I’ve been watching Ngeno’s last moments…
and all I can do is sigh.
One second you are smiling wide,
Laughing from memes and posts,
Replying to comments and calls,
Making bookings like tomorrow is promised.
The next second… time isn’t yours anymore.
Death doesn’t negotiate, It doesn’t text ahead.
It doesn’t wait until you’ve fixed the mess, said the unsaid, or finally started enjoying the life you built.
It shows up even when you’re at your happiest.
Even when things feel peaceful.
Even when love feels solid and safe.
That’s what stings the most, it doesn’t care how good the day was.
And when it arrives, your mouth closes for good.
No final explanation, No last plea.
No “hold on, I’m not finished yet.”
It’s brutal but if we’re really honest, it’s also the clearest teacher we get.
Because we already know with total certainty that one day we stop breathing.
Yet so many of us still choose to play small.
Still shrink to fit other people’s comfort.
Still chase likes from strangers who’ll scroll past our obituary in three seconds.
We know the clock is ticking,
and we still hold grudges like trophies.
Still stay silent when we should speak.
Still compete instead of connect.
Still postpone the things that actually matter.
We act like “one day” is guaranteed.
Like there’s a backup version of life waiting in the wings.
There isn’t.
When the end comes, the filters disappear.
The pressure to look perfect vanishes.
The opinions stop mattering.
All that’s left is how you actually lived.
Did you love people without keeping score?
Did you let go of resentment before it poisoned you?
Did you try, really try even when your knees were shaking?
Did you show up for yourself when no one was watching?
Most of us get fewer than eighty trips around the sun.
Fewer than eighty quiet mornings.
Fewer than eighty chances to say the real thing out loud.
Some don’t even get close.
So why are we still rehearsing?
Why are we saving joy for later?
Why are we living like we’ve got a spare life somewhere?
This isn’t practice. This is it.
Call the person you’ve been meaning to call.
Start the thing you keep pushing off.
Say sorry — mean it.
Forgive — for real.
Rest without guilt.
Laugh until your stomach hurts.
Buy the damn flowers.
Wear the outfit you love.
Take the picture.
Tell them how you feel all of it.
Because one day someone will be watching your final moments too.
And they’ll sigh the same way I’m sighing now.
While your heart’s still beating, while your voice still carries,
while your arms can still wrap around someone…
Live.
Not perfectly.
Not without fear.
Just fully.
Please.
Live.
I deeply care about you, but am tired by walking shadow
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