Bonus Years, Stormy Winds — 12 August Reflections

                                                                 A Misty morning Walk.🌊 

Bonus Years, Stormy Winds — 12 August Reflections

Yesterday was my birthday. After dropping my son at the office, I drove to one of my favorite retreats — the Malay Fisherman’s Jetty. I made sure everyone there knew it was my birthday, and in return, I received a few genuine hugs and warm wishes from my Malay friends. Their kindness was like sunlight on an already blessed morning.

Over coffee, the conversation turned to the fate of the jetty. Some say it will be gone in two years, others say sooner. I wonder what will become of the people whose lives depend on it. These timbers hold more than boats; they hold livelihoods, friendships, and unspoken histories.

On this day that was mine, I made a quiet but important choice: to pick up my art again after a long, dry spell. To return to creation not with pressure, but with the lightness and freedom I once had in my youth — when each stroke was a discovery, not a performance.

One of my cousins used to say that after seventy, every year is a bonus. I believe him. What we do with those extra years is what truly matters. For me, it will be about shaping my remaining days with truth, clarity, and love — so that when my last moment comes, I can leave with a smile, InshaAllah.

And then, the next morning — 4 AM — I felt the first stirrings of a familiar storm inside me. The winds of change are tossing me about, a sense of drifting with no safe landing. I know this feeling; it’s the first shadow before depression tries to move in.

So I stepped outside. The night was dark, the sky clear. I stood still, looked up, and spoke to the Almighty. No script, no formal prayer — just a simple conversation from my heart.

I breathed until my heartbeat slowed. I thought of the people I could reach out to today, even with just a hello. I imagined putting a few lines on paper, letting the pencil move the way it used to. I pictured walking by the water and feeling the world shift under my feet, in rhythm with the tide. I let my lips carry verses I’ve known since boyhood.

It’s not a perfect plan. Some days I’ll do all of it, some days only one or two. But each time, it feels like I’ve thrown down a little anchor in the middle of the storm.

And maybe that’s enough.

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