Loss has a way of collapsing time. This is a reflection on grief, awareness, and the quiet decision to live more honestly while you still can.

A few months ago, I received news that Uncle Eddy, a close family friend, had passed away after slumping over the steering wheel of his car. The news came amid other losses: friends, relatives, people who had been here and suddenly weren’t. Some deaths followed illness. Most were abrupt.

I didn’t expect it to hit me as hard as it did. But I’m grateful I had family to grieve with.

The last time I spoke with Uncle Eddy, I told him about a book I wanted to write: stories from my hometown that had never been properly documented. To do that, I needed to travel to the city where my parents were born and sit with people from an older generation who had lived through things worth remembering.

He told me to start the research as soon as possible. When people die, he said, they go home with their untold stories. I loved the idea. He was right.

We planned to see each other again soon, to grow closer. So when I heard the news of his passing, I froze.

Life can be fickle. Very fickle. And painfully so.

He wasn’t ill. He wasn’t in an accident. It happened suddenly. And even now, I’m surprised by how deeply it affected me.

But as devastating as death is, it has a way of clarifying things. It reminds you to live. To treat each present moment with intention. To cherish the love you already have access to.

For the rest of that year, this became my focus.

TOMORROW ISN’T PROMISED

When I die, I want to die empty. So while I’m still alive, I’m trying to give everything I am to this gift called life.

These days, I find ways to have fun in situations that don’t naturally invite it. I look for lessons in pain. Every opportunity I get, I walk-dance around the office compound at work. I hug my parents a little tighter before we travel, and I laugh louder with my sisters. Shopping at the nearby supermarket calls for dressing up. I let myself be sillier, freer, louder, less restrained. And I feel lighter for it.

That doesn’t mean life suddenly becomes easy. There are still mornings when I wake up tired. Days when the weight of responsibility feels heavier than usual. But when I can, I remember to live. To enjoy the small moments that quietly become memories, before they pass unnoticed.

There’s a saying that grief is love with nowhere to go. I believe that. It’s the instinct to reach for your phone to tell someone something, only to remember they won’t answer.

“Tomorrow is not promised” isn’t a threat. It’s a reminder that there is an end to what we do, who we are, and what we hope to become. Not to create fear, but awareness. Awareness sharpens how you choose to live.

Still, awareness isn’t always easy to practise. Deadlines pile up. Family commitments demand attention. Life fills itself quickly. So I’ve learned to be intentional about how I live inside it.

THE TRICK TO LIVING IN THE NOW, NOT LATER

Because my week can go from serene to chaotic in minutes, I try not to postpone living fully. This doesn’t mean being flippant with responsibility. It means taking small pauses to breathe, to reflect, to relax, and to enjoy what steadies my body and mind between tasks. Waiting for the perfect moment can feel too curated and drain spontaneity. Worse still, the perfect moment may never come.

So what does this look like in practice?

Making ordinary moments intentional

While it is easy to focus on major milestones, I am learning to find more enjoyable moments in everyday routines. A short walk on the street with my friends or siblings, shared laughter with my loved ones, or a simple meal with them can spur unforgettable memories that can last a lifetime, but only if I’m present enough to notice them.  

Learning to say no without guilt

Every yes costs something: energy, time, money, attention. While being there for others is an essential part of being human — and I do that often — I am also learning that saying no isn’t cruelty. Protecting my space allows me to show up better for the people and things that matter most.

Giving myself permission to slow down

Not everything or everyone deserves my rush. Urgency has its place, no doubt, but slowness can be deliberate, thoughtful, and grounding. Moving slower has taught me to be less exhausted and more intentional with my choices.

Regular check-ins with myself

Whenever I feel overwhelmed from the pressure of work and all, I take that as feedback, not failure. I pause and ask myself what is stretching me too thin and what can shift. Regular check-ins help me course-correct before burnout sets in.

Living free

We are often concerned about external judgments so much that they rob us of the joy of living true and free. What will people think if you dress this way? How will they react if you get that piercing? Would they think you’re a spendthrift if you go on that vacation you’ve been yearning for? People will always talk. I’m learning to prioritise my wellbeing and peace of mind anyway. Not easy, but it’s necessary.

When I say tomorrow is not promised, I am not trying to live in fear. I am choosing awareness. It is a reminder to live honestly, love intentionally, and make the most of today while it’s still mine.

And that, I’ve learned, is reason enough to start now.