, like, really incredible almost, like, countermelody over the - I mean, I guess they're verses. I don't even know. But she added something over them, and it was so next level, something I could never have ever thought of, but something that only Caroline could ever have thought of. - Dev Hynes

This was one of my top songs of 2025, and it will change you, perhaps make you feel existential dread, but in a way that feels amazing.

SPIDERS - Lola Young

‘Messy’ dominated 2025, and it was a song that was difficult to escape. That isn’t shade. I personally enjoyed the song. There’s an interesting discussion to be had around overexposure and the negativity that can come with it. It was difficult to read the tirade of hate plastered across social media towards Lola, describing her as a ‘one hit wonder’. I think a lot of people tend to adopt the notion that super mainstream music is ‘less appealing’, ‘music for the masses’ or simply ‘uncool’. A good friend, Blake Harnage of VersaEmerge, said in an interview ‘listen to music because you like it, not because it’s cool’. This fundamentally changed my thought process many years ago. In my younger years (I say as if I’m 84), I somehow thought listening to lesser-known music made me ‘cooler’ and anything ‘mainstream’ wasn’t worthy of attention. I’m a firm believer that your music taste is your own. Fuck what’s cool. If it just so happens to be cool, great, but that should never be the driving motive. You get to define what is cool. No one else. Listen to music you enjoy because you enjoy it. I think the over-exposure of ‘Messy’ made people automatically discredit her music yet to be released, and that’s unfair.

‘SPIDERS’ is such a raw symphony of sound and heart. It was one of my favourite songs from 2025. There’s a vulnerability in Lola’s vocal delivery that erupts into a force of emotion during the chorus. This song really moved me.

Play It Out - Wolf Alice

There’s no denying the triumph that ‘The Clearing’ is. ‘Play It Out’ is such a pensive and reflective song, exploring themes of self-worth, what it means to be human, the topic of motherhood and ultimately, carving your own path in this world.

It’s no secret that a piano-led song is my kryptonite, and this song truly blooms and builds throughout. There’s something so vulnerable and tender in that opening piano riff.

‘…an anxiety partly prompted by acquaintances on social media posting about their mums or their partners being mums. ‘It was the nicest things I’d ever heard coming from men about women. I was like: oh my God, I hope that you can not be a mother and people can think you’re that amazing.’

There is such societal pressure to be a certain way, to adopt certain life decisions, to exist to fit the mould of someone who has come before you, when really, we should live life in our own unique way. I think this song ponders the tug and pull of life so beautifully.

It has one of my favourite build-ups in recent memory, with Ellie Roswell’s soaring vocals that ascend in intensity, to finally break away to the opening piano riff.

The live Spotify version is stunning and definitely worth a listen and watch.

Main Theme (from ‘Only Yesterday’)- Katsu Hoshi

Studio Ghibli and Hayao Miyazaki’s art has occupied such a large portion of my life, and it can live rent-free in it until the day I die, that’s just how much of an impact it’s had on me. When we think of the music that accompanies these films, ‘Joe Hisaishi’ is often a name mentioned, and for good reason. He is one of the most iconic composers of our generation, in my opinion. And when we think of Ghibli, we often think of the big hitters such as ‘Spirited Away’ or ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’.

I want to take this moment to put a spotlight on one of my favourite Ghibli films, a severely underrated film in its own right, too, ‘Only Yesterday’. Released in 1991, Only Yesterday is such a beautiful ode to life itself, and what it means to grow up and reconnect with your childhood at a stage in life when you may feel lost and directionless. We live in a time when I think many of us want to reconnect with what it means to be human, to live and breathe nature and to just take pause for a moment. It truly is the perfect film in the current climate, and I’d really recommend watching it on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Katsu Hoshi was the main composer for this film, and his intimate score becomes part of the narrative itself. The opening piece of music is one of the most beautiful pieces I’ve had the pleasure of hearing. I’m a huge fan of instrumental music that tells a story without having to say a single word. I know that line seems redundant when you first read it; Instrumental music, by definition, is music without words, but it takes a truly remarkable piece of instrumental music to evoke and tell a story. This piece of music does that so perfectly. (I’ve linked a YouTube video in case the piece isn’t available on your DSP)

Infections Of A Different Kind - AURORA

I vividly remember hearing this song for the first time during the pandemic. Lockdown was on and off, and it was also during the time Sarah Everard was tragically murdered by a Metropolitan Police officer. I just remember feeling so sick of the violence, the futility and hopelessness I was feeling during this period.

This specific song came on shuffle, and I was brought to tears by how much this song was able to encapsulate every fibre of my being at that exact moment. Aurora has often cited this as the most important song she has written, which came to her during a dream. She often recites the story of when she saw a young child run around an airport waiting lounge with joy, being surrounded by stressed and jaded adults, including her parents. Even though everyone in that airport lounge was stressed, perhaps even deeply unhappy, the child still managed to bring a smile and a glimmer of joy to those around her. I suppose that sums up this song in a nutshell: the importance of holding on to hope and finding sparks of happiness in darker times.

And I beg, I beg to be drained
From the pain I have soaked myself in
So I can stay
Okay, and more than okay for a while

The song itself is another haunting piano-led song that swells into the most breathtakingly beautiful outro, which, for me, is the highlight of the song. Aurora’s vocals truly sound like hope itself in this song. The outro from 3:34 is more than just a passage of music; it was a life-changing experience for me.

Her performance of this song in the middle of a forest from the HAIK show is a tear-jerker and must be watched.

Roommates - Now, Now

I first heard of Now, Now (formerly Now, Now, Every Children) when they supported Paramore during their European fall tour in 2009. I’ll always say and maintain that they’re the single example of a support act I’ve come to love to the extent I do.

There’s something almost haunting about this particular song, ‘Rommates’, taken from their 2010 EP, ‘Neighbours’. I’m still not 100% sure what the lyrics speak on, but sometimes that’s honestly okay. Sometimes I listen to music to appreciate the composition, sometimes I listen to relate to the lyrics, sometimes it’s both at the same time.

Non-specific to this beautiful song, I think I used to obsess over lyrics to the point that it detracted from my enjoyment of any given song. Don’t get me wrong, dissecting lyrics and trying to understand every facet is interesting, and we naturally want to try to understand the unknown. The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve come to appreciate that there’s sometimes beauty in not understanding everything that is presented to you. It’s okay to have your own interpretation. Whether wrong or right, only the writer will truly know what they’re speaking on. Maybe sometimes they don’t.

You are the quiet one;

You don′t have to say very much to get what you want.

You’re small but I am much smaller than you could have recalled.

And we don′t want to go when you come back in the fall.

For this song, I was instantly drawn to the unique drum rhythm by Bradley Hale, who is a phenomenal drummer. The irregular yet thumping rhythm is the backbone of this song, which explodes with such force near the outro.

There’s a live version of this song from Audiotree that features a slightly different arrangement, but it is absolutely the definitive version of this song for me. I didn’t think the outro could get any better, but it does tenfold in this version.

桜流し(Sakura Nagashi) - 宇多田ヒカル (Utada Hikaru)

Boong Joon Ho, the director of ‘Parasite’, infamously said ‘Once you overcome the one-inch-tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films’. Whilst not like-for-like in medium, I think the same principle can be applied to music in another language. I feel like times have moved on significantly; the barrier is less with the boom of things like K-pop, but there once was a time…

Utada Hikaru is one of my lifetime artists, and one of the most prolific and versatile songwriters of our generation. Their music has been present throughout so many chapters of my life. I remember asking them on Twitter in 2010 how they come up with such strong melodies, and they replied to me with this.

I am a melody-first type of guy; it’s something I look out for most keenly in the music I listen to, and an element of music I appreciate so greatly. Sakura Nagashi is another melancholic piano-led song (you may be sensing a theme here). The sadness that flows throughout this one is almost overwhelming. A wave of emotion that takes over. This song was released in November 2012, one month before I lost my father to cancer. Some events happen in life as though they were pre-determined. The release of this song felt like one of those moments.

It served as the theme song for an Evangelion film, a hugely popular anime franchise. Utada Hikaru said she wasn’t too familiar with the anime (nor was I), but they drew upon their feelings on the tragic 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami.

Thematically, the song speaks of loss and losing someone early, the regret of leaving things left unsaid, and the idea that everybody finds love eventually. Knowing I was about to lose my father, this song obviously resonated with me on things I hadn’t yet told him, and the things I will never get to tell him. This song really captures how it feels to grieve something yet to happen, and something that will never be. The strings wane and traverse the build-up to the climax, which stopped me in my tracks the first time I heard it.

I can't believe that I'll never see you again
I haven't told you anything yet

However great the fear, I will not look away
If at the end of everything, there is love

This will go down as one of the most heart-aching songs of all time for me.

Fragile N.4 - Dustin O’Halloran

Dustin O’Halloran is one of my favourite composers. He has a way of depicting emotion that few can, with his timeless compositions. There’s a wonderful fragility to this piece of music, accentuated by the string quartet that accompanies the stunning piano melody.

There’s something so special about the combination of piano and orchestral strings that will always speak to my heart. It’s a contemplative piece, and certainly one that’s made me question my existence on numerous occasions.

It’s the perfect piece of music to zone out to and enjoy a moment of calm. I think instrumental music is such an intrinsic part of what I enjoy. I don’t always want things told to me through lyrics or voice, or a narrative that explicitly dictates how I experience a piece of music. I think instrumental music gives me the space to ponder my own story of how I experience music, allows me to dream and form my own interpretation of life, and that will forever be something beautiful in my eyes.

I think the challenge with instrumental music is to find a voice and to find meaning. I never think of music as trying to be literal. I think words are such a different way of communicating than music. Music is the language of emotion. We have music because words just can’t describe or communicate everything. - Dustin O’Halloran

Myth - Beach House

This will forever go down as one of the most beautiful songs I’ve had the pleasure of listening to. There’s a dream-like state I enter when listening to this song. The arpeggiated key and guitar intro make this piece so distinct, and it reverberates throughout most of the song. It’s one of my favourite passages of music.

There’s a sense of thematic disillusionment, building yourself a myth for the sake of momentary bliss. The idea of holding on to something, whatever that may be, that’s no longer there. That’s my interpretation of the song. I was going through a lot of transition when I first heard this song, and was carrying a whole ton of baggage. There’s one lyric that resonated so profoundly with me, and still does to this day.

Can't keep hanging on
To what is dead and gone

It served as some form of epiphany for me. Learning to let go is one of the hardest things to do, but that shit will eat you up from the inside out if you don’t. That isn’t exclusive to negative feelings. Everything is fleeting, the good and bad. It’s something I’m still working on.

This live performance on Letterman remains a firm favourite.

Pavane pour une infante défunte - Maurice Ravel

Translated to ‘Pavane for a dead princess’, after hearing this piece on first listen, it’d be reasonable to think it was some sort of funeral lament. Ironically, Ravel simply liked the sound of those words together, and it was actually composed as a pavane (a slow dance) that a princess would have danced to in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

The piano version of this composition is my favourite classical piece of all time. It is full of yearning and so achingly heartfelt. Pieces like this are the reason I adore the piano so much. There are infinite ways to convey emotion on this instrument.

Time stands still when I listen to their gorgeous piece. Alice-Sara Ott performs such a great rendition that it moved me to tears. I read a comment on the video that said, ‘The wonder and beauty of humanity. No AI could ever come up with this kind of emotional expression, let alone perform it in such a manner.’ In a time where AI seems to be taking over everything (our heads shortly, no doubt…), this piece of music, this performance can never be replaced.

Dream Girl In Shibuya - Hayley Williams

I think we all remember where we were and what we were doing when Hayley Williams decided to drop 17 songs in the summer of 2025, which would then go on to form ‘Ego Death At A Bachelorette Party’. An album so significant, I’d claim it as my album of a lifetime.

It’s no secret to anyone who follows me on other social channels how much I adore this song. For me, this song is the true culmination of Hayley’s songwriting prowess, from the composition to every minute sonic detail of the production. The melody in the verses is truly what captivated me on first listen. I think the importance of a good verse is so understated. You often hear in songwriting or composition that a ‘hook’ is the most important part of a song. Not only is that subjective, but I’d also argue a verse holds just as much importance; a verse lays the foundation for any chorus. It’s instantly recognisable in Hayley’s songwriting. There’s a yearning in the descending melody line that perfectly complements the lyrical themes of the song.

The bridge is also another highlight; contrary to the verse melody, the bridge gradually ascends, again reflecting the hopeful yearning in Hayley’s lyrics. Dan had also mentioned they got hold of a rare instrument (I can’t for the life of me remember the name), but it emulated a string-type sound which features in the intro and bridge. Every production choice was meticulous in execution, the staccato guitar line during the choruses, the whimsy of the celeste-style instrument in the bridge, it’s just a brilliant example of using instrumentation to create such a dream-like soundscape.

Not only was I lucky enough to spend some time with Hayley, Dan and Leah last summer, but I’m so grateful I got to speak to them about this song. Hayley recommended I listen to the soundtrack to the Netflix animation show, ‘Bee and Puppy Cat’, and said she thought I’d love the score. I gave it a listen, and it was so cool to hear some parallels in composition with Dream Girl In Shibuya. I’ll never forget how special it was to talk all things music with Hayley and Dan, and get to share my love for this song with them.

Fabula Nova Crystallis - Masashi Hamauzu

There are some conversations you have in life that you’ll remember so vividly until the day you die. One of those for me was with an old music teacher, who scoffed at the idea that video game music could be considered ‘real music’. So infuriated I was by this notion that I remember giving a school project presentation on why video game music deserves just as much credit as any other genre. It’s a deeper issue I have with the idea that music serves as something to ‘critique’. Commentary is a separate thing; after all, we are all entitled to our opinions. But there is no such thing as ‘wrong’ music. I remember learning composition/songwriting in college, and it just never sat right with me there as a ‘right’ way to it. I think it limits creativity and creates a fear of exploration.

The study of music composition always felt like a double-edged sword to me. On the one hand, it provided me with basic tools and a general understanding. On the other hand, there was always this element of right vs wrong, making sure to ‘resolve’ chord progressions that didn’t sound ‘right’. I didn’t always want to resolve a dissonant-sounding chord progression. ‘Leave me hanging!’, I used to think.

Anyway, I digress. Part of my project consisted of collecting video game pieces I considered beautiful, and this was one of those pieces. The main motif in this piece was the backbone of the entire score of Final Fantasy 13. For this one, I’d rather let the music do the talking. I still think of that music teacher whenever I listen to a piece of video game music.

I Know You Care - SOMOH

SOMOH is the musical project of Sophia Mohan, a fellow BRIT School alumnus. I heard about SOMOH through Joel Johnston of Far Caspian, who worked on the production of this track. Again, I could write multiple Substack articles about my personal experience of going to BRIT (For those unaware, it’s a STATE-FUNDED performing arts school in London). Several big-name artists are alumni, Adele, Oliva Dean, Amy Winehouse…I could go on and on, and this isn’t for the sole purpose of name-dropping. There are an incredible number of misconceptions about the school, some being that it’s a private school, or that it’s some kind of jazz-hand-esque fame academy, or that it guarantees stardom.

The success that a handful of alumni have had is undeniable, but the school was such a melting pot of talent and diversity. For every ‘Adele’, there are so many more creatives that fly under the radar, work in the industry behind the scenes, and form their own lane. Some of the best years of my life were spent here, and some of my worst.

The point I’m making is that there is so much talent aside from the big household names. It was so cool to see Sophia do her own thing and occupy a space in the alternative/indie genre.

This song is so poignantly beautiful in a way that builds, and there’s a frankness to the lyrics that’s refreshing.

I know you care,

But you don’t show it well

There’s a grittiness to her music that complements her songwriting, and I definitely recommend the rest of her discography.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading! I’ll be back with part 2 in the next one.

A new year. New beginnings, old habits, resolutions or none at all. I hate the uncertainty that a new year can bring. This pressure to suddenly have your shit together, find new ways to make money, reincarnate the old version of you that only existed a few days ago because that’s apparently how a new year works? A clean slate if you will.

I’ve repeatedly told myself I want to ‘lock in’ this year but if I’m being honest, what does that even mean? I’m learning two things can be true at once. We live in a capitalist society, I’d be lying if I said the notion of ‘locking’ in to maximise my earnings; to give my life any sense of self worth, didn’t give me the fucking ick.

But it’s the society we live in. The society we’re conditioned in. I’ve always found it hypocritical and uncomfortable to detest a system yet inherently partake in it. I guess it’s one part of the human experience I haven’t quite figured out yet, and I get it. Woe is me. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of things when it feels like the whole world is hanging on by half a thread.

I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to feel existential for a second. The wheels keep turning. The machine keeps on keeping on.

Being part of the creative world can feel strange at the best of times. Constantly comparing yourself to what everyone is doing. Am I good enough? Self doubt creeps in. Have I achieved my full potential? Or really, the question should be, ‘Why do I care’?

We’re all literally sacks of flesh on a rock doing our best. When you put it like that, it sounds quite morose, but so long as I’m taking up space on this rock, I may as well give it my best.

1 in two of us have a lifetime risk of getting cancer. That’s either you or I. Cancer. Just typing, and seeing that word brings so many mixed emotions. It’s a ghastly word. It’s often a taboo topic. A subject that bears a heavy weight and for so many of us, simply a topic easier to avoid. It’s something that just doesn’t happen to you, nor I. It’s something that happens to other people, until it uninvitedly enters your life, or god forbid, happens to you.

I wanted to write this post in hopes it will reach someone else who may be going through the same thing. Cancer has been a big part of my shadow for such a significant portion of my life. It’s taken so many parts of me away, yet also given me lessons I never knew I needed. There’s nothing inherently unique about my experiences, but they are experiences unique to my life. After all, cancer happens to so many of us. However, if even just one person reads this post and it helps them feel less alone, then that’s all I could ever ask for.

I compiled a playlist of songs that hold a special place for me, especially during the periods I’ve gone into detail below. These are the songs I either listened to during the periods below, or shared with my family. I had this on whilst writing this post.

Cancer. What you’ve taken from me, and what you’ve given.

I lost my father to a rare form of lung neuroendocrine cancer in September of 2012. I was 19 at the time, and it’s only 13 years on I can now start to grasp the magnitude of what that meant. What that would mean, and how it would shape my life forever more. Cancer was always something I saw represented so inaccurately in different forms of media. Those cancer reruns of Grey’s Anatomy, or watching it so fictitiously romanticised in another shitty trope-heavy cancer rom-com. You tend to view those things through a cynical lens once you’ve had first hand experience with it.

I wasn’t able to fully comprehend the diagnosis at first. We had ‘the talk’, initiated by a somber invitation by my father. It didn’t entirely come out of the blue, he suffered from a relentless cough for nearly 3 months prior to the diagnosis. It was the type of cough that upon hearing, you just knew something wasn’t right. ‘It’s just a viral cough. You’ve come to see us numerous times now, Mr. Yung. I’m starting to think this is anxiety.’ A phrase perhaps many under an NHS GP have heard before.

Cancer is such a subjective thing. No two people will ever react the same way. My father tried to be as stoic as he possibly could, which in retrospect was very indicative of his character. He was a practical man often emotionally unavailable which I believe to be a wider systemic issue surrounding masculinity and what it means to be a father, perhaps a discussion for another Substack post entirely. He was a provider, and this was the way in which he showed his love for me. I may not have understood it fully, but he loved me in his own way. He supported my music journey unconditionally, always made sure I backed up my hard drive so I didn’t lose any music data which I remember in the form of yellow post it notes he used to stick in front of my pc monitor. ‘REMEMBER TO BACK UP YOUR REASON FILES!’ (Reason was the Digital Audio Workspace I used as a teenager). He really did have his own unique way of showing love, and I often struggled with this notion throughout my childhood. It’s something I still ponder over today. Even more so now that he’s no longer here.

A lot happens in that initial whirlwind of diagnosis. I remember the phone was constantly ringing. Another distant relative, a brother, a mother offering their apologies. The hospital explaining the next steps. I often felt numb through conversations surrounding the cancer. Stage IV. A rare form. None of what I was hearing was particularly positive. Nevertheless, my family endeavoured to see this through as positively as possible. Was this born out of delusion? An unwillingness to accept this was the situation we were in? Was it the fear? Perhaps it was all of those things.

‘You have to stay positive’. ‘Stay strong’. ‘You can beat this’. These are all phrases you’ll most likely hear when a loved one goes through cancer. Well intentioned, but often misguided, I found myself becoming overly critical. What the fuck is there to be positive about cancer? In my youth, I felt a resentment towards these phrases more intently, but now I’m 32, remnants of that resentment remain. I’ve just done a bit more inner work. There was this underlying discomfort interacting with anyone about the cancer. It didn’t matter the proximity in relationship with me, I just couldn’t help but feel whoever was speaking to me just didn’t know what to say.

Naively, at that age, I thought support would come the way it did in those forms of media I mentioned earlier. Those closest to you banding together, forming some form of foundation. I’d imagine a beautiful scene of a family surrounding the hospital bed of a dying cancer patient. Or that scene from ‘Stepmom’ where they dance to ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’. Togetherness. The reality in my experience, was quite different. The cancer was the big elephant in the room. Friends reluctant to discuss it or ask. A stream of toxic positivity from closer family members. It was a lonely and isolating feeling. Somehow, it felt like I was the only person going through this. Far from the truth. It’s curious how one can feel so alone, yet never be alone at the same time. I had people around me, but the disconnect I felt often left me feeling even more alone. I remember vehemently feeling anger at first. How can something so horrific be happening to my father, my family and the world carry on as if it didn’t matter? A reality and lesson I’d have to accept and learn multiple times.

For 2 years my father battled his cancer. My parents did everything they could to shield my sister and I from seeing this disease progressively take his life. There was only so much protecting they could do. Cancer just loves to take you on the most horrific rollercoaster of a ride. Through his numerous chemo treatments, we were told there were no signs of the cancer left, to it returning a few short months later. A terminal diagnosis. Nearer the end, he didn’t want my sister and I to see him a skeleton of who he once was. My mother, up and down the hospice, sleepless nights and a feeling of helplessness. The pain I felt seeing all this unfold, the destructiveness that cancer brings, and witnessing my father lose his fight will haunt me forever.

Tensions within the family rose nearer the end. Differing opinions on what was best for him, implausible conversations about him getting better and walking when he was on his death bed. Out of contempt, I remember shouting ‘HE IS NOT GETTING BETTER’. At 19, I knew the reality of what I was seeing. My father was dying. Now I’m older, and dare I say wiser, I’ve learnt that cancer truly brings out the worst in people, but also a nonsensical fear.

I’ll always remember one of the last conversations my father and I had when he was more coherent. He told me to look after my mother and sister. Perhaps the finality of what was happening was beginning to sink in. The reality of him passing away was a reality I was aware of. Reality and a refusal to accept it are two different things entirely. I wasn’t ready for this to happen.

Throughout my experience with cancer, music has been a godsend and often filled the void I’ve felt in lack of human support. My family have always been musical, not necessarily by playing it, but we have such a deep affinity for the art form. One of my father’s favourite bands was ‘Bread’. On one of his last nights with us, I remember sitting in the hospice room with my mother and sister and ‘If’ was playing on the CD-player. There’s a natural melancholy to this song and the lyrics were as if my father were communicating to us directly without any conversation taking place. It’s a memory that will live with me until the day I die.

My father passed away on the 21st of September, 2012. A myriad of emotions surged through me upon hearing the news. A deep sadness, yet relief the suffering was over. The dichotomy of feelings was uncomfortable and exhausting. There was regret, which I still lament over today. Had I said everything I wanted to say to him? Had I told him I loved him enough despite our differences? None of that mattered as he was gone. His lifeless body on the hospice bed, surrounded by numerous members of our extended family. My grandmother wailing in a way that’s common in Chinese culture when a death occurs. Known as the ‘death wail’, a wail so piercing and shrieking, it sent goosebumps down my spine. ‘MY SON! MY SON!’ she would cry out, on her knees next to my father’s static body. My Grandmother was the strongest cultural link to my Chinese heritage, yet I felt so detached from it watching her react this way. It was horrifying.

Death is regarded as an extremely taboo topic in Chinese culture. You don’t speak of it. To speak of it brings misfortune to the living. I’ve always wrestled with aspects of Chinese culture, adopting some of what I want to, and refuting it elsewhere. A privilege of choice I have by being born in the UK, at the cost of not belonging to either side and therefore, I’ve felt a lack of centre for most of my life. As sacrilege to my heritage it may be, I want to talk about death. Not in a nihilistic way, but I want to be open about it. It’s an inevitability we will all face, and in someways, a singular thing that unifies every one of us.

My father had his funeral in October, a beautiful service but also a final goodbye. I was touched at how many people had turned up to his service. My father was a talker, and had time for everyone. People often joked about being cornered by him as once he had you, that was it. Certainly not a trait I’ve inherited but one I can remember him fondly by. The church couldn’t take any more in as that many people had turned up. It was heart warming to know he was loved by so many. His exit song was ‘No More Cloudy Days’ by The Eagles. A song he’d dedicated to my sister. I’ll always remember the sun breaking through the clouds when we left. Even my cynical ass had to smile at that.

The weeks following his death felt equally as surreal. Again, the phone ringing constantly. ‘So sorry for your loss’. It was overwhelming, but for a brief period it felt as though people were looking out for my family. The calls do become less frequent, and in some ways the memory of my father more distant as the years go by. ‘It gets better’. It never does. You just learn to live with it as time goes on. There will always be something missing where he once existed. I’ve often felt guilt for not remembering him as vividly as time has gone on. I don’t want the memory of him to fade into nothingness. Ultimately that’s what happens though. We live and we die. I guess that’s an oversimplified and existential take, but if there’s anything that cancer has taught me is that nothing truly fucking matters. Those damn KPI’s, whether you said something wrong in that conversation, whether you’re giving enough of your soul to work, it’s all inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

The following few years were uneventful, and time was filled learning to live without my father. His name appeared in fewer conversations and support waned, which presented life returning to some form of ‘normality’. Was this the ‘things get better’ phase? I wasn’t convinced. I never went to any post-death counselling. My mother tried it and said it wasn’t for her. I spent the following decade carrying the weight of my fathers death on my shoulders, unprocessed and lingering. To this day, I don’t believe I’ve fully processed his passing, at least not in a way that brings me any sense of closure. Maybe I regret not processing my feelings at the time. Maybe it would’ve helped future me. Maybe out of spite I told myself I would deal with things by myself, and that I didn’t need hollow words of support. Or maybe, all I truly wanted was for someone to tell me things would be okay and I was just too fucking stubborn to admit it at the time. Maybe I still am.

My grandmother passed away from Bowel cancer in 2019. She defied so many odds, had a major reconstructive bowel surgery in her 80’s which I still can’t believe to this day. She lived a long life full of life, which in some ways made her passing easier to accept, but watching the suffering that cancer brings will never be easy. In some ways I felt like I was reliving a lot of the experiences I went through from when my father passed, but no two experiences are ever the same. There were some parallels I was prepared for and familiar with. The death of my grandmother essentially bought the breakdown of my family on my father’s side, many who have now become virtually strangers or little more than acquaintances. I miss my Grandmother, or my ‘por por’ as she was affectionately referred to by her grandchildren. She truly was the last link to my Chinese heritage, and I feel that part of me died alongside her. I try to honour it in small ways by cooking the recipes she taught me, as her love language was always food. ‘My grandson drank 4 bowls of the soup I made today!’, she would enthusiastically beam down the phone to one of her many, many friends. She had a far better social life than I could ever possibly dream of having. I take small comfort in knowing she didn’t have to go through the COVID era, as she truly was on the go all the time.

In 2023, my mother was diagnosed with Diffuse large B-cell lymphoma (DLBCL). This diagnosis was a very difficult pill to swallow. I’ve always been closer to my mother, and hearing this news instantly bought on a level of fear that was so visceral. There were echoes of my father’s diagnosis as a ferocious cough was the first sign something was wrong. We attended my cousins wedding in October of that year, and she couldn’t stop coughing. She felt so embarrassed, and reassured everyone ‘the doctor’s have just said it’s a viral cough’, when in reality it was stage iv cancer. Just typing that fills me with a sadness, as I wish we had just known sooner. I have a very complex relationship with our health system here in the UK. On one hand, we’re lucky to have the NHS (National Health Service), yet on the other, it’s a system so run into the ground riddled with waiting lists, indifferent GP’s, and an unwillingness to investigate things that need to be investigated. I’ve often joked after many visits to A&E (accident and emergency) with 8 hour waits that you’ll only be seen if your head is half hanging off.

It took countless visits to our GP, the final one we were begging for them to give her a scan. She cried saying she couldn’t live like this anymore, the cough was so bad. She was told to wait a month as it was ‘viral’, and the funny thing with cancer, it doesn’t just go away. We returned on final time and they finally gave her a CT scan. Her body was riddled with lymphoma. Part of me still feels fury it takes this long for further scanning. That month may have been the difference between a stage III and IV diagnosis which matters. No-one will advocate for you other than yourself. My advice, is that if something feels wrong, and you have that gut feeling, advocate for yourself. It’s so much better to be safe, than sorry.

After the initial diagnosis, there was a whirlwind of contact and finding out what the next steps would be. Cancer often feels like a huge road block that rudely inserts itself on your path. It blocks your way, a complete standstill. Cruelly enough, life goes on, and I remember going to the laundrette with mum. Cancer doesn’t care about your laundry unfortunately. I remember looking around, almost disassociating thinking ‘no-one here knows she has cancer’. Why would they I suppose? It’s just a stark reminder we never know what people are going through.

One of the first things my mother said to me and my sister were ‘I didn’t want you both to go through this again’, through tears. In a sense, it was also a stark reminder that I would be going through this again. Alongside the sadness, I felt an intense anger that this was happening again. Why? Well why not? Cancer isn’t an empath, and it doesn’t discriminate, it just fucks up. This time around, I knew I would be a bigger part of this cancer journey, more so than the one I was on with my father. I feel guilt around that at times. I need to remember I was only 18 when he was diagnosed, and this time it was a lot different. I was older. My relationship closer with my mother. My mother no longer had my father. Who would step up? I had decided on that day, that I would do everything I could to show up. Perhaps in ways I regret not doing so for my father.

Firstly, I needed to wrap my head around what the fuck even type of cancer this was. Diffuse large B-cell lymphoma (DLBCL) is the most common type of non-Hodgkin lymphoma (NHL), but it is still uncommon overall. It’s a blood cancer, and this type was particularly aggressive. My mum joked about ‘lighting up like a Christmas tree’ when she saw the initial scan. 5000 people in the UK are diagnosed with it every year. I’d heard of lymphoma, but didn’t know too much about it. The incessant research began, and we were often told ‘this is the good cancer’. I even bought into that rhetoric at first, but ultimately no cancer is good cancer. Cancer is fucking shit no matter which way you look at it. There is no such thing as good cancer. Lymphoma is a very complex cancer, and it’s only known as the ‘good’ cancer as a stage IV diagnosis of lymphoma is not on par with a stage IV ‘solid tumour’ based cancer. It’s a unique cancer in that staging doesn’t necessarily result in a terminal diagnosis but people still die from this cancer. ‘You won’t die from this cancer’, we were even told by some uneducated family members. You can very much die from lymphoma.

The same pattern of events occurred shortly after. Breaking the news to family, arranging treatment plans, deciding what the best path is. We were met with a wide range of reactions, from indifference to the usual ‘sorry to hear about your diagnosis’. In some sort of apathetic way, these phrases felt comfortably familiar. A lot of empty words from those distant, but more tangible action from those who truly understood and cared.

The first line of treatment for this type of cancer is chemotherapy and immunotherapy (Pola-R-CHP). We were told in the initial diagnosis meeting that stage IV brings a poorer prognosis with a 60% chance of this treatment working. Figures didn’t really matter at that stage, we had little choice, and decided to go with what we were presented. Mum went through 8 rounds of this treatment, each one bringing challenges of infection and numerous trips to A&E. It was one of the most difficult periods of our lives. This is where I will praise the NHS, as she was treated at The Royal Marsden Hospital which is a specialist cancer hospital. You have the choice in the UK as to where you are treated, and I would highly recommend to have treatment here.

I had a much closer experience with treatment this time around with my mother. Whilst it was shielded from me somewhat during my father’s journey, it was a lot more tangible this time around. I hated seeing my mother have to go through this, but she always went to every treatment with a smile and gave her all to it. It was by no means easy, and I’m reluctant to say she was brave, even though she was. I say this because it’s important to be aware that those going through cancer often have no choice. It’s not a question of bravery, it’s a question or life or death. It’s something I’ve been mindful of since experiencing cancer.

We all know the devastating physical effects cancer can have, but it also severely affects your mental health as well. We were offered family therapy during my mothers treatment. It was a helpful space to just vent and voice how I was feeling. I’m historically not great at verbalising my feelings, but I found the sessions cathartic and necessary to exhale some of the vitriol I was feeling. I felt those familiar feelings of anger creep back in, fuelled by what I felt was a lack of support from those supposedly closest to mum. Cancer will bring out every emotion under the sun in you. You’ll despise people, you’ll want to shut yourself off from everyone, and scream into the void. You may have expectations of others, and be disappointed when they aren’t fulfilled. I’ll always despise the wider effect that cancer can have on families. It weaves such a complex web and can cause such division. One of the many lessons I’ve learnt is the art of letting go. It’s impossible to expect people to behave or react the way you want them to, and it’s fruitless to die on that hill of your expectations. All you can do, is show up in your own way. As long as you’re doing that, you’re doing the right thing.

There’s only so much other people can do for you. I had to learn be my own support system throughout this period. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely jaded to the point of dismissing any external support. For moments, it was there but I was often left disappointed. It took me a long time throughout this process to recognise, I too, had to look after myself. For the age old saying, ‘if you don’t look after yourself, you can’t look after anyone else’. Cliche as that may sound, I came to realise it was true. I was losing myself to cancer and everything it bought with it. I truly had to learn to live day by day again. I tried to find small joys, in whatever form that was. Watching season 1 of ‘Twin Peaks’, (Laura Palmer’s theme so pin-point accurately represented how I felt), going on that walk, creating music. Anything to somehow remind myself I needed an outlet outside this chasm of what felt like never ending sorrow. Taking the good days with the bad was a challenge at times. My nervous system would see positivity as a threat. I realise I’d started to feel comfortable wallowing in negativity. It’s a place I’m still trying to climb out of. Some days are better than others. I found myself again, turning to music, to offer me solace. I listened to a lot of ‘Leave It Alone’ by Hayley Williams as it contained lyrics I felt that was so pertinent to how I was feeling. ‘The ones I love are dyin’, ‘Who else am I gonna lose before I’m ready?
And who’s gonna lose me?’

After mum finished her initial treatment, we were told there was NED. No evidence of disease. The all clear. It felt as though a weight, a cloud, a noose had been released from us and this nightmare was over. It was short lived however, as the cancer returned in the summer of 2024. It broke my heart to know it had returned after everything my mother had been through. It was at this point, I had to reckon with the reality that I may possibly lose her. The possibility I’d be parentless at 31. What does that look like? I definitely sunk into a darker place with this news. I’d look at older people, friends with their parents still alive and just feel utter contempt. I didn’t like this side of me that cancer bought out. It felt ugly. It also felt very real. I’d continue to feel anger towards indifferent family members, and take mental note of every wrong doing. It felt like a poison corrupting me from the inside out. I hated everything, and everyone at times. I hated how much cancer had taken from me. I hated feeling like a pity party. I hated that my life felt like someone had just stuck a massive pause button on it whilst everyone else was seemingly living the life they wanted to live. Nights of endless scrolling on social media, letting comparison be the thief to any tiny spark of joy I had. Going from wanting to connect with others, to never wanting to speak to anyone again. ‘You have to let go.’, my mother would tell me. It’s something I’m still actively working on and isn’t easy, but it’s so freeing when you do.

Fast forward to the winter of 2024, my mother was offered a newer treatment called CAR-T therapy. It’s a type of immunotherapy that involves reprogramming a patient’s own T-cells (a type of white blood cell) to specifically target and kill cancer cells. She was the perfect candidate for it, and it really felt like it was our last shot at this. They harvested her cells on Halloween which was ironic, and she had the treatment in November. We were warned of the side effects this treatment could potentially have, and in most severe cases, could even result in death. It was a risk we had to take otherwise the cancer would progress and take it’s course. The success rates for this treatment were good. Attending hospitals and countless meetings became second nature to me. I knew that layout of the hospital like the back of my hand. In some ways I resented that cancer had taken up so much of my life, but in other ways, at least this wouldn’t be alien to me if I were to go through this myself one day. The most important thing was to get my mother through this.

The treatment was incredibly a success, and we were given another scan with NED. It was as clean as a whistle. You’d think this would be cause for another huge celebration. It wasn’t this time. The news was met with a cautious optimism. Of course, it was the news we wanted to hear, but we had been bitten before. The all clear given, for it to return a few months later. This is perhaps the cruellest thing about cancer. It’s never over. ‘You’re fine now!’ ‘It’s all gone though, hasn’t it’? No-one will ever understand that underlying fear and anxiety those living with cancer have. Not even I can fully understand it. The reality that it can return at any time. The only thing you can do is live day by day. It’s easy for those who don’t know what it’s like to have cancer to say ‘live your life now!’. Remission brings it’s own set of conflicting feelings. Many cancer patients still live with debilitating side effects after treatment. Remission isn’t some magical pill that somehow makes everything instantly better. The road to recovery is arduous, unstable, painful and there’s a sense that you may never return to the person you once were. It’s an acceptance of a newer you, remembering you’re still who you are, recognisable yet different. You’ll question every new symptom that arises. I found waiting for scans difficult for fear of the unknown. You get slightly used to it the more frequent they become, but you also remember nothing about any of this is ‘normal’.

I’m still processing so many things about my experience with cancer. There’s many things I wished would’ve happened, and a part of me selfishly wishes my father, my mother and family never had to go through this at all. It is however, our reality, a reality for so many others and whilst I’ve bitterly resented so much of it, it’s also shaped me to become the person I am today. From day to day, I’m still not 100% sure who that person is, but who the hell is? It’s so important to be compassionate with yourself, as you will inevitably go through so many different emotions and none of it is wrong. Hold those close to you even closer. You may not always have the answers, or know what the best thing to say is, but if you’re willing to show up, you will.

‘It’s a strange world, isn’t it?’

Resources:

Lymphoma Action: https://lymphoma-action.org.uk/

The Royal Marsden Hospital: https://www.royalmarsden.nhs.uk/

Macmillan Cancer Support: https://www.macmillan.org.uk/

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