Echoes of Gratitude: Issue 2 - 4th January 2025

A 5-minute shock in a 5000-minute escape from reality.

It had been a long time since I allowed myself some time to be alone, taking a chance to reconnect with the person I had become, distant from the chaos of modern life. Switching between reflection, resting, and reading gave me a profound sense of calm—a feeling I had almost forgotten. The idea of pausing to think about one's life and reassess where it is headed sounds simple and even poetic in theory, but it is an incredibly difficult task in practice.

As I landed in Port Blair, Andaman and Nicobar Islands, thanks to Air Asia's remarkably affordable fare of just $75, I felt an odd sense of unease. The quietness and serenity of the place seemed foreign to me, the quintessential urbanite. Among the crowd of northern Indian tourists, three Malay passengers stood out. We quickly became friends as we found comfort in speaking in Malay, and while they boldly hired motorcycles to explore the island, I, the once-consultant turned out-of-touch wanderer, opted for the comfort of a taxi.

After a brief stay in Port Blair, I ventured further, following my friends' encouragement, so I took a 90-minute ferry ride to Havelock Island. Upon checking into the Coral Reef Hotel, I found myself with a familiar companion, the book: One Million Minutes by Wolf Kuper. The book's premise was simple yet profound. Kuper, once an overworked career man, lamented how he could barely spare ten minutes to read bedtime stories to his children due to his relentless work schedule. His children, on the other hand, longed for a million minutes with their father. The book is about Kuper stepping off the career ladder, spending those million minutes with his family, and rediscovering what truly matters in life: time.

Thus began my 5,000-minute escape from reality. Havelock Island, with its lush surroundings and tranquil pace, was the perfect backdrop for personal reflection. I was unaccustomed to such slowness, but gradually, I started adjusting to the rhythm. That was until a sudden shock shattered my peace.

Sitting on the beach with a cup of green tea, feeling the cool wind against my face, I opened my phone for the first time that day. A message from my brother in the US caught me off guard: "Socka has passed away. Do you know anything more?"

For the next five minutes, I scrambled to make phone calls, trying to understand what had happened. The news was devastating: Socka Suppiah , a self-made entrepreneur in his late fifties, whom I had known as a young boy, had passed away from a sudden heart attack in the early morning hours. It was a blow to my serene escape, a stark reminder of life's fragility.

Socka had been a man of extraordinary character—someone who came from humble beginnings in Penang, made a fortune in the US, and remained grounded throughout. He was a technologist, a philanthropist, and a family man at heart. I never had the chance to do business with him, but on the few occasions we crossed paths, I admired his clarity and focus. His success was hard-earned, but he never forgot where he came from. His roots mattered to him.

His untimely passing was not the news I had expected to hear so early in 2025. It is a harsh reminder that we, as mortals, often live with the illusion of immortality. Even when we know that life is fleeting, it is easy to believe it is never-ending. I'll admit that I sometimes find the flood of New Year greetings overwhelming, even though I make it a point to respond to every message. But at this moment, as I reflected on Socka's sudden passing, I wish I had taken a moment to send him one last greeting: Happy New Year.

Unfortunately, all I can offer now is my deepest condolences to his family, a stark reminder of how fragile life is and pray for his soul to rest in peace.

Death is inevitable. The gift of time, however, is something we can still choose to offer our loved ones. Kuper took a million minutes to discover his purpose; his writing prompts us to do it quicker. I, too, am reminded by this five-minute shock to ask myself: how can I better give the gift of time to my family and friends? How can I live more intentionally, more gratefully?

In the words of the Buddha:

"Let us rise and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful."

May this wisdom guide us all, encouraging us to embrace gratitude in every moment and to live with intention every day by gifting our time to our family and friends.