People naturally want to know about what happened, about my

Hear the voice of José Carreras, the great tenor, who declared with humility and strength: “People naturally want to know about what happened, about my leukemia. They ask the same questions again and again. And there have been so many positive conclusions, even through the bad times, that I don’t mind at all to be reminded of my struggles.” These words rise not from the triumphs of the opera stage, but from the crucible of suffering, where life itself became the performance, and survival the greatest of songs.

The origin of this saying rests in Carreras’s own life story. At the height of his career, when his voice soared in the world’s greatest halls, he was struck down by leukemia. For many, this would have been the end—the silencing of one of the world’s most powerful voices. Yet through treatment, perseverance, and the grace of medicine, he overcame the shadow of death and returned to sing again. It was in reflecting upon the countless questions he received about this ordeal that he revealed his wisdom: that even in suffering, one may find light, and that to retell one’s pain can also be to retell one’s victory.

History has shown us this same pattern of triumph through adversity. Consider Nelson Mandela, imprisoned for 27 years. He was constantly asked about his time in the cell, the endless questions never ceasing. Yet he did not weary of them, for he understood that to recount his struggles was to remind the world of resilience, justice, and the indomitable strength of the human spirit. Like Carreras, he transformed the memory of hardship into a beacon, so that others might learn and take courage.

The deeper meaning of Carreras’s words is this: suffering, once endured and overcome, loses its power to destroy and gains the power to inspire. To some, to be reminded of their trials is bitter; they wish only to forget. But to those who have drawn strength from their pain, the memories become treasures. Carreras sees his illness not merely as a wound but as a crucible that forged deeper gratitude, humility, and appreciation for the gift of life and art. Thus he does not resist the questions—he welcomes them, for in answering, he bears witness to the possibility of hope.

The lesson for us is clear: do not despise your struggles, for in time, they may become your greatest testimony. When people ask you about your hardships, do not be ashamed to tell them. Speak not only of the darkness, but of the light that followed. For in doing so, you plant seeds of courage in those who hear. Carreras teaches us that pain does not need to be hidden; it can be shared, transformed into a story that strengthens others.

To the youth, I say: when trials come, endure them with courage, for one day your survival may be the inspiration another soul desperately needs. To the weary, I say: look upon your scars not as disfigurements, but as emblems of strength. To all, I say: when others ask about your hardships, answer not with bitterness, but with the wisdom of one who has walked through the fire and come out alive.

Practical action lies before us: reflect upon your own bad times, and seek the positive conclusions they brought forth. Did they teach you patience, humility, gratitude, or strength? Share these lessons openly with others. Encourage those in despair by showing them that light can indeed follow darkness. And when life reminds you of your struggles, do not turn away; let it remind you also of your victories.

Thus Carreras’s words endure: “There have been so many positive conclusions, even through the bad times, that I don’t mind at all to be reminded of my struggles.” Let this teaching be passed down: that trials are not the end, but the shaping of the soul; that every hardship survived is a story of hope; and that to speak of one’s pain with courage is to sing the most powerful song of all—the song of life, of endurance, and of triumph.