Ladies and gentlemen, sometimes this show is about laughter, sometimes it’s about looking at the world with a little bit of irony. But tonight, it’s about something else entirely. It’s about grief, and it’s about honoring a life that left us too soon.

Earlier this week, we learned of the sudden and tragic passing of Yana, a young Belgian singer whose voice carried not just music, but the weight of her heart. She was only at the beginning of what promised to be a remarkable journey, and now, heartbreakingly, that journey has ended far too early.

Yana had been traveling through Peru with her partner, exploring the breathtaking mountain landscapes she had dreamed of visiting. On Monday, they checked into a hotel after what must have been another day filled with wonder and anticipation. By Tuesday morning, her partner woke to a reality that none of us can truly imagine: Yana had slipped away in her sleep, never to wake again. Emergency services were called immediately, but all they could do was confirm the unthinkable.

The cause of her passing is still being investigated, though authorities believe it was natural, possibly linked to altitude sickness. What we know for certain is that there was no malice, no cruelty—only the fragility of life reminding us, once again, how quickly the light can fade.

But to speak of Yana only in terms of her death would be to miss the beauty of her life. Many first came to know her in 2016, when she appeared on The Voice van Vlaanderen. During her blind audition, she chose to sing “Wayfaring Stranger”—a song about journeying through hardship toward peace. Her performance was not just technically brilliant; it was soulful, haunting, and unforgettable. The judges were stunned, the audience captivated. In that moment, a star was born—not because of fame, but because of authenticity. Yana sang with something deeper than ambition; she sang with truth.

After The Voice, she continued to pursue her passion. She became the lead singer of The Moores, a band that gave her the chance to share her gift with audiences who quickly came to love her presence as much as her sound. Her bandmates, shattered by her sudden loss, shared these words: “With immense sadness and an unbelievable sense of loss, we must announce the passing of our beloved Yana. She died unexpectedly and far too early during her holiday in Peru, gently in her sleep. We are deeply grateful for everything she has meant to everyone around her. Deeply grateful for the wonderful person she was. We love you endlessly, Yana. Always.”

It is rare that a band speaks with such intimacy about one of their own, but in their grief, you can hear the truth: Yana was more than a singer, she was family.

Her light shone far beyond the stage. In her daily life, she worked as a social assistant in Aalst, dedicating herself to young people who needed guidance, compassion, or simply a safe space to be heard. Her colleagues at Overkop Aalst described her as a “fantastic colleague” whose passing has left them devastated. They have even suspended activities until the end of August, not because they have nothing to do, but because they understand something powerful: that grief demands time, that honoring someone like Yana requires more than words.

When I think about Yana’s story, I think about the threads that connect us as human beings. Here was a woman who, with her voice, touched audiences she might never meet. Here was someone who, with her compassion, shaped lives in ways that cannot be measured. And here was someone who, with her spirit, showed us what it means to live openly and generously.

To her family—her partner, her loved ones, those now preparing to bring her home to Belgium—there are no words strong enough to ease the pain. But perhaps there is solace in knowing that Yana’s story is not finished. The sound of her voice remains. The impact of her kindness continues. The love she gave does not vanish; it echoes, quietly but powerfully, in every person she touched.

And so we say goodbye, though goodbye feels impossible. We remember the young woman who once stood nervously on a stage, closed her eyes, and let out a song that seemed older than she was, deeper than she should have been able to carry. We remember the colleague who poured herself into helping others. We remember the friend, the partner, the daughter, the light.

Yana’s story reminds us of something we often forget in our busy, distracted lives: that greatness is not measured in years, or in fame, but in love. By that measure, her life was not cut short—it was radiant, complete, and unforgettable.

As I close tonight, I want to borrow from the song that introduced her to the world: “I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger, traveling through this world of woe.” Yana, you were that wayfaring stranger. And now, your journey continues—beyond hardship, beyond sorrow, into peace.

Rest well, Yana. Thank you for your voice. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for reminding us, even in your absence, of what it means to truly live.