When I read Paul Kalanithi’s When Breath Becomes Air in 2021, it didn’t feel like just a book, it felt like sitting across from someone who had looked mortality straight in the eye and still chose to speak of beauty. Paul was a neurosurgeon, diagnosed with terminal lung cancer in his thirties. A man who had spent his life studying life and death suddenly found himself face to face with his own.

For me, this book carried a resonance deeper than most. Because in Dec 2020, I too had lung cancer and surgery. And like Paul, I learned that the breath I once took for granted could suddenly feel fragile, precious, and finite.

1. The Fragility of Time

Paul wrote about how he had spent years training for a future that cancer stole from him. I knew this feeling: the shattering of “later.”

When I was sick, I realised how often I had postponed life, waiting for the “right” moment. Illness stripped away the illusion of unlimited tomorrows.

Takeaway: The present moment is not guaranteed. Live now, not after everything is “perfect.”

2. Identity in Transition

Paul reflected on shifting from doctor to patient, from the one holding the scalpel to the one lying on the table. I too had to shift identities: from someone who appeared strong and untouchable, to someone vulnerable, facing her own body’s fragility.

It was humbling, even disorienting. But it also revealed who I was beneath the roles I carried.

Takeaway: Who you are isn’t just what you do. It’s the presence you bring, even when your roles are stripped away.

3. Love and Legacy

Paul and his wife chose to have a child even though he wouldn’t live to see her grow up. His book became a love letter, not just to her, but to life itself.

In my own journey, I thought about legacy too. Not in terms of grand achievements, but in the quiet question: what will my life stand for if my time is cut short? That question is what planted the seeds for Crysto.light: a space where my pain could be transformed into something that served others.

Takeaway: Legacy isn’t about achievements. It’s about what you leave in the hearts of others.

4. Meaning in the Face of Death

Like Viktor Frankl, Paul showed that even suffering can carry meaning if we allow it. Reading his words made me reflect on my own healing, how grief had lodged in my lungs, and how illness forced me to confront what I had avoided.

Takeaway: Meaning isn’t found in the length of life, but in the depth of how you live it.

Closing Reflections..

When Breath Becomes Air broke my heart, but it also stitched something back together. It reminded me of my own journey through illness, of how breath became the most sacred thing: fragile, fleeting, yet filled with possibility.

Paul’s story left me with a quiet prayer: that we don’t wait until we’re dying to really live. That we tell the people we love what they mean to us. That we stop postponing joy. That we breathe deeply, knowing each breath is both ordinary and miraculous.

Because when breath becomes air (when we return to the silence we all come from) what will matter most is not what we achieved, but how deeply we loved, and how courageously we chose to live.