The Life In Between

I have always dreamt of becoming an inventor. Well, I am a builder of things now, but in my younger days, I wanted to build something tangible: smartphones, mini-robots, machines that people can physically feel and touch. At the top of my list was a teleportation portal.

I mean, any commuter can relate, right? Imagine teleprting right from your work desk to the scent of a warm meal at the comfort of your home. Imagine waiting until your loved ones wake up to give them a kiss, and still arriving at the office doorstep the very next heartbeat. We get more family time, less frustration being stuck in the traffic, life’s highlights after highlights. As a kid, I just wanted to delete the commute to have a longer playtime. I thought that by removing what I don't desire, life would be longer and happier.

I am not a mechanical engineer today, and (hence) teleportation remains a fantasy.

Still, the idea—the desire for effortless escape—stuck with me. It lingered long enough for me to realize that the more I wanted to skip the journey, the more hollow the destination felt.

I was on a long commute, screaming internally while staring out the window. I wanted to be anywhere else. But I was trapped. Trapped in the boredom, trapped in the meaningless moment that wastes our lifeforce. Eventually, the frustration faded into exhaustion. I leaned my head tiredly on the window and looked.

Everything outside was a blur of motion. The constant flicker of the landscape hypnotized me. My mind went quiet. I was always looking, but rarely seeing. Then, I tried to truly see. I took in the sun-bleached asphalt, the rhythm of speeding cars, the skeletal silhouettes of burnt trees, and the vast, echoing silence of empty car parks. And for once, I let them be exactly what they were.

A strange clarity hit me. Nothing special was happening, yet everything felt vivid. There wasn't any meaning and I wasn't looking for any. I guessed I was just trying to be aware and present. It felt... lighter.

This quiet awareness was unexpected, offered by the very journey I had spent years trying to escape.

Had it not been for that long commute, I would not have seen, nor would I have felt. A wave of guilt washed over me: in wanting to erase the journey, I was trying to erase life!

As Andy Warhol once said, you need to let the little things that would ordinarily bore you suddenly thrill you.

Everything changes because I do.

Slowing Down

When I was a kid, I wanted to grow up faster. I wanted the freedom and strength of an adult: studying overseas, living abroad, the security of money. I aged with the promise that real life would start at one point in the future. I wasn't living; I was actively waiting—literally dying—for life to happen.

I still haven't achieved everything I want. What I long for is always a horizon away. Now, I am growing older at a pace I didn't sign up for. Maybe I will never get there, and then I will have never truly lived. Or maybe one day I will, just to find that I have traded away my years and all the moments that make up life.

Am I happier? Maybe. Would I have grown up anyway had I not rushed it? Yes.

The pursuit of purpose consumes the vast majority of our years, and those years are too often painted in shades of grey. If we only choose to live in our desired moments, the meaning of life would not be understood. How could we understand We must imbue the journey with meaning, not despite the destination, but because the journey is the life.

I found my favourite music while stalled in a traffic jam. I caught the most breathtaking sunset from a terminal window while waiting for a delayed flight. I made friends from across the globe whom I would never have met if our bus hadn't broken down in the middle of nowhere.

Don't wait for life to happen. Life is happening, right heree right now.